On the night that things really began to happen in the life of Billy Byrne that estimable gentleman was lolling in front of a saloon at the corner of Lake and Robey.  The dips that congregated nightly there under the protection of the powerful politician who owned the place were commencing to assemble.  Billy knew them all, and nodded to them as they passed him.  He noted surprise in the faces of several as they saw him standing there.  He wondered what it was all about, and determined to ask the next man who evinced even mute wonderment at his presence what was eating him.

Then Billy saw a harness bull strolling toward him from the east.  It was Lasky.  When Lasky saw Billy he too opened his eyes in surprise, and when he came quite close to the mucker he whispered something to him, though he kept his eyes straight ahead as though he had not seen, Billy at all.

In deference to the whispered request Billy presently strolled around the corner toward Walnut Street, but at the alley back of the saloon he turned suddenly in.  A hundred yards up the alley he found Lasky in the shadow of a telephone pole.

“Wotinell are you doin’ around here?” asked the patrolman.  “Didn’t you know that Sheehan had peached?”

Two nights before old man Schneider, goaded to desperation by the repeated raids upon his cash drawer, had shown fight when he again had been invited to elevate his hands, and the holdup men had shot him through the heart.  Sheehan had been arrested on suspicion.

Billy had not been with Sheehan that night.  As a matter of fact he never had trained with him, for, since the boyish battle that the two had waged, there had always been ill feeling between them; but with Lasky’s words Billy knew what had happened.

“Sheehan says I done it, eh?” he questioned.

“That’s what he says.”

“I wasn’t within a mile of Schneider’s that night,” protested Billy.

“The Lieut thinks different,” said Lasky.  “He’d be only too glad to soak you; for you’ve always been too slick to get nicked before.  Orders is out to get you, and if I were you I’d beat it and beat it quick.  I don’t have to tell you why I’m handing you this, but it’s all I can do for you.  Now take my advice and make yourself scarce, though you’ll have to go some to make your get-away now—­every man on the force has your description by this time.”

Billy turned without a word and walked east in the alley toward Lincoln Street.  Lasky returned to Robey Street.  In Lincoln Street Billy walked north to Kinzie.  Here he entered the railroad yards.  An hour later he was bumping out of town toward the West on a fast freight.  Three weeks later he found himself in San Francisco.  He had no money, but the methods that had so often replenished his depleted exchequer at home he felt would serve the same purpose here.

Being unfamiliar with San Francisco, Billy did not know where best to work, but when by accident he stumbled upon a street where there were many saloons whose patrons were obviously seafaring men Billy was distinctly elated.  What could be better for his purpose than a drunken sailor?