“There’s a famous English chop-house on Blank street,” said the dapper young man, with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes; “we’ll take a cab and go there.” “Why wouldn’t the place over the way do as well?” asked the boy. “It looks to be a first-class restaurant.” “So it is, but it isn’t on a par with Bagley’s. They have a fine grill-room there, and though the bill of fare is limited, it’s English from A to Z. I guess you’ve never been in one of those establishments.” “I don’t think I have,” admitted the boy. “Then it will be my pleasure to introduce you to something worth while. Hi, there!” beckoning to a cab driver who sat muffled up on his box. “Get in,” to Vance as the jehu sprang down and opened the cab door, and the boy allowed the accomplished Mr. Dudley to push him into the vehicle. “Bagley’s on Blank street,” said the dapper young man to the driver, and a moment later they were on their way to that notorious Kansas City resort. Fifteen minutes later the cab drew up before the entrance to Bagley’s, a dingy looking building situated in a narrow alley off one of the business thoroughfares. Vance had expected to see a brilliantly lighted establishment, with big plate glass windows and every sign of a high-toned restaurant. The contrary was the case. Not even a sign distinguished Bagley’s place from that of the other buildings in the vicinity, though a red light suspended over the door served to indicate that it had other uses than those of an ordinary dwelling. A light rain was now falling, and before the boy had time to ask his companion if some mistake had not been made in the place Dudley opened the door and pushed him inside. CHAPTER V. THE PLOT THAT FAILED. Vance found himself in a narrow, dimly-lighted hallway. But before the sense of disappointment, not unmixed, perhaps, with a feeling of uneasiness, had time to assert itself, Dudley brushed by him and opened a door which admitted them to a long, low-ceiled room, painted a dull, smoky color, but brilliantly illuminated with many gas jets enclosed in colored globes, which threw a subdued and fantastic glow about the room. There was a kitchen in the rear and a bar along one side near the door. The rest of the room was taken up with round, well-polished mahogany tables of different sizes, for large or small parties. It was a restaurant all right, but entirely different from anything Vance had ever before visited. The tone of the place was wholly English, as Dudley had intimated to his companion, and the bill of fare was limited to broiled meats and fish, fowl, oysters and rarebits. The place was chiefly noted for its fine old English ales. For all that, Bagley’s was a notorious place. Its frequenters were mostly crooks, gamblers and politicians.