"Not a suspish," said Rawlins, confidently. "He and I are good friends, all righty--and I can't help being sorry for the poor devil. He's such a fool, and he's up against it, sure enough. He ought to send that wife of his to a hospital." "Those people haven't any sense about that sort of thing," commented Peter. "But never mind that now, Rawlins. Just slip over and see if the coast is clear. I'm going up to the apartment for a bit, and I'm not looking for an excited audience. Beat it over, and give me the high sign if he's out of the way." Peter waited in the dark entrance next to the American Bank, which was directly opposite number Ninety-nine. He saw Rawlins's short, wiry figure silhouetted against the dim light which burned in the hallway of the house across the way; saw him disappear in the darkness at the other end of the passage. It seemed a long time to Peter's impatience before Rawlins again appeared and, like a shadow, flitted across the street. He was out of breath when he reached Peter, and chuckling softly to himself. "What's up?" asked Peter, sharply. "What are you laughing at, Rawlins? Let me in on the joke." "Gee!" exclaimed Rawlins under his breath. "I'll bet the Federal authorities would give a good deal to have heard what I just did. Say, Clancy, did you ever hear that the dagoes in this old burg have got a real, honest-to-God lottery going strong under cover somewhere?" "Oh, there are always rumours like that going around," said Peter, carelessly. "The Chinese and the French and the Italians. What's that got to do with the price of cheese?" "Why," said Rawlins, still chuckling, "there's a man over there with Angelo in his little front room--I gum-shoed through the hall and part way down the stairs, and I heard 'em talking. Angelo is crazy because he's lost some money on the thing, poor devil, and he talked louder than I guess he knew. They both spoke Italian, but you know I'm a shark at lingoes, Clancy," with evident pride. "Yes, I know," said Peter, impatiently, "but we aren't here to sleuth out things for the Government. I'd have been interested awhile back, but I've got something else on my chest now. D'you think Angelo is likely to come up in the next few minutes? That's all I want to know." "I should say, from the start he's got, that he'd go on cussin' his friend for some time," answered Rawlins, grinning in the dark at his recollection of the little Italian's language. "If you chase over right away, you'll make it without any trouble. Angelo is what you might call occupied just about now." "All right," said Peter, softly. Swift and quiet as a cat, he crossed the street, passed through the gas-lighted hall, and up the stairs. There was no gas burning on the third landing, from which he deduced that the apartment was still unoccupied. The fourth floor also was perfectly dark and Peter had to flash his electric hand-light upon the door to fit his duplicate key.