Bookie Skarvan waited.
Perhaps five minutes passed. The door at the rear of the bar opened slightly, the barkeeper sauntered down in that direction, and an instant later nodded his head over his shoulder to Bookie Skarvan, motioning him to come around the end of the bar.
“Cunny'll see youse,” he announced, stepping aside from the doorway to allow Bookie Skarvan to pass. “De Chink'll show youse de way.” He grinned suddenly. “I guess youse are on de level all right, or youse wouldn't be goin' where youse are!”
The door closed behind him, and Bookie Skarvan found himself in a narrow, dimly-lighted passage. A small, wizened Chinaman, in a white blouse, standing in front of him, smiled blandly.
“You fliend of Scorpy's—that allee same belly glood. You come,” invited the man, and scuffled off along the had.
Bookie Skarvan followed—and smiled to himself in complacent satisfaction. Cunny Smeeks, alias the Scorpion, was, if surroundings were any criterion, living up to his reputation—which was a not insignificant item on Bookie Skarvan's “dope-sheet”—as one of the “safest,” as well as one of the most powerful criminal leaders in the underworld of New York.
“Sure!” said Bookie Skarvan to himself. “That's the way I got the dope—and it's right!”
The passage swerved suddenly, and became almost black. Bookie Skarvan could just barely make out the flutter of the white blouse in front of him. And then the guide's voice floated back:
“Allee same stlairs here—you look out!”
Cautioned, Bookie Skarvan descended a steep flight of stairs warily into what was obviously, though it was too dark to see, a cellar. Ahead of him, however, there appeared, as through an opening of some sort, a faint glow of light again, and toward this the white blouse fluttered its way. And then Bookie Skarvan found himself in another passage; and a strange, sweetish odor came to his nostrils; and strange sounds, subdued whisperings, rustlings, the dull ring of metal like coin thrown upon a table, reached his ears. And there seemed to be doors now on either side, and curtained hangings, and it was soft and silent underfoot.