"Come on vid you! I vant all dree!" The harsh voice rose into a shriek. The three did not move. "For God's sake, Petersen! The fight's over!" Tom cried. "Afraid! Yah! Afraid! I lick you all dree!" With an animal-like roar he rushed at the three men. Smoky and Bill ducked and dashed away, but Jake stood his ground and put up his fists. A blow and he went to the floor. Petersen flung about to make for Smoky and Bill. Tom seized his arm. "God, man! Stop! They've give in!" "Look out!" A shove sent Tom staggering, and Petersen was away. "I lick 'em all, by God!" he roared. With annihilating intent he bore down upon Bill and Smoky, who stood back to wall on fearful defense. An inspiration flashed upon Tom. "Your wife, Petersen! Your wife!" he cried. Petersen's raging strides checked. He looked slowly about. "Vot?" "Your wife!" "Anna!... Anna!" Dazed, breathing heavily, he stared at Tom. Something like a convulsion went through him. His face faded to dullness, then to contrition. "Better let me have the gun," Tom said quietly, after a minute had passed. Petersen handed it over. "Now get your hat and coat, and we'll go." Without glancing at the three, who were staring at him in utter bewilderment, Petersen dully put on his hat and coat. A moment later he and Tom were backing toward the door. But before they reached it Tom's steady gaze became conscious of the curtains at the further end of the room. His square face tightened grimly with sudden purpose. "Take down those curtains, Petersen," he said. Petersen removed the six curtains, dusty and stained with tobacco juice, from their places and brought them to Tom. "Tear five of 'em into two strips." The three men, and Hickey from the floor, looked on curiously while Petersen obeyed. "Tie Jake up first; hands behind his back," was Tom's next order. "I'll see youse in hell first!" Jake backed away from Petersen and raised his fists. "If you make any trouble, I'll give you a quick chance to look around there a bit!" Jake gazed a moment at the revolver and the gleaming eye behind it, and his fists dropped. Petersen stepped behind him and went to work, twisting the strip of muslin into a rope as he wound it about Jake's wrists. The job was securely done in a minute, for Petersen had once followed the sea. "Now his feet," said Tom; and to Jake: "It'll be easier for you if you lay down." Jake hesitated, then with an oath dropped to his knees and tumbled awkwardly on his side. In another minute Jake's feet were fastened; and at the end of ten minutes the other four men had been bound, even the wounded Hickey. Tom put his revolver in his outside coat pocket, and unlocked the door. "Good-night," he said; and he and Petersen stepped out. He locked the door and put the key in his pocket. "Police?" asked Petersen, when they had gained the street.