Bobo seized on the bill-of-fare. "I'm hungry again!" he cried in the tone of one making an unexpected and delightful discovery. "Can I order anything I want?" "Go to it, son!" "How about champagne? I never tasted it," he added naïvely. "What! Never tasted champagne!" Bobo blushed painfully. "Well, I never did either," said Jack, grinning. "One bottle because this is a party. But mind you, the limit is always one bottle. We've got head work to do." "Sure, that's right," said Bobo, but without any great conviction, and Jack reflected that along with his other pre-occupations he would have to keep an eye on his partner's potations. Bobo went into conference with the waiter, and in due course a little Lucullan feast was spread before them. It may be remarked in passing, that where his stomach was concerned Bobo proved to be an astonishingly apt scholar. Within a week he was a menu-card-sharp, and within a month the intimate friend of every head-waiter on Broadway. Meanwhile the great curtain was lifted, and enchanting slender-legged damsels, in chiffons and furs, performed amazing and graceful evolutions on the ice. Between times, the diners danced on the waxed floor. The teasing music made Jack think of Kate. He looked across the table with distaste. "What wouldn't I give to have her there instead of that greedy Bobo," he thought. "Lord! I suppose I'm saddled with him now, by day and by night!" During a pause in the music a small object dropped on their table, bounced and lay still. It was a piece of paper folded into a pellet. "A note!" said Bobo excitedly. "We've made a hit with somebody. Is it for you or me do you think?" "You can have my share," said Jack indifferently. Bobo eagerly opened the paper, while Jack's attention strayed over the crowd. He wasn't going to allow the writer of the note to see that the receipt of it excited him at all, like the foolish Bobo, whose hands actually were trembling. Jack's glance was sharply recalled by an odd little sound from his partner. Bobo's ruddy cheeks had paled, and his mouth was hanging open stupidly. "Read it," he gasped, handing the note over. It was not what Jack expected. There was no salutation. "We have picked up your trail now, and don't you think we'll ever let it go. When one of us drops it, there will be another handy to pick it up. When the time comes we'll strike, and there will be another rotten millionaire the less to sweat the poor. You will offer a good-size mark. You needn't think your skinny secretary will be any protection. A hundred like him wouldn't save you. "The Red Gang."