Chapter IV: Overreaching a Sharper

An hour passed, during which Spike Thomas waited as patiently as Patsy, on the opposite corner, patiently watched him.

At the end of that time Spike showed by his action and his vigilance that the person or persons for whom he had watched had come into view.

Presently two men crossed from the lower side of Thirty-fourth Street to the corner where Spike was standing, and as they passed him, carelessly nodded to him.

Spike spoke to them and they halted.

What passed between them of course Patsy could not tell, but it evidently ended in an invitation to drink on the part of one of the two strangers, a man who in his outward appearance looked like everything else but a thief and burglar.

As Patsy was preparing to follow, he suddenly became aware that a man had stopped on the pavement immediately in front of him and was regarding the group across the street most intently.

Looking at this man closely, Patsy quickly recognized a celebrated detective from Chicago.

Stepping up to him, Patsy called him by name, revealing himself to the Chicago sleuth.

“What do you know of those men over there?” he asked.

“Are you after them?” asked the Chicago man in return.

“I am after the one who is on the corner that they spoke to. He is Spike Thomas, a New York crook, second-story man.”

“That dressy man that’s talking to him,” said the Chicago man, “is Jimmy Lannigan, the swell crackman of Philadelphia. He’s the best lock man in the world. I was surprised to see him here, for I supposed he was in St. Louis. He was in Chicago all last winter, and while we suspected him of several jobs, we couldn’t fix it on him.”

By this time the three men had entered the liquor saloon on the corner, and Patsy said:

“I’d like to talk to you a little longer, but I must get closer to those people.”

He slipped across the avenue and the Chicago sleuth went his way.

Peering into the saloon, Patsy saw the three men standing in a little group at the bar.

There was no one else in the saloon, and Patsy did not dare to enter lest his appearance should be noted. But he did see that Spike Thomas was urging something strongly on the one the Chicago sleuth had called Lannigan, and he heard the latter say in a rather loud voice:

“We can’t talk about it here. Let’s go to another place.”

Patsy retired from the door and took such a position on the corner that he could observe both the front and the rear doors.

In a few minutes the three men appeared at the front door and, turning the corner, walked down Thirty-fourth Street in the direction of the East River.

Patsy sauntered after them. It was not a difficult matter to keep them in sight, although from time to time both Thomas and Lannigan looked behind them. Patsy thought it was more because of habit than in a belief they were followed.

Their way took them to the last block of the street, and here they turned into a saloon which was well filled with customers, and where they could easily talk without attracting attention.

At the rear of this saloon, in the corner, was a table and some chairs.

At it Spike Thomas, Lannigan and his companion sat down and immediately entered into a close conversation.

In the beginning the talk was almost entirely conducted by Spike Thomas, Lannigan’s replies seemingly being a series of denials.

By and by, Patsy drifted to the table next to the party but which was still some little distance from it, too far away, indeed, to hear what was said by the three, as they talked in a low tone.

Finally, however, Spike Thomas raised his voice a bit, apparently a little angry, and said:

“What are yer givin’ me. I know you was into it. And yer had a right to take me in. It’s no way to treat a pal. I got something up me sleeve, and if you don’t take me in on de level I’ll make trouble for yer.”

Lannigan merely laughed and called for some more drinks, but the third man was evidently inclined to regard seriously the threat conveyed in Spike’s words.

Speaking to Lannigan in a low tone he rose from his seat and took Lannigan apart and talked earnestly and vigorously.

Whatever it was that was said made an impression upon Lannigan, and he turned abruptly and went back to the table.

“See here, Spike,” said Lannigan. “You don’t want to do anything ugly until you know what you’re doing. Billy and I can’t talk with you until we’ve been across the river. We’ll be back inside of an hour and see you right here. If there’s a whack into anything you’ll get your share.”

The two tossed off their drinks, and rising, immediately left the saloon.

Spike Thomas remained at the table, looking, as Patsy thought, much dissatisfied with the outcome.

“Anyhow,” said Patsy, “Spike will remain here for an hour or two.”

Suddenly Patsy rose to his feet and sauntered from the saloon.

He ran up the street hastily and turned the corner.

Half an hour later a young fellow, rather jauntily dressed but, nevertheless, one in whom the east-side tough showed, came down the street and turned into the saloon where Spike was awaiting the return of Lannigan and his companion.

Arriving in the center of the barroom he gave a flip to the brim of his hat with a snap of his finger, sending it back on his head, gave a characteristic hitch to one shoulder and, with a protruding chin, walked over to the table where Spike Thomas sat.

“Say, Spike, I’ve been lookin’ for youse,” said the newcomer.

Spike looked up with a frown on his face and curiously regarded the other fellow.

“Well,” he said, “youse has found me. What’s de trouble?”

“Say, Spike,” said the new man. “Does youse know anything about dat job of crib-cracking up in Thirty-fifth Street?”

Spike partly closed his eyes and regarded the other keenly and suspiciously. At length he replied:

“Naw! Nor youse eder, Bally Morris.”

“Dat’s right,” replied the other, “I don’t know much for a fact. But I got a couple of lines onto it dat you can work if yer knows who did the job.”

Again Spike looked at the young fellow, but this time it was not alone suspiciously, but with an evident desire to have him show his hand. He altered his tone and manner toward the newcomer.

“Have some booze?” he asked.

As the lad he called Morris sat down at the table he said a little more genially:

“What about dem lines youse has got?”

“Dey’s all right if yer knows who did the job,” replied Morris.

“S’pose I did it, meself,” said Spike, with a wink.

“Well, I knows youse didn’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause de job was done before one o’clock dis mornin’ and youse was wid yer rag down to Rivington Street along about dat time.”

“Dat’s right,” exclaimed Spike, with an oath, “and if it hadn’t bin for de rag I’m t’inkin’ I’d been into de job. She got me out of de way of it.”

“Den,” said Morris, eagerly, “youse does know who did it?”

Spike gave a huge wink and smiled a knowing smile.

“I’m kinder onto it meself,” said Morris. “I’m t’inkin’ I ain’t guessin’ far wrong when I’m sayin’ it was de swell lag Lannigan.”

Spike gave such a start as made Morris say:

“Dat’s de way you t’ink, too.”

“Well, I’ve got a squint dat way,” reluctantly admitted Spike. “But, wot’s dem lines youse got?”

“Well, de first one is dat Nick Carter is in de case and Patsy Murphy wid him.”

“I got dat line meself,” said Spike. “I knows Patsy, dis long time. I seed him dis mornin’ an’ I tumbled to de job.”

“Well, here’s a line you ain’t got. De lags took out of de house a case wid some papers in it wot’s worth more’n fifty times what all de odder things is.”

“Wot’s dat you’re givin’ me?” asked Spike, roughly. “Wot are yer gittin’ to?”

“It’s dis. Some big feller in de dark put up de job of gittin’ de lags to git hold of dat case. Dey put up for it, but nothin’ like wot it’s wurth. Why, man, dere’s thousands and thousands in dat case and dere’s more’n one dat would put up big for it.”

Spike pricked up his ears, for he began to see what was meant and of what use the knowledge of it would be to him in his contest with Lannigan.

“Oh, gwan!” he cried. “You’re dopey. Youse dreamin’.”

“Naw, I ain’t dreamin’,” exclaimed the other. “His nibs dat lives in de crib dat was cracked would give enough to make us all rich, to git dat case back wid wot’s in it.”

“Say,” asked Spike, “where did you get dat line?”

“De same where you got your line,” said Morris.

“Patsy Murphy?”

“De same.”

“How did he come to do dat?”

“Dat’s wot he’s lookin’ for,” said Morris. “Yer see, he’s lookin’ for dat and nottin’ else. You know Patsy is an east sider, an’ he tackled me to know if I knew who did de job, den he’d give all his insides to me about it.”

“Yes, he did!” said Spike, incredulously.

“Dat’s right. He did. An’ he said dat he was talkin’ wid you afore he seen me and if he hadn’t been a chump, he’d split to you to see if you wouldn’t give him a pointer on de fellers into de job.”

“Dat’s right,” said Spike, thoughtfully. “An’ I give him de chance when I was pumpin’ him as to whether he knew who did de job.”

“Well, what of it?”

“Well,” said Morris, “I was t’inkin’ dere was somethin’ into it for you and me if you handled it right. I was t’inkin’ if you was dead onto de right lags, dat youse could go to ’em an’ give ’em a tip about the wuth dere was into de case and get ’em to hold it up; den youse who wasn’t into de job could dicker between dem as wants it bad and Patsy’d be one to dicker wid.”

Spike slapped the table with his hands so hard that every one in the room turned to look, but Spike was too earnest to notice this. To Morris he said:

“Yer right, kid, yer dead right. Yer’ve got a big line. Now, see here, I know who did de job. I’m dead certain of that, dough dey won’t say dey did. But wid what you give me I’ll make ’em talk on de level. Now, kid, youse must git out of here, for dem as I t’inks did it will be here soon. I’m on de dead level wid youse and you got yer rake in whatever I pulls off.”

“All right,” said Morris.

He got up from the table, pulled his hat over his brows, and then swaggered out of the barroom.

Reaching Thirty-fourth Street he walked to the west quite rapidly and on the second corner above as he turned to the left he came into close contact with another, an encounter which caused him to step back with a decided start.

Then he laughed aloud, most heartily, and if at nothing else, at the look of vast astonishment which spread over the face of the other person. Both the laugh and the look of astonishment were justified.

The man he had encountered was an exact duplicate of himself. They needed but a band between them to become Siamese twins.

Finally, recovering from his astonishment a bit, the other reached out as if he would take Morris by the shoulders, saying:

“Here, cull, wot’s all dis?”

“It’s all right, Bally Morris,” replied the other, who himself had been called by that name by Spike Thomas.

Suddenly the other bent forward, peering keenly into the face of his counterpart and almost shouted:

“Hully chee! It’s a plant. De cull is painted for me. Dat’s right.”

Again the other laughed so heartily that he could not reply, and while he was holding his sides his counterpart cried out:

“Wot’s de game? Give up now. Who’s youse?”

“Patsy Murphy, Bally Morris,” replied Patsy, for it was Patsy. “I didn’t think I’d run up agin’ you so far away from de Bowery. But come along till I get dis make-up off me.”

Somewhat dazed and wholly bewildered, the east-side tough followed obediently the one who had made himself into such a skillful resemblance.

“But I say, Patsy,” he asked, “what was you up to?”

“Nothing that’ll hurt you,” replied Patsy, “but if you’ll play up to de line it may put some dollars into your pocket.”

Patsy found on the corner below a drinking-place and, going into the washroom, quickly removed the make-up that had made him look like Bally Morris.

Then he took Billy into the barroom and told him just what he had done in his disguise.

“Now, Billy,” he said in conclusion, “I haven’t made you do anything that’ll hurt you or any one else. If you’ll take up my lead now and not let Spike know that I faked him so, there’ll be some boodle for you from somewhere. Do yer see?” He continued: “I’m tryin’ to stop that case from going into the hands of people that, if it ever reaches them, can’t be got out of by the right owners.”

When the real Bally Morris comprehended the whole scheme he was quite willing to fall into it and do as Patsy wanted him to do since there was no danger for him, but a chance of profit.

“Are you goin’ to be on the level with me?” asked Patsy.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” replied Morris. “Dere ain’t anyt’ing in it for me any odder way.”

“Then,” said Patsy, “get down to that place and watch Spike. And meet me on the other corner an hour from now. Wait for me till I come.”

Patsy hastened to report, for he believed that he had made most important discoveries.