“H’lo,” answered the little man.
He took his place at a table, and called for a bottle and glass.
The Black Ship was a rendezvous for gangsters — a haven and a refuge for those who were seeking to avoid the law, and a meeting place for those who plotted new crimes.
“Spotter,” wily creature of the underworld, was a familiar figure at the Black Ship. He was comrade to all the crooks; he knew them all by face, by walk, and by actions.
He himself had been mixed in shady doings, but he possessed an instinctive cleverness that had always enabled him to keep from the toils of the law.
The police had hopes that they might some day get the goods on him. They wanted him as a stool pigeon. In the services of the authorities, Spotter would be a trump card.
But they had never been able to connect him with any crime, and it was rumored, among gangsters, that Spotter had twice outwitted the police when they had tried to frame him.
Spotter had been living a life of idleness. He always had a supply of money; where he obtained it was a mystery.
He was seen frequently at the Black Ship, the Pink Rat, and other dives of the underworld. He seemed to be living a life of honesty — too honest to be genuine.
Tonight there was a restless look in Spotter’s cunning eyes. They betrayed the fact that he was hankering for activity; that the criminal instincts which dominated his twisted soul were anxious for an outlet.