The eye of Sin Sin Wa remained fixed upon a
distant corner of the room. From the purse the constable took a
shilling, ringing it loudly upon the table.
"Double rum, miss, please!" he said, facetiously. "There's no treason
allowed nowadays, so my pal's--"
"I stood yours last night Jim, anyway!" cried the other, grinning. "Go
on, stump up!"
Jim rang a second shilling on the table.
"Two double rums!" he called.
Sin Sin Wa reached a long arm into the little cupboard beside him and
withdrew a bottle and a glass. Leaning forward he placed bottle and
glass on the table, and adroitly swept the coins into his yellow palm.
"Number one p'lice chop," croaked the raven.
"You're right, old bird!" said Jim, pouring out a stiff peg of the
spirit and disposing of it at a draught. "We should freeze to death on
this blasted riverside beat if it wasn't for Sin Sin."
He measured out a second portion for his companion, and the latter
drank the raw spirit off as though it had been ale, replaced the glass
on the table, and having adjusted his belt and lantern in that
characteristic way which belongs exclusively to members of the
Metropolitan Police Force, turned and departed.
"Good night, Sin," he said, opening the door.
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