Greer caught the fellow, but released his hold when he felt the dog’s teeth grasp his leg. “Down, Crackers, down,” cried Tambourine Jack, shaking himself free. Elmer drew his pistol and pointed it at the cur. “Don’t shoot, you’ll be sorry,” said the owner. “I have business with you. Come nearer; I must not let the lady hear it.” The rascal stooped to enable Tambourine Jack to whisper to him. When he had received the other’s communication, Elmer Greer became deathly pale. “Great Heaven!” he cried, “what you tell me cannot be true! How do I know you speak the truth?” “Give me your hand and I will convince you,” said Tambourine Jack, stretching out his grimy fist. Greer took the proffered hand, and when he released it his pallor deepened. “Do you believe me now?” “I do,” replied the rogue. “You are one of us and dare not lie.” “Come, Crackers, come; we have finished our business here.” The dog made a snap at Elmer as he passed him, for which he was rewarded with a kick from his master. When the door closed upon the strange individual and his four-footed companion, Greer said: “Prepare for the worst, Louise. I fear we stand on the brink of a volcano!” CHAPTER II. THE YEGGMEN’S LEAGUE. At the foot of one of the uptown streets, East River, is, or was, a tumble-down shed, once used as a wholesale oyster depot. At high tide the water came up under the shed to within a few feet of the street. Seated around the room, the night following that of the abduction of the old banker, were seven or eight men, while at a rude table in the middle of the shed were two others engaged in playing cards, and on the table between them were several black bottles. They were a brutal set, the occupants of the place, and more than one of them had received free board and lodgings at Sing Sing. “I say, you, Jack Frost, that game ought to be about finished,” said the man called Skip. “I’m thirsty, I am, and the bottles are empty.” “You lose, Dick Denton,” said the fellow addressed as Jack Frost, arising from the table. “Who will go and get the bottles filled? Two quarts, Dick, you know.” “I’ll go myself,” said the unfortunate gambler, picking up two of the bottles and leaving the shed. “For Heaven’s sake, don’t be long! I am dying for a drink,” remarked the thirsty Skip. Dick Denton had not been gone long when there came a double rap upon the door. The whole gang were on their feet instantly. “Go to the door, Ben Baker,” said Skip, who seemed to be a leader among them. “Who is there?” “Blue!” was the answer. “Green!” exclaimed Baker. “Yellow!” The rough had locked the door when he went to it, but now he drew the bolt. “It’s Old Man Moses,” cried several, as an old Jew hobbled into the room, and they all laughed heartily. The newcomer joined in their mirth, with a succession of sounds something like those of a bagpipe with the quinsy.