The others were unclassifiable,
but all were fashionably dressed with the exception of a masculine-
looking lady who had apparently come straight off a golf course, and
who later was proved to be a well-known advocate of woman's rights.
The men all belonged to familiar types. Some of them were Jews.
Kerry, his feet widely apart and his hands thrust in his overcoat
pockets, stood staring at face after face and chewing slowly. The
proprietor glanced apologetically at his patrons and shrugged. Silence
fell upon the company. Then:
"I am a police officer," said Kerry sharply. "You will file out past
me, and I want a card from each of you. Those who have no cards will
write name and address here."
He drew a long envelope and a pencil from a pocket of his dinner
jacket. Laying the envelope and pencil on one of the little tables:
"Quick march!" he snapped. "You, sir!" shooting out his forefinger in
the direction of a tall, fair young man, "step out!"
Glancing helplessly about him, the young man obeyed, and approaching
Kerry:
"I say, officer," he whispered nervously, "can't you manage to keep my
name out of it? I mean to say, my people will kick up the deuce.
Anything up to a tenner. . . ."
The whisper faded away.
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