“Will you help put me on to the man who sold it to you?”
“No!” roared Kling again, his Dutch blood at boiling-point. “I put you on noddin—dot's your bis'ness, dis puttin' on, not mine.” He had walked out of the office and was beckoning to the tramp. “Here, you! You go down-stairs and tell Hans to come up k'vick—right avay.”
The tramp slouched up—a sliding movement, led by his shoulder, his feet following.
“Maybe, boss, I kin help if you don't mind my crowdin' in.” He had listened to the whole conversation and knew exactly what would happen if he carried out Kling's order. He had seen too many mix-ups in his time—most of them through resisting an officer in the discharge of his duty. Kling, the first thing he knew, would be wearing a pair of handcuffs, and he himself might lose his job.
He addressed the detective: “I saw the guy when he come in and I saw him when he went out. Mr. O'Day saw him, too, but he'd skipped afore he got on to his mug. He'll tell ye same as me.”
The detective canted his head, looked the tramp over from his shoes to his unkempt head, and turned suddenly to Kling. “Who's Mr. O'Day?” he snapped.
“He's my clerk,” growled Otto, his determination to get rid of the man checked by this new turn in the situation.
“Can I see him?”
“No, you can't see him, because he's gone out vid Kitty Cleary. He'll be back maybe in an hour—maybe he don't come back at all. He don't know noddin about dis bis'ness and nobody don't let him know noddin about it until to-morrow. Den my little Beesving know de first. Half de fun is in de surprise.”
The detective at once lost interest in Kling, and turned to the tramp again—the two moving out of Otto's hearing. A new and fresh scent had crossed the trail—one it might be wise to follow.