. . .Moving agilely around the end of the bar, the bartender stood over Kregg, holding the jagged-edged bottleneck in his hand menacingly.

“Get out!” rumbled the bartender. “I'll have no coppers raiding my place for the likes of you!”

Kregg stumbled to his feet and staggered out. Trella ran to the unconscious Motwick's side.

“That means you, too, lady,” said the bartender beside her. “You and your boy friend get out of here. You oughtn't to have come here in the first place.”

“May I help you, Miss?” asked a deep, resonant voice behind her.

She straightened from her anxious examination of Motwick. The squat man was standing there, an apologetic look on his face.

She looked contemptuously at the massive muscles whose help had been denied her. Her arm ached where the dark man had grasped it. The broad face before 52her was not unhandsome, and the blu. . . Read More