The big policeman stooped and gently turned the long figure over and placed his hand above the heart. The inner circle of the crowd looked on, waiting. After a moment the policeman's head nodded. "Beatin'?" asked one of the plain clothes men. "Yes. But mighty weak." "I'll be all right in a minute," said a faint voice. The big policeman started and glanced at Foley's face. The eyes were open, and looking at him. "I s'pose youse're from Baxter?" the faint voice continued. "From the District Attorney." "Yes." A whimsical lightness appeared in the voice. "I been waitin' for youse. Lucky youse come when youse did. A few minutes later an' youse might not 'a' found me still waitin'." He placed his hands beside him and weakly tried to rise, but fell back with a little groan. The big policeman and another officer helped him to his feet. The big policeman tried to keep an arm round him for support, but Foley pushed it away and leaned against the wall, where he stood a moment gazing down on the hundreds of faces. His shirt was ripped open at the neck and down to the waist; one sleeve was almost torn off; his vest was open and hung in two halves from the back of his neck; coat he had not had on. His face was beginning to swell, his lips were bloody, and there was a dripping cut on his forehead. One of the plain clothes men drew out a pair of handcuffs. "Youse needn't put them on me," Foley said. "I'll go with youse. Anyhow----" He glanced down at his right hand. It was swollen, and was turning purple. The plain clothes man hesitated. "Oh, he can't give us no trouble," said the big policeman. The handcuffs were pocketed. "I'm ready," said Foley. It was arranged that two of the uniformed men were to lead the way out, the big policeman was to come next with Foley, and the two plain clothes men were to be the rearguard. The big policeman placed an arm round Foley's waist. "I better give youse a lift," he said. "Oh, I ain't that weak!" returned Foley. "Come on." He started off steadily. Certainly he had regained strength in the last few minutes. As the six men started a passage opened before them. The little group of roughs who had come to Foley's defense a few minutes before now fell in behind. Half-way to the door Foley stopped, and addressed the crowd at large: "Where's Keating?" "Up by the piano," came the answer. "Take me to him for a minute, won't youse?" he asked of his guard. They consulted, then turned back. Again a passage opened and they marched to where Tom sat, very pale, leaning against the piano. The crowd pressed up, eager to get a glimpse of these two enemies, now face to face for the last time. "Look out, Tom!" a voice warned, as Foley, with the policeman at his side, stepped forth from his guard. "Oh, our fight's all over," said Foley. He paused and gazed steadily down at Tom. None of those looking on could have said there was any softness in his face, yet few had ever before seen so little harshness there.