"All right, chief. If you say so, I know it'll be all right. Poor girl, it's hard luck for her."
"That's right, Tom, but brace up and don't let her see that you're worried."
A woman's scream sounded through the hall, and a slender, girlish figure pushed its way toward the prostrate man.
"Tom," she cried, and knelt beside him. "Are you hit? Did they get you at last?"
"Oh, I ain't bad, Maggie," said the dying detective bravely. "The chief's going to have me sent to the hospital, and I'll be all right in a week."
But before midnight he died.
An hour later Ted met the chief of detectives.
"Get into my car," said the chief, "and come down to my office, and we'll have a talk."
In a short time they were at the Four Courts, the big central police station of St. Louis, and when they were in the chief's private office and the door barred to intruders the great detective turned inquiringly to Ted.
"Now, who are you, and how did you happen to be mixed up in that mess?" asked Desmond.