“Not a crack in it,” Magill earnestly assured him. “I’m handing you straight goods. There’s a quarter million that may be had for--well, Dolan, for a mere bit of chesty work. You wouldn’t get in on it, mind you, only I cannot get word to pals of mine in time to use them. I want a little help.” “For what?” “To take that skirt where she can be properly questioned,” Magill said pointedly. “Take her where?” “To a house about three miles from here.” “What’s the matter with a hack or a buzz wagon?” “Either would fill the bill,” said Magill. “There is only one difficulty.” “What’s that?” “The skirt says she won’t go,” Magill explained suggestively. “Oh, ho; I see!” said Patsy, with eyes dilating. “You want to force her to go?” “That calls the turn,” answered Magill. “She has agreed to meet me at the end of this street just before dark to finish the spiel I was having with her. She wouldn’t end it here for fear she’d be seen from the house where she boards.” “I get you.” “There are only a few scattered houses at the end of the street, and that’s the direction I, want to take her,” Magill added. “Now, if you’re not a bird head, you can see how easy it can be, done.” “You mean to kidnap her?” said Patsy quickly. “That’s the game.” “And you want me to help?” “If you’ve got the nerve.” “I’ve got nerve enough, all right,” declared Patsy. “But what do I get for this job?” “Enough money to buy a corner lot on Broadway,” Magill forcibly assured him. “That’s all I want of you, too, and it’s all the risk you have to take.” “When do I get the coin, and how much?” “Ten thousand bucks, possibly more, within twenty-four hours.” “After nailing the skirt?” “Exactly.” “I’m hooked,” said Patsy, as if abruptly deciding to accept the offer. “Spiel off what you want done and I’ll do it.” “Shake!” said Magill, extending his hand. “I thought I read your mug correctly. My name is Mike Magill, sometimes called Turk Magill, and you’ll find me all right and always on the level.” “If that goes, Mr. Magill, I’m your meat for any kind of a job,” said Patsy. “A quarter million, eh? Say, I’m afraid I’ll wake up. Hang it, I’d wade through blood for that. What am I to do?” “We’ll need a touring car,” said Magill. “I know a garage where I can swipe one.” “Swiping it might make trouble for us. Could you hire it?” “Sure--if I had the price,” said Patsy. “Here’s a twenty-dollar note. Will that be enough?” “More than enough.” “Take it, then,” said Magill. “It shows you, too, that I mean business.” “I’m wise to that, all right.” “Do your part, Dolan, and you’ll get a hundred bucks for every dime in that twenty,” Magill added impressively. “You leave it to me,” Patsy rejoined. “That skirt is as good as on her way.” CHAPTER VI. THE MAN WHO DIED.