While he spoke a figure had moved from Larry's closet with the silence of a swift shadow. It's thin hand gripped Barney's shoulder.
“I guess I've got something on you!” it said.
Barney whirled. “Red Hannigan!” he gasped.
“Yes, Red Hannigan!—you stool—you squealer!” said Red Hannigan. “I heard you brag about being Barlow's stool, and I heard everything else you bragged about to Joe Ellison's girl. I'd bump you off right now if I had my gat with me and if I had any chance at a get-away. But I'll be looking after you, and the gang will be looking after you, till you die—the same as you set us after Larry Brainard! No matter what else happens to you, you'll always have that as something extra waiting for you! And when the time comes, we'll get you!”
As silently as he had appeared from the closet, as silently he let himself out of the room. The glowering features of Barney had faded to a pasty white while Hannigan had spoken, and now the hand which tried to bring a handkerchief to his lips shook so that he could hardly find his face. For none knew so well as Barney Palmer how inescapable was this thing which would be hanging over him until the end of his days.
Before any one in the room could speak there came a loud pounding from within the door of the closet Larry and Red Hannigan had not occupied. “Oh, I'd completely forgotten!” exclaimed Maggie—and indeed she had forgotten all that was not immediately connected with the situation created by her father's unexpected entrance. She crossed and unlocked the door, and Barlow stepped out.
“Chief Barlow!” exclaimed the astonished Larry, and all the other men gazed at the Chief of Detectives with an equal surprise.
“He is part of my frame-up,” Maggie explained at large. “I wanted both the police and Larry's old friends to know the truth at first hand—and clear him before I went away.”
“Wasn't that Red Hannigan who just spoke?” were Barlow's first words.
“Yes,” said Larry.