of going out on a cold winter’s night to crack a crib, knowing that
there would be a cup of hot soup waiting for you when you got back,
and your slippers all warmed and comfortable. And then she’d sit on
your knee, and you’d tell her how you shot the policeman, and you’d
examine the swag together–! Why, I can’t imagine anything cozier.
Perhaps there would be little Spikes running about the house. Can’t
you see them jumping with joy as you slid in through the window, and
told the great news? ‘Fahzer’s killed a pleeceman!’ cry the tiny,
eager voices. Candy is served out all round in honor of the event.
Golden-haired little Jimmy Mullins, my god-son, gets a dime for
having thrown a stone at a plain-clothes detective that afternoon.
All is joy and wholesome revelry. Take my word for it, Spike,
there’s nothing like domesticity.”
“Dere was a goil once,” said Spike, meditatively. “Only, I was never
her steady. She married a cop.”
“She wasn’t worthy of you, Spike,” said Jimmy, sympathetically. “A
girl capable of going to the bad like that would never have done for
you. You must pick some nice, sympathetic girl with a romantic
admiration for your line of business. Meanwhile, let me finish
shaving, or I shall be late for dinner. Great doings on to-night,
Spike.”
Spike became animated.
“Sure, boss I Dat’s just what–”
“If you could collect all the blue blood that will be under this
roof to-night, Spike, into one vat, you’d be able to start a dyeing-
works. Don’t try, though. They mightn’t like it. By the way, have
you seen anything more–of course, you have. What I mean is, have
you talked at all with that valet man, the one you think is a
detective?”
“Why, boss, dat’s just–”
“I hope for his own sake he’s a better performer than my old friend,
Galer. That man is getting on my nerves, Spike. He pursues me like a
smell-dog. I expect he’s lurking out in the passage now. Did you see
him?”
“Did I! Boss! Why–”
Jimmy inspected Spike gravely.
“Spike,” he said, “there’s something on your mind. You’re trying to
say something. What is it? Out with it.”
Spike’s excitement vented itself in a rush of words.
“Gee, boss! There’s bin doin’s to-night fer fair, lie coco’s still
buzzin’. Sure t’ing! Why, say, when I was to Sir Tummas’ dressin’-
room dis afternoon–”
“What!”
“Surest t’ing you know. Just before de storm come on, when it was
all as dark as could be. Well, I was–”
Jimmy interrupted.
“In Sir Thomas’s dressing-room! What the–”
Spike looked somewhat embarrassed. He grinned apologetically, and
shuffled his feet.
“I’ve got dem, boss!” he said, with a smirk.
“Got them? Got what?”
“Dese.”
Spike plunged a hand in a pocket, and drew forth in a glittering
mass Lady Julia Blunt’s rope of diamonds.
CHAPTER XXII
TWO OF A TRADE DISAGREE
“One hundred t’ousand plunks,” murmured Spike, gazing lovingly at
them. “I says to myself, de boss ain’t got no time to be gittin’
after dem himself. He’s too busy dese days wit’ jollyin’ along de
swells. So, it’s up to me, I says, ‘cos de boss’ll be tickled to
deat’, all right, all right, if we can git away wit’ dem. So, I–”
Jimmy gave tongue with an energy that amazed his faithful follower.
The nightmare horror of the situation had affected him much as a
sudden blow in the parts about the waistcoat might have done. But,
now, as Spike would have said, he caught up with his breath. The
smirk faded slowly from the other’s face as he listened. Not even in
the Bowery, full as it was of candid friends, had he listened to
such a trenchant summing-up of his mental and moral deficiencies.
“Boss!” he protested.
“That’s just a sketchy outline,” said Jimmy, pausing for breath. “I
can’t do you justice impromptu like this–you’re too vast and
overwhelming.”
“But, boss, what’s eatin’ you? Ain’t youse tickled?”
“Tickled!” Jimmy sawed the air. “Tickled! You lunatic! Can’t you see
what you’ve done?”
“I’ve got dem,” said Spike, whose mind was not readily receptive of
new ideas. It seemed to him that Jimmy missed the main point.