“How?” Cliff was taking advantage of Clipper’s sudden volubility. Now that the man had begun to talk, he was going through with it.
“He was offered some dough to tell what he knew about Bodine.”
“Where’s Bodine’s hideout?”
Clipper threw a hasty glance to make sure that no one had approached. His eyes sought the clock above a distant counter.
“In the Maurice Apartments,” he said. “Eight blocks from the Goliath. We’re goin’ there now. He calls himself Andrew Davis.”
Cliff slipped his right hand into his coat pocket. He was leaning against the wall. His arm appeared motionless; but his hand was busy. He was scrawling quick items of information on a small pad in his pocket, using the stub of a pencil.
“Ready?” questioned Clipper.
The gangster’s eyes were directly on Cliff, but he did not detect the secret action. Cliff nodded and arose.
His fingers were twisting the sheet of paper into a small ball. His hand came from his pocket, and the pellet dropped into his hat as he reached to get it.
The two men walked across the cafe; as they passed the table where the lone man was seated, Clipper scrutinized him suspiciously. The man was busy eating, and apparently did not notice Clipper’s action. It was Clyde Burke, of the Classic, but Clipper did not recognize the reporter.