"All right," continued Poland. "Think that way if you like. But
the patrols have been doubled. I suppose you know that? And
it's a cert there are special men on duty, ever since the death
of that Chink."
Cohen shifted uneasily, glancing about him in a furtive fashion.
"See what I mean?" continued the other. "Chinatown ain't healthy
just now."
He finished his whisky at a draught, and, standing up, lurched
heavily across to the counter. He returned with two more
glasses. Then, reseating himself and bending forward again:
"There's one thing I reckon you don't know," he whispered in
Cohen's ear. "I saw that Chink talking to Lala Huang only a week
before the time he was hauled out of Limehouse Reach. I'm
wondering, Diamond, if, with all your cleverness, you may not go
the same way."
"Don't try to pull the creep stuff on me, Jim," said Cohen
uneasily. "What are you driving at, anyway?"
"Well," replied Poland, sipping his whisky reflectively, "how did
that Chink get into the river?"
"How the devil do I know?"
"And what killed him? It wasn't drowning, although he was all
swelled up."
"See here, old pal," said Cohen. "I know 'Frisco better than you
know Limehouse. Let me tell you that this little old Chinatown
of yours is pie to me.
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