and the front of the establishment was bathed in light.
"The cops are on us!" one of them gasped.
"We needn't worry if we can get through the basement wall and into the bakeshop. But we'll have to hurry," another replied, rushing along the hall.
They darted down the stairs, closing and locking all the doors as they went, for they did not want the police to guess the manner of their entrance. The Black Star might have need of the baker in some other enterprise.
They came to the wall and tapped upon it. The baker swung the little door open, and they stepped into the shop.
"Cops all around the place!" he reported. "Must have been tipped off in some way. Where are the stones?"
"Here!" one replied, and tumbled them on the table.
Before the baker was a pan of dough. He worked swiftly, forming it into light biscuits—and into each biscuit he put diamonds. He put the biscuits into a pan, greased the tops of them, put the pan into one of the ovens.
"Two bottles of beer there—open them!" he ordered in a whisper.
One of the five fishermen obeyed. They poured the liquor out, drank a part of it, put their glasses down upon the table.
There was bedlam in the streets now. The police had surrounded the block. They were battering at doors, and the old watchman was letting them in
