As one of the managers, Frank felt responsible for the good condition of every man in the party. He set out down Sixth Avenue looking to right and left and glancing in at the door of every saloon he passed. Near the juncture of Sixth Avenue and Broadway are a number of places where gamblers resort, and it was in one of these that Frank half suspected and feared to find Mellor. Business was lively in all these places at this hour. Men of all conditions were at the bar discussing all manner of sporting events. Once in a while, as Frank made his way through the crowded barrooms, he overheard some remark about the coming college games, but it did not seem as if the professional sports took very much interest in them, and nothing occurred to give him any clew as to Mellor's whereabouts. He continued on down the avenue, running through every place he came across, until he got as far as Twenty-third Street. There he paused, feeling rather discouraged. It is worse than looking for a needle in a haystack to hunt for a man in New York. Farther down the avenue there were other saloons, but he had already passed out of the district most frequented by gamblers. He had no other theory on which to pursue his search, and it seemed to him that it might be better to return to the hotel and let Mellor turn up or not, as it might happen. A public telephone sign caught his eye across the way, and he again went over and rang up the Murray Hill. This time it was Rowland that he asked for, and when Rowland was at the 'phone Frank told him briefly that he was on the hunt for Mellor. "Don't mention it to anybody," Frank added, quickly. "Have you any idea what's become of him?" asked Rowland. "Mighty little," answered Frank. "But if he hasn't returned to the hotel yet I'll make another short trip before I give it up." Mellor had not returned, and the conversation with Rowland was not continued. Frank retraced his steps up the avenue, but this time he did not make so careful a search as he had before; he simply glanced in at various doors and passed on. At length he turned in at Thirtieth Street, intending to call at a drinking resort on Broadway, which was known to be popular with gamblers. He had taken but a few steps when a sound of laughter attracted him and he paused suddenly. It came from his right hand. He noticed that he was standing near the side door of a saloon which he thought he had thoroughly investigated on his downward trip. He remembered then that he had not looked in at any of the so-called private rooms at the back. This laughter evidently came from such a room, and he was quite certain that he distinguished Mellor's voice. He waited a moment until the laughter ceased and then he heard this in thick accents: "Shet 'em up 'gain! I c'n rasshle any man 'n Nighted Shtatesh, drunk er shober." It was Mellor's voice, and Frank's heart sank like lead. For one miserable instant he was in doubt as to what he had better do.