"He's over in the corner—talking to a couple of fly cops."
He reached for a cigarette himself. His voice was becoming steadier.
"What do you think his game is?"
She pursed her lips. "Oh, I guess he's a private detective," she appraised, shrewdly. "He isn't quite heavy enough for a real bull."
He struck a match. "He's been following me all day," he admitted.
"Somebody's keeping tab, eh?… Is friend wife on the trail?"
He laughed tonelessly and cast the match aside. The sharp little face opposite was quickening with interest.
"No … I let a bad check get out… You know—no funds."
"Whew!" escaped her. "That isn't pretty!"
"You're damned right it isn't!" he echoed, emphatically.
She clutched at his wrist. "Say, the whole three are coming this way… I guess they've got a warrant… Don't fight back, whatever you do!"