phony," Puffy insisted.

Drake swung around unsteadily.

"Who you calling phony," he lisped angrily. "That's girl's wunnerful."

He staggered and collapsed against Puffy's barrel chest.

"Home for you," Puffy decided.

e retrieved Drake like a sack of spuds and placed him carefully on his feet.

"We're going out." He took a last look toward the dance floor and pushed his boss through the curtains toward the outer lobby.

The music behind them stopped. The lights in the dining room blinked out and a woman screamed somewhere in the darkness. Adams didn't wait to find out what had happened. He pushed Drake along the hall toward the coat room. Beside the tall youngster, Adams assumed all the importance of a harbor tug heaving away at an ocean-going liner.

Mary, the checkroom girl, was waiting. When midnight brought Drake from his whiskey, the girl had learned to expect a lavish tip. She looked at Puffy with a puzzled smile.

"What's wrong in there?"

"Revolution," he answered shortly. "Light went out. Lardner probably forgot to pay the light bill."

Jim Drake fumbled uncertainly in his pocket and brought out a numbered ticket.

"Coat please," he said stiffly. "Coat please!"

He waved the ticket under Mary's nose.

She took the stub quickly and returned in a minute with a woman's silver fox cape. It was a lavish, deeply rich fur.

"How long since you started wearing these things?" she asked and pushed it across the counter.

"Hey!" Puffy grunted. "That ain't ours."

Drake clutched the fur protectively.

"Here—here," he cried. "My coat. Just grew whiskers. My coat just the same."

Before Adams could stop him, Drake was lurching toward the door and into the waiting arms of the doorman. Puffy tossed a bill on the counter and Mary's eyes popped a fraction.

"We'll bring it back when he sobers up," he said quickly. "Must have got the wrong number."

"Thanks!"

"Forget it." He went toward Drake and the grinning doorman. Rescuing his drunken charge. Adams helped him across the walk toward the car.

"Come on, Cinderella. You got a date with the sandman."

Somewhere down State Street came the mournful howl of a siren.

"Whee!" Drake waved the fur in the air above his head. "Fire—want to go to fire."

  crowd of patrons were pouring from the club behind them. With a quick push Puffy deposited Drake in the streamlined coupe and rounded the rear tires on the run. He jumped behind the wheel and turned the key. Sirens were whining in close now.

The door slammed and a girl landed squarely on Drake's lap.

It was the dancing girl, Sylvia Fanton. Her face was flushed brightly with fright.

"Whee!" Drake shouted gleefully. "The Angel herself. Where's the Tiffany?"

He threw his arms about her slim, silver-clad waist and planted a popping kiss on her cheek. The flat of the girl's hand caught his face, hard. Drake sobered a degree.

"My jacket!" her voice was strained and tense. "Please! I must have it at once."

Drake was interested. His pale eyes started to show fight.

"Sure!" he said. "But it's my jacket."

The sirens were dying now. A powerful police car shot to the curb behind them. Puffy's eyes narrowed and he drove the coupe away from the club smoothly.

"Too hot around here," he said to no one in particular. "Can't stand the smell of copper's feet."

Sylvia Fanton's dress was badly ripped on one side. The silken stocking and smooth flesh of her thigh was visible through the tear.

"Please!" There were tears in her cold eyes. "I must have the jacket. It