“See here, Spike,” said Lannigan. “You don’t want to do anything ugly until you know what you’re doing. Billy and I can’t talk with you until we’ve been across the river. We’ll be back inside of an hour and see you right here. If there’s a whack into anything you’ll get your share.” The two tossed off their drinks, and rising, immediately left the saloon. Spike Thomas remained at the table, looking, as Patsy thought, much dissatisfied with the outcome. “Anyhow,” said Patsy, “Spike will remain here for an hour or two.” Suddenly Patsy rose to his feet and sauntered from the saloon. He ran up the street hastily and turned the corner. Half an hour later a young fellow, rather jauntily dressed but, nevertheless, one in whom the east-side tough showed, came down the street and turned into the saloon where Spike was awaiting the return of Lannigan and his companion. Arriving in the center of the barroom he gave a flip to the brim of his hat with a snap of his finger, sending it back on his head, gave a characteristic hitch to one shoulder and, with a protruding chin, walked over to the table where Spike Thomas sat. “Say, Spike, I’ve been lookin’ for youse,” said the newcomer. Spike looked up with a frown on his face and curiously regarded the other fellow. “Well,” he said, “youse has found me. What’s de trouble?” “Say, Spike,” said the new man. “Does youse know anything about dat job of crib-cracking up in Thirty-fifth Street?” Spike partly closed his eyes and regarded the other keenly and suspiciously. At length he replied: “Naw! Nor youse eder, Bally Morris.” “Dat’s right,” replied the other, “I don’t know much for a fact. But I got a couple of lines onto it dat you can work if yer knows who did the job.” Again Spike looked at the young fellow, but this time it was not alone suspiciously, but with an evident desire to have him show his hand. He altered his tone and manner toward the newcomer. “Have some booze?” he asked. As the lad he called Morris sat down at the table he said a little more genially: “What about dem lines youse has got?” “Dey’s all right if yer knows who did the job,” replied Morris. “S’pose I did it, meself,” said Spike, with a wink. “Well, I knows youse didn’t do it.” “Why not?” “’Cause de job was done before one o’clock dis mornin’ and youse was wid yer rag down to Rivington Street along about dat time.” “Dat’s right,” exclaimed Spike, with an oath, “and if it hadn’t bin for de rag I’m t’inkin’ I’d been into de job. She got me out of de way of it.” “Den,” said Morris, eagerly, “youse does know who did it?” Spike gave a huge wink and smiled a knowing smile. “I’m kinder onto it meself,” said Morris. “I’m t’inkin’ I ain’t guessin’ far wrong when I’m sayin’ it was de swell lag Lannigan.” Spike gave such a start as made Morris say: “Dat’s de way you t’ink, too.” “Well, I’ve got a squint dat way,” reluctantly admitted Spike. “But, wot’s dem lines youse got?”