"Sh!" cautioned Stuyvie, loudly. Then even more loudly: "Don't you know any better than to roar like that? There's a man sitting up there—"
"He can't understand a word of English. Wop. Just landed. That's the guy the papers have been—"
"I am not in the least interested in your conversation," said Stuyvie haughtily. "What were you saying?"
"Am I through? That's what I want to know."
"You have found out where she's stopping?"
"Yep. Stayin' with the white-haired old lady. Dressmaking establishment. The office will make a full report to you tomorrow."
"Wait a minute. Let me think."
The sallow man waited for some time. Then he said: "Excuse me, Mr. Smith-Parvis, but I've got a friend over here. Stranger in New York. I'm detailed to entertain him."
"You've got to shake him," said Stuyvie, arrogantly. "I want you to follow her home, and I'm going with you. As soon as I know positively where she lives, I'll decide on the next step we're to take. We'll have to work out some plan to get her away from that dressmakin' 'stablishment."
The other gave him a hard look. "Don't count our people in on any rough stuff," he said levelly. "We don't go in for that sort of thing."