“No, I am not,” was my honest reply, the meaning of which was so well taken that this girl admitted that I was surely “off my beat.”
“You do not look like a man who chose his society from the ranks of these people,” said she, with a look around the room.
“I should think you would know whether you had ever seen me around here before,” said I.
“Nothing strange in that, for this is the first time I was ever in this place in my life.”
By this time I had convinced her that I was not a “fly cop.” She had caused me to believe that she, too, was telling the truth. I finally invited her to have a drink.
“No. At least not here; this is too tough for me,” she said as she arose.
“But I want to talk to you.”
“I am willing to talk, but not here and if you will meet me at the next corner in the basement, I will talk as long as you like. It is better and cleaner there,” she added.
“Shall I go with you?”
“No, I will go alone. You follow.”