The meal ended, his speech concluded, all questions answered, he at last rose, and with a low bow said: 

“And now, gentlemen, I leave the proposition with you.  Please do not forget that it is a great and glorious venture; a new and glorious empire!  An honor to your country and mine.”

He was gone.

For some time the five men sat in silence.  Then one of them spoke: 

“Is he mad?”

“Are we all mad?” questioned a second.  His voice was husky.

“Well,” said a third, “it sounds like a dream, a dream of great possibilities.  We must sleep over it.”

Without another word they moved out of the room.  The meeting, one of the most momentous in the history of the century, perhaps, was ended.

* * * * *

When Johnny Thompson heard the shot and the guttural mutter, “Da bolice!” he made a final effort to rally his senses and to put up a fight.

He did succeed in struggling to his knees, but to fight was unnecessary.  Just as another shot sent echoes down the alley and a bullet sang over their heads, his assailants took to their heels.

A slight, slouching figure came gliding toward Johnny.

“Jerry the Rat!” he murmured; then to the man himself: 

“So, it’s you, Jerry.  Haven’t seen you for two years.”

Through blear-eyes the little fellow surveyed Johnny for a second.

“Johnny Thompson, de clean guy wot packs a wallop!” he exclaimed.  “Dere dey go!  We can get ’em!” He pointed down the alley.

“Got a gun?” asked Johnny, standing a bit unsteadily.

“Two of ’em.  C’mon.  We ken git de yeggs yit.”

Johnny grasped the gun held out to him and the next instant was following the strangely swift rat of the waterfront.

“Dere dey go!” exclaimed the little fellow.

Down an alley they rushed, then out on a broad, but dimly lighted street.  They were gaining on the gang.  They would overhaul them.  There would be a battle.  Johnny figured this out as he ran, and tried to discover the mechanism of his weapon.

But at that juncture the pursued ones dashed through an open window of a deserted building which flanked the river.

“Dere dey go!  De cheap sluggers!” exclaimed Jerry.

Leaping across the street, he reached the window only a moment after the last of the four had slammed it down.

But the men had paused long enough to throw the catch.  It took Jerry a full minute to break its grip.

When, at last, they vaulted cautiously over the sill and flashed their light about the interior, they found the place empty.

“Dey’s flew de coop!” whispered Jerry.  “Now wot’s de chanst of dem makin’ a clean git away?”

They made a hurried examination of all possible exits.  All the window ledges and doorsills were so encrusted with dust that one passing through them would be sure to leave his mark.  That is, all but one were.  One windowsill had apparently been swept clean.  But that window faced the river.  As they threw it up, and looked down from its ledge, they saw only the murky waters of the river swirling beneath them.