"In the corner, I said, in the corner," shouted the foremost of the deputies, pushing John back. "Get over there or I'll put you there, see!" John "saw." He stepped back into the corner of the room which the deputy indicated, joining a group of a dozen men herded there by the other deputies who swept through the "saloon." Murphy, beside him, whispered in his ear: "Don't get excited, kid, it's nuttin'; just another phoney pinch, dat's all." "But what for?" asked John. "Loiterin' around a handbook joint. You'll be squared, kid, you'll be squared. Stick with me and you'll come out on top; ten bucks to the good." One of the deputies marched up to the corner, pushing a young fellow before him. "Tried to duck out the back door," the deputy explained to his brother officers. He shoved his prisoner into the group in the corner. "I guess that's all of them. Let's get them out of here. Come on, you birds, out the door; step lively and no funny business." Murphy was at his side as they walked out into the street, guarded on each side by the deputies. A motor truck was backed up to the curb and in it were fifteen or twenty men, young and old, laughing and smoking. A crowd of men and women, spectators to the raid, thronged the sidewalk on either side. John stepped to the side of one of the deputies. "Listen, old man," he said. "I'm a reporter." The deputy stepped back in mock surprise. "You don't say so!" he exclaimed. "A reporter, eh? Well, you ain't nobody, see! Why, one of your pals we got in there told me he was the sheriff's nephew. Another one tried to bull me that he was one of Gibson's men." "Gibson!" exclaimed John. Then it dawned on him; this was one of the police commissioner's "personally conducted" raids, his first attack on "Gink" Cummings, without a doubt. "Yes, Gibson," said the deputy. "What about it?" "Is this one of Gibson's raids?" he asked. "You guessed it," snapped the deputy. "Now, get along there. Hop on that truck with the rest of the gents and see if you can't get consolation from the sheriff's nephew and the bird that tried to bull me he was working for Gibson." "But I am a reporter," protested John. "You'll find out soon enough." "Don't get gay!" threatened the deputy. "Don't get gay!" John scrambled on the truck. "Come right along, brother, join our party," said a red-faced man in a brown check suit and a greasy derby hat, who reached down to help John up. The truck was now crowded with standing men. Three of the deputies swung themselves up on the back of it to act as a rear guard. Murphy squirmed through the tightly packed load until he reached John's side again.