"Who could it be but this man that hides his face? There's no doubt about the rest of you. You only have to see, Slim, whether this fellow, Simmons, has got a face."
"He had the word," the leader answered, "and look at that scar. But you're right, Nora. If there's a bull here he's behind that mask."
"Then make him take it off," she said.
Garth raised his hands. His croaking voice was torn with dismay.
"No. I warn you. Spare me and yourselves that. It's not pretty, what you'd see."
"Take it off," the girl repeated.
"I hide it," Garth cried. "For years—Listen, you. If you don't let me keep a little pride you can do your dirty work without me."
The leader put his hand on Garth's shoulder.
"Now, now," he said soothingly. "Depend on it, Simmons, if you're all right we don't want to hurt your feelings."
"All right!" Nora mocked. "And I tell you there's a cop here. And you know as well as I he's the only one. You're crazy, Slim."
"Good thing one of us is then," the leader sneered. "If this isn't Simmons we're out of the running for to-night anyway. If it is, what do we gain by making a show of him? That's what I was going to propose. Only one of us need look."
"That'll do," Nora agreed. "Well! Who?"
