"No, he didn't escape that way," as Blount uttered an ejaculation of disgust. "He ran full tilt into me and when I tried to arrest him he drew his revolver on me. By good luck I got him first—yes, Jo, he's dead."
"Dead," repeated Pauline in a low tone. "How horrible to go out of life a moment after you had tried to commit murder."
"It's not his first," Burgess said coolly. "We've been after him and his gang these six months. It was Wrentz, Jo, and I made a haul of papers that'll get somebody into trouble."
"Oh, don't hurt the young one," cried Pauline. "He tried to help me."
"Rocco? He was dead when they picked him up. And, now, Miss Marvin, hadn't I better get you a taxi?"
"Yes, thank you, but," with irrepressible curiosity, "how did you know me?"
Burgess smiled. "How did I know you? I beg your pardon, Miss, but for nearly a year your picture's been in every paper, more or less, in the United States. You're a big head-liner—it's an honor to meet you, face to face. But it's Blount has all the luck. He's saved you—he'll be a head-liner himself tomorrow."
The hot color rushed over Pauline's face. "A head-liner"—so that was what she meant to the public, to the man on the street.
"Please, Please, don't let this get into the Papers," she begged. "I'll do anything in the world for you if you'll just keep it out of the papers."
"Will you tell us about those other adventures?"