"All right," said Con Worden, and hurried off.
CHAPTER XVIII. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY.
The Broxton Club was a fashionable resort for young gentlemen who usually had more money than brains. It was located near the upper side of Union Square, and the club apartments consisted of a parlor, a dining and wine room, and a room for card-playing. In the latter apartment gambling went on at nearly all hours of the day and night.
Reaching the club Homer Bulson found several congenial companions, and presently sat down to a game of cards. Bets were made, first at a dollar, then at five, and then at ten and twenty. Bulson had no luck, and soon lost forty dollars.
"I'm on the wrong side to-night," was his dismal comment, and he went to the wine room to forget his losses in the flowing bowl.
He had just finished a glass of liquor when a servant came to him.
"A man at the door to see you, sir," said the servant. "Says he has a private message for you."
Wondering who the messenger could be, Homer Bulson hurried below and found Con Worden awaiting him.