“Get you! What do you mean?” “You know what I mean. You’d have given me to the guns. You know--and I know.” “Bart----” “Dry up! Would you blat my name from the housetops? I believe you would do that, you infernal jade.” The girl shrank from the miscreant’s uplifted hand, from the fierce, threatening look in his fiery eyes. “Don’t speak to me like that,” she cried, striving to pass him and reach the steps. “Don’t you dare to strike me. I’ll scream for help. I’ll----” “You open your mouth to scream, hang you, and I’ll close it forever,” Bailey fiercely interrupted. “You’d have given me to the guns. You’d have sent me up----” “Let me pass!” “And I’ll send you to the devil for it. I’ll teach you to----” The miscreant got no farther with his vicious threats. Chick had seen him reach into his pocket. He had caught the glint of light from a partly drawn blade. He already was nearly across the street, unobserved by either, and he now whipped out his revolver and uttered a shout, though scarce twenty feet from the couple, bent only upon causing Bart Bailey to take to his heels. “Cut that out!” he shouted. “Let the girl alone, or----” “Who in thunder are you?” The ruffian swung round with an oath, interrupting, and Chick bounded nearer, with his revolver suddenly leveled. “You leg it, you rascal!” he cried, while a scream broke from the frightened girl. “Leg it, or----” But Bart Bailey already was legging it. He had turned the instant he saw the weapon, and was darting like a frightened fox up the avenue, crossing it diagonally at the top of his speed, and making for the nearest corner. Chick sped after him, but purposely let the rascal increase his lead, bent upon finally trailing him without being suspected. Bailey rounded the corner some twenty yards in advance of the detective, and continued his frantic flight. Chick turned the corner a moment later. He saw the rascal was not looking back. He darted into the nearest doorway, then crouched on the stone steps and cautiously peered out. Bart Bailey was crossing the street, still at the top of his speed, and heading for Third Avenue. Suddenly he glanced back over his shoulder and discovered that he no longer was pursued. He slowed down, and finally stopped, gazing back and listening, and then he appeared convinced that his pursuer had stopped before turning the corner. As if to give vent to his feelings, he fiercely shook his fist in the direction from which he had come, and then he turned on his heel and walked away. Chick watched him until he rounded the corner of Third Avenue. He paused only to be sure the fellow did not look back, and then he began a record-breaking sprint in pursuit of the scamp. He arrived at the corner just in time to see Bailey entering an opposite saloon.