She turned her eyes away with a little shudder of repulsion, and gave her attention to an inspection of the room. There was no window, except a small one high up in the right-hand partition wall. She quite understood what that meant. It was common enough, and all too unsanitary enough, in these old and cheap tenements; the window gave, not on the out-of-doors, but on a light-well. For the rest, it was a room she had seen a thousand times before--carpetless, unfurnished save for the barest necessities, dirt everywhere, unkempt. Pinkie Bonn broke in abruptly upon her inspection. “That's all right!” he announced airily. “We'll let Nan in on it, too. The Pug an' me figures she can give us a hand.” Shluker's wizened little face seemed suddenly to go purple. “Are you tryin' to make a fool of me?” he half screamed. “Or can't you understand English? D'ye want me to keep on tellin' you till I'm hoarse that there ain't nobody goin' in with you, because you am't goin' in yourself! See? Understand that? There's nothing doin' to-night for anybody--and that means you!” “Aw, shut up, Shluker!” It was the Pug now, a curious whispering sibilancy in his voice, due no doubt to the disfigurement of his lips. “Give Pinkie a chance to shoot his spiel before youse injure yerself throwin' a fit! Go on, Pinkie, spill it.” “Sure!” said Pinkie eagerly. “Listen, Shluk! It ain't any crib we're wantin' to crack, or nothin' like that. It's just a couple of crooks that won't dare open their yaps to the bulls, 'cause what we're after 'll be what they'll have pinched themselves. See?” Shluker's face lost some of its belligerency, and in its place a dawning interest came. “What's that?” he demanded cautiously. “What crooks?” “French Pete an' Marny Day,” said Pinkie--and grinned. “Oh!” Shluker's eyebrows went up. He looked at the Pug, and the Pug winked knowingly with his half-closed left eyelid. Shluker reached out for a chair, and, finding it suspiciously wobbly, straddled it warily. “Mabbe I've been in wrong,” he admitted. “What's the lay?” “Me,” said Pinkie, “I was down to Charlie's this afternoon havin' a little lay-off, an'--” “One of these days,” interrupted Shluker sharply, “you'll go out like”--he snapped his fingers--“that!” “Can't you leave the stuff alone?” “I got to have me bit of coke,” Pinkie answered, with a shrug of his shoulders. “An', anyway, I'm no pipe-hitter. “It's all the same whatever way you take it!” retorted Shluker. “Well, go on with your story. You went down to Charlie's dope parlors, and jabbed a needle into yourself, or took it some other old way. I get you! What happened then?”