The cigar-store owner shook his head. Then he seemed to gain a sudden thought.
“Say, Steve,” he remarked, in a confidential tone. “I’ve got a girl friend who would like to meet you. She’s coming over here in a little while. How about coming upstairs until she arrives? Maybe we can play cards — and maybe — “
He paused and made the motion of lifting a glass to his lips. The action brought a grin to Cronin’s face.
“Good stuff, Georgie?”
“The best there is, Steve. I don’t peddle it. Just keep a little for my friends. Came over the border last week.”
“O.K. with me, Georgie.”
The cigar man opened the back door of the room and called upstairs. A young clerk came down, and Sommers ordered him to take charge of the shop.
Then he led Steve Cronin up the stairs, to a room where the blinds were drawn. He brought out a bottle and two glasses.
WHILE the two men were engaged in conversation, a slight incident occurred in the cigar store below.
A man staggered into the place and ordered a pack of cigarettes. He found fault with the brand that was given to him, and began an argument with the clerk.