Only the woman's raucous laughter continued, rising, a
hideous solo, above a sort of murmur, composed of the words "Red
Kerry!" spoken in many tones.
Kerry ignored the sensation which his entrance had created, and
crossed the room to a small counter, behind which a dusky man was
standing, coatless and shirt sleeves rolled up. He had the skin
of a Malay but the features of a stage Irishman of the old
school. And, indeed, had he known his own pedigree, which is a
knowledge beyond the ken of any man, partly Irish he might have
found himself indeed to be.
This was Malay Jack, the proprietor of one of the roughest houses
in Limehouse. His expression, while propitiatory, was not
friendly, but:
"Don't get hot and bothered," snapped Kerry viciously. "I want
to use your telephone, that's all."
"Oh," said the other, unable to conceal his relief, "that's easy.
Come in."
He raised a flap in the counter, and Kerry, passing through,
entered a little room behind the bar. Here a telephone stood
upon a dirty, littered table, and, taking it up:
"City four hundred," called the Chief Inspector curtly. A moment
later: "Hallo! Yes," he said. "Chief Inspector Kerry speaking.
Put me through to my department, please.
Pages:
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83