"No matter. But do you know any of the men who come here to Chinatown often to use the pipe?"
"Say, if there's any white hop-fiend that I don't know, then he's a brand-new one," rejoined the guide.
"Do you know a young man of twenty-four or five, about five-eight tall, dark, slim, rather fine-looking, smooth faced and with a slight scar under his right ear?"
"I guess that must be young Doc Gaston," whispered the guide.
Gaston? That was Giddings's first name. Tom Halstead started, though he strove to conceal his excitement.
"Where does Doc Gaston go?" he demanded.
"What'll you pay to find out?" insisted the guide, cunningly.
"Ten dollars."
"Make it fifty, and I'll do it for you."
Tom, however, stuck to his original price, though three or four minutes were lost in haggling.