Seated at the large table, he decided that there was only one course: to question the waiter when he arrived. Money and artful persuasion might make the man talk.
While Cliff was settling upon such a plan, the door opened. A waiter entered. The man was thin and stoop-shouldered. His face was dull, and his features difficult to see, as the room was lighted only dimly.
Cliff scanned the menu as the man approached. For a moment the man was beside him; then Cliff looked up to see him going back to the door. The waiter shut the door.
Suspecting something, Cliff began to rise from his chair. The waiter turned in his direction, and came hurriedly forward, raising his hand to his lips for silence.
“Cliff Marsland!” he said, in a whisper.
For an instant, Cliff was startled; then he recognized the man.
“Nipper!” he exclaimed. “Nipper Brady!”
He gripped the waiter’s hand.
“I KNEW you were out of the Big House,” said “Nipper.” “I was waitin’ for you, Cliff, like I said I’d be; but I didn’t want to tell you where I was.
“I told some guys that you’d be lookin’ for something to do. They must have tipped off Tim Waldron. They said you was goin’ up there and the next thing I heard, they was all sayin’ you was the bird that’d bumped off Tim.