Footsteps were descending from the street. There was a low knock, twice repeated on the door. Whitie Jack was on his feet, and looking inquiringly toward the bed.
“Watch yourself!” said Billy Kane gruffly. “I’m not entertaining to-night, except——”
“Sure—I know!” said Whitie Jack. He crossed the room, and, opening the door a crack, peered out. “Red and Karlin,” he informed Billy Kane in a whisper.
Billy Kane lighted a cigarette. Red Vallon he already knew—-Karlin he was _supposed_ to know. “Let them in,” instructed Billy Kane.
“Hello, Karlin!” he greeted, as the two men stepped into the room. “Red’s told you I was laid up—-eh? Glad to see you! Shake!”
His eyes, half closed, fixed on the other in scrutiny, as the man advanced toward the bed. Karlin was immaculately dressed—in sharp contrast to the untidy and careless attire of the stocky, brutal-faced gangster who followed close at his heels. The man was tall, slimly built, and, save that the black eyes were too close together and too small, had a pleasant and attractive face. It was a mask perhaps! The smile was too engaging; and it was rather curious how small the ears were, and how tightly they hugged the skull. He toyed with a little black Vandyke beard, as he shook hands.
“Same to you, Bundy!” The voice was soft, silky, persuasive. “Glad you’re back, too!” He made an almost imperceptible movement with his head toward Whitie Jack, who still remained near the door.
“What about _him_, Bundy?” he growled, and jerked a thumb in Whitie Jack’s direction. “We got to mosey along as soon as we can. Savvy?”
“Sure!” said Billy Kane. “Whitie, you take a holiday for the night. Come back in the morning. Beat it!”
The cigarette hanging on Whitie Jack’s lip drooped in sudden dejection; but if he swallowed hard to choke back what was evidently a very grievous disappointment, he made no demur.
“All right, Bundy, if youse says so,” he blurted out, and went from the room, closing the door behind him.
The man’s footfalls mounting the cellar-like stairs to the street died away, and for a moment there was no sound except for a faint, irregular _tapping_ from the floor above.
Billy Kane blew a ring of smoke ceilingward, and lazily watched it dissolve into air. Whitie Jack, through judicious prodding, had served him well that day.