The next few minutes were full of a tense interest for the man who had only just crossed the border line into the world of crime. The man with the brown beard passed him by without a word. He thrust the chairs, which stood in his way, hastily aside. He seemed to have no regard for anything but his own rapid progress. He was making for the counter with its iron defences.
The smile in the Englishman's eyes deepened. His interest rose to a wave of excitement. He felt assured that "things" were about to happen.
A hard-faced clerk with the shoulders of a prizefighter, was waiting to receive the hurried approach of his client.
These men were always alert and ready at the first sign.
The bearded man's demand came sharply back across the room.
"Guess I need to 'phone—quick!" he said. "I'll take No. 1."
The face of the clerk remained expressionless, but the tone of his reply had doubt in it.
"No. 1?" he said.
"That's how I said."
"It'll cost you a hundred dollars."