ght he knew where he could get word of White-Eye's whereabouts,
stopped at a cigar-stand and telephoned for his cab--and his regular
driver. In a few minutes the cab was at the corner. He mentioned a
street number to the driver, who nodded knowingly. Pony Baxter's
place--where the game ran big. No place for a tin-horn. Only the real
ones played at Pony's. So this old-timer who paid so well was going to
take a whirl at the game? The cabby thought he saw a big tip coming.
Being somewhat of a sportsman in his way, and grateful for what The
Spider had already done for him, he drew up within a block of his
destination and, stepping down, told The Spider that Pony's place was
being watched--and had been for more than a week: that the bulls were
out for some strangers who were wanted bad.

The Spider showed no sign of surprise. "Suppose I was one of 'em, eh?"
he queried.

"That's none of my business, Captain. I ain't workin' for the force;
I'm workin' for myself."

"All right. I'll walk down to Pony's place. After I go up, you can
drive down there and wait. I may be five minutes--or a couple of
hours. Here's something to make you forget who you're waiting for if
anybody should ask you."

The cabby tucked the money in his pocket and climbed back to his seat.
"Don't know if somebody was to ask me," he said to himself, as he
watched The Spider hobble down the next block. "Lemme see," he
continued as he drove slowly along. "Some guy comes up and asks me for
a match and starts talkin' friendly, and mebby asks me to have a drink,
and I get friendly and tell him about that young sport from the East
that's been seein' the town and how somebody over to his hotel must 'a'
told him about the game at Pony's--and how he's upstairs, gettin' his
hair cut--short. Oh, I guess I ain't been in this business eight years
for nothin'."

But the inquisitive stranger did not appear and the cabby's invention
was wasted.

The Spider entered the first door to the left of the long hallway. The
room was fitted up as an office, with huge leather-upholstered chairs,
a mahogany center table, and a mahogany desk. In one corner stood a
large safe. On the safe-door was lettered "A. L. Baxter & Co."

A man with a young, smooth face and silver-white hair was sitting at
the desk. He turned and nodded pleasantly.

"I want to see Pony," said The Spider.

"You're talking to him," said the other. "What can I do for you?"

"You can tel