"I mean," growled Poland, "that you're not wasting your time with
Lala Huang for nothing."

"Perhaps not," returned Cohen lightly. "She's a pretty girl; but
what business is it of yours?"

"None at all. I ain't interested in 'er good looks; neither are
you."

Cohen shrugged and raised his glass again.

"Come on," growled Poland, leaning across the table. "I know,
and I'm in on it. D'ye hear me? I'm in on it. These are hard
times, and we've got to stick together."

"Oh," said Cohen, "that's the game, is it?"

"That's the game right enough. You won't go wrong if you bring
me in, even at fifty-fifty, because maybe I know things about old
Huang that you don't know."

The Jew's expression changed subtly, and beneath his drooping
lids he glanced aside at the speaker. Then:

"It's no promise," he said, "but what do you know?"

Poland bent farther over the table.

"Chinatown's being watched again. I heard this morning that Red