CHAPTER X
JIMMY ADOPTS A LAME DOG
A black figure detached itself from the blacker shadows, andshuffled stealthily to where Jimmy stood on the doorstep.
"That you, Spike?" asked Jimmy.
"Dat's right, boss."
"Come on in."
He led the way up to his rooms, switched on the electric light, andshut the door. Spike stood blinking at the sudden glare. He twirledhis battered hat in his hands. His red hair shone fiercely.
Jimmy inspected him out of the corner of his eye, and came to theconclusion that the Mullins finances must be at a low ebb. Spike'scostume differed in several important details from that of theordinary well-groomed man about town. There was nothing of theflaneur about the Bowery Boy. His hat was of the soft black feltfashionable on the East Side of New York. It was in poor condition,and looked as if it had been up too late the night before. A blacktail-coat, burst at the elbows and stained with mud, was tightlybuttoned across his chest, this evidently with the idea ofconcealing the fact that he wore no shirt--an attempt which was notwholly successful. A pair of gray flannel trousers and boots out ofwhich two toes peeped coyly completed the picture.
Even Spike himself seemed to be aware that there were points in hisappearance which would have distressed the editor of a men'sfashion-paper.
"'Scuse these duds," he said. "Me man's bin an' mislaid de trunkwit' me best suit in. Dis is me number two."
"Don't mention it, Spike," said Jimmy. "You look a perfect matineeidol. Have a drink?"
Spike's eyes gleamed as he reached for the decanter. He took a seat.
"Cigar, Spike?"
"Sure. T'anks, boss."
Jimmy lighted his pipe. Spike, after a few genteel sips, threw offhis 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 thething 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. Thediscovery would not take him very far certainly, but it would besomething. Possibly, Spike might even be able to fix the position ofthe house they had broken into that night.
Spike was looking at Jimmy over his glass in silent admiration. Thisflat which Jimmy had rented for a year, in the hope that thepossession of a fixed abode might help to tie him down to one spot,was handsomely, even luxuriously, furnished. To Spike, every chairand table in the room had a romance of its own, as having beenpurchased out of the proceeds of that New Asiatic Bank robbery, orfrom the revenue accruing from the Duchess of Havant's jewels. Hewas dumb with reverence for one who could make burglary pay to thisextent. In his own case, the profession had rarely provided anythingmore 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 youknow 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 oldLunnon a call. T'ings was gettin' too fierce in Noo York. De copswas layin' fer me. Dey didn't seem like as if they had any use ferme. So, I beat it."
"Bad luck," said Jimmy.
"Fierce," agreed Spike.
"Say, Spike," said Jimmy, "do you know, I spent a whole heap of timebefore 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 thathouse 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. Bebell-like. Now."
"McEachern."
"Ah! And where was the house? Can you remember that?"
Spike's forehead wrinkled.
"It's gone," he said, at last. "It was somewheres up some street upde town."
"That's a lot of help," said Jimmy. "Try again."
"It'll come back some time, boss, sure."
"Then, I'm going to keep an eye on you till it does. Just for themoment, you're the most important man in the world to me. Where areyou living?"
"Me! Why, in de Park. Dat's right. One of dem swell detached bencheswit' a Southern exposure."
"Well, unless you prefer it, you needn't sleep in the Park any more.You can pitch your moving tent with me."
"What, here, boss?"
"Unless we move."
"Me fer dis," said Spike, rolling luxuriously in his chair.
"You'll want some clothes," said Jimmy. "We'll get those to-morrow.You're the sort of figure they can fit off the peg. You're not tootall, which is a good thing."
"Bad t'ing fer me, boss. If I'd been taller, I'd have stood ferbeing a cop, an' bin buyin' a brownstone house on Fifth Avenue bydis. It's de cops makes de big money in little old Manhattan, dat'swho it is."
"The man who knows!" said Jimmy. "Tell me more, Spike. I suppose agood many of the New York force do get rich by graft?"
"Sure. Look at old man McEachern."
"I wish I could. Tell me about him, Spike. You seemed to know himpretty well."
"Me? Sure. Dere wasn't a woise old grafter dan him in de bunch. Hewas out fer de dough all de time. But, say, did youse ever see hisgirl?"
"What's that?" said Jimmy, sharply.
"I seen her once." Spike became almost lyrical in his enthusiasm."Gee! She was a boid--a peach fer fair. I'd have left me happy homefer her. Molly was her monaker. She--"
Jimmy was glaring at him.
"Cut it out!" he cried.
"What's dat, boss?" said Spike.
"Cut it out!" said Jimmy, savagely.
Spike looked at him, amazed.
"Sure," he said, puzzled, but realizing that his words had notpleased the great man.
Jimmy chewed the stem of his pipe irritably, while Spike, full ofexcellent intentions, sat on the edge of his chair, drawingsorrowfully at his cigar and wondering what he had done to giveoffense.
"Boss?" said Spike.
"Well?"
"Boss, what's doin' here? Put me next to de game. Is it de old lay?Banks an' jools from duchesses? You'll be able to let me sit in atde game, won't you?"
Jimmy laughed.
"I'd quite forgotten I hadn't told you about myself, Spike. I'veretired."
The horrid truth sank slowly into the other's mind.
"Say! What's dat, boss? You're cuttin' it out?"
"That's it. Absolutely."
"Ain't youse swiping no more jools?"
"Not me."
"Nor usin' de what's-its-name blow-pipe?"
"I have sold my oxy-acetylene blow-pipe, given away my anaesthetics,and am going to turn over a new leaf, and settle down as arespectable citizen."
Spike gasped. His world had fallen about his ears. His excursionwith. Jimmy, the master cracksman, in New York had been the highestand proudest memory of his life; and, now that they had met again inLondon, he had looked forward to a long and prosperous partnershipin crime. He was content that his own share in the partnershipshould be humble. It was enough for him to be connected, howeverhumbly, with such a master. He had looked upon the richness ofLondon, and he had said with Blucher, "What a city to loot!"
And here was his idol shattering the visions with a word.
"Have another drink, Spike," said the lost leader sympathetically."It's a shock to you, I guess."
"I t'ought, boss--"
"I know, I know. These are life's tragedies. I'm very sorry for you.But it can't be helped. I've made my pile, so why continue?"
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Spike sat silent, with a long face. Jimmy slapped him on theshoulder.
"Cheer up," he said. "How do you know that living honestly may notbe splendid fun? Numbers of people do it, you know, and enjoythemselves tremendously. You must give it a trial, Spike."
"Me, boss! What, me, too?"
"Sure. You're my link with--I don't want to have you rememberingthat address in the second month of a ten-year stretch at DartmoorPrison. I'm going to look after you, Spike, my son, like a lynx.We'll go out together, and see life. Brace up, Spike. Be cheerful.Grin!"
After a moment's reflection, the other grinned, albeit faintly.
"That's right," said Jimmy. "We'll go into society, Spike, hand inhand. You'll be a terrific success in society. All you have to do isto look cheerful, brush your hair, and keep your hands off thespoons. For in the best circles they invariably count them after thedeparture of the last guest."
"Sure," said Spike, as one who thoroughly understood this sensibleprecaution.
"And, now," said Jimmy, "we'll be turning in. Can you managesleeping on the sofa one night? Some fellows would give their bed upto you. Not me, however. I'll have a bed made up for you tomorrow."
"Me!" said Spike. "Gee! I've been sleepin' in de Park all de lastweek. Dis is to de good, boss."