South of the park, sloping away towards the east, lies the residential section of the city, highly respectable and always in its conduct a model of propriety. Across the park, to the north, lies the shopping district; and adjoining it, to the westward, is the great business section, with the Stock Exchange, the Markets, the Chamber of Commerce, and the Government Building. Turning north again, we come to the bay itself, dotted with steamers and sailing craft, and edged about with huge piers, where the great ocean liners dock, and busy wharves, the goal of the hardy fishermen, as they come driving home across the foam, lee rails awash, deep laden with their spoils hard won from the open sea.

So far, indeed, one may journey with naught save admiration and respect for civic pride; but farther to the northeast, across the bay, there lies a region of a far more doubtful sort. Here, dark and dreary and sinister, begins that inevitable portion of a great city, at the mention of which women are wont to raise their eyebrows, and men—of a certain stamp—to shrug their shoulders and smile meaningly. Here is the abiding place of those who for many varying reasons prefer to live in a district unhampered by the authorities; a place where each is a law unto himself alone; where the red blood pulses more swiftly through the veins, and where the primal passions of men and women hold freer sway.

To this wilderness in the otherwise well-ordered city, from time to time wander men of birth and breeding from the opposite end of town. Some of them come from real love of vice, due perchance to some inherited taint, perchance to some flaw or weakness in themselves. Others, for the most part younger men, fresh from school or college, come with a vague idea that they are thus seeing life, and earning for themselves the right to be classed as men of the world. A few, indeed, come out of mere curiosity, mere slummers, pleased and risen in their own estimation to find others so much wickeder and more miserably off than themselves.

The great majority, however, desirous of standing well in their own circle, deem it wise to let the district severely alone, for in the faintly Puritanical atmosphere south of the park to have it known that one has even been seen north of Fulton Street means always a possibility of ill-natured gossip and even of unpleasant scandal.

Therefore, on the night after the dinner at the Albemarle, if any one of Gordon's friends had chanced to follow him as he crossed the park, they would have had good cause for surprise, for, instead of following the avenue, or turning sharp to the west, he kept straight on northward, past the cove, past Fulton Street, almost to the bridge, and then, with one quick glance behind him, swung around to the east in a wide half-circle, finally turning up a little, narrow, unfrequented side street at the very limits of the city, beyond which the broad salt marshes stretched away until their outline was lost as they merged with the flats that bordered the broad tide-river flowing peacefully onward towards the sea.

A good place, one would have said, for carrying on some business not quite within the pale of the law, and so Jim Bradfield evidently thought when he chose the spot for the establishment of his gambling-house. Not that at the present time there was any great danger of a raid, the city, following one of its periodic "citizens' movements," with its accompanying spasm of virtue, having suffered a violent relapse, and fallen again into the hands of the spoilers, who, with a praiseworthy desire to make up for much valuable lost time, had issued orders near and far that everything was to be run "wide open."

Bradfield, however, shrewd and far-sighted, had never been over-anxious for that down-town notoriety which was sure to result in a flourishing business during the reign of some particular "boss" or "machine," and then, when the forces of reform again had their little day, was equally sure to mean a quick decision between an immediate change of climate or an involuntary visit to the handsome new prison across the bay. Rather, he desired to keep his trade quiet, safe, and, above all, sure, realizing the manifest advantages of a business which needed for stock-in-trade only his modest house, a good supply of liquor, a complete gambling outfit, and last, but not least, the patronage of a score or so of the city's beautiful and accommodating lights-o'-love. His creed was equally simple, philosophical and sound. Often, indeed, he was wont to observe: "Most trades run too much to seasons and fashions, but I figure mine pretty sure. Year in and year out men are going to gamble, they're going to drink rum, and they're going to run after the girls, and if I'm willing to take a chance on combining the three of 'em, and giving every sport a run for his money, why, where's the kick coming?"

The readiness with which Gordon ran up the steps and pressed the bell seemed to show that he was no stranger to his surroundings. A short, broad-shouldered, burly man, built ideally on the lines of a rough and tumble fighter, stepped to the iron grating in the thick oak door, peered sullenly out for a moment, and then released a spring, allowing the ponderous door to swing slowly back. Rather a needless amount of precaution, perhaps, in times of peace and ample police protection, but Bradfield, as we have seen, was a believer in system, and took no chances. Hence his enviable record for immunity from raiding parties, and his steadily accumulating balance at the bank.

With a nod to the guard, Gordon mounted the stairs, turned sharp to the right, and entered the cafÉ. It was still early in the night, and not more than a dozen or so of the little round tables were occupied. The men, as a rule, were sleek, well-fed, prosperous in appearance, with a tendency towards flashiness in their general get-up; the women were of the type to be expected in such a place, or rather, perhaps, on the whole, somewhat above it. All were young and well-dressed, many were pretty, and in some cases it needed a keener second glance to detect that inevitable hardness of expression and that trace of artificiality in their somewhat too obvious high spirits which mark the world over the calling of the lower-class courtezan.

Over in the corner by the window, however, half hidden in the shelter of a huge palm, sat a young girl of a type entirely different from the rest. Seated alone, the chair opposite her tipped forward against the table as a sign that she was not anxious for company, she sat with elbows on table, chin in hands, gazing with a look of bored indifference at the evidently only too familiar scene. Slender, blonde, possibly a shade too pale, her dress of filmy black lace, her dainty black gloves, her big black picture hat with its sweeping black ostrich plume, all showed an instinctive sense of good taste conspicuously absent in the costumes of her companions. So much for the first general impression. Coming to the girl herself, on closer examination one discovered with some surprise that she was undeniably beautiful. Her features were flawless, her pretty light hair was tastefully arranged over her low forehead, her blue eyes flashed a dangerous gleam from beneath her long lashes, and her red lips seemed framed in a perpetual challenge to the daring of mankind. More than this, one could not rid oneself of the impression that the girl's face, in spite of everything, was somehow a good face; the face of one who, if sinning, did so all but unconscious of the sin.

As Gordon entered, she leisurely assumed a more conventional pose, while he, with a quick glance in her direction, threaded his way across the room, and with a word of greeting dropped into the vacant seat.

It was evident from the whole manner of both that the meeting was no mere casual one, but that it had been planned for some definite purpose. Any doubt of this, indeed, was dispelled by Gordon's first words.

"Well," he queried, leaning forward across the table and lowering his voice a trifle, "did you get what we wanted?"

The girl, with evident complacence, slowly nodded. "I have found out," she said, "the whole story. He may be a very shrewd man in some ways, but in others he is—well, let us say vulnerable."

Gordon drew a deep breath of relief. "Good," he cried softly; "I didn't believe you could do it, Rose; and if you'd failed, we might just as well have given up the whole thing. It seemed like an awfully long chance, too. I don't see now how you pulled it off."

The girl made a little grimace. "It was not pleasant," she said. "Incidentally, the man is hopelessly vulgar and brutal. On the whole, I hope the information is worth all you think it is. The entire experience was a disagreeable one. In fact, it was disgusting."

Gordon seemed scarcely to heed what she was saying. "Yes," he said absently, "I imagine so," and then sat silent, lost in thought, unheeding the laughter, somewhat over loud, as new arrivals constantly added themselves to the noisy throng; not seeming to hear the hum of voices, now loud, now ceasing altogether, from the gaming room adjoining the cafÉ, whither the evening's play was now beginning to draw the crowd; undisturbed even by the young college boy who sat at the piano, dashing off ragtime with a brilliant touch. At length he looked up.

"Well, you've got us our start, anyway," he said; "that's sure. Without that, we were nowhere. Now, to get down to the details. I suppose he only talked generalities, or did he happen to let slip anything definite about prices?"

The girl smiled as she drew a tiny piece of paper from the palm of her glove and slowly unfolded it. "Not less than twenty-five cents," she read, and then paused. "I wrote it all out afterwards," she explained, "although I could have remembered it perfectly well. I knew you wanted it exact."

Gordon nodded impatiently. "Of course, of course," he said. "Never mind that. Go ahead with the figures. That's what I want now."

"Oh, very well," said the girl, somewhat piqued; "where was I? Oh, yes. Not less than twenty-five cents, and very likely twenty-six or higher. Some well-informed men even talk of thirty. The price will hold for two years, at least, and very likely for three. In fact, it is very doubtful if it ever goes below twenty cents again. Finally, there has been an agreement, not for publication, of course, between the Consolidated, the Octagon and Michigan, and the Wood-Kennedy interests. So, if a poor, friendless girl wanted a chance to make a few dollars in 'coppers,' why, it's possible that things might go off sharply the last two weeks in October on rumors of over-production and a hidden supply of the metal, and that's the time she might buy a few shares of some good producing mine, because about the first of November these rumors might be flatly contradicted, and there might begin the biggest bull market in 'coppers' the country has ever seen. There, does that suit you?"

Gordon's face betrayed no sign of emotion, but the smoldering gleam of excitement in his half-closed eyes had grown steadily as the girl read on, until, as she ended, he could scarcely repress an exclamation of mingled pleasure and astonishment.

"Rose," he cried, "you must be an enchantress to have got that out of him. We've got practically every card in the pack now. Why, good heavens, girl, the thing's a cinch. Properly played, what you've just told me means a fortune for us both."

The girl glanced at him shrewdly. "But for us to get it properly played," she said; "I take it that's where the rub comes."

Gordon nodded. "It comes right down to this," he answered; "in two months from now, at the latest, we've got to have at least a hundred thousand dollars. After that, everything's plain sailing. But getting the hundred thousand; there, as you say, is just where the rub comes."

"I suppose," queried the girl, "that between us we haven't the tenth part of that?"

Gordon shook his head. "We might have had it, and more too," he said, "if I'd only known a year ago what I know to-day; but I didn't, and instead of making a fortune, I came within an ace of bankruptcy instead. Well, there's no use in post mortems. We've got to get that money somehow. You remember the scheme I spoke of?"

The girl lowered her voice as she bent towards him. "Oh, Dick, not that," she murmured.

Gordon raised his eyebrows the veriest trifle. "I don't see why not," he rejoined. "I've been busy looking it up, and as far as I can see it looks first-rate. He's just the same as he ever was, and between the two, as I told you, we're sure to land him. Of course, what he'll do afterwards no one can tell, but I think we can count on his doing what's right, safe enough."

The girl wrinkled her pretty forehead. "I can't make myself like it, Dick," she answered. "It seems like taking so many chances. If there were just the two of us, I wouldn't mind so much, but right at the start we've got to get some one else—some older woman—and there's a risk right away. I can't think of any one I'd trust."

Gordon considered. "There must be some one," he said at last. "How about that Wilson woman?"

The girl shook her head. "Too stupid," she objected promptly.

"Wouldn't Helen Russell do it?"

"Not old enough. She isn't more than five years older than I am, and we'd have to go light on anything like make-up. There are risks enough anyway without adding one."

"Well," cried Gordon impatiently, "there must be some woman that can do it and will do it. You must be able to think of some one."

The girl reflected. "There's Annie Holton's mother," she said, half doubtfully, at last. "I think she'd do, but I don't like the risk of getting mixed up with Annie. She'd like nothing better than a chance to do me a bad turn, as you know, Dick."

Gordon frowned. Annie Holton's infatuation for him was such matter of common knowledge about Bradfield's that there was no use in making light of it, and the girl's rabid jealousy of Rose Ashton had been the occasion of many a prophecy as to what might happen some day if the occasion should serve.

"I don't know why that should make any difference," he said at last. "Mrs. Holton's a very clever woman, and she'd look the part remarkably well. Besides, getting at her doesn't mean telling Annie, especially as I don't believe from what I hear that there's much love lost between them nowadays. If it comes to that, it would be easy enough to get Annie away somewhere for a week. That's only a matter of detail, anyway. You'll find we can get some one. But the point is that we've got to try the scheme, whether you like it or not. I can't borrow what we want. Money's been tight as the devil for six months now, and I think I begin to see why. No, this looks to be the only chance, and I forgot to tell you one thing more that makes it a little better; I've just found out that he's engaged to be married."

The girl looked doubtful. "I don't know whether that makes it better or worse," she said at last. "Of course it makes a difference in one way. It would help a lot—afterwards; but—it might spoil the first part altogether."

Gordon laughed cynically. "You don't know Harry as well as I do," he quoted. "Getting engaged doesn't make a man grow wings all at once, especially a man that's led the life he has. Think of the inducement, too. No, I'll risk the first part for a certainty, and I guess the second is about as good, too."

Both were silent for a time. The noise from the adjoining room grew louder. Every table in the cafÉ was filled. The piano tinkled unceasingly. Still they sat unheeding. Finally the girl leaned forward, speaking with deliberation.

"Dick," she said, "I'll grant that it isn't impossible. We might pull it off all right, and the whole scheme really does you credit. But you've got to own up to the risk. It's one of those things where every move has got to come off just as we've planned it, and just on time. If any one of a dozen possible things happens, we're done. In a word, it's something we really ought not to try except as a very last resort."

Gordon nodded a trifle impatiently. "That's it, exactly," he acquiesced. "We don't differ a particle about it. But at the present moment I can't for the life of me see what other chance we've got. I'm afraid it isn't a matter of choice at all."

The girl hesitated a moment; then asked, apparently irrelevantly, "Have you any money with you, Dick?"

Gordon nodded again. "Bridge winnings," he said laconically. "About three hundred, I think."

"Three hundred," repeated the girl. "That would be enough. The wheel here is run straight, isn't it?"

Gordon glanced at her keenly. "Absolutely," he answered. "But I hope you're not planning to raise our hundred thousand that way, because I'm afraid it might take a long time."

He spoke in a tone of mild amusement. The girl smiled faintly. "No," she answered, "hardly that. I've seen and heard enough of 'systems' to know they're all impossible. But sheer, blind chance is always open to every one, and I'd like one try just to satisfy myself before we try your scheme. Let's chart the wheel thirty-eight times, then pick one of the numbers that hasn't come, and play it flatfoot three times running. If we lose, three hundred won't kill us, and if we win, you know what you told me about your friend McMurtrie and his black colt."

Gordon laughed, then shrugged his shoulders. "If you call my scheme a wild one," he said good-naturedly, "I wouldn't dare say what I think of yours. Still, it's possible. Everything's possible, for that matter, and, as you say, a few hundred won't be fatal. On the other hand, if we should win, I'll say frankly that I take considerable stock in old McMurtrie. He's crazy over racing, and knows the whole game, too, from A to Z. He'd never have told me what he did about his long shot if I hadn't made twenty thousand for him in two days shorting steel common. His gratitude for that took the somewhat doubtful form of this tip of his. I can't even remember the colt's name now, but I could find out to-night, I suppose—if we have any occasion to."

The girl rose. "Come on, then," she cried. "Fate's going to be kind to us, Dick. I feel it. We're going to win."

The man gazed at her curiously. "Fate, instinct," he muttered to himself, as he rose. "I wish I could feel sure—"

He broke off sharply, and together they left the cafÉ.

In the gaming room they found a good sized crowd around the roulette table, and a smaller group gathered at the faro lay-out farther down the room. Gordon bought the little stack of yellow chips, handed them to the girl, and stood beside her, pencil and note-book in hand, jotting down the swiftly recurring numbers as the croupier called them in his even, expressionless tones.

A half hour passed. Once the croupier, glancing at Gordon and noticing his occupation, smiled very faintly. There was no law or rule against the use of paper and pencil at Bradfield's; rather inventors of charts and systems were gladly made welcome. Their money, as Bradfield had once with some dryness observed, was just as good as anybody else's.

At last Gordon turned quickly to the girl. "They haven't run very even," he said hurriedly. "Here's your choice. These numbers here."

The girl glanced hastily at the ten numbers out of the thirty-eight left blank, and instantly made her decision. "Thirty-five, Dick," she whispered, and as she spoke she placed five of the counters on the chosen square. Momentarily heads were turned in her direction, and then the wheel was started once again. Bradfield's croupier wasted no time. "Do them now," might have been his motto. Even as Gordon leaned forward to get a better view, the ball stopped abruptly. "Seven," called the croupier, and Gordon smiled ironically at the folly of the whole proceeding. Once more the girl placed her bet on the thirty-five, once more the ball revolved, slackened its speed as the wheel spun more slowly, and stopped—in the single zero. Gordon turned to his companion with a laugh. "How about your presentiment?" he queried.

The girl shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, we've a chance still," she answered, "and I rather think this is the time we win."

Down went the last five chips on the thirty-five. "Bets are closed," cried the croupier, and the little ball spun merrily away again on its accustomed journey. Gordon's eyes were fixed eagerly upon its progress—now slower and slower spun the wheel, more and more gently the little ball moderated its pace, hesitated, paused on the lip of nineteen, hung there, balanced, and then, as if with the faintest possible remaining effort, rolled on, and dropped—

"Thirty-five," called the croupier sharply. "Red wins—," and the rest was lost in the quick buzz of excitement, for at Bradfield's hundred dollar flatfoots were rare. The croupier leaned forward across the table. Thirty-five hundred was quite a sum to lose, but he knew that it would make talk, help trade, and doubtless eventually come back. So he even smiled deferentially. "I think I'll have to send for Mr. Bradfield on this," he said. "We're not prepared for quite such heavy plays, as a general thing. Will you have bills or a check?"

"A check, please," said Gordon half mechanically. "We'll be in the next room."

It was not until they were again seated at their table in the window that he was able to make the whole occurrence seem a reality. The girl was laughing half hysterically, the bright color in her cheeks making her prettier than ever. Gordon gazed at her in admiration.

"Well, Rose," he cried, "I'm not so smart as I thought I was. I guess the laugh's on me, or on Bradfield, I don't know which. Now for McMurtrie. I know just where I can locate him this very minute."

The girl bent across the table, her eyes bright, her whole attitude expectant, alluring. "To-night?" she murmured. "But I thought to-night—"

Gordon met her glance squarely, his eyes ablaze with passion. He leaned forward in turn until his hand touched hers. "In just one hour," he cried. "And an hour—can seem like a thousand years."

He leaned forward until his hand touched hers.