“I didn’t kill him,” Jerry said to me. “I came here to get him; I meant to bag him. Christina came with him but she worked with me. She knew I was here. She meant to kill him. I didn’t know that till after I’d stepped out and went at him. She gave him the steel; she wanted to croak him. She thought he’d get her, if she didn’t.” Doris said: “He would have. Where’s she now?” “Gone,” said Jerry; and Doris asked no more. Jerry ceased to stare down at Keeban. “We were twins, I suppose; that must be it; and he walked the wrong way across Lincoln Park. That was all there was to it.” His mind kept going back to that. “Steve,” he said to me. “What?” I asked; I thought again he was turned to philosophy; but he said, “Upstairs, you swung your chair hard, old top. I thought you’d never do it.” “I see now,” I replied. “You were waiting for me to do that.” He nodded. “You had to make the move; then I could do the rest. You got to it just in time, old fellow!” “In time?” I said stupidly. “The pipe wasn’t turned on.” “Yet you were just in time; in a minute more, they’d got wise that it wasn’t.” We heard men downstairs now. “Who’s that?” I said. “Must be the bulls; his gang,” Jerry glanced at Keeban again, “got out; all that will ever get. Well, come on, bulls; a lot you can hurt me now!” He looked up from his brother and straightened; and I felt for him perhaps one thousandth of his relief from what had been on him since that night he came into my room, after the Sparlings’ dance, and said Keeban had come and gone with Dorothy Crewe. I put my hand on him while we waited, Doris and he and I, for the approaching steps of the bulls. “You can go back to anybody now; you can go back to Dorothy Crewe.” “I’ll not go back,” he told me. “You wouldn’t,” I said. “Are you going back, Steve?” “Where?” I asked. “To the bean business and--your Dorothy Crewe?” “I don’t know about going back to the bean business,” I said. “And I never had any Dorothy Crewe; but if I had I wouldn’t go back to her. No; I know that!” The bulls came on us. We were in the light, but they flashed their own lanterns in our faces. “Up with ’em!” They had our hands over our heads at the points of their pistols. And when they saw Jerry, they felt sure of a haul. “Here’s _him_!” they called to those behind. “Here’s him who’s wanted from Chi to the Street! Here’s him!” “Take a look at the floor,” Jerry advised them. “And when you take me along, have him with us.” “How’s this, Mr. Fanneal? How’s this?” And then I reaped one advantage of my previous notoriety. They knew me; and there, with Jerry beside me and Keeban on the floor, I tried to tell them. Of course, they took us to the station for the second telling, which was not the last by any means. They held Jerry that night; but they did not hold Margaret and me. Of her, they knew nothing; and what I knew of her, I did not tell them.