Evening star., 1923-11-15
AND HERE 1T CONTINUES.

ajst yOHN BRUCE lay perfectly still
d"s- He heard a footstep come quick
A ly around the screen; he sensea
the presence of some one benu-
Ing over him; then the coverings "eie
pulled down and his arm was pareo'
He steeled himself against the IN
stinctive impulse to vince at tne
sharp prick of the needle Which ne
knew was coming-and felt insleao
cold and curiously merclleSs iase
sweep over him as the act was per-
formed. Then the footstep retreateo
and John Bruce quietly twisted mis-
head around on the pillow reacheo
out his arm, and his fingers drew the
silk panel of the screen slightly away
from the edge of the framework
again.
He could see the safe they had re-
ferred to now. 1t was over at the lar
side of the room against the wall, ana
the three men were standlng IN iron @
of it. Presently it was opened. me
man called Doc knelt down in front OF
IT and began to examine its contents.
He swung around to his companions
after a moment with large pile of
bank notes i'll his hands. From this
pile he counted out and handed
small portion to each of the other two
men-and coolly stuffed the bulk OF
the money into his own pockets.
The scene went blurry then for a
moment before John Bruce'S eyes, ana
he lifted his free hand and brushed it
across his forehead. He was so beast :
ly weak. anyhow, and the Internal
dope was getting in its work too fast
lie fought with all his mental strength
against the impulse to relax and close
doing now? 1t looked like some TOOL
ish masquerade. The two companions
Of the man with the sinister. pasty
face were tying ndkerchiefs over
their faces and drawing revoivers
from their pockets: and then the big
man began to close the door of the
safe.
The Docs voice came sharply.
Look out you don't lock 1t. you
fool"
Once more John Bruce brushed his
hand across his eyes. His brain must
he playing him tricks again. din
Internal rose suddenly in the room.
While the big man lounged noncha-
were scuffling all over the floor and
throwing chairs about. And then
from somewhere upstairs, on the floor
there too, John Bruce thought he
caught the sound of hurried move
mentS.
Then for an instant the seuffling in
the room ceased. and the pasty- faced
mans voice came in peremptory
whisper:
THE minute any one shows at the
door YOU swing that safe open as
though you'd been working at 1T all
the time. Birdie. and pretend to shove
everything in sight into your pocketA
And you. Joe, you've got me cornered
end covered here-see? And you hold
the doorway with your gun. too; and
hnf of
make your getaway through the
window.
The scuff1ing began again John
Bruce watched the scene. a sense of
drowsiness and apathy creeping. upon
him.. He tried to rouse himself. He
ought TO do something. That vicious
faced little crook who had haunted
him with unwelcome visitations, and
who at this precise moment had the
bulk of the money from the safe in
his own pockets. was in the act of
planting somewhat crude, but
probably none the less effective. alibi.
and
John Bruce heard a door flung open.
and then a sudden. startled cry. first in
a woman's and then in a mans voice.
But he could not see any door from
the position in which he lay.
He turned over with q great effort.
facing the other way, and reached out
with his fingers for the panel of the
cot. And then John Bruce lay mo-
tionless. the blood pounding fiercely at
his temples.
He was conscious that tall. white
haired man in scanty attire was
there, because the doorway framed
two figures, but he saw only a beauti-
ful face, pitifully white. only the slim
form of girl whose great brown
eyes We're very wide with fear, and
who held her dressing gown tightly
clutched around her throat. 1t was
the girl of the travelling pawnshop:
it was the girl Of his dreams in the
shaft of sunlight: it was the girl he
had followed here-Ouiy-only the
picture seemed to be fading away. 1t
was very strange. 1t was most curl
Gus. She always seemed to leave that
way This was l.armon now in
stead. wasn't il? Larmon and
pick and
CHAPTER VII.
The Girl of the Travelling Pawnshop.
John Bruce abstractedly twirled the
tassel of the old and faded dressing
gown which he wore, the temporary
possession of which he owed to Paul
Seniza, his host. From the chair in
which he sat his eyes ventured stolen
glances at the nape of a dainty neck,