Against all expectation, Carmer was inside, clearly enjoying himself to the hilt and already so tipsy that it seemed unlikely he was bothering to note anything or anyone about him. Fierce anger surged through Russ. He fought down the impulse to rush in and collar the vicious puncher on the spot.

Reaching the porch rail beyond view of the bar windows, he feverishly scanned the busy street below. Stevens was nowhere in sight. Muffling an exclamation, Russ sprang to the nearest steps and ran down. As luck had it, he had not gone twenty feet in the street before Pat appeared.

``What luck, Cobb?'' he said swiftly.

Russ pointed upward. ``He's there,'' he got out tersely, curbing his rising excitement. Hitching his cartridge belt around, Pat glanced upward briefly at the Palace and started that way with Cobb at his side.

Climbing the steps steadily, they reached the top and headed for the door. Pat pushed through first. Forced behind him momentarily, Russ followed at once and halted two steps inside. His eyes widened. While five minutes ago the place had presented a scene of easy revelry, with Gyp Carmer a prominent figure, it was now as somnolent and dull as the day before payday. Carmer himself was nowhere to be seen.

A man knocked the roulette ball about idly in its track, and another dozed at one of the card tables. Two men murmured with their heads together at the end of the bar, while the sleek headed bartender absently polished a glass. Looking the setup over, Stevens started coolly for the rear of the place.