“Certainly; there’s plenty of time to fix the kid,” replied Mayne drowsily. And he dropped back and buried his curly head in the pillow. The lamp in the girl’s hand trembled a trifle. “Good-night, Donnie,” she said softly. But Mayne seemed to be already asleep. The instant his door closed and the girl had gone, Mayne got out of bed, dressed swiftly, took both pistols in one hand, his shoes in the other, and crept out into the lamp-lit corridor. He knew Eugene Renton; he knew that he was absolutely cold-blooded; and…
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