“Describe her.”
“She’s a well-built, dark girl, about twenty-five years old,” Mulligan responded. “She’s a good looker, Garvan, and makes the most of it. Being clever, too, she gets by with many a stunt. I happen to know all this, Garvan, because Jim Margate’s place isn’t far from my own.[Pg 30]”
“In one of the outskirts, isn’t it?”
“Yes, pretty well out. The old man used to run it for a road house. There’s been nothing doing since he died—that is, nothing on the surface,” Mulligan pointedly added.
Patsy knew what he meant—that Margate’s place was the resort of crooks. He slipped Mulligan a bank note, remarking:
“Forget it—also what we have said.”
“Bet you!”
“So long.”
Patsy stepped into the hotel and tried to telephone to Nick, but Joseph told him that he had not returned; also that Chick, though he had telephoned an hour before, had left no message.
“Nothing doing,” thought Patsy, returning to the street. “I’ll keep going, then, on my own hook. Nell Margate, eh? She was the woman Chick saw last night. Mulligan’s description fits her to the letter.”