joints of his choicest rod. A brass connection had been bent.

"That's a shame! It'll never work that way--never! I've got to go out
and see if I can't get it mended. Wonder if there's a decent sporting
goods store in this part of town. I'll go out and have a look."

He made himself ready, taking the two parts of the fishing rod with
him. Inquiry at the hotel desk supplied him with the information as to
the location of the store, and the detective was soon out in the wet
streets, breathing in deep of the damp air--for it was fresh and that
was what the colonel liked.

Somehow or other the address of the jewelry store clung to his mind,
and, almost unconsciously, he found himself heading in that direction.

"Well, I am a fool!" he murmured, as he passed the place, now ghostly
with its one light in front of the safe. The police had taken charge,
pending the arrival of a relative of Mrs. Darcy's. Inside, the cut
glass and silver gleamed as of old, but on the floor, sunk deep in the
grain of the wood now, was the spot of blood--fit to keep company with
the red rubies in the locked safe.

"Quite a place," murmured the colonel, as he passed on toward the
sporting goods store. "Quite a place! Oh, hang it! I must get it out
of my mind!"

In spite of his rather exacting demands regarding a ferrule for his
rod, he found what he wanted and, feeling quite satisfied now, as he
noted that the weather showed some slight signs of clearing, the
colonel started back for his hotel, walking slowly, for it was not yet
late.

Just how it happened, not even Colonel Ashley, naturally the most
interested person, could tell afterward. But as the detective was
crossing a crowded street a big auto truck swung around a corner, and
he found himself directly in its path as he stepped off the curb.

Active as he always kept himself, the old detective sprang back out of
the way. But fate, in the person of a small boy, had just a little
while before, dropped a banana skin on the streets. And the colonel
stepped squarely on this peeling, as he tried to retreat.

There was a sudden sliding, an endeavor to retain his footing, and then
Colonel Ashley fell prostrate, his fishing rod pieces spinning from his
fingers. Down he went, and the truck thundered straight at him.

It was almost upon him, and the big, solid, front tires were about to
crush him, in spite of the frantic efforts of the driver to swerve his
machine to one side, when a slim figure dashed from the crowd on the
sidewalk, and, with an indistinguishable cry, seized the colonel by the
shoulders, fairly dragging him with a desperate burst of strength from
the very path of death.

There were gasps of alarm and sighs of relief. The driver of the truck
swore audibly, but it was more a prayer than an oath. The colonel,
grimy and muddy, was set on his feet by his rescuer, and several men
gathered about. The colonel was a bit-dazed, but not so much so that
he could not hear several murmur:

"He saved his life all right!"

Recovering his breath and the control of his nerves at about the same
time, the detective, his voice trembling in spite of himself, turned to
the man who had dragged him from almost under the big wheels and said:

"Sir, you did save my life! You saved me from a horrible death, and
saying so doesn't begin to thank you or tell you what I mean. If
you'll have the goodness, sir, to call a taxi for me, and come with me
to my hotel, I can then--"

The colonel came to a halting and sudden pause as he saw the face of
the slim little man who had saved him--a face covered with freckles,
which were splotched over the cheeks, the turned-up nose, and reaching
back to the wide-set ears.

"Spotty!--Spotty Morgan!" gasped the detective, as he recognized a New
York gunman, who was supposed to have more than one killing to his
credit, or debit, according as you happen to reckon.

"Spotty Morgan! You--you--here!" gasped the detective.

The rescuer, who had been grinning cheerfully, went white under his
copper freckles.

"My gawd! It's you! Colonel--"

Further words were stopped by the detective's hand placed softly,
quickly, and so dexterously as hardly to be seen by those in the crowd,
over the mouth of the speaker.

"No names--here!" whispered the colonel in the big ear of the man who
had saved him from death.

The slim little man gave a wiggle like an eel, and would have darted
away through the crowd, but there was a vice-like grip on his shoulder
that he knew but too well.

"Spotty, my name's Brentnall for the present," said the colonel, with a
grim smile. "And you'd better come with me. How about it?"



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