read-mill round, but he
was still sifting doggedly through the tailings of possibilities when a
code-wire came from St. Louis, saying Binhart had been seen the day
before at the Planters' Hotel.

Blake was eastbound on his way to St. Louis one hour after the receipt
of this wire. And an hour after his arrival in St. Louis he was
engaged in an apparently care free and leisurely game of pool with one
Loony Ryan, an old-time "box man" who was allowed to roam with a
clipped wing in the form of a suspended indictment. Loony, for the
liberty thus doled out to him, rewarded his benefactors by an
occasional indulgence in the "pigeon-act."

"Draw for lead?" asked Blake, lighting a cigar.

"Sure," said Loony.

Blake pushed his ball to the top cushion, won the draw, and broke.

"Seen anything of Wolf Yonkholm?" he casually inquired, as he turned to
chalk his cue. But his eye, with one quick sweep, had made sure of
every face in the room.

Loony studied the balls for a second or two. Wolf was a "dip" with an
international record.

"Last time I saw Wolf he was out at 'Frisco, workin' the Beaches," was
Loony's reply.

Blake ventured an inquiry or two about other worthies of the
underworld. The players went on with their game, placid, self-immured,
matter-of-fact.

"Where's Angel McGlory these days?" asked Blake, as he reached over to
place a ball.

"What's she been doin'?" demanded Loony, with his cue on the rail.

"She 's traveling with a bank sneak named Blanchard or Binhart,"
explained Blake. "And I want her."

Loony Ryan made his stroke.

"Hep Roony saw Binhart this mornin', beatin' it for N' Orleans. But he
was n't travelin' wit' any moll that Hep spoke of."

Blake made his shot, chalked his cue again, and glanced down at his
watch. His eyes were on the green baize, but his thoughts were
elsewhere.

"I got 'o leave you, Loony," he announced as he put his cue back in the
rack. He spoke slowly and calmly. But Loony's quick gaze circled the
room, promptly checking over every face between the four walls.

"What's up?" he demanded. "Who 'd you spot?"

"Nothing, Loony, nothing! But this game o' yours blamed near made me
forget an appointment o' mine!"

Twenty minutes after he had left the bewildered Loony Ryan in the pool
parlor he was in a New Orleans sleeper, southward bound. He knew that
he was getting within striking distance of Binhart, at last. The zest
of the chase took possession of him.