He strode boldly up the alley, his footsteps sounding loudly in the silence of the night. The Jew watched him to the corner, and then, closing the door, secured it with extra care, and went back to his bedroom, where he lay meditating upon the warning which had just been given to him until he fell asleep.
Before going downstairs next morning he placed the revolver in his pocket, not necessarily for use, but as a demonstration of the lengths to which he was prepared to go. His manner with two or three inoffensive gentlemen of color was also somewhat strained. Especially was this the case with a worthy Lascar, who, knowing no English, gesticulated cheerfully in front of him with a long dagger which he wanted to pawn.
The morning passed without anything happening, and it was nearly dinner-time before anything occurred to justify the sailor’s warning. Then, happening to glance at the window, he saw between the articles which were hanging there a villainous face, the principal feature of which being strangely bent at once recalled the warning of the sailor. As he looked the face disappeared, and a moment later its owner, after furtively looking in at the side door, entered quietly.
“Morning, boss,” said he.
The pawnbroker nodded and waited.
“I want to have a little talk with you, boss,” said the man, after waiting for him to speak.
“All right, go on,” said the other.
“What about ’im?” said the man, indicating the assistant with a nod.
“Well, what about him?” inquired the Jew.
“What I’ve got to say is private,” said the man.