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Updated: May 11, 2025
Padden, the proprietor, came toward them, and, after greeting Anthony and Higgins by a shake of his left hand, ducked his round gray head in acknowledgment of an introduction to the others. "Excuse my right," said he, displaying a swollen hand criss- crossed with surgeon's plaster. "A fellow got noisy last night."
"Sure! he's too modest," Higgins chimed in. "Fine fellow an' all that, understand, but he's got two faults he's modest and he's lazy. He's caused a lot of uneasiness to his father and me. Father's a fine man, too." He nodded his long, narrow head solemnly. "We know who did the trick for us," added Anderson, the straw- haired half-back. "Glad you dropped in," Mr. Padden assured them.
Partly out of deference to the frantic appeals of his widowed mother, partly owing to the telephoned advice of Mr. Michael Padden, of Sixth Avenue, who said the injured man had recognized one of his assailants, he booked passage to Japan by the next steamer out of Vancouver.
We're a flock of sucking doves." The dancers came crowding up to the table at the moment, and Ringold suggested loudly: "I'm hungry; let's eat again." His proposal met with eager response. "Where shall we go?" asked Anderson. "I just fixed it with Padden for a private room upstairs," Anthony said. "All the cafes are closed now, and this is the best place in town for chicken creole, anyhow."
Padden nodded and accepted the money, saying: "Oh, I guess I can fix it. I know the right doctor." He regained his feet, then warned the onlookers: "But you'll have to keep your traps closed, understand?" "Will he die?" asked Ringold, fearfully, his back still against the door. "Not a chance. But if he does he'll never know who hit him. You see, we picked him up in the alley and brought him in."
Padden winked meaningly. "It happens right along in this part of town. Do you get me? I'll keep these." He indicated the badge and papers in his hand. "Now go out as if nothing had come off. Drop in again the next time you're in town. I'll take care of the supper checks."
"He's no thief; he's a detective a plain-clothes man!" "Wha'd I tell you!" Higgins exulted. "I can smell 'em!" The crowd looked nonplussed, with the exception of Jefferson Locke, who became calmer than at any time since the waiter had first whispered into his ear. "We didn't know who he was," he began, hurriedly, "You must square it for us, Padden. I don't care what it costs."
Padden emptied the unconscious man's pockets, among other things of some telegrams and a legally folded paper.
A moment later the proprietor knocked, and Ringold admitted him. "What's the " Padden started at sight of the motionless figure on the floor, and, kneeling beside it, made a quick examination, while Anthony explained the circumstances leading up to the assault. "Thief, eh? I see." "Is he badly hurt?" queried Locke, bending a pale face upon them. "Huh!
As the partly sobered visitors struggled into their overcoats Padden drew Locke aside, and, nodding toward Higgins, who was still talkative, said: "If you want to catch that ten o'clock boat you'd better stick close to your friend; I know him." "Thanks!" Locke glanced at the prostrate figure, then inquired in a low tone: "On the level, will he make it?" "Hard to tell.
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