If a choice few of those outside in the dance hall could get a glimpse into that private room it would be "good-night" to Whitey Mack.
Jimmie Dale's eyes were narrowed a little as he shuffled on down the passage.

Lannigan and Whitey Mack with their heads together! What was the game?
There was nothing in common between the two men.

Lannigan, it was well known, could not be "reached." Whitey Mack, with his ingenious cleverness, coupled with a cold-blooded fearlessness that had made him an object of unholy awe and respect in the eyes of the underworld, was a thorn that was sore beyond measure in the side of the police.
Certainly, it was no ordinary thing that had brought these two together; especially, since, with the unrest and suspicion that was bubbling and seething below the dead line, and with which there was none more intimate than Whitey Mack, Whitey Mack was inviting a risk in "making up" with the police that could only be accounted for by some urgent and vital incentive.
Jimmie Dale pushed open the door that gave on the lane.

Behind him, Bristol Bob closed the door of the private room and retreated back along the passage.

Jimmie Dale stepped out into the lane--and instinctively his eyes sought the window of the private room.