“You gents know as well as me that I’m taking my life in my hands as it is. This Lee Hin is bad medicine. He’s got the craft of a Chink and the education of a white man. If you’ll leave it all to me, I’ll frame things so’s you’ll get your birds. If you don’t—”
Mr. Burke clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth with an air of finality. His furtive eyes were defiant, as if he perceived the disgust his presence created. Moreover, there had been a dogged restraint and circumspection in all that he said—carefully selecting his details, presenting some which would serve his purpose, suppressing others which might incriminate him.
“All right.” Jordan whirled his chair toward his flat-topped desk. “You keep in touch with Mr. Greaves here, and we’ll work with you. Of course you’re after the reward—”
Again Burke interrupted, doggedly, obstinately:
“Not altogether, Chief. I could have made more by setting in with Lee Hin. I’m an honest man, and I don’t take to this kind of job. But of course I’ll accept whatever money there is in it.”
Charlie Greaves escorted Burke to the outer office and, with a feeling of relief, saw him depart.
“Well, Charlie, this is one end of the business that I call nasty,” Chief Jordan said, as the inspector re-entered the inner office. “I’d give five dollars for a chance to kick that scoundrel all the way out of here and down into the street!”
“I’ll raise you five: I’d give ten!” Greaves replied. “Of course, he’s in on this thing, but he’ll fix it so that we can’t do a thing to him!”
Jordan nodded.
“Sure! And we’ve got to take up with even a cur like this, when he has anything definite to offer. All right—you keep tab on him and let me know if anything develops.”