an occasional
oath, and the monotonous voice of the faro-dealer.

Pino nudged White-Eye and indicated the little pile of gold that was
stacked before a player at the faro table. White-Eye shook his head
and stepped casually back. Pino sauntered over to him.

"Chanct for a clean-up?" whispered Pino.

"No show. The lookout's a gun. I know him. So is that guy at the
wheel. Pony's pardner packs a gat; and that guy standin' over by the
wall, smoking is drawin' down reg'lar pay for jest standin' there,
every night. 'Sides, they ain't enough stuff in sight to take a chanct
for. We ain't organized for this kind of a deal."

"Then what's the use of hangin' around?"

"'Cause they was somethin' on that piece of paper you picked up out
there that Pony didn't want us to see--and I aim to find out what it
was."

"The number of some dame, most like," said Pino, grinning.

"Did you hear him say The Spider went back to his _hotel_? Well, Pony
is double-crossin' somebody. Jest stick around and keep your eye on
the door."

Meanwhile The Spider had arrived at the address given him--an empty
basement store in the south end of town. The place was dark and
evidently abandoned. Back of the store was a room in which were two
cheap iron beds, a washstand, and two chairs. The rear door of this
room opened on an alley, and it was through this door that White-Eye
and his companions entered and left the premises, which they had rented
at a low rate from the lessee of the place who now ran a grocery on the
street level, near the corner.

The Spider had no means of knowing of the back room and thought that
Baxter had sent him to a chance number to get rid of him; or that the
latter would possibly suggest that White-Eye must have left the
neighborhood.

"Is there a back stairs to Pony's place?" queried The Spider as he
stood by the cab.

"No. But there's a fire-escape in the alley back of the block. The
last time they raided Pony the bulls got six gents comin' down the iron
ladder."

"Just drive round that way." The Spider stepped into the cab.

"You ain't a Government man, are you?" queried cabby.

"No. I play a lone hand," said The Spider.

CHAPTER XXXVII

"CLOSE THE CASES"

Pony Baxter's place, located near the middle of what is commonly termed
a "business block," embraced the space once occupied by a number of
small offices, one of which he had retained as a sort of
reception-room, near the head of the