The public would probably fight shy of--(we will call him John Robins, which approximates his trade name) if it knew that he has "done time" in Colorado for burglary, and was run out of at least one other Western State for separating people from their money in a manner not recognized by city or mining camp laws. The "gun" fraternity--at least a large part of it--knows the facts in his case, but it isn't in the business of putting "the good guys next to the graft," or, in other words, of telling tales out of school. The police and the Pinkerton Detective Agency are "wise"; but in these cases again, there is no official reason for action against Robins and his mob, while, on the other hand, there may be, and probably are, very excellent reasons for leaving him alone. I fancy that my readers will understand what I mean. There was a sort of double end to my knowledge of and acquaintance with the man. Both began with complaints that had been sent to a metropolitan newspaper by a "sucker" whose jaws had gotten tangled up with and pricked by the hook that lay concealed in the Robins literary matter, which, in this instance, had to do with a land deal. For what he thought to be sufficient reasons, the city editor of the newspaper assigned me to investigate. That same night, and by mere luck, I ran up against an old-time slope crook, "Split" Kelly by name, whom I had once known quite well. I asked him if he could give me any information about Robins, and he then told me that about the promoter which I have related and which, by the way, I later confirmed through other informants. "How long ago since all this happened?" I asked. "Fifteen or twinty years, maybe," answered "Split." "Thin 'Th' Tooth'--we called him that because wan uv his teeth in th' front of him was missin', ouin' to it bein' in th' way of the fist of a flatty [policeman]--giv out that he was goin' to square it. This was in 'Frisco, moind ye. An' th' squarin' took th' shape uv turnin' mouthpiece [informant to the police]. An' thin things began comin' agin the mob a-plinty. Big Bill Murray, I moind, was wan of the first that was hauled before th' Front Office [Police Headquarters] an' framed up fur a whit of a strong-arm job. Likewise, was there 'Sweet' Schneider, a clever dip at thot, an' Jimmy Cole--he was stretched for a four spot--an' 'Cat' Walters--an'--will, a dozen or more uv purty decint bhoys, the names un all uv which I disrimimber." "But how about the percentage?" I asked, meaning the money paid to the police by crooks in return for "protection."