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Updated: May 8, 2025
"He's trying to shield her." "He's a loyal kid, at that," Burke commented, with a grudging admiration. "I'll say that much for him." His expression grew morose, as again he pressed the button on his desk. "And now," he vouchsafed, "I'll show you the difference." Then, as the doorman reappeared, he gave his order: "Dan, have the Turner woman brought up."
The club was a dingy building, three pretentious old dwellings knocked together, and the entrance-hall resembled a potato cellar, yet the Babbitt who was free of the magnificence of the Athletic Club entered with embarrassment. He nodded to the doorman, an ancient proud negro with brass buttons and a blue tail-coat, and paraded through the hall, trying to look like a member.
This doubt on the part of the doorman was rather a compliment to Mullinix, considering Mullinix's real calling. For Mullinix resembled neither the detective of fiction nor yet the detective of sober fact, which is exactly what the latter usually is a most sober fact; sober, indeed, often to the point of a serious and dignified impressiveness.
"I want to know about my wife. Where is she?" Burke disregarded the question as completely as if it had not been uttered, and went on speaking to the doorman with a suggestion in his words that was effective. "He's not to speak to any one, you understand." Then he condescended to give his attention to the prisoner.
But there is something to go with it a correspondent's licence and a letter from a general who looks after such things. They show that you "belong"; and if you don't belong on the road of war you will not get far. As well try to walk past the doorman and take a seat in the United States Senate chamber during a session. Most precious that magical piece of paper.
Something in the other's solicitude and interest made her feel as if she were the one to condescend. Now, as on each preceding day, letters were handed her by the doorman at the Casino. This was a feature which had rapidly developed since Monday. What they contained she well knew. She remembered having received her first one far back in Columbia City.
He blundered past the doorman. Lewis caught a glimpse of a tawdry woman peering out from a hansom at the disappearing man. "Thank Gawd!" he heard her say as the cab drove off. With one hand on the wall the man guided himself toward the stairs at the end of the hall. On the first step he stumbled and would have fallen had it not been for a quick footman.
Bland said, "I know a joint where we can git a good room for fifty cents and no questions asked, bo." They happened at that moment to be nearing the immaculate white-gloved doorman who stands ward over the entrance to the Alexandria. Johnny looked at him, saw what exclusive hostelry was named upon his cap band, and stopped.
Muttering threats, the stranger went from the station house, and Mark and Jack, in response to a nod from the doorman, followed him upstairs to a part of the police station used to detain witnesses. They were shown to a small room with a single bed. "Are ye really anarchists?" asked the doorman. "Not a bit," replied Jack, and he told as much of their story as he dared.
"Don't place him," says Loppy. "Never turned a flag for him, anyway. Why?" "Oh, I'd kind of like to get a sketch of him," says I. "That's easy," says Loppy. "Remember Scanlon, that used to be doorman at Headquarters?" "Squint?" says I. "Same one," says he. "Well, he's inside one of the house detective squad. His night on, too.
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