"We could watch at close range, and maybe start something that would queer the racket altogether." Slade leaned his elbow on the table and spoke in a confidential tone that was completely deceiving to Dick.
"You see," he said, "I'm a private investigator for certain concerns. Checking up on men that they thought were pulling something crooked. That's how I happened to run into this fellow they call Reds — his last name slips my mind.
"I just knew him by sight, that was about all, until one time I spotted him up at my apartment house.
"I thought he was playing some phony game, and might be on my trail. So I put it up to him when I saw him down here. He told me he was up at the Callao Hotel seeing Rajah Brahman.
"He used to work for the rajah, and wanted to get back with him, but the rajah wouldn't have anything to do with him. Reds was so sore that he began to spill a lot he knew.
"He said the rajah's real name was Clutten — and a lot of other facts that I don't exactly remember.
"Since then, I've thought about crimping that crook's racket. I've seen so many people coming in and out — going away from there, telling how wonderful Rajah Brahman is.
"You're the first sensible person I've seen come out of there, but of course your story explains it. I'm willing to work with you. But we've got to do it wisely."
"Your idea's a good one," commended Dick. He was being completely misled by Slade's easy manner.
"Of course, I'm handcuffed while I'm with my aunt. She believes this faker is wonderful.