Flashes had come from the masked man's guns, the popping of electric light globes above and the showering of glass testifying to the fact that they had contained something more than mere wadding.

Somewhat dazed, the fiddler continued his rush, suddenly to crumple and fall, while men milled and women screamed.

A door slammed, the lock clicked, and the crowd rushed for the windows.

The hold-up had been real after all,--instead of a planned, joking affair.

On the floor the fiddler lay gasping--and bleeding.