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Their opportunity came when the Frenchman tried to trip Pete

Ellinwood after big Jean had fallen and Code rushed into the fray

with the ferocity of a wildcat. Some one raised the yell

"Police," he was surrounded by his enemies, some one rapped him

over the head with a black-jack, and the job was done. It was

clever business, and despite the helplessness of his position,

Code could not but admire the brilliance of such a scheming

brain, while at the same time deploring that it was not employed

in some legitimate and profitable cause.

Now he was in the enemy's hands, and St. Andrew's was less than a

dozen hours away; St. Andrew's, with its jail, its grand jury,

and its pen.