sized you up for one of these smart Alecks--first crack out of the box,
and egad! I think I'm about right."

Said Redmond, "How about our respected sergeant? we seem to have
forgotten him."

"Slavin?" ejaculated the senior constable; and was silent awhile. There
was no levity in him now. Slowly he resumed, "I guess as much as it's
humanly possible for two men to know each other--down to the bedrock,
it's surely Burke Slavin and I. Should too, the years we've been
together. The good old beggar! . . . We slang each other, and all
that . . . but there's too much between us ever to resent anything for
long."

"I know," said Redmond simply, "he told me himself--last night."

"Eh?" queried Yorke sharply. "My God! . . . Tchkk!" he clucked, and
burying his hands in his face he gave vent to a fretful oath. "My God!"
he repeated miserably, "I'd forgotten--last night! . . . I sure must
have been 'lit' . . . to come that over old Burke. . . ."

"You sure were!" remarked Redmond brutally.

"Keats' 'St. Agnes' Eve'! . . . Oh, Lord!" . . . He drew in his breath
with a sibilant hiss, "There seems something--something devilish about--"

"I know! I know!" breathed Yorke tensely, "what . . . you mean." His
haggard eyes implored Redmond's. "No! no! never again . . . I swear
it. . . ."