“I do not need a man with a gun. They are easy to get — too easy to get. I have them, but they do not look well.
“I want a man who will act as a gentleman, who will watch, and who will not drink. He must be ready to give orders to the others. You are the man I need.”
“I will be,” interposed Harry, “after I have seen your place in operation. I must, of course, first know something about it.”
“Ah!” interrupted Marmosa. “You will learn quickly. Very, very quickly. Money? I shall give you plenty.
“Barutti has told me all about you, over the phone. He says that you will work whenever I may need you; that you do not talk loud; and that you do not have the big, swelled head. All that is good. Very, very good.”
The huge man stared from the window, and Harry followed his gaze. Below them was the bustle and confusion of a Chicago street. The whole situation seemed unreal to Harry Vincent.
Here, in this quiet cubby-hole of an office, one would never suspect that the entrance to a de luxe gambling den lay only a few feet away.
“I have a man who will help you,” explained Marmosa. “His name is Joe le Blanc. He is a good man, but not the one I need. He is going away soon, to open a place of his own — a road house outside of the city.
“He is in right; he has fixed it with the big shots. I am giving him the money to start the place. But he will stay here a while until you understand what you are to do.”
Marmosa looked at his watch. Then he opened a drawer in the desk, and drew out a stack of letters. He extended his hand to Harry.