Jimmie Dale instantly and nonchalantly produced his cigarette case, selected a cigarette, and fastidiously tapped its end on his thumb nail.
"Inspector Burton in plain clothes," he observed musingly to himself.

"I wonder if it's just a fluke--or something else?
We'll see." Jimmie Dale took a box of matches from his pocket.

The first would not light.

The second broke, and, with an exclamation of annoyance, he flung it away.

The third was making a fitful effort at life, as another man emerged hastily from the cafe's side door, hurried to the corner, joined the man who was still loitering there, and both together disappeared at a rapid pace down the street.
Jimmie Dale whistled softly to himself.