"
Kerry nodded, and the trio elbowed their way to the counter. The
pseudo-dock hand was a detective attached to Leman Street, and one who
knew the night birds of East End London as few men outside their own
circles knew them.
"Three coffees, Pat," he cried, leaning across the shoulder of a
heavy, red-headed fellow who lolled against the counter. "And two
lumps of sugar in each."
"To hell wid yer sugar!" roared Dougal, grasping three cups deftly in
one hairy hand and filling them from a steaming urn. "There's no more
sugar tonight."
"Not any brown sugar?" asked the customer.
"Yez can have one tayspoon of brown, and no more tonight," cried
Dougal.
He stooped rapidly below the counter, then pushed the three cups of
coffee towards the detective. The latter tossed a shilling down, at
which Dougal glared ferociously.
"'Twas wid sugar ye said!" he roared.
A second shilling followed. Dougal swept both coins into a drawer and
turned to another customer, who was also clamoring for coffee.
Securing their cups with difficulty, for the red-headed man surlily
refused to budge, they retired to a comparatively quiet spot, and
Seton tasted the hot beverage.
"H'm," he said. "Rum! Good rum, too!"
"It's a nice position for me," snapped Kerry.
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