Operative S.C. and I were instructed to trail a certain K. Milbourne,
supposed to be an actor, and report on his habits and his associates.
We were furnished with his description, and sent to watch the building
at No. -- West 49th street, where he boards. This house is a few doors
from Eighth Avenue. We kept watch from outside a corner saloon over
the way. We turned up our collars and stood around like the regular
corner loafers.
At 10:05 A.M. our man came out and walked up the long block to
Broadway. We followed across the street. He turned down Broadway with
the crowd. We split up, one on one side of the street, one on the
other. He often stopped in front of store windows, but didn't seem to
mind the windows so much as to look sideways to see who was passing.
He turned in at 1402 Broadway, a big office building. I slicked up and
went after him. Went up in the same elevator. He gave everybody in
the car a sharp look. Got out at the eighth floor, and went into an
office marked: "Mrs. Mendoza: Theatrical Agency."
I went back down-stairs to wait. This building has an entrance on
Broadway and one on Thirty-ninth street. S. C. took the Broadway door,
and I watched the side street.
Forty minutes later or 11:15 he came out my door. He walked around
into Broadway, and S. C. picked us up again. He took us down as far as
Thirty-fourth, and then turned around and went back to Forty-second,
without leaving Broadway or stopping anywhere. Turned West on
Forty-second, and went into the office of the D. and E. Booking agency
in the Forrest Theatre. Stayed twenty-five minutes. Came out and went
down West side of Broadway. At Thirty-ninth street met an actor and
stood with him twenty minutes talking loud, and looking around them the
way they do, to see if anybody is noticing. The talk was all
theatrical gossip which I was instructed not to report.
Looked at his watch and went on down to the 36th-37th street block,
where he walked up and down about seven times, stopping at each end to
look in the same store window, and then coming back. We watched from a
music store where we were making out to listen to the piano-player.
At 12:50 he met a man as if by surprise. They greeted each other so
loud everybody rubbered. But it was all a stall. Right away they came
down to business and talked low and serious to each other. My partner
and I brushed against them, but we couldn't hear much. Too much noise
in the street.
I heard Milbourne say: "The grub is rotten! More than flesh and
blood----"
His friend replied: "My dear fellow, it's worth it, isn't it? Be
reasonable. You're safe. We're all safe----"
The two of them turned North walking arm in arm, still talking low. At
the Forty-ninth street corner they parted. Milbourne turned West, on
his way home presumably, and his friend continued North. S. C. went
with M. and I took after the stranger.
He was a big fat man, but energetic. He looked like a theatrical
manager or a promoter. He wore a silk hat and a cutaway coat which
flapped out as he walked. He had very big feet which slapped the
pavement loudly as he walked along in his energetic way. It was a
regular fat man's walk, the knees giving a little with every step.
Height about 5 foot 10: weight about 220: dark brown hair and eyes.
Eyes with a bright, hard expression. Heavy brown moustache with curled
ends. Carried a cigar in his mouth which he never lighted, but kept
twisting around while he talked.
At Fiftieth street he crossed over and went down the subway stair spry
as a kid. Got on the first train: I took a seat in the adjoining car.
At the next station, Columbus Circle, he suddenly jumped up and left
the train. But I was with him. He stayed on the station platform.
For a little while the two of us were alone there. He gave me a good
hard look. When the next train came along he took it. I was in the
next car again.
At Seventy-Second street he got out again. This time he went up to the
street. He stood on the corner for a while. I watched from behind the
glass doors of the subway station. I thought he was waiting for
somebody. But suddenly he made a run for a passing car. I had to hump
myself to get on it, but I did.
For near an hour we rode around, hopping from car to subway, and back
to a car again, with a ride in a taxi in between. Of course I knew by
this time that he was on to me, but I stuck, hoping for a bit of luck.
Later at the Ninety-sixth street station he darted down the steps
again, me a good second. This station is always crowded. A woman
blocked me at the gate, and he gained a few seconds. There was an
express train waiting. Just as I reached it the guard closed the door
in my face. Fatty was just inside. As the train started he turned
around and thumbed his nose at me. I felt cheap.