One of them was a total stranger. Lefty did not remember ever having seen him before. The other was Bert Elgin, and, as his eyes took in the sharp profile, with the familiar, sneering uplift at the corner of the lips, Locke’s face darkened. The face had changed little since he had last seen it. An added line or two showed about the mouth, perhaps, and there was, no doubt, a certain maturity which years alone can bring. In all essential features, however, it was unaltered, and the sight of it brought a rush of vivid recollection into Lefty’s mind which made him frown. It seemed the irony of fate that they two should meet again under conditions which must throw them together in most undesirable terms of intimacy. Oblivious to the twittering pair capering about the stage, Lefty stood staring at the back of Elgin’s head with unseeing eyes. His mind was back in the past, and his expression showed how unpleasant the remembrance was. The burst of handclapping at the end of the act aroused him in time to see Elgin and his companion arise and crowd toward the aisle. He stood there waiting for them to go, for he had no desire to encounter the fellow just now. With narrowing eyes, he watched his old enemy elbow his way roughly toward the door, careless of who or what was in his path. It all came about so suddenly and unexpectedly that Lefty never knew just what was the real cause. He saw one or two men turn and stare angrily at the fellow shoving his way past them, muttering something under their breath as they did so. Then, just as the pair were opposite him and close to the door, Locke heard a sharp cry of pain in a woman’s voice, followed instantly by a bellow of fury from a man. Swiftly there came the thud of bare fists against flesh and bone. A dozen men sprang up and began shoving toward the door. A woman screamed shrilly. CHAPTER IV ONE AGAINST SCORES Instinctively Lefty joined the rush toward the center of disturbance. He caught a glimpse of two men struggling in close embrace, each raining blows upon the other’s face and body. He saw that one of them was Bert Elgin. The other was a big, burly fellow, dressed in a workman’s Sunday best, his face flushed, his eyes aflame with anger. A score of other men were trying to get close enough to put in a blow or two. The place resounded with shouts of: “Kill him!” “Lynch him!” “Beat him up!” Then the whole struggling mob burst through the narrow doorway into the garish, glittering lobby. Lefty was borne irresistibly toward the door by the crowd behind him, which seemed eager to take part in the fracas. By the time he reached it the entire audience was on its feet, making for the single exit. Hands pinioned helplessly at his sides, Locke was forced into the maelstrom of bodies. There was a squeeze, a breathless grunt, and he plunged out into the dazzling brightness.