The Ear in the Wall HTML version

9. The Jury Fixer
"Let's visit Farrell's," remarked Craig, after looking over the apparatus and slinging it
over his shoulder.
It was early yet, and the theatres were not out, so that there were comparatively few
people in the famous all-night cafe. We entered the bar cautiously and looked about.
Kahn at least was not there.
In the back of this part of the cafe were several booths, open to conform to the law, yet
sufficiently screened so that there was at least a little privacy.
Above the booths was a line of transoms.
"What's back there?" asked Kennedy, under his breath.
"A back room," returned Carton.
"Perhaps Kahn is there," Craig suggested. "Walter, you're the one whom he would least
likely recognize. Suppose you just stick your head in the door and look about as quietly
as you can."
I lounged back, glanced at the records of sporting events posted on the wall at the end of
the bar, then, casually, as if looking for someone, swung the double-hinged door that led
from the bar into the back room.
The room was empty except for one man, turned sidewise to the door, reading a paper,
but in a position so that he could see anyone who entered. I had not opened the door
widely enough to be noticed, but I now let it swing back hastily. It was Kahn, pompously
sipping something he had ordered.
"He's back there," I whispered to Kennedy, as I returned, excitedly motioning toward one
of the transoms over the booths back of which Kahn was seated.
"Right there?" he queried.
"Just about," I answered.
A moment later Kennedy led the way over to the booth under the transom and we sat
down. A waiter hovered near us. Craig silenced him quickly with a substantial order and
a good-sized tip.
From our position, if we sat well within the booth, we were effectually hidden unless
someone purposely came down and looked in on us. We watched Kennedy curiously. He