"They looked it," I agreed heartily.
"Their record," Mr. Parker continued—"their police record, I mean—is one of the most wonderful things ever put on paper. The marvelous thing is how, even for a few minutes, they should be out of prison! Did you notice the one with the cast in his eye?"
"I did," I admitted.
"They used to call him Angel Jake," Mr. Parker proceeded confidentially. "He was sentenced to death once for shooting a policeman, but there was some technicality—he was tried in the wrong court—so he got off."
"A very interesting acquaintance," I remarked with utterly wasted sarcasm.
"They're fairly up to their necks in trouble, both of them, on the other side," Mr. Parker declared with relish; "and they're kind o' looking for it here."
I took him by the arm and led him out of the bar into a retired corner of the smoking room. We sat upon a divan and had the room almost to ourselves.
"How is Miss Parker this morning?" I asked.
"Fine!" her father replied. "I told her about the flowers and it made her quite homesick. Girls miss that sort of thing, you know; and over here, living under a sort of cloud, as it were, one can't risk making many friends."
It was a very good opening for me and I took advantage of it.