The waiter looked at the disreputable figure in amazement for a moment and then pointed toward the door.
Then a handsomely dressed fellow with a long, drooping mustache and flowing side whiskers of the Dundreary type, stepped into the room.
A signal passed between the robber and the keeper of the restaurant, and the two men were soon closeted in a private room.
“Now, Parks, explain.”
“It’s easy, Gilmore. I was on the road to Sing Sing. I escaped. I only had a dollar or two, that I stole from the detective.”
“Go on; don’t worry about the details. We can fill them in afterward. How do you come to be here in this plight?”
“My New York gang had been run in. I knew you had come to Chicago. I became a tramp, got in with a lot of thugs and finally landed here because it’s the only place where I expect to meet a friend.”
“Don’t be too sure,” said Gilmore, brutally. “Nobody likes to have an escaped criminal on his hands.”
“How about your own record?” asked Parks.
“That’s nothing to do with the case. Who sent you to Sing Sing?” he asked, suddenly.