Felix gave a slight start and, from under his narrowed lids, shot one of his bull's-eye flashes.

The man caught the flash and, misinterpreting it, bent down and said in a hoa.r.s.e whisper: "Come from the central office, don't you?"

Felix took a long puff at his pipe. "No, I am only a very tired man who has come in out of the wet to rest and smoke," he answered, with a dry smile, "but if it will add to your comfort and improve your hospitality in any way, you can send your waiter back here and I will order something to eat."

The stout man laid his hand confidently on Felix's shoulder. "That's all right, pard--I ain't worryin', and don't you. There's nothin' doin', and I'm a-givin' it to you straight."

Felix nodded in dismissal, rested his elbows on the table, and again puffed away at his brierwood. Being mistaken for a central office detective might or might not be of a.s.sistance. At present, he would let matters stand.

As he smoked on, the room, which had been almost entirely empty of customers, began filling up. A reporter bustled in, ordered a cup of coffee, and, clearing away the plates and casters, squared his elbows and attacked a roll of paper. Two belated shop-girls entered laughing, hung their wet waterproofs on a hook behind their chairs, and were soon lost in the intricacies of the printed menu. Groups of three and four pa.s.sed him, beating the rain from their hats and cloaks, the women stamping their wet feet.

The sudden influx from the outside, bringing in the wet and mud of the streets, had started innumerable puddles over the clean, sanded floor.

The man wearing the dingy white jacket craned his head, noticed the widening pools, opened a door behind the bar leading to the cellar below, and shouted down, in a coa.r.s.e voice, "Here, Stuffy, git busy--everything slopped up," and resumed his place beside the group of men, their talk still centred on the stranger in the mackintosh, who could be seen scrutinizing each new arrival.

Something in the poise and dignity of the object of their attention as he sat quietly, paper in hand, a curl of blue smoke mounting ceilingward from his pipe, must also have impressed the newcomers, for no one of them drew out any of the empty chairs immediately beside him, although the room was now comparatively crowded. Finally, the man who answered to the name of "Stuffy" appeared from the direction of the group near the bar, and made his way toward Felix. He carried a broom and a bucket, from which trailed a mop used for swabbing wet floors. When he reached O'Day's table, he dropped to his knees and attacked a sluiceway leading to a miniature lake, fed by the umbrellas and waterproofs belonging to the two girls opposite.

"Got to ask ye to move a little, sir," he said in apology.

"Hold on," replied Felix, in considerate tones, "I will stand up and you can get at it better. Bad night for everybody." He was on his feet now, his long mackintosh hanging straight, his hat still on his head, and in his hand the blackthorn stick, which he had picked up from beside the table as he rose.

The man stared at the mackintosh, the hat, and the cane, and sprang to his feet. "I know ye!" he cried excitedly. "Do you know me?"

Felix studied him closely. "I do not think I do," he answered, frowning slightly.

"Well, ye ought to. I ain't never forgot ye, and I never will. You give me a meal once and a dollar to keep me going."

O'Day's brow relaxed. "Yes, now I do. You are the man whose wife left him, and who tried to steal my watch."

"That's it--you got it. You didn't give me away. Say, I been straight ever since. It's been tough, but I kep' on--I work here three nights in the week and I got another job in a joint on Second Avenue. Say--" he added, glancing furtively over his shoulder. Then finding his suspicions confirmed, and the attention of the group fastened on him, he began to push the broom vigorously, muttering in jerks to Felix: "This ain't no place for ye--git into trouble sure--what yer doin' here?--They're onto ye, or the bunch wouldn't have their heads together--don't make no difference who's here, everybody gits pinched--I can't talk--they'll git wise and fire me."

Felix's lip curled and an amused expression drifted over his face. His jaws set, the muscles forming little ridges about his ears.

"I will attend to that later," he said, in a firm voice. "Keep on with your work."

He shook the ashes from his pipe, resumed his seat, and leaned carelessly forward with his elbows on his thighs, his former protege, now deep in his work, squeezing the wet rag into the bucket, and using the broom where the mud was thickest. When the swabbing-up process brought the man within speaking distance again Felix leaned still further forward and asked:

"What sort of a place is this--a restaurant?"

The man turned his head. He was again on his knees, and had drawn nearer. He was now wiping the same spot so as to be within reach of Felix's ear.

"Downstairs--yes," he returned in a low voice. "Upstairs--in the rear--across a roof--" He glanced again at the group and stopped.

"A gambling house?"

"No--a pool-room. That's why I give ye the tip."

Felix ruminated, the man polishing vigorously. "What kind of people come here?"

"The kind ye see--and crooks."

"Do you know them all?"

"Why not? I been workin' here two months. Had two raids--that's why I posted ye. It's the chop-house game now, with a new deal all around, but they're onto it--so a pal of mine tells me."

Again Felix ruminated. "Women ever come here?"

"Oh, yes, up to ten o'clock or so--telephone operators, shop-girls--that kind. Two of 'em are over there now; they work in Cryder's store Christmas and New Year's, and they get taken on extra."

"Any others?"

"You mean fancies?"

"No--straight, decent women, who may live around here and who come regularly in for their meals."

"Oh, yes--but they don't stay long. And then"--he nodded toward the group--"they don't want 'em to stay--no money in grub. Just a bluff they've put up."

"Have you come across your wife since I saw you?"

"No, and don't want to. I've got all over that. A man's a d.a.m.n fool to get crazy over a woman, and a bigger d.a.m.n fool to keep worryin' when she goes back on him. They ain't wuth it, none on 'em."

"What became of the man she went off with?"

"Got tired and chucked her, after he made a tank of her. That's what they all do."

"Have you ever tried to find her?"

"What for?"

"You might do her some good."

"Cut it out! Nuthin' doin'! She was rotten when she left me, and she's rotten now. b.u.ms round a Raines joint over here on Twenty-eighth Street.

Pick up anybody. Came staggerin' into the church full of booze, so a pal o' mine told me, and got half-way down the aisle before they could fire her. Drop in there sometime when you go by and ask the s.e.xton if I'm a-lyin'. No more of that for me, I'm through. There ain't but one place for that kind, and that's Blackwell's Island, and that's where they fetch up. I went through h.e.l.l afore I saw you because of her, and I'm just pullin' out and I want to stay out."

He raised his head, glanced furtively again at the group by the bar, and in a low whisper muttered:

"I've got to go now. They'll get onto me next."

"Never mind those men. They cannot harm you," Felix answered, and was about to add some word of sympathy, when he checked himself. It would only hurt him the more, he thought. He said instead, his voice conveying what his lips would have uttered:

"Do you like it here?"

"Got to."

Felix pushed back his chair, stood erect, and with a gesture as if his mind had been made up said: "Would you care to do something else?"

The man dropped his broom and straggled to his feet. "Can ye give me somethin'? I been a-tryin' everywhere, but this kind o' work hoodoos a man, and they won't give me no ref'rence 'cause I don't git more'n my board and they don't want to lose me. And then"--here he winked meaningly--"I know a thing or two. But, say, do ye mean it? I'll go anywhere you want."

Felix felt in his pocket, drew out a card, and pencilled his address.