move as he had been moving, with the utmost secrecy, or at least
protected by some adequate disguise.

It would be from the underworld that the echo would come. And next to
New York, Blake knew, Chicago would make as good a central exchange for
this underworld as could be desired. Knowing that city of the Middle
West, and knowing it well, he at once "went down the line," making his
rounds stolidly and systematically, first visiting a West Side
faro-room and casually interviewing the "stools" of Custom House Place
and South dark Street, and then dropping in at the Café Acropolis, in
Halsted Street, and lodging houses in even less savory quarters. He
duly canvassed every likely dive, every "melina," every gambling house
and yegg hang out. He engaged in leisurely games of pool with
stone-getters and gopher men. He visited bucket-shops and barrooms,
and dingy little Ghetto cafés. He "buzzed" tipsters and floaters and
mouthpieces. He fraternized with till tappers and single-drillers. He
always made his inquiries after Binhart seem accidental, a case
apparently subsidiary to two or three others which he kept always to
the foreground.

He did not despair over the discovery that no one seemed to know of
Binhart or his movements. He merely waited his time, and extended new
ramifications into newer territory. His word still carried its weight
of official authority. There was still an army of obsequious
underlings compelled to respect his wishes. It was merely a matter of
time and mathematics. Then the law of averages would ordain its end;
the needed card would ultimately be turned up, the right dial-twist
would at last complete the right combination.

The first faint glimmer of life, in all those seemingly dead wires,