"Why, he used to peddle vegetables and now he owns a swell place on Williams Street." "Gamble?" "Not that I know of. I never go into Pete's myself. It wouldn't be good business. But they tell me Warrington used to drop in once in a while, when he was a reporter, and choke his salary to death over the roulette table." "Doesn't gamble now?" "Not in any of the joints around town." "Drink?" "Oh, I guess he boozes a little; but he's hard-headed and knows how to handle the stuff." "Women?--Roast beef, boiled potatoes and musty ale for two." "Actresses.--Say, make mine a beer.--A gay buck in New York, I understand. Used to chase around after the Challoner woman who married Bennington." "Nothing here in town?" "Haven't paid any attention to him. I guess he's straight enough these days." "Tip Pete off to-day. The police will make a raid Saturday night. The ministers have been shouting again, and two or three losers have whined." "All right. But what's all this about Warrington?" asked Martin, whose curiosity was aroused. "I'll tell you later." The waiter returned with the platters of food, and McQuade ate without further comment or question. Martin ate his meat in silence also, but he was busy wondering. Warrington? What had interested the boss in that swell? Humph! These men ate quickly and digested slowly. McQuade took out two fat black cigars and passed one to Martin, who tore off the end with his teeth. "I want to find out all there is to know about Warrington. I can't explain why just now; too many around." "Set Bolles after him. Bolles used to be with a private detective bureau. If there's anything to learn, he'll learn it. There he is now. Hey, waiter, ask that gentleman looking for a vacant table to come over. Hello, Bolles!" "How do you do, Mr. Martin. Hot day, Mr. McQuade." "Sit down," said McQuade, with a nod of invitation toward the remaining vacant chair. "Cigar or a drink?" "Bring me a little whisky--no, make it an old-fashioned cocktail. That'll be about right." "Mr. McQuade has a job for you, Bolles, if you're willing to undertake it." "I've got some time on my hands just now," replied Bolles. "Contract work?" "After a fashion," said McQuade grimly. "Eat your dinner and we'll go up stairs to my office. What I have to say can't be said here." "All right, Mr. McQuade. If it's dagos, I'll have plenty in hand in November." "I shall want you to go to New York," said McQuade. "New York or San Francisco, so long as some one foots the bills." "I'll foot 'em," agreed McQuade. "Hustle your dinner. We'll wait for you at the bar."