He had a remarkable memory for faces and could pierce any disguise, he was as persistent as a ferret, and his knowledge of the underworld of San Francisco was illimitable.

But his chief assets were that he looked so little like a detective, and that, so secretive were his methods, his calling was practically unknown.

He had set up a cheap restaurant with a gambling room behind at which the police winked, although pretending to raid him now and again.

He was a large soft man with pendulous cheeks streaked with red, a predatory nose, and a black overhanging mustache.

His name was 'Gene Bisbee, and there was a tradition that in his younger days he had been handsome, and irresistible to the women who had made his fortune.
Ruyler was absently wondering what his haughty mother-in-law could have to say to such a man when to his amazement Bisbee planted his elbow in the pillow of flesh just below Madame Delano's neck, and said easily: "Oh, come off, Marie.