"Gee," he said to his mate, "d'yeh get that guy's map?"
"Coke," said the other carelessly. "Looks like a feller I seen in Sing Sing waitin' for the priest—what's his name, now——" The voices receded. But Grismer had heard.
Perhaps his brain registered the scene sketched by the policeman—a bloodless face behind the death-cell grating—the distant steps of the procession already sounding in the corridor.
He opened the gate and went out to the sidewalk where a young girl, unskillfully painted, stood looking about her preliminary to opening the night's campaign.
"Hello," she said tentatively.
"Ah," he said pleasantly, "a goddess of the stars!"
"Got anything on?" she asked, approaching with her mirthless smile.
"Yes, a few casual garments."
She looked him over with the uncanny wisdom of her caste, and, young as she was, she divined in this man only the opportunity to waste her time.
"What's the matter?" she asked, glancing at his shabby dressing gown. "Up against it?"