Out on the street he was relieved to see Rafferty and Muldoon a short distance away, walking rapidly.
Frank followed them.
“I rather think you will lead me straight to Hodge,” he thought, exultantly. “If this was not a piece of luck! And it came just when I seemed wholly off the scent.”
Neither of the men seemed to imagine they were followed, and so Frank had no trouble in shadowing them.
At length the men turned into a side street. There it was somewhat more difficult to keep track of them, but Merry shadowed them without seeming to be doing anything of the sort. He kept track of all their twists and turns, unfamiliar with the city, though he was, and, at last, he saw them enter a saloon by a side door.
Frank was not far behind them. He noticed that others were flocking into that saloon by the same side entrance.
Inside, the saloon was packed. Men were smoking, drinking, swearing and exchanging sporting talk. Most of them were loudly dressed, and the saloon lights glinted on many huge diamonds, of which there was a decidedly vulgar display. A good number of the men were of the thick-necked, beefy sort.
It was such a saloon as Frank would regard as a “beer joint,” but beer was not the beverage there that night. It was either whisky, champagne, or nothing—and where was the man who was taking nothing?
“Kansas Jim will win in a walk.”
“Go on, you bluffer! He ain’t in it with the Sucker!”