with them. The others left one by one, darted across the street, and each went in a different direction. Those with the paintings had an automobile waiting; they jumped in and were driven rapidly away.
The men who had fought were carried away to jail; their part had been done well. The policemen went back to the museum, joking about the fight they had witnessed.
"They'll make it up in the morning and get fined for fighting and discharging firearms," one of them declared. "Business quarrel, eh? Pretty vigorous business men, I think!"
"Suppose everything's all right inside?" another asked.
"That gang inside is so busy playing cards that they wouldn't know it if a battle was staged in the street."
The end of the hour came, but no guard showed himself at the front door to say that everything was all right. One of the policemen pounded upon it, but got no response.
"That's funny!" he said. "They ought to answer—that's their orders!"
He pounded upon the door again, and still he got no reply from those inside.
"Think we'd better go in?" one of the others asked.
"We've got orders not to do it unless we know there's trouble inside."
"Well, there may be trouble."
"Card game—that's all. You listen to me—hand that guard a call down when he shows up. He's a
