Part 32 (1/2)

I may as well say that the conversation which ensued was interlarded with expressions common to the lawless cla.s.s which Marlowe represented, but I prefer to translate them into common speech. The room which they entered seemed full of odds and ends of wearing apparel, and might have been taken for a p.a.w.nbroker's shop, or second-hand clothing store. Or it might have been taken for a dressing-room to a theatre, but that the articles displayed had long since seen their best days, with few exceptions.

”What have you been up to?” asked Jacob, varying the form of his question.

”Jack Morgan and I tried to break into a house on Madison avenue to-night.”

”Couldn't you get in?”

”Yes; but the police were in waiting for us. They nabbed Jack, but I got away. They followed me to Jack's room, but I got out of the window. They're on my track now.”

”They didn't see you come in here?” asked the old man, alarmed.

”No, I have given them the slip. But they'll have me unless you help me.”

”My son, I'll do what I can. What is your plan?”

”To disguise myself so that my own mother wouldn't know me. See what you can do for me.”

My reader will now understand the character of the old man's business.

Thieves, and others who had rendered themselves amenable to the law, came to him for disguises, paying heavily for the use of what articles he supplied them. In many cases he was obliged to give them credit, but the old adage, ”There is honor among thieves,” was exemplified here, for he seldom failed, sooner or later, to receive full payment.

It might be, and probably was, from motives of policy that his customers were so honorable; for if unfaithful to their agreements they could hardly expect to be accommodated a second time, and this was a serious consideration.

When appealed to by Marlowe, Jacob understood that the details of the disguise were left to his judgment. He raised his candle, and took a good look at his customer. Then he dove under a heap of clothing on the floor, and fished out a dirty sailor's dress. ”Try it on,” he said.

”I don't know about that,” said Marlowe, hesitating. ”I don't know any sailor's lingo.”

”That's no matter. You can say, 's.h.i.+ver 'my timbers,' can't you?”

”Yes, I can do that.”

”That's enough. It's all I know myself. But it won't do any harm to pick up something else; the police won't never think of you as a sailor.”

”I don't know but you're right, Jacob, s.h.i.+ver my timbers if I don't!”

and he laughed as he used the expression.

”Try it on. I guess it'll be about right,” said the old man.

Marlowe quickly stripped off the suit he wore, and arrayed himself in the strange and unfamiliar garb presented. By good luck it had originally been made for a man of about his size, and there was no discrepancy likely to excite suspicion.

”Let me look at myself,” said he.

Jacob produced a small cracked gla.s.s, and the ex-burglar surveyed his transformed figure.

”What do you think of it?” asked the dealer.

”The dress is well enough, but they'll know my face.”

”Sit down.”

”What for?”