Now and then a
word floated over to me in a language which was English, sure
enough, but not of a kind that I could understand.
"Dropped by a flatty," I caught once, then something about a
"mouthpiece," and the "bulls," and "making a plant."
"A dip--pickpocket--and his girl, or gun-moll, as they call them,"
translated Kennedy. "One of their number has evidently been picked
up by a detective and he looks to them for a good lawyer, or
mouth-piece."
Besides these two there were innumerable other interesting
glimpses into the life of this meeting-place for the half-and
underworlds. A motion in the audience attracted me, as if some
favourite performer were about to appear, and I heard the "gun-
moll" whisper, "Loraine Keith."
There she was, a petite, dark-haired, snappy-eyed girl, chic, well
groomed, and gowned so daringly that every woman in the audience
envied and every man craned his neck to see her better. Loraine
wore a tight-fitting black dress, slashed to the knee. In fact,
everything was calculated to set her off at best advantage, and on
the stage, at least, there was something recherche about her.
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