He turned casually, on his heels, to look up the Avenue. He was startled to see two stocky figures within five feet of him. That quick right-about had saved him from an attack, although he did not realize it. The approach of the men had been absolutely noiseless.
The rain beat down in his face, and the men hesitated an instant, as though interrupted in some plan. It did not occur to Burke that they had approached him with a purpose.
He looked at them sharply, by force of habit. Their evil faces showed pallid and grewsome in the flickering light of the arc-lamp on the corner by Shultberger's place.
The two men glared at him shrewdly, and then passed on by without a word. They walked half way down the block, and Burke, watching them from the corner of his eye, saw them cross the street and turn into the rear entrance of Shultberger's cabaret restaurant.
"Well, he's having some high-class callers to-night," mused Burke. "Perhaps he'll need a little help after all."
Even as he thought this he heard a crash of broken glass, and he turned abruptly toward the direction of the sound.
The arc-light had gone out.
Burke walked across the street and fumbled with his feet, feeling the broken glass which had showered down near the base of the pole.
"I wonder what happened to that lamp? They don't burst of their own accord like this generally."
He walked back to his position. The street was now very dark, because the nearest burning arc-lamp was half a block to the south. As Burke pondered on the situation he heard footsteps to his left. He turned about and a familiar voice greeted him. It was Patrolman Maguire.