The woman with the twisted grin cackled. "Look your fill, smarties, for that's all you'll get. Pearl ain't for the likes of you, so don't get ideas."
The weasel-faced man sidled forward, extending a clammy hand. "Wukkum to our dump," he said ingratiatingly. "Meet the gang. My name's Link—Percival B. Link for the blotter, Slinky Link to my frien's." He jerked a thumb toward the woman. "Maw Barstow. This overgrown hunk of meat is Bart DuChane, alias Chaney the Great. Just finished doing a stretch for manslaughter. Oughta stuck to his crystal gazing."
The eyes of the man thus introduced glittered venomously, but his lips forced a smile. He spoke in a controlled voice.
"I might suggest that people who discuss others too freely sometimes meet with accidents."
Marlin studied him with a sense of taking the measure of an adversary. "My name is Dave Marlin," he acknowledged.
"Who's your frien's?" demanded Link.
The detective replied, nodding toward the girl who had worn the handcuffs. "Sally Camino—slickest floozie in the con-game racket. My name's McGruder. D. A.'s office," he added significantly.
Link peered through his thatch of hair. "McGruder," he said reflectively. "Ain't you the Len McGruder that was kicked off the force in Columbus for hijacking? Sure! I know you!"
Marlin swung on the detective. "You're no law officer," he said. "Let's see that badge."
"Keep your hands offa me!" the detective snarled, clutching his coat.