“Come.”
Marmosa led Harry around the room, and pointed out the roulette wheels and the faro tables as though he were directing a sight-seeing tour.
When they reached the bar, Marmosa smilingly invited Harry to have a drink. When the young man shook his head in refusal, Marmosa’s grin broadened to his characteristic smile.
“That is good,” said Marmosa solemnly. “The men I have here — they all drink. It costs me money, but it is not the money that I mind.
“When they drink, they cannot watch. They are no longer wise. You are the man I want here. Barutti did well to get you.”
He conducted Harry back to the office, and there, by the little desk, the proprietor of the gambling den explained the purpose for which he had required a new man.
“I have many people here in Chicago,” he said, “but if they know nothing, they are no good; if they know too much, they are no good. I must keep in right with the big shots; but my business is my own.
“I must have a man who minds no business except mine; you understand, eh? He must learn to know those who come in, and who go out. He must watch this, and he must watch that; but he must not deal with any except me. You understand, eh?”
“Exactly,” replied Harry.
“More than that,” said Marmosa thoughtfully, “this man must seem as a diner in the restaurant, or as a player in the gambling room.