almost speechless as the whole double-cross dawns on me. "She says—"
"I told you them birds was good!" butts in Reilly, half admirin'ly. "They overlook nothin'! That lotion was a great touch. I can figure what was in it—it'll about blind him!"
I waited to hear no more! I didn't even think to ask "Honest-Dollar" Reilly where he got all this dope. I'm dashin' away to phone the camp, when Reilly stops me.
"You can't do nothin' now," he says. "Not a thing! Remember that aviator which flew Myrtle around up there?"
I nod my head dizzily, wonderin' what else was comin'!
"Well," says Reilly, "unless somethin' slipped up, Kid Roberts is on his way here now in a plane with Mister Stunt Flyer at the helm. And wait—just wait till your battler gets out of that airplane!"
I phoned the camp—and got: "They don't answer!"
At the gate of the arena I got to identify myself to forty guys to even get inside, and the first one to greet me is Ptomaine Joe. He's on his way back to the dressin' room, his bout bein' all over. Honest, he looks like a catastrophe on its way to occur somewheres! The only place on him which ain't cut and bruised is under his arms. I stopped him.
"How did you make out?" I ask.
Ptomaine gloomily sticks his hand into a pocket of his bathrobe and drags out a greasy roll of bills "There's your sve hundred!" he muttered. "Two-
