"I turned on my heel and walked back toward the dive with a quick step, as if I had forgotten something. The man with the yellow overcoat saw me coming and stepped into the street as if to intercept me. Shorty gave two low whistles, and the man stepped back to the sidewalk again. I reached the doorstep of the dive. All the men were now between me and the river, the one in the yellow overcoat but a short distance from the bar-room, Shorty waiting for me where I left him. With the same hurried movement I swung back the door, stepped inside, stripped off my overcoat, folded it close, threw it over my arm, and, before the barkeeper could realize what I was doing, pulled my hat close down to my ears, jerked the lapels of my dress-coat over my shirt-front to hide the white bosom, dashed out of the door and sprang for the middle of the street." Here Lonnegan stopped and puffed away at his pipe. For a minute every man kept still. "Go on, Lonny," said Mac, the intensity of his interest apparent in the tones of his voice. "That's all," said Lonnegan. "The change of coats and slight disguise of hat and lapels threw them off their guard. The outside pickets thought, when I burst through the door, that I was somebody else until I was too far away to be overtaken. That's what saved my life." "And you call that an adventure, you fake!" cried Boggs. "Ran like a street dog, did you, and hid under your mammy's bed?" "Well, what's the matter with the yarn," retorted Lonnegan; "it's true, isn't it?" "Matter with it? Everything! No point to it, no common sense in it; just a fool yarn! You go out hunting trouble with your imagination on edge, like a scared child. You meet a man who offers to conduct you gratuitously to a house up a back street; you agree to pay him for his trouble; you make a lame excuse to dodge him, he relying on your word to return, and then you take to your heels and cheat him out of his pay. No yarn at all; just a disgraceful bunco game!" The Circle were now in an uproar of laughter, everybody talking at once. Marny finally got the floor. "Boggs is right," he said, "about Lonnegan's conduct. It is extraordinary how low an honest man will sometimes stoop. Lonnegan's life among the aristocrats of Murray Hill is undermining his high sense of honor. Now I'll tell you a story of an escape that really has some point to it." "Is this another fake murder yarn?" asked Boggs. "We don't want any more fizzles." "Pretty close to the real thing--close enough to turn your hair gray. About fifteen years ago----" "Now hold on, Marny," interrupted Boggs, "one thing more. Is this out of your head, like one of your muddy, woolly landscapes, or is it founded on fact?" "It's founded on fact." "Got any proof?" "Yes, got the pistol that saved my life. It's on a shelf in my studio downstairs. If anybody doubts my story I'll bring it up. About twelve or fifteen years back----"