had saved him from death.

The slim little man gave a wiggle like an eel, and would have darted
away through the crowd, but there was a vice-like grip on his shoulder
that he knew but too well.

"Spotty, my name's Brentnall for the present," said the colonel, with a
grim smile. "And you'd better come with me. How about it?"

Spotty Morgan hesitated a moment, nodded silently, and then, arm in arm
with the man whom he had pulled from the path of the big truck, went
down the street, the mist and rain swallowing them up.




CHAPTER V

AMY'S APPEAL

Tinkling glasses formed a friendly rampart between Colonel Ashley and
Spotty Morgan. Spotty looked narrowly and shrewdly at the detective.

"I didn't expect to see you here," remarked the gunman, speaking out of
the side of his mouth, with scarcely a motion of his lips--a habit
acquired through long practice in preventing prison keepers from
finding out that he was disobeying the rules regarding silence. "Not
for a minute did I expect to run across you here, Colonel As--"

"Not that name, Spotty, if you please," and the fisherman-detective