“I haven’t wired Leckhard.”

“They say you did; and when I asked ’em what about it, they said you’d know.”

The superintendent’s hand was on the knob of the corridor door.

“Look it up in Callahan’s office,” he said.  “If any message has gone to Leckhard to-day, I didn’t write it.”

When he closed the door of his private office behind him, Lidgerwood’s purpose was to go immediately to the Nadia to warn the members of the pleasure-party, and to convince them, if possible, of the advisability of a prompt retreat to Copah.  But there was another matter which was even more urgent.  After the events of the night, it had not been unreasonable to suppose that Hallock would scarcely be foolhardy enough to come back and take his place as if nothing had happened.  Since he had come back, there was only one thing to be done, and the safety of all demanded it.

Lidgerwood left the Crow’s Nest and walked quickly uptown.  Contrary to his expectations, he found the avenue quiet and almost deserted, though there was a little knot of loungers on the porch of the Celestial, and Biggs’s bar-room, and Red-Light Sammy’s, were full to overflowing.  Crossing to the corner opposite the hotel, the superintendent entered the open door of Schleisinger’s “Emporium.”  At the moment there was a dearth of trade, and the round-faced little German who had weathered all the Angelic storms was discovered shaving himself before a triangular bit of looking-glass, stuck up on the packing-box which served him by turns as a desk and a dressing-case.

“How you vas, Mr. Litchervood?” was his greeting, offered while the razor was on the upward sweep.  “Don’d tell me you vas come aboud some more of dose chustice businesses.  Me, I make oud no more of dem warrants, nichts.  Dot teufel Rufford iss come back again, alretty, and——­”

Lidgerwood broke the refusal in the midst.

“You are an officer of the law, Schleisinger—­more is the pity, both for you and the law—­and you must do your duty.  I have come to swear out another warrant.  Get your blank and fill it in.”

The German shopkeeper put down his razor with only one side of his face shaven.  “Oh, mein Gott!” was his protest; but he rummaged in the catch-all packing-box and found the pad of blank warrants.  Lidgerwood dictated slowly, in charity for the trembling fingers that held the pen.  Knowing his own weakness, he could sympathize with others.  When it came to the filling in of Hallock’s name, Schleisinger stopped, open-mouthed.

“Donnerwetter!” he gasped, “you don’d mean dot, Mr. Litchervood; you don’d neffer mean dot?”

“I am sorry to say that I do; sorrier than you or any one else can possibly be.”

“Bud—­bud——­”

“I know what you would say,” interrupted Lidgerwood hastily.  “You are afraid of Hallock’s friends—­as you were afraid of Rufford and his friends.  But you must do your sworn duty.”