Some old wagons and drays were scattered here and there about the place, for it presented an admirable wagon yard. Such is cosmopolitan New York. The palace often touches the hovel. Some of the aristocrats up town can look out from their magnificent houses, and survey the shanty of the squatter built on the rocks, where the agile goat browses on old shoes and empty cans. Some day this will not be, but it is so now, and a source of wonder to foreigners. Darrell began to pick his way through the wagon yard, careful to proceed without noise, for when men are bent upon an unlawful errand it does not take much of a sound to cause palpitation of the heart, and he did not want to have their death on his hands—just yet. They seemed to be surveying the scene from the rear. It was undoubtedly their intention to make some sort of a haul here. The silver might be lying around loose, or even some jewelry in the upper rooms—men of their trade do not discriminate, so long as what they seize upon has a specific value. First, last and all the time, what they want is the cold cash. It was certain that they must be frightened away, and that at once. His other business was too important to allow him the pleasure of playing with these fellows, much as he might have enjoyed it. Under these circumstances he worked his way close to where they crouched. He could hear them working with a chisel or burglar’s tool of some sort—they were prying off a board from the fence, so that they might easily pass through when they desired. It would be a good route for flight, also, after their object was attained. So interested were they in the task that they did not have the faintest suspicion of the presence of any one. Darrell could hear their low words. “Bill, this here promises to be a lucky strike,” said one, in a low tone. Bill muttered a reply. “Well, I’m of the opinion, Bill, as we’ll have a good whack at some valuables. Ye see, the guests are all in there—if we can deceive the gal below and slip upstairs there ought to be fat pickings for fellers of our size.” “Softly, partner, softly—there’s another in this here game you ain’t counted on.” As these words reached their ears, the two men muttered exclamations of dismay. “Who the deuce is it?” “Where in thunder is he?” “I’m right here. You fellows are treading on my corns. This is my pasture—get out.” “Not much we won’t. We’ll slit your wizen first, I reckon. We’re in this here game now for keeps,” growled the man named Bill. “Then you must go snacks. I’ll furnish the information, and you do the work—an equalization of labor—ain’t that fair?” “What d’ye know, critter?” “Where the silver is kept—it ain’t been brought out yet awhile, and by a little bold work the hull of it can be spirited away.” At this the two men can hardly restrain their delight. “Lead us to it, and the third is yourn.” “You’re on the steal, then?” “Ready to take anything that counts.” “This is the steel I deal in.”