"But there's nothing to fight. There's nobody to get hold of. That Western Union man was only a capper, a come-on. Their poolroom's one of those dirigible kind that move on when the police appear. Then they'd claim I was as bad as they were, trying to trick an honest bookmaker out of his money. And besides, there's nothing left to show I ever handed them over anything."
"Then I'd keep at it until I found something," I declared. "How about the woman?'
"She'd be too clever to get caught. And I don't suppose she'd know me from a piece of cheese."
"Do you suppose you could in any way get me in touch with her?" I asked.
"But she's got police protection. I tried to have her arrested myself. The officer told me to be on my way, or he'd run me in."
"Then you know where she lives?" I quickly inquired.
He hesitated for a moment, as though my question had caught him unawares. Then he mentioned one of the smaller apartment-hotels of upper Broadway.
"And what's her name?"
Again he hesitated before answering.
"Oh, she's got a dozen, I suppose. The only one I know is Brunelle, Vinnie Brunelle. That's the name she answered to up there. But look here—you're not going to try to see her, are you?"