nce to shoving the queer.
I've been working for a pal of Pad's in St. Louis for three or four
years--that's why I'm strange around here. Pad's up in the air about
something, and wants this Charley-boy right away, and he tells me to
look here for him and not come back without him, see? This is on the
level. If you know where he is, be a good fellow and come across, will
you?"

The bartender felt under the counter for the shelf, and then raised
his hand, empty, toward the bottle.

"I guess you're all right," he remarked. "Anyway, I'll take a chance.
What's your moniker?"

"Guy the Blinker," returned Morrow promptly. "Guess you've heard of
me, all right. I pulled off--but I haven't got time to chin now. I got
to find this boy if I want to keep in with Pad, and there's coin in
it."

"Sure there is," the bartender affirmed. "But he's a queer one--the
big guy, as you call him. What's his game? Why, only this morning, he
tipped Charley off to beat it, and Charley did. Maybe he thinks the
kid's double-crossed him."

Morrow's heart leaped in sudden excitement at this astounding news,
but he controlled himself, and replied nonchalantly:

"Search me. He told me I'd find this Charley-boy here; that's all I
know. He isn't talking for publication--not Pad."

"You bet not!" The bartender nodded. Then he jerked a grimy thumb in
the direction of the back room. "Why, the dame in there, cryin' into
her absinthe, is Charley's girl. She's a queen--straight as they make
'em, if she does work the shops now and then--and Charley was fixin'
to hook up with her next month, preacher-fashion, and settle down. Now
he gets the office and skips without a word to her, and she's all
broke up over it!"

The door at the rear opened suddenly, and a girl stood upon the
threshold. She was tall and slender, and her face showed traces of
positive beauty, although it was bloated and distorted with weeping
and dissipation, and her big black eyes glittered feverishly.

"What's that you're sayin' about Charley?" she demanded half-hysterically.
"He's gone! He's left me! I don't believe Pad gave him the office, and
if he did, Charley's a fool to beat it! They've got nothin' on him--it's
Pad who's got to save his own skin!"

"Shut up, Annie!" advised the bartender, not unkindly. "Pad's sent
this here feller for him, now!"

"Then it was a lie--a lie! Pad didn't tell him to beat it--he's gone
on his own account, gone for good! But I'll find him; I'll--"