Spike uttered a moan of self-pity.
“Boss,” he cried, “I’ve had a raw deal. Dere’s bin coarse work goin’ on. Listen! It’s dis way. Honest, I didn’t know dis was where you lived. A fat Swede—Ole Larsen his monaker is—tells me dis house belongs to a widder-loidy what lives here all alone, and has all kinds of silver and all dat, and she’s down Sout’ visiting, so dat de house is empty. Gee, I’m onto his curves now. I’m wise. Listen, boss. Him and me starts a scrappin’ last week over somet’in, and I t’inks he’s got it in bad for me, because I puts it all over him. But t’ree days ago up he comes and says, ‘Let’s be fren’s,’ and puts me wise on dis joint. I’ll soak it to dat Swede! Dis was what he was woikin’ for. He knows you lives here, and he t’inks to put me in bad wit youse. It’s a raw deal, boss!”
The big man listened to this sad tale of Grecian gifts in silence. Not so the bulldog, which growled ominously from start to finish. Spike glanced nervously in its direction.
“De dawg,” he persisted uneasily. “Won’t you call on de dawg, boss?”
The big man stooped and grasped the animal’s collar, jerking him away.
“The same treatment,” suggested Jimmy, with approval, “would also do a world of good to this playful and affectionate animal—unless he is a vegetarian, in which case don’t bother.”
The householder glowered at him.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“My name,” began Jimmy, “is—”
“Say,” said Spike, “he’s a champion burglar, boss—”
“Eh!” he said.
“He’s a champion burglar from de odder side. He sure is. From Lunnon. Gee, he’s de guy! Tell him about the bank you opened, and de jools you swiped from de duchess, and de what-d’ye-call-it blowpipe.”
It seemed to Jimmy that Spike was showing a certain want of tact. When you are discovered by a householder—with revolver—in his parlour at half past three in the morning, it is surely an injudicious move to lay stress on your proficiency as a burglar. The householder may be supposed to take it for granted. The side of your character which should be advertised in such a crisis is the non-burglarious. Allusion should be made to the fact that as a child you attended Sunday-school regularly, and to what the curate said when you took the Divinity prize. The idea should be conveyed to the householder’s mind that, if let off with a caution, your innate goodness of heart will lead you to reform and avoid such scenes in future.
With some astonishment, therefore, Jimmy found that these revelations, so far from prejudicing the man with the revolver against him, had apparently told in his favour. The man behind the gun was regarding him rather with interest than disapproval.
“So you’re a crook from London, are you?”
Jimmy did not hesitate. If being a crook from London was a passport into citizens’ parlours in the small hours, and, more particularly, if it carried with it also a safe-conduct out of them, Jimmy was not the man to refuse the role. He bowed.
“Well, you’ll have to come across now you’re in New York. Understand that. And come across good.”
“Sure, he will,” said Spike, charmed that the tension had been relieved and matters placed upon a pleasant and businesslike footing. “He’ll be good. He’s next to de game, sure.”
“Sure,” echoed Jimmy courteously. He did not understand; but things seemed to be taking a turn for the better, so why disturb the harmony?
“Dis gent,” said Spike respectfully, “is boss of de cops. A police captain,” he corrected himself.
A light broke upon Jimmy’s darkness. He wondered he had not understood before. He had not been a newspaperman in New York for a year without finding out something of the inner workings of the police force. He saw now why the other’s manner had changed.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said. “We must have a talk together one of these days.”
“We must,” said the police captain significantly.
“Of course, I don’t know your methods on this side, but anything that’s usual—”
“I’ll see you at my office. Spike Mullins will show you where it is.”
“Very well. You must forgive this preliminary informal call. We came in more to shelter from the rain than anything.”
“You did, did you?”
Jimmy felt that it behoved him to stand on his dignity. The situation demanded it.
“Why,” he said, with some hauteur, “in the ordinary course of business I should hardly waste time over a small crib like—”
“It’s banks for his,” murmured Spike rapturously. “He eats dem alive. And jools from duchesses.”
“I admit a partiality for jewels and duchesses,” said Jimmy. “And now, as it’s a little late, perhaps we had better—Ready, Spike? Good night, then. Pleased to have met you.”
“I’ll see you at my office.”
“I may possibly look in. I shall be doing very little work in New York, I fancy. I am here merely on a vacation.”
“If you do any work at all,” said the policeman coldly, “you’ll look in at my office, or you’ll wish you had when it’s too late.”
“Of course, of course. I shouldn’t dream of omitting any formality that may be usual. But I don’t fancy I shall break my vacation. By the way, one little thing. Have you any objection to my carving a ‘J’ on your front door?”
The policeman stared.
“On the inside. It won’t show. It’s just a whim of mine. If you have no objection.”
“I don’t want any of your—” began the policeman.
“You misunderstand me. It’s only that it means paying for a dinner. I wouldn’t for the world—”
The policeman pointed to the window.
“Out you get,” he said abruptly. “I’ve had enough of you. And don’t you forget to come to my office.”
Spike, still deeply mistrustful of the bulldog Rastus, jumped at the invitation. He was through the window and out of sight in the friendly darkness almost before the policeman had finished speaking. Jimmy remained.
“I shall be delighted—” he had begun, when he stopped. In the doorway
