Part 20 (1/2)

”Not yet. Let's go around to Joey Loo's.”

The two left the hotel, and pa.s.sed through a tangle of narrow, forlorn looking streets; then they turned into a cellar opening, with dirty wooden steps and a gla.s.s-paneled door upon which was painted some Chinese characters in brilliant red. The warm, moist breath of oriental cookery was thick around them as they sat down at one of the small tables, and Scanlon looked about. Some patrons of both s.e.xes were already there; the women were dejected, or hard; here and there were seen a few who were merely vacant. The men were of the meagre, pallid type, nervous of action and furtive of eye. Stoical Chinamen, with soft-falling feet, carried food about.

”Great chow in this dump,” said Big Slim. ”I spotted it one night when I was edging away from a 'bull.' The c.h.i.n.ks can cook, and that's more than you can say of a lot of the other folks who take it into their heads to run eating places.”

A fat Chinaman with a smiling face and a greasy blouse came up to them, and the burglar began pointing out to Bat the high points of the cuisine. When they had given their orders Big Slim rolled a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. A newspaper which lay upon the table caught his eye and he grinned derisively.

”Gee,” said he, ”the cops are the solidest chunks of ivory I ever seen.

Some of the things you read about them doing are screams.”

”What now?” asked Bat, the gleam in the green eyes of the other interesting him.

Big Slim chuckled, and his s.h.i.+fty look went from Scanlon to the region round about them, and then back again.

”There was a fellow shoved off the other night--out in the suburbs--maybe you saw something about it? Well, the bulls made an awful mess of that. I never seen them fall down so hard before--and believe me, that's saying something.”

”That was the Burton case, wasn't it? I've been following it a little,”

said Bat.

Big Slim took a deep draught from the cigarette and then flung it away.

Slowly he exhaled the smoke; and then sat looking at his companion, and cracking the joints of his bony fingers.

”That guy Burton was a slick one,” said he, admiringly. ”You gotta hand him that.”

”You knew him, did you?” said Bat.

”A little. He done the swell mobs. Society people and gambling were other things he worked at. And it's been whispered more than once that he was handy with a pen.”

”Nice work,” said Bat. ”But dangerous.”

”About the best things he pulled were his get-aways,” said Big Slim.

”The cops never got anything on him, and he'd been fooling with the edge of the law for years. His son did not inherit any of the 'Bounder's'

talent; for here he is waiting on the grand jury, charged with pus.h.i.+ng the old man over the edge.” The burglar chuckled, highly entertained.

”The cops are a fine gang when you start 'em right,” said he. ”And when they do get a thing, you got to put it where they'll almost fall over it.”

The fat Chinaman brought the food ordered, and set it before them with a comfortable air of appreciation.

”Good!” stated he. ”Vel' fine.”

When he had departed and they began to test his statement, Bat spoke carelessly:

”Is it your idea that young Burton didn't have a hand in this thing?”

Big Slim blew at the steam ascending from a dish of rice.

”Sure not,” said he. ”I seen that guy lots of times; he's as soft as mush. You couldn't get him to b.u.mp anybody that way on a bet.”