He had not gone ten steps when he heard the creak of hinges. A door was being opened somewhere ahead of him. But he came to a sharp corner in the dark alleyway before he spied the opening. A faint radiance shone into the lane. Between him and this open door was a dark figure—a stooping figure. He made sure it was Zeph. He heard the latter “hist!” in a low tone. He crept forward. Somebody stumbled inside the hall to which the open door gave entrance. A harsh voice called: “That you?” “Yes, it’s me,” grumbled another voice, which Ralph recognized as belonging to Malone. “What are you trying to do—knock the house down?” snarled the first speaker. “Why don’t you have some more light? ’Most broke my shins down here. Ouch!” “Shut up!” commanded the other person, evidently standing at the head of a flight of stairs. “Come up here.” Zeph had crept forward. Ralph saw the outlines of his figure at the edge of the doorframe. Ralph had to take his tip from Zeph. “Hey!” exclaimed the fault-finding voice again. “You’ve left that door open, Malone.” Malone’s stumbling footsteps returned down the few treads of the stairs he had already mounted. The lamplight faded. Ralph realized that the man at the top of the stairs was retreating with the lamp in his hand. The next moment he realized, too, that Zeph had inaugurated one of his perfectly crazy ventures. Instead of cowering back out of sight as Whitey Malone came to the open door, Zeph huddled close to the opening. When the door began to be pushed into place, the young fellow leaped to his feet, darted forward, and encircled the half-drunken Malone with his arms just below the knees! “Squawk!” vented the surprised Malone. He crashed down the low, outside steps and landed on the flagstones with sufficient force to drive the breath from his body. “Grab him, Ralph!” hissed Zeph, springing to his feet again, and seeing his friend at his back. “I’m going up there in his place. If a row starts, call the cops.” The next instant Zeph was inside the building and had softly closed the door. CHAPTER VI TOUCH AND GO Whitey Malone was on his face, and before he could raise his head and shriek his objection to the treatment accorded him by Zeph Dallas, Ralph sprang astride him and held him down. As Whitey struggled the young dispatcher grabbed his cap from the ground and thrust it into the fellow’s mouth. Then he twisted his hands behind him and held the muffled rascal secure. Ralph was about to use his own handkerchief to bind Whitey’s wrists when he remembered that it was monogrammed and might offer a clue to his identity when the affair was over. Therefore he thrust his hand into the side pocket of his captive’s coat.