CHAPTER II
RACKETEERS DISAGREE
THE Hotel Spartan was an old, third-class hostelry that stood near the edge of the lower East Side. It had been many years since the place had known its palmy days. It was surrounded by low, dilapidated buildings, and the elevated railroad ran in front of its grimy windows.
A heavy-set man walked through the door. He noted the loungers standing about the lobby, then started up the rubber-treaded stairs. Had he paused to glance through the broad window of the lobby he might have seen a shadowy form melt into the darkness.
At the fourth floor he stopped in front of the door of a room and knocked softly.
“Who’s there?” came a whispered voice.
“Ernie,” the visitor replied.
The door opened, and Ernie stepped inside. The door closed behind him.
A few moments later, there was a movement in the hallway outside the closed door. For a brief instant, the form of a human being came into view — then it disappeared; a shadowy figure that went back toward the stairway that led to the ground floor.
Inside the hotel room, two men faced each other amidst a gloomy light. They formed a strange pair, in the setting of an antiquated sitting room, with its few rickety chairs, and box couch in the corner.