and the lot was bordered by a high hedge, except in front. It was an ideal location for a fashionable gambling resort.
As Kowen watched, he saw a young man saunter down the street, hesitate a moment, then enter the gate and hurry toward the house.
"Another victim!" Kowen told himself.
Now one of his deputies approached him, keeping in the shadows as much as possible.
"Well?" Kowen snapped.
"Almost forty men in there, boss," the deputy reported.
"All our crowd ready?"
"Yes."
"What time is it?"
"Quarter after twelve. I looked at my watch as I walked under the light at the corner."
"Let's get in action then," Kowen said. "I don't want any slips, now. I want to gather in the whole lot. Got the autos ready?"
"They're ready, boss, waiting down the street a couple of blocks."
"Signal them up, and we'll begin."
The deputy hurried away. Sheriff Kowen crossed the street, turned in through the gate, and blew a whistle.
On every side, deputies rushed toward the house, surrounding it immediately. Kowen ran up the steps and knocked at the door. An aperture was opened, a face peered out, there was an exclamation, and the aperture was closed again.
"Into it!" Kowen cried.
Deputies ran forward with axes and attacked the heavy door. The door at the rear was attacked in the same manner. Some of the men guarded the entrance to the basement, others watched the windows closely.
The front door crashed down, and the officers poured into the house. From the second floor came a chorus of cries and shrieks. The lights had been extinguished, and electric torches flashed.
"Watch those stairs!" Kowen cried. "Some of you clean out the basement—I want the entire crowd! I'll go above!"
They made their way to the head of the stairs, smashed through another door, flashed their torches, found the light switch and turned it. The big room was bathed in light.
Sheriff Kowen smiled grimly as he surveyed the scene. He saw faro and roulette layouts, poker tables, almost every gambling device known. Some two score of men in evening dress were crouching against the walls. A glance was enough to tell the sheriff the customers and the dealers. He slapped his hands together.
"Round 'em up!" he ordered.
His deputies sprang to obey. One by one, the men in the room were manacled, despite their protests. When Sheriff Kowen raided a gambling house, he did not do things by halves.
A crowd had collected in the street by now. The automobiles Kowen had ordered were before the house, ready to receive their loads of prisoners. Kowen received reports from deputies who had searched the place from cellar to garret. He detailed men to guard the house and the gambling apparatus it contained, and then the parade began.
The parade was always a big moment with Kowen. He stood at the curb and watched the prisoners pass him and go to the automobiles. He enjoyed the looks of wrath, of fear in the faces of these callow youths. Some of them he knew, but a very few. For the most part, the prisoners seemed to be strangers to him, but that did not bother Kowen. The city was a large one; a new crop of victims appeared every week, the sheriff knew.
The prisoners were driven to the county jail and taken into the office. Kowen informed them as to the charges, and announced that bail would be one hundred dollars in each case, except that of the proprietor of the place. The jailer and bookkeeper got ready.
It was then that Sheriff Kowen got his first surprise. With the exception of the proprietor, none of his prisoners would furnish bail. The arrest was an outrage, they declared. They had been informed that the ordinance against gambling was unconstitutional. They were going to jail, going to fight the case, and then sue for damages. They'd show Sheriff Kowen and his men that citizens had rights that should be respected.
"Are you a bunch of lunatics?" Kowen cried. "Don't you worry about that gambling law—we've convicted many a man on it, men who had coin to fight their cases, too. And let me tell you men something—if you go into cells, your right names go down on the blotter. They'll go into the newspapers, too; and the people of this city will know just who the men are who smash laws and waste money!"
"We're not worrying any about that stuff!" one of the prisoners told him.
"Then you'll be searched and slammed into cells, believe me! And you'll be treated like ordinary prisoners. I have a faint idea that you'll be dead willing to put up bail by noon. These cells of mine are not comfortable suites. And you'll miss your baths and grapefruit in the morning, and your thin toast! Well?"
None made reply. Kowen glanced around the room at them, and then an angry flush came into his face. He had half a dozen deputies there, and the night jailer and the bookkeeper. He had let the other deputies go, thinking this would be like other raids, that the prisoners would put up bail immediately or telephone for it, and hurry to their homes.
"Line up against that wall!" he commanded. "If you are so eager to go to jail, we can accommodate you, all right. The jailer will search you."
The jailer appeared before the first man, who started taking things from his pockets. Sheriff Kowen turned his back and started for his private office in disgust. Newspapermen were waiting there for him, and the sheriff did not dislike publicity.
Then something strange happened!
With the exceptions of the few men known to the sheriff, every prisoner drew something from his pocket. Something seemed to crash against the floor. There was a series of sharp explosions, and the office and rooms adjoining were filled with clouds of white, pungent smoke.
The jailer opened his mouth to shout a warning, and toppled over on the floor without having spoken. Here and there the deputies were dropping, none of them having time to get out a revolver and fire a shot. Sheriff Kowen rushed in from his private office to have a cloud of the pungent vapor strike him full in the face. The newspaper reporters suffered a like fate.
The prisoners were holding tiny sponges to their nostrils, and now they sprang into action. Some rushed to the street door and locked and barred it. Others drew the shades at the windows. One searched the jailer and got his keys, and hurried toward the door leading into the corridor.
This door was opened. Four of the prisoners rushed down the aisle and came to a certain cell. Inside it a man was sitting on a bunk.
"Good work!" he exclaimed.
The door of the cell was unlocked, and the man stepped out. He led the way back to the office, glanced around it quickly.
"Everything done?" he asked.
"Everything done, sir," one of the men replied.
"Let's go, then!"
The street door was unlocked. Around the corner came half a dozen automobiles. They were filled, and darted away, scattering as they came to the first street corner.
