His brain was perfectly clear, but he staggered a trifle as he followed the men along the edge of the dancing space to the stairway.  The music crashed furiously.  Fred’s associates were giving all their attention to treading the uncertain steps of their tawdry bacchanal, so they missed his exit.

Halfway up the stair leading to the sidewalk Fred was halted by a touch upon his arm.  He had forgotten Ginger, but there she stood with that childish, almost wistful, look on her face.

“Say,” she demanded, “can I do anything?  I’ve got a pull if I want to use it.”

The other three men turned about and waited.  The snaky one laughed.  Fred looked at her curiously.

“You might phone my wife,” he returned.  “But don’t say anything to the boys!”

“Where does she live?...  I’ll go now and see her.  That is—­if—­”

For a moment Fred Starratt hesitated.  Would it be quite the thing to let a woman like this...  But as quickly a sense of his ingratitude swept him.  Whether it was the thing or not, it was impossible to wound the one person who stood so ready to serve him.  A great compassion seemed suddenly to flood him—­for a moment he forgot his own plight.

“I don’t remember the number of the house ... she’s with friends.  You’ll find the name in the telephone book...  Hilmer—­Fourteenth Avenue.  Ask for Mrs. Starratt.”

“Axel Hilmer ... the man who—­”

“He’s a shipbuilder.  Do you know him?”

She smiled wanly.  “Yes ...  I know lots of people.”

Fred felt his arm jerked roughly, and the next thing he found himself half flung, half dragged toward the curb.  Instinctively he shook himself free.

“What’s the matter?” he demanded.

The ringleader of the group reached forward and grabbed him roughly.

“D’yer think we’ve got all night to stand around here while you turn on sob stuff with a dance-hall tart?  You shut up and come with us!”

“I’m coming as quickly as I can,” Starratt retorted.

He was answered by a hard-fisted blow in the pit of the stomach.  He doubled up with a gasping groan.  A crowd began to gather.  Presently he recovered his breath.  The blow had completely sobered and calmed him.  He felt that he could face anything now.  The jail was just across the street, so they walked, pursued by a knot of curious idlers.

They went through a narrow passageway, separating the Hall of Justice from the jails, and rang a bell for the elevator.  In stepping into the cage Fred Starratt tripped and lurched forward.  He was rewarded by a stinging slap upon the face.  He drew himself up, clenching his fists.  He had often wondered how it felt to be seized with a desire to shoot a man down in cold blood.  Now he knew.

CHAPTER IX

The men at the booking desk treated Fred Starratt with a rough courtesy.  They did not make the required search of his person unduly humiliating, and, when they were through, one of the men said, not unkindly: