Blagg drained the contents of his last glass with a wry face, and walked unsteadily to the door. Colliding with a man on the sidewalk, he regained his poise by leaning heavily against a sandwich sign-board.
"Hello, Blagg. Seen any of my men inside?"
Blagg shoved back his cap and eyed the speaker with drunken suspicion. When he recognized the cannery owner, a furtive light crept into his eyes and he beckoned Gregory closer. Gregory noted the mysterious mien and promptly credited it to the man's state of intoxication. He was on the point of hurrying on when Blagg's words stayed him.
"Tell Lang girl t' look out for 'self."
"What do you mean?"
Gregory grasped him by the arm and whirled him about.
"Was in s'loon," Blagg muttered, striving to focus his bleary eyes upon his auditor. "Damn Russian there, too. Boys's kiddin' him an' Boris tol' 'em he was't 'fraid no woman. Said he'd show 'em."
"Does he live over there?" Gregory asked quickly, pointing toward the Lang hill.
Blagg shook his head and nodded in the opposite direction.