And three minutes later I've corralled a Greek glass polisher who's eatin' his bread and sausage at the end of one of the corridors.
"You lobster!" says I. "Why didn't you hang that blue card in the right window?"
"Red card!" he protests, sputterin' crumbs. "I hang him right, me."
"Oh, very well," says I, displayin' half a dollar temptin'. "Then you got some more comin' to you, haven't you?"
He nods eager and holds out his hand.
"Just a minute," says I, "until I'm sure you're the right one. What was the party's name who gave you the job?"
"No can say him name," says the Greek. "He just tell me hang card and give me dollar."
"I see," says I. "A tall, thin man with red whiskers, eh?"
"No, no!" says he. "Short thick ol' guy, fat in middle, no whiskers."
"Correct so far," says I. "And if you can tell where he hangs out——"