"Come right in," said Baxter, as though relieved, and he opened the door and stood aside to let them pass.
A quiet game of poker was running at a table near the door. Farther down the room, which was spacious and brilliantly lighted, a group were playing the wheel. At the table beyond the usual faro game was in progress. All told there were some fifteen men in the room, not counting the dealers and lookout. One or two men glanced up as White-Eye and his companions entered and sauntered from table to table. To the regular habitues of the place, White-Eye and his companions were simply "rough-necks" to whom Baxter was showing "the joint."
Presently Baxter excused himself and, telling his visitors to make themselves at home, strode back to his office. White-Eye and Pino watched the wheel, while the man with the deformed shoulder and his companion stood watching the faro game. The room was quiet save for the soft click of the chips, the whirring of the ball, an occasional oath, and the monotonous voice of the faro-dealer.
Pino nudged White-Eye and indicated the little pile of gold that was stacked before a player at the faro table. White-Eye shook his head and stepped casually back. Pino sauntered over to him.
"Chanct for a clean-up?" whispered Pino.
"No show. The lookout's a gun. I know him. So is that guy at the wheel. Pony's pardner packs a gat; and that guy standin' over by the wall, smoking is drawin' down reg'lar pay for jest standin' there, every night. 'Sides, they ain't enough stuff in sight to take a chanct for. We ain't organized for this kind of a deal."
"Then what's the use of hangin' around?"
"'Cause they was somethin' on that piece of paper you picked up out there that Pony didn't want us to see—and I aim to find out what it was."
"The number of some dame, most like," said Pino, grinning.
"Did you hear him say The Spider went back to his hotel? Well, Pony is double-crossin' somebody. Jest stick around and keep your eye on the door."