"There is he!" cried the lawyer, pointing to Keralio.
Quick as a flash, the Italian raised the revolver and fired, the bullet entering the plastered wall an inch away from the lawyer's head. Almost simultaneously, another pistol shot rang out, but this time the aim was truer, for, with a cry of baffled rage, Keralio threw his arms above his head and fell to the floor dead. Quickly, one of the detectives stooped down and compared his face with a photograph he had taken from his pocket.
"Yes——" he exclaimed; "that's the fellow—well known counterfeiter. Did time in San Quentin and Joliet. Known as Baron Rapp, Richard Barton and a dozen other aliases. He's one of the slickest rogues in the country. We've got the valet safe downstairs. I guess he'll get twenty years."
But Steell had not waited to hear about Keralio. There were others more important to think about. Rushing into the inner room, he found Helen prostrate, half fainting from fright.
"Thank God, I'm in time!" he exclaimed.
"Dorothy," she murmured weakly. "Save Dorothy! She's somewhere here."
Going into another room, the lawyer found the little girl fast asleep on a bed. Bringing her to her mother, he said tenderly:
"Here's your treasure. Now you can be happy."
She shook her head. The nightmare of what Keralio had told her, still obsessed her.
"No—" she shuddered; "—never again. They have killed him!"