But George smiled, and pressed tighter until Nora cried out involuntarily.

"That means, drop your gun. For any little damage you do here Nora'll foot the bill."

She shook her head, but her face recorded an insufferable pain. Garth knew that the one shot for which he would have time would spare her nothing.

"I never expected to see the pride of your gang slinking behind a woman's skirts," he sneered. "I suppose those are four of the rats who helped put your breakaway over. Six against one, and a woman for a shield!"

It chilled him that the four strangers exposed their faces to his glance with a contemptuous indifference. He laughed, however, as Slim took his revolver.

"You giants must know that you haven't the chance of a pretzel at a Dutch wedding."

Slim affected not to have heard, but his gestures lacked smoothness.

"Let's see how you enjoy your own jewelry, Garth."

And he reached in Garth's pocket and drew out the pair of handcuffs he had been certain to find there. He snapped them on the detective's wrists. The four confederates lounged forward, produced stout cords, and bound them about Garth's ankles. His momentary resistance was smothered by Nora's sharp cry:

"Don't fight, Jim!"

His sense of utter helplessness increased, while the men, in obedience to Slim's gestures, stretched him on the floor. The surface was wet, as if the ooze of the river had penetrated this far. Slim stooped and glared at him, his eyes exposing a measureless resentment.

"Thanks for walking into our parlor, you fly cop. We heard how you and the skirt had fallen for each other. We guessed if we gave you a lead with some of her trinklets, you'd play the busy sleuth hound."

Nora's voice held the quality of a sob.

"Jim! Why did you come?"

He shrugged his shoulders. He forced on himself a semblance of confidence.

"Planted or not, the trail was my best chance."

Slim beckoned to George.

"Straight you've come to the place where I've dreamed for months of getting you."

Garth managed a grin.

"Cut out the b.u.m acting, Slim. Let's hear what you've got on your mind."

He shrank from a reply. More and more he was impressed by the indifference with which these confederates constantly revealed their faces. He knew, if the inspector did not arrive quickly, he must suffer an eccentric and barbarous punishment. He tried to forecast the penalty, but his imagination was insufficient and his appraisal of Slim's cruelty too conservative. It wasn't until George stepped forward and Nora screamed that he guessed why the others were unafraid of his identification, that he understood how his situation might involve more than life and death. And, perhaps, the shambling creature outside had put the inspector's party on the wrong track.

George placed a pint bottle in Slim's hand. A smoky liquid did not quite fill it. Slim turned to the others, a.s.suming an att.i.tude of mockery.

"This is the brave guy that side-tracked Simmons last summer and wore the gray mask just as if he had something, too, that would frighten women and children. He's the bull that steered us against the black cap yesterday. Let's see how he likes hearing the sentence read himself.

Only he isn't going to get anything as comfortable as the electric chair."

A laugh sneered through the cellar.

"Better speed it up, Slim," George advised.

Slim drew the cork from the bottle while his thin lips ceased to smile.

"Since you found a gray mask so becoming, Garth," he snarled, "it's only fair to give you honest cause to wear one. But you'll go poor Simmons one better. _Your_ mask won't need any eye holes."

Nora cried out again.

"You couldn't do it," Garth muttered.

Beneath his rage lurked a fear of which he had never dreamed himself capable. To face death would have been so much simpler.

"What's in that bottle, Slim?"

"A black cap for you, d.a.m.n you! Pure vitriol!"

He bent closer.

"Squirm! Those ropes and your own handcuffs will hold you. You'll beg me for a bullet before I'm through."

George twisted the girl so she had to watch.

"Pipe your handsome beau, Nora! You'll think I'm more your style in about ten seconds."

She shuddered.

"You're not bad enough to do that, Slim!"

"Watch me," he answered.

A complete satisfaction blotted from his eyes the fear he had hitherto never quite concealed--the quiet fear of a strong man who acknowledges his own inevitable destiny. Garth reminded him of that. It was his last weapon.

"They'll get you, Slim. They're keeping the chair warm for you. Will this help then?"

Slim laughed.

"Will it hurt? I've waited for this moment ever since you and she sent me to rot in the Tombs. I'll pay old scores while I can."

With an extreme deliberation he commenced to tip the bottle. The fluid, almost imperceptibly approaching the mouth, exercised for Garth a dreadful fascination. It was easy to estimate its progress. George had been right. In about ten seconds! And he couldn't get his chained hands to his eyes. He tried to tell himself it was impossible that that innocent-appearing fluid in the control of this criminal could condemn him to an unrelieved blackness through which, hideously scarred, he must grope henceforth, a thing repellent and past use.

The lights were centred upon his face. It struck him as ironic that their glare should hurt his eyes.

Suddenly Nora sprang forward. She stretched her hand towards Slim, but she didn't touch the bottle or his wrist, for the fluid filled the neck; was so close to the edge that a quick contact might have spilled it.

George looked on, his hands in his pockets, his att.i.tude expressing satisfaction at a just and long-deferred punishment.

Slim smiled at Nora. He moved the bottle a little. A drop fell.

Something tortured the skin of Garth's cheek. It was as if an iron at white heat had been applied against his flesh with a strong pressure.

The stuff was real enough.

Again Slim moved the bottle sluggishly, so that the liquid, ready to trickle out, was directly above Garth's eyes. Nora reached and closed her hands about the mouth.