“It’s an open game, as I let on to you,” he told Sprague. “You go into the bar and buy. After that you do as you please.”
Sprague paused for a single question.
“What do we find?” he asked.
“A lot of young bloods from town, mostly,” was Tarbell’s reply. “Holladay’s got sense enough to keep his own gang in the quiet and take his rake-off as it comes—from the bank and the tables and the roulette wheels.”
Sprague made the single question a little more comprehensive.
“I didn’t mean the people, so much as the place; if we should want to get out in a hurry—how about that?”
Tarbell indicated a hall door at the side of the main entrance, adding the information, however, that it was usually kept locked.
“Good. After we get to going, inside, you make it your job to unlock that door, Archer, and to put the key in your pocket. Now I’m ready, and I want to see it all.” And they went in.
The bar-room proved to be typical of its kind: plainly furnished, with a wide country-house fireplace and a sanded floor. As the night was close and warm, the card-tables were ranged beneath the open windows; only two or three of them were occupied, and the bar itself was empty. Maxwell and his guest sat down at one of the unoccupied tables, and Tarbell ordered for the three. When the liquor was served, he said: “You don’t need to sop it up inside of you if you don’t want to; it’s none too good.”
With this for a caution the two who were warned carefully spilled their portions on the sanded door, and Sprague ordered cigars, skilfully juggling them when they came and substituting three of his own—or rather of Maxwell’s. Then he made a sign to Tarbell and they began to make a slow tour of the open game-rooms.