"Lane, come here," said the Chief, drawing Lane away from the writhing forms on the floor. "You're under arrest."
"Yes, sir. What's the charge?"
"Let's see. That's the puzzler," replied the Chief, scratching his head. "Suppose we say gambling and fighting."
"Fine!" granted Lane, with a smile.
"When the ambulance comes you get out of sight until we pack these fellows out. I'll leave the door open—so if there's any reason you want to come back—why—"
Chief Bell half averted his face, seemingly not embarrassed, but rather pondering in thought. "Thanks, Chief. You understand me perfectly," responded Lane. "I'll appear at police headquarters in half an hour."
The officer laughed, and returning to the injured men he knelt beside them. Swann sat up moaning. Blood had blinded his sight. He did not see Lane pass. Sounds of an ambulance bell had caught Lane's quick ear. Finding the washroom, he went in and, locking the door, leaned there to wait. In a very few moments the injured Swann and Thesel had been carried out. Lane waited five minutes after the sound of wheels had died away. Then he hurried out and opened the door of the closet.
Lorna almost fell over him in her eagerness. If she had been frightened, she had recovered. Gail staggered out, pale and sick looking.
"Oh, Daren, can you get us out?" whispered Lorna, breathlessly.
"Hurry, and don't talk," replied Lane.