Muscle Man

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It was not often that Paul Pry gave himself the luxury of dining with “Mugs” Magoo, the one-armed pessimist whom he had raised from the gutter.

For much of Paul Pry’s efficiency depended upon keeping the underworld in the dark as to the source of his information. Mugs Magoo had earned his nickname because of his uncanny ability to remember faces and connections. At one time he had been camera-eye man for the metropolitan police. A political shake-up put him out, accident robbed him of an arm, and whiskey had done the rest.

Paul Pry, genial opportunist, who made his living from his wits, and a very good living at that, had recognized the value of Magoo’s camera eyes and had taken him in. Tonight was one of the rare occasions when they dined together.

But they were not seen.

A private dining room in a restaurant and cabaret which catered to privacy gave them an opportunity to see and hear, but not to be seen or heard. Through the latticed side of their private booth, Mugs Magoo let his glassy eyes wander over the lower floor. From time to time he disclosed choice bits of underworld gossip. The cabaret was one where gangsters came to forget the constant strain of their existence by strutting before admiring satellites. Which was, of course, the main reason Paul Pry had picked the place for his surreptitious dinner party.

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