“That’s a queer place over there,” said Patsy, pointing to the saloon they had under watch.
“Fly-cops?” asked the man, in return.
Chick turned sharply on the man and then laughed.
“What makes you ask that question? Do we look like fly-cops?”
“No,” said the man, “I don’t know that you do. But that might be the very reason why you are.”
The man laughed a little bit, and added:
“I was a cop myself, for a while, but I got broke for letting a prisoner get away from me. It wasn’t my fault and I had only been on the force a month. But they broke me all the same, and I hadn’t pull enough to fix it up.”
“But what made you ask us if we were fly-cops?” asked Patsy.
“Oh, it was only because you asked about that house. There’s hardly been a time since that house was built that the fly-cops haven’t been hanging about it. That was fifteen years ago.”
“Tough place?” asked Patsy.