Anelmo nodded.
“Huh,” grunted Cronin. “He comes in the same night as Monk Thurman and those other two birds. Looks funny, don’t it? Who’s he working with — Thurman or Larrigan’s gang?”
The chance suggestion reached its mark. Anelmo looked at Genara, and the latter nodded. Cronin caught the exchange of signs.
“Good guy to watch,” he said. “Keep your eyes on him, boys. Meanwhile, I’ll be looking for Monk.”
He half staggered across the room, and grasped Kitty Boland by the arm.
“Come on, kid,” he said. “It’s getting late. I’m taking you home.”
At the door, Steve Cronin bumped against Harry Vincent. When Vincent turned, the gangster looked at him closely.
For an instant an expression of surprise came over Harry’s features; but Cronin was too intoxicated to detect it. Then the gangster and the girl left the gambling den.
“Steve Cronin,” murmured Harry. “Here in Chicago. He’s a bad actor, that fellow, and I have a score to settle with him. I’m going to watch him if he comes around here often.”
The thought of watching Steve Cronin remained in Harry’s mind long after the gangster had left. In fact, it so dominated his thoughts that he paid no attention to Genara and Anelmo, who stood quietly in their inconspicuous corner.