"You'll open the gate right now, me man, or we'll bust it in and jug the whole gang of ye," observed the burlier one, scowling. "Go ahead and bust," said Cricklewick, surprising himself quite as much as the officers. "Hey, Mack!" he called out. "Come down at once! Now, you'll see!" he rasped, turning to the policemen again. The light of victory was in his eye. "What's that!" roared the cop. "Break it down," ordered the young man in the rear. "I tell you there's a card game or--even worse--going on upstairs. I've had the place watched. All kinds of hoboes pass in and out of here on regular nights every week,--the rottenest lot of men and women I've--" "Hurry up, Mack!" shouted Mr. Cricklewick. He was alone. Julia had fled to the top landing. "Coming," boomed a voice from above. A gorgeous figure in full livery filled the vision of two policemen. "For the love o' Mike," gasped the burly one, and burst into a roar of laughter. "What is it?" "Well, of all the--" began the other. McFaddan interrupted him just in time to avoid additional ignominy. "What the hell do you guys mean by buttin' in here?" he roared, his face brick-red with anger. "Cut that out," snarled the burly one. "You'll mighty soon see what we mean by--" "Beat it. Clear out!" shouted McFaddan. "Smash the door down," shouted the young man in full evening dress. "Oh, my God!" gasped McFaddan, his eyes almost popping from his head. He had recognized the speaker. By singular coincidence all three of the men outside the gate recognized Mr. Cornelius McFaddan at the same time. "Holy mackerel!" gasped the burly one, grabbing for his cap. "It's--it's Mr. McFaddan or I'm a goat." "You're a goat all right," declared McFaddan in a voice that shook all the confidence out of both policemen and caused Mr. Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis to back sharply toward the steps leading to the street. "Where's Julia?" roared the district boss, glaring balefully at Stuyvie. "Get the key, Cricklewick,--quick. Let me out of here. I'll never have another chance like this. The dirty--" "Calm yourself, McFaddan," pleaded Cricklewick. "Remember where you are--and who is upstairs. We can't have a row, you know. It--" "What's the game, Mr. McFaddan?" inquired one of the policemen, very politely. "I hope we haven't disturbed a party or anything like that. We were sent over here by the sergeant on the complaint of this gentleman, who says--" "They've got a young girl up there," broke in Stuyvesant. "She's been decoyed into a den of crooks and white-slavers headed by the woman who runs the shop downstairs. I've had her watched. I--" "O'Flaherty," cried McFaddan, in a pleading voice, "will ye do me the favour of breaking this damned door down? I'll forgive ye for everything--yes, bedad, I'll get ye a promotion if ye'll only rip this accursed thing off its hinges." "Ain't this guy straight?" demanded O'Flaherty, turning upon Stuyvesant. "If he's been double-crossing us--"