from a friend who’s got a friend[10] who’s got a mother-in-law who listens to little birds—and the dope runs that Bradley is out to square matters with you.”

[10]

Clifford nodded. He had expected something of the sort.

“Did this little bird relay any information as to just what Bradley was going to do?”

“None that got to me. But, son, I’d keep my eyes pointed in all directions, and be careful of the friends I made, and be careful of the cases I got drawn into. It may be a long time coming, and God only knows in what direction it’ll come from. Bradley knows how to handle people so they never know they’re being handled—and he’s likely to hit you through almost any one. Look out, son. This is serious. There’ll be big doings.”

Clifford gazed steadily at the old worldling. Indeed, there must be something—and big!—or else Uncle George, whose general attitude in matters of morals, police, and criminals was one of genial laissez-faire, would not have brought him this warning. He knew from experience the craft and power of Bradley—his subtle patience in working out his designs, his patience in waiting apparently quiescent for the ripe moment—the swiftness and might with which he struck when the instant came to strike.

Automatically, swiftly, Clifford’s mind flashed forward in search of possible weapons, of direct and devious schemes, that the fertile-brained Bradley might be contriving against him.

[11]

CHAPTER II THE RETURN OF MARY REGAN

Suddenly all conjectures concerning Bradley were swept utterly from his mind. Down the gilded red-carpeted stairway that led from what the Grand Alcazar termed its “ballroom de luxe,” there came—though this was not the figure Clifford first noted—a short, full-bodied, ornately dressed man, with a bald crown and a smile of engaging amiability. Beside him, and a half-head taller,—and this is what Clifford first saw,—walked a slender young woman, in an evening coat of rose velvet, her rounded throat gleaming a dusky marble from the soft shadows of the furred collar. Her face was the rose-tan of early autumn leaves, and her dark eyes gazed straight before her with a composure so complete that it seemed to announce a haughty indifference to all the world.

Suddenly

“Mary Regan!” ejaculated Clifford, stupefied.

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