“Sure,” responded Druce, affably. “And I suppose you’ll raise the rent on us.”
“No,” replied Boland, shaking his head.
“Eh?”
“Not if you’re smart.”
“I don’t get you,” announced Druce inquiringly, as he seated himself on the edge of the desk.
“My boy, Harry, thinks he is in love with a girl who has come to Chicago.”
“Yes, Mr. Boland, but I don’t see—”
“Now,” continued Boland, regardless of the interruption, “if Harry happened to see this girl in some questionable resort,—say, like Cafe Sinister—if he were tipped off that this girl would be there—”
“I get you.” Druce sprang to his feet; he was now keen and alert, like a hound on the scent. “Who’s the girl?”
“She’s got a position of some kind with the Alpha Mining Company on this floor,” replied Boland. “She’ll lose that tomorrow.”