'Sure. T'anks, boss.'
Jimmy lighted his pipe. Spike, after a few genteel sips, threw off
his restraint, and finished the rest of his glass at a gulp.
'Try another,' suggested Jimmy.
Spike's grin showed that the idea had been well received.
Jimmy sat and smoked in silence for a while. He was thinking the
thing over. He felt like a detective who has found a clue. At last,
he would be able to discover the name of the Lusitania girl. The
discovery would not take him very far certainly, but it would be
something. Possibly, Spike might even be able to fix the position of
the house they had broken into that night.
Spike was looking at Jimmy over his glass in silent admiration. This
flat which Jimmy had rented for a year, in the hope that the
possession of a fixed abode might help to tie him down to one spot,
was handsomely, even luxuriously, furnished. To Spike, every chair
and table in the room had a romance of its own, as having been
purchased out of the proceeds of that New Asiatic Bank robbery, or
from the revenue accruing from the Duchess of Havant's jewels. He
was dumb with reverence for one who could make burglary pay to this
extent. In his own case, the profession had rarely provided anything
more than bread and butter, and an occasional trip to Coney Island.
Jimmy caught his eye, and spoke.
'Well, Spike,' he said. 'Curious that we should meet like this?'
'De limit,' agreed Spike.
'I can't imagine you three thousand miles from New York. How do you
know the cars still run both ways on Broadway?'
A wistful look came into Spike's eyes.
'I've been dis side t'ree months. I t'ought it was time I give old
Lunnon a call. T'ings was gettin' too fierce in Noo York. De cops
was layin' fer me. Dey didn't seem like as if they had any use fer
me. So, I beat it.'
'Bad luck,' said Jimmy.
'Fierce,' agreed Spike.
'Say, Spike,' said Jimmy, 'do you know, I spent a whole heap of time
before I left New York looking for you?'
'Gee! I wish you'd found me! Did youse want me to help on some lay,
boss? Is it a bank, or--jools?'
'Well, no, not that. Do you remember that night we broke into that
house uptown--the police-captain's house?'
'Sure.'
'What was his name?'
'What, de cop's? Why, McEachern, boss.'
'McWhat? How do you spell it?'
'Search me,' said Spike, simply.
'Say it again. Fill your lungs, and enunciate slowly and clearly. Be
bell-like. Now.'
'McEachern.'
'Ah! And where was the house? Can you remember that?'
Spike's forehead wrinkled.
