“Where’s the details?” asked Mike, “and make it quick.”

“Inside jacket pocket,” croaked Sills tremulously.

Mike’s companion passed his hand dexterously into the indicated pocket and flicked out three or four folded sheets of foolscap.

“Dat it, Mike?”

A hasty appraisal and a nod, “Yeh, we got it. All right. Baldy, on your way!” A sudden shove and the two gangsters jumped into their car and drove away rapidly, while the chemist sprawled on the sidewalk. Kindly hands raised him up.

“It’s all right,” he managed to gasp. “I just tripped, that’s all. I’m not hurt.” He found himself alone again, passed into the bank, and dropped into the nearest bench, in near-collapse. There was no doubt about it; the new life was not for him.