He glanced askance at the
detective and shuffled uneasily. As for the cabby, who had blustered in at
first with intent to demand his due in no uncertain terms, apparently
Maitland's bearing, coupled with the inherent contempt and hatred of the
nighthawk tribe for the minions of the law, had won his sympathies
completely. Lounging against a door-jamb, quite at home, he genially
puffed an unspeakable cigarette and nodded approbation of Maitland's every
other word.
But Hickey--Hickey bristled belligerently.
"Fine," he declared acidly; "fine and dandy. I take off my hat to yeh, Dan
Anisty. I may be a bad actor, all right, but yeh got me beat at the post."
Then turning to the policeman, "I got him right. Look here!" Drawing a
folded newspaper from his pocket, he spread it open for the officer's
inspection. "Yeh see them pictures? Now, on the level, is it
_natural_?"
The patrolman frowned doubtfully, glancing from the paper to Maitland. The
cabby stretched a curious neck. Maitland groaned inwardly; he had seen
that infamous sheet.
"Now listen," the detective expounded with gusto. "Twice to-day this here
Maitland, or Anisty, meets me. Once on the stoop here, 'nd he's Maitland
'nd takes me to lunch--see? Next time it's in Harlem, where I've been sent
with a hot tip from the C'mmiss'ner's office to find Anisty, 'nd he's
still Maitland 'nd surprised to see me. I ain't sure then, but I'm doin'
some heavy thinkin', all right. I lets him go and shadows him.
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