“Mum’s the word, Chief.  I’m a married man myself,” he replied, and hurried out.

Lane was watching Bessy.  What a wonderful girl!  Modern tendencies might have corrupted the girls of the day, but for sheer nerve, wit and courage they were immeasurably superior to those of former generations.  Bessy faced her father calmly, lied magnificently, gazed down at the ghastly, bloody faces with scarcely a shudder, and gave Lane a smile from her purple eyes, as if to cheer him, to assure him she could save the situation.  It struck Lane that Chief Bell looked as if he might be following a similar line of thought.

“Bessy, put on your hat,” ordered Bell.  “And here ... tuck that veil around.  There, now you beat it for home.  Lane, go with her to the stairs.  Take a good look in the street.  Bessy, go home the back way.  And Lane, you hurry back.”

Lane followed Bessy out and caught up with her in the hall.  She clasped his arm.

“Some adventure, I’ll say!” she burst out, in breathless whisper.  “It was great until I recognized your voice.  Then all inside me went flooey.”

“Bessy, you’re the finest little girl in the world,” returned Lane, stirred to emotion.

“Here, Daren, cut that.  You didn’t raise me on soft soap and mush.  If you get to praising me I’ll fall so far I’ll never light....  Now, Dare, go back and fool Dad.  You must save the girls.  It doesn’t matter about me.  He’s my Dad.”

“I’ll do my best,” replied Lane.

They reached the landing of the outside stairway.  Peering down, Lane did not see any one.

“I guess the coast is clear.  Now, beat it, Bessy.”

She lifted the white veil and raised her face.  In the dim gray light Lane saw it as never before.

“Kiss me, Daren,” she whispered.

Lane had never kissed her.  For an instant he was confused.

“Why—­little girl!” he exclaimed.

“Hurry!” she whispered, imperiously.

Some instinct beyond Lane’s ken prompted him to do what she asked.

“Good-bye, my little Princess,” he whispered.  “Don’t ever forget me.”

“Never, Daren.  Good-bye.”  She slipped down the stairway and in a moment more vanished in the gray gloom of the misty night.

Only then did Lane understand what she, with her woman’s intuition, had divined—­that they would never be together again.  The realization gave him a pang.  Bessy was his only victory.

Slowly Lane made his way back to the club-rooms.  He had begun to weaken under the strain and felt the approach of something akin to collapse.  When he reached the large room he found Swann half conscious and Thesel showing signs of coming to.

“Lane, come here,” said the Chief, drawing Lane away from the writhing forms on the floor.  “You’re under arrest.”

“Yes, sir.  What’s the charge?”

“Let’s see.  That’s the puzzler,” replied the Chief, scratching his head.  “Suppose we say gambling and fighting.”