But an avalanche of men’s bodies kept him from whatever furious purpose was in his mind. Ungentle fingers gripped his arms and pinned them down, so that he could not withdraw his hand from his pocket. They held him in this way, silently, until a crisp voice behind them said, “Careful, boys—watch his hands!” Inspector Richard Queen wriggled into the hard-breathing group and stood contemplatively above the writhing figure on the pavement. “Take his hand out, Velie—easy, now! Hold it stiff, and—stiff, man, stiff! He’d jab you in a flash!” Sergeant Thomas Velie, who was straining at the arm, gingerly pulled it from the pocket despite the violent flounderings of the man’s body. The hand appeared— empty, muscles loosened at the last moment. Two men promptly fastened it in a vise. Velie made a movement as if to explore the pocket. The Inspector stopped him with a sharp word and himself bent over the threshing man on the walk. Carefully, delicately, as if his life depended upon caution, the old man lowered his hand into the pocket and felt about its exterior. He gripped something and just as cautiously withdrew it, holding it up to the light. It was a hypodermic needle. The light of the arc-lamp made its pale limpid contents sparkle. Inspector Queen grinned as he knelt by the wounded man’s side. He jerked off the black felt hat. “Disguised and everything,” he murmured. He snatched at the grey mustache, passed his hand rapidly over the man’s lined face. A smudge immediately appeared on the skin. “Well, well!” said the Inspector softly, as the man’s feverish eyes glared up at him. “Happy to meet you again, Mr. Stephen Barry, and your good friend, Mr. Tetra Ethyl Lead!” CHAPTER XXII —AND EXPLAINS Inspector Queen sat at the writing-desk in his living-room scribbling industriously on a long narrow sheet of note-paper headed THE QUEENS. It was Wednesday morning—a fair Wednesday morning, with the sun streaming into the room through the dormer windows and the cheerful noises of 87th Street faintly audible from the pavements below. The Inspector wore his dressing-gown and slippers. Djuna was busy at the table clearing away the breakfast dishes. The old man had written: Dear Son: As I wired you late last night, the case is finished. We got Stephen Barry very nicely by using Michaels’ name and handwriting as bait. I really ought to congratulate myself on the psychological soundness of the plan. Barry was desperate and like so many other criminals thought he could duplicate his crime without being caught.