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.