With Benton, the photographer, who performed his jig dance to the rhythm of "Gunga Din" when he was told he faced another adventure, Brennan and John were in Gibson's office before 10 o'clock the next morning. They found Gibson alone in his inner office.

"No 'make-up' this time, eh?" asked Brennan, recalling, by inference, Gibson's unkempt costume on the night he "shot it out" with "Red Mike" and saved the "Lark" from destruction.

"Not necessary," replied the commissioner. "Speaking of 'make-up' reminds me, Gallant, that Miss Carrillo asked me to tell you that she hasn't forgotten about our dinner party." It was the first time that Consuello's name had been mentioned by either of them since that afternoon at the studio when Gibson had told John of their engagement.

"It would be unlike her if she had forgotten," said John, ready to let Gibson infer what he might from the words. He noticed that Brennan was looking at him curiously.

"Suppose we set it for the evening of the day I'm elected mayor," said Gibson, smiling.

Over Gibson's shoulder John saw Brennan drop his right eyelid in a slow wink.

"That suits me," he replied. As Gibson turned toward his desk John returned Brennan's wink.

"Now, boys, let's get down to business," Gibson said as he turned back to face them, a paper in his hand. "Here's the story. I'm going to arrest one of 'Gink' Cummings' lieutenants. The man I'm after is 'Big Jim' Hatch, a notorious bunko swindler, and I've got him cornered but he doesn't know it.

"Hatch is Cummings' pal. They have known each other for years and worked together. 'Big Jim' is one of the cleverest bunko men in the country, so clever that he has been indicted only once, although he has swindled victims out of hundreds of thousands of dollars. That indictment was returned against him in New York several months ago and he fled to Los Angeles, arranging with 'Gink' Cummings to operate here and receive protection.

"This paper you see is a telegraphic warrant from New York for Hatch's arrest. I communicated with the New York authorities as soon as my detectives found that he was in the city and told me he was wanted in the East. They have trailed him day and night. The place where he is living is surrounded now by my men and deputy sheriffs who are waiting for me before making the raid and arresting him. Now, if you're ready, we'll go and you can ask me any questions you want on the way."

He led them to an automobile parked in front of the office building. A liveried chauffeur sat at the wheel. John saw it was the machine that Consuello had said had been placed at her disposal by "a friend." He wondered why she never explained to him that it was Gibson's car. Gibson took the seat beside the chauffeur, while John, Brennan and Benton took the tonneau seats. The machine whirled away from the curb.

"Any questions?" asked Gibson over his shoulder.

"You've told us everything we need to know now," replied Brennan.

As Gibson turned back to face the road before them John glanced toward Brennan interrogatively. Brennan shook his head doubtfully as if he was puzzled by this new move by the commissioner.

"I can't figure it out—yet," he whispered.

In twenty minutes, at Gibson's order, the chauffeur stopped the automobile at a corner in West Eleventh street.

"We'll stop here and walk the rest of the way, it's only half a block," explained the commissioner. "To drive up to the house would give them warning."

"Big Jim's" house was in the middle of the block. It was square, of two stories and set well back from the street. The blinds were down in all of the windows and it had a deserted appearance. Out of range of sight from any of the windows Gibson met a group of deputy sheriffs and his private detectives, one of whom stepped forward to address him.

"He's in there, all right," the detective said. "We trailed him in last night and he hasn't put his nose out of doors since. What are your orders, Mr. Commissioner?"

"Who has the search warrant?" Gibson asked.

"I have it," replied one of the deputy sheriffs. "I figured we might have to go in after him."

"Is the back of the house guarded?" Gibson demanded.

"Four men are there and four others posted at the sides," he was told.

"Good! Let's go then; I'll lead the way," said Gibson.

He strode quickly toward the house and up the walk to the front door, followed by the detectives, the deputies, Brennan, John and the camera man. John had a peculiar sinking feeling as he realized what open targets they were as they approached the house if "Big Jim" opened fire on them from behind the blind of one of the windows facing the street.

Gibson rapped sharply on the door and they waited tensely for a response. The officers' right hands were on the handles of their automatics and revolvers. There was no response to Gibson's rap. He clenched his fist and hammered loudly on the solid panel of the door. Again no response.

"You're certain he is inside?" demanded Gibson.

"Absolutely, Mr. Commissioner," assured the detective. "He's probably at the door now."

Gibson stepped to one side of the door and the others stepped back also.

"Open the door or we'll break it down," commanded Gibson, shouting.

A man's voice answered from behind the door.

"What do you want?" it asked.

"Open the door," said Gibson, ignoring the question.

A key clicked in the lock and the door opened. Two of the deputies sprang on the threshold beside Gibson, their automatics in their hands.

"Put 'em up!" they said sharply.

A large, florid-faced man, wearing an expensive house coat, with an expression of a respectable citizen highly outraged at what was before him, lifted his hands above his head.

"What's the meaning of this?" he demanded indignantly.

"There's no use pretending injured innocence, Hatch," said Gibson coolly. "We have a search warrant and a warrant for your arrest from New York."

The two deputies with drawn guns searched Hatch for a concealed weapon, patting his pockets, which they found empty. As they stepped back "Big Jim" dropped his hands to his side and smiled.

"Very well, Mr. Gibson," he said obligingly. "Do your stuff."

John was startled to hear Hatch call Gibson by name. Nothing had been said that even hinted of the commissioner's identity. The search warrant was handed Gibson.

"Do you want me to read this?" he asked.

"Don't trouble yourself," replied Hatch. "All I ask is that you don't tear things to pieces in here. Mrs. Hatch is with me and I don't want her to be bothered."

"All right, boys, be quick about it," ordered Gibson, sending the officers to search the house, "and don't disturb Mrs. Hatch unless it's necessary."

As the private detectives and deputies left them, Benton stepped forward with a request that Gibson and Hatch pose for a photograph.

"You brought them with you, eh, Gibson?" said Hatch. Then to the photographer he added: "I'll accommodate you under one consideration."

"Say it," requested Benton.

"That you leave Mrs. Hatch out of this," said "Big Jim."

The photographer looked to Brennan for an answer to this proposal.

"Go ahead, Benton," Brennan agreed, "we won't bother Mrs. Hatch."

While Benton was photographing Gibson and Hatch, John observed the bunko swindler more closely. To all outward appearances "Big Jim" might have been any one of the well-to-do business men one sees daily on the downtown streets. His hair was gray with a touch of white at the temples, his complexion ruddy. On the little finger of his plump, soft hand he wore a diamond ring in which the gem was the size of a pea. It was obvious that his suit was the work of a high-priced tailor. He had frank blue eyes that had a guileless expression and there were no criminal characteristics in the shape of his head, the position of his ears and the contour of his lips.

"I suppose you'll want me to go back with you," Hatch said to Gibson after Benton had made his final flashlight picture of them.

"As soon as the search is completed," assented the commissioner. "Tell me, Hatch, what about this New York job?"

"Big Jim" drew a cigar from his vest pocket, clipped off the end of it with a snap of his teeth and lighted it with a match. He puffed at the cigar, looked at it critically and smiled before he answered.

"You can speak about that to my lawyer," he said.

In pairs the deputies and detectives returned from their search of the house empty-handed.

"Nothing worth taking," they reported.

They prepared to leave, Hatch donned a suit coat and put on his hat. As they started toward the door John was in the rear. He was about to step over the threshold to join the others outside when a hand touched his arm. He turned and faced a girl, a very pretty girl, he thought, with large blue eyes, golden hair and petite figure.

"Are you a reporter?" the girl asked.

"Yes," he replied, mystified.

"Then please come back here, tonight, I have something to tell you."

The door closed and he was outside again.

* * * * *

It was not until after Hatch had been lodged in the county jail to await the arrival of officers from New York and Brennan had written the story of Gibson's arrest of the swindler that John revealed that the girl, whom he presumed was Mrs. Hatch, had asked him to return to the house that night. The arrest of "Big Jim" was the outstanding local news story of the day. Gibson issued another statement in which he emphasized that Hatch was one of "Gink" Cummings' men, who completely escaped the notice of Chief Sweeney's "inefficient" detectives.

When Brennan had handed to P. Q. the last sheet of his story of Hatch's arrest John told him how the girl had stopped him at the door and asked him to return.

"Great!" exclaimed Brennan. "I can't figure out Gibson's game in arresting 'Big Jim.' She'll probably be able to give us the tip."

"I wonder what she wants to tell me," said John.

"Tell US, you mean," Brennan amended. "You don't think you're not going to take me along with you, do you?"

A few minutes after 8 o'clock that evening John and Brennan returned to the scene of their adventure of the afternoon. John rapped on the door and the girl spoke to them without opening it.

"Who is it, please?" she asked.

"It's the reporter you spoke to this afternoon," John said, and the door swung open. The girl stood with her hand on the knob. She glanced inquiringly toward Brennan.

"My partner," John explained.

"Come in," she invited, with a friendly smile.

She waited until they had entered and then closed the door behind them, locking it carefully. Without speaking she led them into a sitting room, artistically furnished, lighted only by a rose-shaded table lamp. She motioned them to a deep-cushioned davenport and seated herself in a chair under the light from the lamp.

There was no doubt about it, she was pretty! Her blonde hair shone in the light and the shadows about her eyes added to their beauty. Her face was round and piquant, her lips a deep crimson and tiny. Her one-piece dress on which beads sparkled, exposed a delicately rounded throat and slender white arms. Her hands were small and white and her fingernails were highly polished. Sheer silk stockings and neat, expensive shoes. A hint of cheapness about her; perhaps it was the unnatural thinness of the delicately arched eyebrows, John thought; or perhaps the shortness of her skirt; but she was pretty!

"I suppose you understand that I am Mrs. Hatch?" she said.

They nodded.

"Now," she continued, "can you give me some assurance that you are really reporters and not detectives."

They produced their press badges which she examined under the light.

Apparently satisfied, she looked at them for a moment and then spoke.

"I want you to help me," she said; "help me and my husband."

"If there is any legitimate way we can help you, we will," Brennan assured her.

"I will begin at the beginning and tell you everything," she said. "When I have finished you can tell me what you can do for me.

"In the first place, I am speaking to you because my husband is afraid to say anything. He does not know that I am going to tell you this, but I am doing it to save him, because"—she hesitated—"I love him.

"Jim was indicted back in New York and came here to escape arrest. We arrived here five months ago. Whether Jim is guilty of what he is charged with in New York is for him to say. All I know is that he was indicted and that we came to Los Angeles to escape the officers.

"We came here because Jim was a friend of 'Gink' Cummings and he thought that Cummings would protect him. Jim saw Cummings soon after we reached the city and Cummings greeted him like a long lost brother. He said that we could hide in Los Angeles and be reasonably sure that the New York officers would never learn we were here.

"A month after we came here we ran out of money and Jim decided to get to work again. You can guess how Jim planned to work. I need not tell you more than that before another month went by he had the money. It wasn't as much as he had hoped for and we were disappointed. We knew that every time he went to work he not only risked new trouble, but identification as the man who was wanted in New York. That is why his—his jobs had to be few and far between. We planned to make every cent of the money last as long as we could.

"Of course, 'Gink' Cummings knew what Jim had done. When the job was completed he called Jim to his office and told him that he would have to split what money he had got with him. He told Jim that no one worked in Los Angeles without giving him at least a 10 per cent cut, for protection.

"Jim was surprised. He had figured that Cummings was his friend. He told Cummings that he could not afford to split with him and explained how it was, that he could not risk working often and had to make his money last. He thought that this explanation would satisfy the 'Gink,' but it didn't.

"They quarreled. Cummings told Jim that he could not work in Los Angeles or stay here unless he 'came through.' Jim told him to go to h——. 'I'll tip New York that you're here,' Cummings told him. Jim told him to go to it, that he was in trouble and needed help instead of being compelled to put himself in danger.

"We were afraid that Cummings would follow out his threat and tip the New York police, so we left the city. We went to San Diego for a month and then, figuring that Cummings would believe we had left for good, came back to Los Angeles again. We were safe enough until a month ago when Jim did another job. He had to; we were broke. Cummings found out about it and came to see Jim. He came here, to this house. He sat where you are sitting now. While he was talking to Jim I was behind the curtain there and heard every word." She indicated portieres behind them.

"I won't repeat everything I heard, although I could if it was necessary. Cummings said he had heard Jim had done another job and came to him for his split. 'You got away with it once, Jim,' he said; 'I didn't do anything but you've got to come through this time. I run things here in Los Angeles, let me tell you that. You're an old pal and all that and I'd like to let you alone, but I can't afford to. The boys are hollering because you're working without kicking in and for my own protection you've got to split.'

"'And what'll you do if I don't?' Jim asks. 'Well,' says Cummings, 'I could have you croaked.' When he said that I thought Jim was going to kill him right here, but he kept control of himself. 'Or,' says Cummings, 'I'll have you pinched for that New York job.' Jim smiled when he heard that. 'Who'll do the pinching?' he asked. 'One of your paid cops?' 'It'll be somebody bigger than a cop,' said Cummings."

John felt Brennan move forward on the davenport.

"'Somebody bigger than a cop.' Are you sure he said that?" Brennan asked.

"Those were his words," Mrs. Hatch answered. "'Who'll that be?' asks Jim. 'Never mind who it'll be,' says Cummings, 'you'll find that out when it happens. Now, I'm giving you your last chance, either come across or go back and do your bit; what's it going to be?'

"I know Jim. I know he would rather have died than to have given in to Cummings. 'Nothing doing, "Gink,"' Jim says. 'All right, Jim,' says Cummings, 'don't ever say I didn't give you a chance.' Then he left.

"I was afraid. I begged Jim to split with Cummings and make the most of it. But he was stubborn. 'I'd rather go to the pen than split with that cur,' he says to me. So nothing more happened until today and you were here and saw it.

"Now, this is how I think you may be able to help us. You saw who it was who arrested Jim. It was Gibson, the police commissioner, who is running for mayor. Gibson must have been the man Cummings referred to when he said that it would be somebody bigger than a cop who would arrest Jim. Gibson could never have known anything about Jim unless Cummings told him. Gibson and Cummings must be working together, somehow. The only reason Jim was arrested was because he wouldn't split with Cummings and it's Gibson who arrests him. Can't you see the connection?

"Jim can tell you every word I've told you and a lot more and there should be some way of using it to aid him. I don't know how, but there should be some way. If he told everything to the district attorney here, don't you think it might help him a little? You see, Cummings wants him sent back to New York as soon as possible so he won't start talking. He won't say anything about what Jim has done here because he wants him out of the state.

"I thought that if Jim would tell his story to the district attorney or to some newspaper it might be arranged to have some recommendation for leniency for him when he goes back to New York. Or, he might be able to have the charge back there dropped and get immunity out here."

She paused. There was a tense silence until she spoke again, softly.

"You see," she said, "I love Jim and he loves me. We had decided, after this experience with Cummings, to go straight. Jim told me that he would work the rest of his life to pay back whatever he had taken wrongfully and we would be happy together. We wouldn't have to live in fear and the day would come when we could hold up our heads and have a little home and—and—children."

John thought he saw tears in her eyes as she ended the sentence.

"I have trusted you in telling you this," she said. "I feel that I can trust you. Tell me, please tell me, can anything be done with what I've told you?"

She looked toward them pleadingly, anxiously. Brennan was sitting on the edge of the davenport, his body bent forward, his elbows on his knees, gazing intently at the girl.

"A crook can't think straight all the time," he said, quietly. "'Gink' Cummings has made his mistake."