“O.K., Nipper,” interrupted Cliff. “I want to hear what he’s telling that gang.”
“He’s spillin’ somethin’ to them, all right,” said Nipper. “He’s got some outfit in there with him, too. One of ‘em is a dock walloper — I can spot them guys any time!”
“Well, I want to get in on the chatter,” said Cliff firmly.
“I getcha,” said Nipper. “Say, Cliff” — a sudden thought came to the pasty-faced gangster — “are you goin’ to muscle in on their racket?”
A gleam had come to Nipper’s dull eyes. The little man could not repress his eagerness. He was visualizing an opportunity.
“Maybe I am,” replied Cliff in a noncommittal tone.
“You remember Patsy Birch an’ Dave Talbot — up in the Big House? Them guys is around. They’re O.K.—”
“Not just yet,” interposed Cliff. He could see that Nipper was planning the nucleus of a gang. “Let’s lay off any ideas until I see what the lay is here. I want to listen in on that crowd in the other room. How am I going to do it?”
“Easy, Cliff,” responded Nipper. “There’s a door goin’ in there from the next room. I’ve got the key. I can open it soft—”
“But they’ll see me, if I stay there,” objected Cliff.