Like a mad beast he rushed at the big athlete, his arms swinging in smashing blows. But not one of them landed; with an agility that made the spectators open their eyes, Bat side-stepped, and ducked, a confident smile upon his lips; then with incredible ease he stepped in and landed a clean, snappy hook which tumbled the pugilist over in a surprised heap.

A smothered shout went up; Duke Sheehan came from behind his bar as several men lifted the rather dazed fighting man to his feet.

"Now, look," spoke Sheehan, "this goes! Any saloon I keep is never intended for a battle-ground. So draw the curtain on that stuff of yours, Allen. It'll get me into trouble."

The pugilist made not very strenuous efforts to put aside those who had gathered about him.

"Where is that guy?" demanded he. "Where is he? I'll fix him for that!"

The insincerity of the voice caught Sheehan's attention; he smiled satirically and winked at Big Slim.

"Get him out of here," ordered the saloon-keeper, briefly. "I don't want the cops here. Get him out and pile him up somewhere till he's sober."

Allen made no very violent protests at being taken out, and after he'd gone he resumed his place behind the bar. Looking with much interest at Scanlon, he said:

"What are you going to have, big fellow?"

Bat waved a hand.

"Not any, thanks. But if you'll pa.s.s over a cigarette I'll see what I can do with that."

A box of cigarettes was thrown before him on the polished bar, and as he lighted one of them, Sheehan leaned toward him.

"That was nice work," spoke he. "Pretty clean. Ever done much of it?"

"It used to be my meal-ticket," said the big athlete. "Long time ago, though."

Big Slim extended one of his bony hands.

"I'm much obliged," said he. "That was a good turn you done me."

"That's all right," said Bat, offhandedly. "You ain't got the weight to mix it with him, and I saw you was going to pull a gun or something. No use to let yourself get in bad, you know."

Sheehan lingered a little, talking to the two, but when he finally went away to attend to a party of "spenders" who had just come in, Big Slim said:

"Been in this burg long?"

"Not very. Ain't doing very well, either. They told me money here was as loose as dust, but I don't see any of it flying around me."

The burglar cracked his long, bony fingers.

"It's something fierce when it begins to break bad, ain't it?"

philosophized he. "I thought I had a good thing when I got that big cheese, Allen, to come on here; a nice, easy match with a fellow who couldn't fight enough to keep himself warm, and with a ton of money behind him."

"Tough luck," sympathized Bat.

"Sometimes," went on Big Slim, "the kale is easy to get; I've seen it come in clouds for weeks at a time. And it never looked easier than it did when I made the arrangements for Allen. I hadn't above two bits to my name, but I knew where I could shake down five thousand just by moving my hand."

"Nice and soft," admired Bat. "How'd it work?"

"It didn't," stated the burglar. "Missed fire from the jump. I never seen anything like it. The stuff was as good as in my hand, and then--pop!--it all went overboard."

"Gosh, that gets your nerve, don't it!" said Bat, exasperated. "I've had little things turn over for me like that."

"If you want to make sure of a thing," said Big Slim, "never get into a game that a woman's in. You never can tell what they'll do." Once more he cracked his finger joints with remarkable distinctness. "It was an easy five thousand--in sparks that would have peddled at sight."

"Sparks!" said Bat, softly. "Hah! Now you're talking. Nothing better!"

"I had them framed for a month," said the burglar. "Some of them was as big as that," indicating the nail of a little finger. "I lost out on the deal, bo; but that's not all," with a wink and a shake of the head; "more's to follow; and this time I'll get mine. You can bet when I start out----"

But here he stopped suddenly, and Bat saw the green eyes shift in their sidelong look, and felt himself being examined suspiciously.

"He's just remembered that he don't know who I am," was Scanlon's mental comment. "And the caution that Kirk spoke of comes to the top in a hurry."

However, Bat made no sign that he noticed the change in the other's manner; he even yawned a little as he said:

"Too bad! But we've got to expect it now and then."

"What's your monicker?" asked Big Slim, "and where are you stopping?"

"Name's Scanlon," said Bat, truthfully. "And that just reminds me that I've got to hunt up a home for the night, before it's too late."

"Flying light?" asked the burglar.

"A little that way."

"I know a place where they don't tax you too much," said the man. "I'm stopping there myself."

"Fine!" said Bat. "When you have the mind, lead me to it."

"All right," said Big Slim. "I don't think the 'Duke's' wild for me sticking around just now, seeing that Allen might come back; so I'd better blow. If you're ready, I am."

"Right behind you," said Bat, cheerfully. And then, without more ado, the two pa.s.sed out into the night.

CHAPTER IX

A PLACE OF FEAR

Big Slim lived at Bohlmier's. This was a little hotel in a huddled section of the city, and had the Swiss coat of arms on a sign at the door.

"I always pick out little islands where I'll be quiet, and where no one comes poking around," said the lank burglar. "The swift places are the kind to pa.s.s up."

There was a little sanded office, with prints of the Rhine Castles, of the Alps, of mountain folk with their goats. Old Bohlmier with his bald head and big spectacles sat behind a high desk peering at a much thumbed sc.r.a.p of music, and blowing the notes upon a flute.

"Friend of mine," announced Big Slim, indicating Scanlon. "Wants a room."