"You'll open the gate right now, me man, or we'll bust it in and jug the whole gang of ye," observed the burlier one, scowling.
"Go ahead and bust," said Cricklewick, surprising himself quite as much as the officers. "Hey, Mack!" he called out. "Come down at once! Now, you'll see!" he rasped, turning to the policemen again. The light of victory was in his eye.
"What's that!" roared the cop.
"Break it down," ordered the young man in the rear. "I tell you there's a card game or—even worse—going on upstairs. I've had the place watched. All kinds of hoboes pass in and out of here on regular nights every week,—the rottenest lot of men and women I've—"
"Hurry up, Mack!" shouted Mr. Cricklewick. He was alone. Julia had fled to the top landing.
"Coming," boomed a voice from above. A gorgeous figure in full livery filled the vision of two policemen.
"For the love o' Mike," gasped the burly one, and burst into a roar of laughter. "What is it?"
"Well, of all the—" began the other.
McFaddan interrupted him just in time to avoid additional ignominy.
"What the hell do you guys mean by buttin' in here?" he roared, his face brick-red with anger.
"Cut that out," snarled the burly one. "You'll mighty soon see what we mean by—"
"Beat it. Clear out!" shouted McFaddan.
"Smash the door down," shouted the young man in full evening dress.
"Oh, my God!" gasped McFaddan, his eyes almost
