"Rather good," he answered. "I know your friend, the captain. The fact is, I know him rather well. We belong to the same church." He chuckled over his own joke. "However," he went on, "I didn't come here to be entertained, nor to be initiated into the mysteries of the police department. Let's get down to business. I've got to get out of town tonight. I'm going to 'Frisco." "To 'Frisco?" "Yes, I'm in a mess. Mary Randall--" "Randall! Boland, don't tell me you're scared of that woman, too." "Man alive, haven't you heard? She got into my office in disguise and stole a lot of my papers. I don't know just yet what she's got, but I've decided to hunt seclusion for a while." "She was disguised?" "Yes, she came into my office as private secretary. I trusted her implicitly. You'll remember her. She gave the name of Miss Masters." Druce stood up with an exclamation. His face had gone white and he clutched at the table for support. Boland stared at him in astonishment. "What's hit you?" he demanded. Druce made no reply. Through his mind was passing the panorama of how he had delivered himself bound hand and foot to the girl he thought he was entrapping. Suddenly, he turned and dashed in a frenzy out of the room. He was bound, with murder in his heart, for Miss Masters' suite. As he came tearing out of the office he found himself suddenly seized and halted. "Let me go," screamed Druce, "damn you, let me go." He fought to release himself, but vainly. He looked up into the face of Harry Boland. "What's your hurry?" inquired young Boland coolly. "Don't be in a rush. I want to ask you a few questions." He produced a letter from his pocket. Druce recognized it at a glance as the anonymous note he had written to lure young Boland to the cafe. "Did you write that?" demanded Boland. Druce struggled in a frenzy. "To hell with you and your questions," he yelled. "Let me by or I'll kill you." He grappled with Boland and the two men wrestled out to the edge of the big drinking room. "You wrote it," Boland hissed in his ear. "It's a lie. I'm going to give you the beating of your life." The elder Boland, who had followed Druce, fell upon his son. Harry turned and recognized his father. "You here?" he demanded, facing his parent. "Yes," replied John Boland, "I'm here. I came, because I had been informed that you were to meet a woman of the tenderloin in this place; and when I find you, I find you fighting with a dive-keeper." Harry dropped the struggling Druce and turned on his father. "What do you mean?" he asked, defiantly. "I mean just that," replied John Boland. He turned toward the musicians' stand and pointed dramatically at Patience Welcome, who, her face almost as pale as her white lace gown, was advancing toward the front of the platform to sing. Harry Boland's face went white as hers.