“Know where he went to?—where he hangs out?—know anything else?”
“That's everything. Thought I'd better slip it to you as quick as I could.”
“This time that bird'll not get away!” growled Gavegan, still in a whisper. “Twenty-four hours and he'll be in the cooler!”
Finally Gavegan managed to get a flame from one of those irritatingly splintery Swedish matches made in Japan. Cigar alight he walked over to Barlow's table. He conversed with his Chief a moment or two, then went out. After a minute Barney saw Chief Barlow crossing toward the bar. Barney seemed not to notice this movement. Barlow likewise paused beside him to light a cigar; and from the side of the Chief's mouth there issued: “Room 613.”
Barlow passed on. Presently Barney finished the dreary drudgery of drink and sauntered out. Five minutes later, having exercised the proper caution, he was in Room 613, and the door was locked.
“What's this dope you just handed Gavegan about Larry Brainard?” demanded Barlow.
Barney gave his information, again, but this time more fully. Of course he omitted all mention of Maggie and the enterprise which Larry had sought to interrupt; it was part of the tacit understanding between these two that Barlow should have no knowledge of Barney's professional doings, unless such knowledge should be forced upon him by events or people too strong to be ignored.
“Did Brainard drop any clue that might give us a lead as to where he's hiding out?”
Barney remembered something Larry had said half an hour before, which he had considered mere boasting. “He said he knew I had some game on, and he said he knew who the sucker was I was planning to trim.”
“Did he say who the sucker was?”