nothing in my young
life, so what is his name bumping around in my head for?"

And then, just as he was on the verge of banishing it from his thoughts,
a solution of the name's persistence flashed upon him. It had been used
by Dennison that day at the Polo Club. He had called it after
Ashton-Kirk as they were leaving.

"That's it!" was Bat's mute exclamation. "That's it. It was Dennison. He
was telling us of how the Bounder said he was to meet some one--an
off-color party--Dennison thought,--to arrange a little matter of
business. And the meeting was to be at Gaffney's."

The big athlete thrilled at the idea. Was it possible that this obscure
place was the one meant? But why not? It was just the sort of
establishment the Bounder would have selected for a meeting with a crony
of the underworld. And it was possible, too, that----

"A friend of a friend of yours," said Bat, to the man at his side.
"Well, he might be all right, in spite of his looks."

"He used to deal faro at Danforth's place on the avenue," said Big Slim.
"But he's down and out. Maybe," with another grin, "he tried the game
himself."

"Sometimes they do," said Bat. "But it's like opening the door of an
elevator shaft and walking through."

"He's great pals with a fellow named Fenton," said Big Slim. As he said
this, one hand went to his coat pocket in a caressing sort of gesture;
and Bat realized, with a ray of comprehension, that this was the pocket
into which the burglar had slipped the black, well-oiled automatic.
"They're like a couple of brothers."

"I see," said Bat. "A league of two, eh? Well, that's nice. It makes it
handy for people who might want to see either of them. Find one and
you're sure of the other."

Big Slim nursed the concealed weapon and grinned disagreeably.

"Hutchinson's here," said he, "and so I'm sure Fenton'll be here. And
Fenton's the party I want to meet up with."

"I notice," observed Bat, with a downward nod, "that you are coddling
your 'gat' some, and so I take it that this fellow Fenton and yourself
ain't on good terms."

"Right," said the burglar, readily. "A good guess. We ain't." He took
the hand from the pocket and pointed to his swollen face. "It was
Fenton done that," said he. "And it was him that almost done for
Bohlmier."

The eyes of the big athlete blinked rapidly at this, and he wanted to
laugh! But he did not.

"So!" said he. "I get you. It was Fenton who decorated you with that
'shanty.' W