"Sure you're sorry. Tell Jim to get there early: we don't want nobody but the women."
"What"—Riley wet his dry lips—"What's the charge?"
"Runnin' a white-slave joint. You're to be sure to get a girl she has in the third floor back."
O'Malley's tone had been conclusive; it indicated that the interview was at an end; but the big officer stood twirling his helmet between his large hands.
"Mr. O'Malley, sir?" he began.
"What is it, Riley?"
"There's nothin' else?"
"Nuthin'."
"An'—there ain't no other way out of it for Mrs. Légère?"
"No, there ain't. But you can report her house and get the credit yourself, Riley."