"Is the boy crazy?" asked Sawyer. "Hurry, White, and notify the Coroner, for I don't intend to allow Terence Maguire to lie in this rotten den very long."
Burke ran along the wet street, looking vainly for the wounded gang-leader. Jimmie was not in sight! Burke went the entire length of the block, and then slowly retraced his steps.
He scrutinized every hallway and cellar entrance.
At last his vigilance was rewarded. Down the steps, beneath a half-opened bulkhead door, he found his quarry.
The Monk was moaning with pain from a shattered leg-bone.
Burke clambered down and tried to lift the wounded man.
"Get up here!" he commanded.
"Oh, dey didn't get ye, after all!" cried Jimmie, recognizing his voice. He sank his teeth in the hand which was stretched forth to help him. Burke swung his left hand, still numb from the black-jack blow on his shoulder, and caught the ruffian's nose and forehead. A vigorous pull drew the fellow's teeth loose with a jerk.
"Well, you dog!" grunted the policeman, as he dragged the gangster to the street level. "You'll have iron bars to bite before many hours, and then the electric chair!"
Jimmie's nerve went back on him.