"Allen's back there," said the barkeeper, with a jerk of the thumb toward the crowd surrounding the pugilist. "He's going to lay you out."
Bat saw the deep-set, light-colored eyes shift toward the group like those of a leopard; and the glint in them was equally evil.
"Lay me out?" said the thin voice, coldly. "I guess not."
Big Slim leaned against the bar and pulled the fingers of one big bony hand until the joints cracked; evidently the barkeeper did not like this as a sign, for he at once waved the proprietor to the spot.
"Suppose you take a walk, Slim," requested Sheehan. The "Duke's" checked waistcoat came well down over his swollen stomach, his moustache was of the walrus type, and he always seemed acutely aware of the splendor of his rings and pins. "Allen's letting off steam, and I don't want him to see you."
"I'm not going to dodge Allen," stated the burglar. "I told him how the thing happened; and he ain't got no cause for excitement."
Duke Sheehan put his thumbs in the armholes of the elaborate waistcoat.
"All right," said he, nonchalantly. "Just as you like. But I don't want to see you going around with your hoops loosened, that's all."
As Bat Scanlon listened, the wording of Ashton-Kirk's request passed through his mind.
"Go to 'Duke' Sheehan's place," the investigator had said, "and look out for the gentleman called Big Slim. If possible, get acquainted with him, and find out anything of value he might have."