He knew Jim Farland and had known him for years. There were few old-timers in that section of the city who did not know Jim Farland. The man who faced the detective now was small, stoop-shouldered, a sort of a rat of a man who had considerably more money to his credit than his appearance indicated, and who was not eager to have the world in general know how he had acquired some of it.
"Evenin', Mr. Farland," he said. "Anything I can do for you, sir?"
"Maybe you can and maybe you can't," Farland told him. "You been behaving yourself lately?"
"What do you mean, Mr. Farland? I've been trying to get along, but business ain't been any too good the last year."
"Save that song for somebody who doesn't know better!" Farland advised him. "Change the record when you play me a tune."
"Yes, sir. Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Farland?"
"Remember a little deal a couple of years ago?" Farland demanded suddenly.
"I—I——"
"I see that you do. One little word from me in the proper quarter, old man, and you'll be doing time. You've sailed pretty close to the edge of the law a lot of times, and once, I know, you slipped over the edge a bit."
"I—I hope, sir——"