Leaving Lulu in the midst of her complaints, Jackeen wheeled back into the Chatham Club for a word with Rice. Even during his absence, a change had come over the company. He found Rice, St. Louis Bill and Nannie Miller, holding anxious confab with a ratfaced person who had just come in. “See here, Jackeen,” said St. Louis Bill in an excited whisper, “there's been a rap about that Savoy safe trick, an' th' bulls are right now lookin' for th' whole mob. They say it's us, too, who put that rube in the air over in Division Street.” “An' th' question is,” broke in Nannie Miller, who was quick to act, “do we stand pat, or do we do a lammister?” “There's on'y one answer to that,” said St. Louis Bill. “For my end of it I'm goin' to lamm.” Jackeen had May and his heart troubles upon the back of his regard. Still he heard; and he arrived at a decision. He would run--yes; for flight was preferable to four stone walls. But he must have revenge--revenge upon the Doc and May. “Wit' th' bulls after me, an' me away, it 'ud be comin' too soft for 'em,” thought Jackeen. “W'at do youse say?” asked St. Louis Bill, who was getting nervous. “How did youse get the woid?” demanded Jackeen, turning upon Ratface. It was he who had brought the warning. “I'm a stool for one of the bulls,” replied Ratface, “an' it's him tells me you blokes is wanted, see!” “So you're stoolin' for a Central Office cop?” Jackeen's manner was fraught with suspicion. “How do we know you're givin' us th' correct dope?” “Miller knows me,” returned Ratface, “an' so does Bill. They'll tell youse I'm a right guy. That stool thing is only a stall. I gets more out of the bull than he gets out of me. Sure; I give him a dead one now an' then, just be way of puttin' in a prop for meself. But not youse;--w'en it's any of me friends I puts 'em hep, see!” “Do you sign for this duck?” demanded Jackeen of St. Louis Bill. “He's a new one on me.” “Take it from me, he's all right,” said St. Louis Bill, decisively. “Why, you ought to know him, Jackeen. He joined out wit' that mob of gons Goldie Louie took to Syracuse last fall. He's no farmer, neither; Ricey there ain't got nothin' on him as a tool.” This endorsement of Ratface settled all doubt. Jackeen's mind was made up. Addressing the others, he said: “Fade's the woid! I'll meet youse over in Hoboken to-night at Beansey's. Better make th' ferry one at a time.” “W'at do youse want to wait till night for?” asked Nannie Miller. “Th' foist t'ing you know you'll get th' collar.” “I'm goin' to take the chance, though,” retorted Jackeen. “It's some private business of me own. An' say”--looking at Rice--“I want a pal. Will youse stick, Ricey?” “Sure, Mike!” said Rice, who had nerve and knew how to be loyal. Thus it was adjusted. Ratface went his way, to exercise his gifts of mendacity upon his Central Office principal, while the others scattered--all save Jackeen and Rice. Jackeen gave his faithful friend the story of his wrongs.