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, Wolf," he announced as he put his cue back in the rack. He spoke slowly and calmly. But Wolf's quick gaze circled the room, promptly checking over every face between the four walls.
"What 's up?" he demanded. "Who 'd you spot?"
