The man was in a towering, ungovernable passion. She cast a furtive glance at his face. She had seen him before in anger; but now, with his lips drawn back and working, his whole face contorted, he seemed utterly beside himself.
"What's the matter?" she inquired innocently. "Wouldn't the Pug talk, or is it a case of 'another hour or so,' and"
He swung on her furiously.
"Hold your cursed tongue!" he flared. "You'll snicker on the wrong side of your face this time!" He gulped, stared at her threateningly, and quickened his step, forcing her to keep pace with him. But he spoke again after a minute, savagely, bitterly, but more in control of himself. "The Pug got away. The White Moll queered us again. But it's worse than that. The game's up! I told you to be here at midnight. It's only half past eleven yet. I figured you would still be over in the garret, and I was going there for you. That's where we're going now. There's no chance at those rajah's jewels now; there's no chance of fixing Cloran so's you can swell it around in the open again—the only chance we've got is to save what we can and beat it!"
She did not need to simulate either excitement or disquiet.
"What is it? What's happened?" she asked tensely.
"The gang's thrown us down!" he said between his teeth. "They're scared; they've got cold feet—they're going to quit. Shluker and Pinkie were with me at the iron plant. We went back to Matty's from there. Matty's with them, too. They say the Pug knows every one of us, and every game we've pulled, and that in revenge for our trying to murder him he'll wise up the police—that he could do it easily enough without
