Jim Poland—for such was the big man's name—growled and spat reflectively into a spittoon.
“I've had my eye on you, Freddy,” he replied; “I've had my eye on you!”
“Oh, have you?” murmured the other. “But tell me what you mean!”
Beneath his suave manner lay a threat, and, indeed, Freddy Cohen, known to his associates as “Diamond Fred,” was in many ways a formidable personality. He had brought to his chosen profession of crook a first-rate American training, together with all that mental agility and cleverness which belong to his race, and was at once an object of envy and admiration amongst the fraternity which keeps Scotland Yard busy.
Jim Poland, physically a more dangerous character, was not in the same class with him; but he was not without brains of a sort, and Cohen, although smiling agreeably, waited with some anxiety for his reply.
“I mean,” growled Poland, “that you're not wasting your time with Lala Huang for nothing.”
“Perhaps not,” returned Cohen lightly. “She's a pretty girl; but what business is it of yours?”
“None at all. I ain't interested in 'er good looks; neither are you.”
Cohen shrugged and raised his glass again.
“Come on,” growled Poland, leaning across the table. “I know, and I'm in on it. D'ye hear me? I'm in on it. These are hard times, and we've got to stick together.”