Drew stepped up to Jimmy and patted him on the back, exclaiming:
“How are you, son?”
That instant Jimmie’s face became a mask. Well for him that Drew was not looking at his face. Instead he was watching Jimmie’s hands. Also his own hands were busy. They were extracting a gun from a hidden pocket in Jimmie’s coat.
“You haven’t a thing on me.” Jimmie’s tone was low. It was also the snarl of a wolf. “You can arrest me for that, but it will do you no good.”
Drew knew he spoke the truth. A man may be fined or imprisoned for carrying a gun, but only when the officer who takes the gun has a search warrant.
“I am glad to have met you, old son.” Drew spoke in a tone of counterfeit cordiality. At the same time he displayed a little corner of his star.
“I will be glad to meet you under different circumstances.” Once more it was Jimmie the wolf who spoke in scarcely audible tones.
“No doubt you will,” said Drew. “And here’s luck to the best man.”
Drew lost himself in the crowd. Jimmie’s gun was in Drew’s pocket.
Had Drew been asked just how he knew that Jimmie was a crook who carried a gun, he could not have told.