Part 17 (1/2)
”Why didn't you knock him down and carry her off?”
”He was de lightweight champion of de woild.”
”That makes a difference, doesn't it? But away with melancholy, Spike!
I'm feeling as if somebody had given me Broadway for a birthday present.”
”Youse to de good,” agreed Spike.
”Well, any news? Keggs all right? How are you getting on?”
”Mr. Chames.” Spike sank his voice to a whisper. ”Dat's what I chased meself here about. Dere's a mug down in de soivant's hall what's a detective. Yes, dat's right, if I ever saw one.”
”What makes you think so?”
”On your way, Mr. Chames! Can't I tell? I could pick out a fly cop out of a bunch of a thousand. Sure. Dis mug's vally to Sir Thomas, dat's him. But he ain't no vally. He's come to see dat no one don't get busy wit de jools. Say, what do you t'ink of dem jools, Mr. Chames?”
”Finest I ever saw.”
”Yes, dat's right. De limit, ain't dey? Ain't youse really----”
”No, Spike, I am not, thank you _very_ much for inquiring. I'm never going to touch a jewel again unless I've paid for it and got the receipt in my pocket.”
Spike shuffled despondently.
”All the same,” said Jimmy, ”I shouldn't give yourself away to this detective. If he tries pumping you at all, give him the frozen face.”
”Sure. But he ain't de only one.”
”What, _more_ detectives? They'll have to put up 'house full' boards at this rate. Who's the other?”
”De mug what came dis afternoon. Ole man McEachern brought him. I seed Miss Molly talking to him.”
”The chap from the inn? Why, that's an old New York friend of McEachern's.”
”Anyhow, Mr. Chames, he's a sleut'. I can tell 'em by deir eyes and deir feet, and de whole of dem.”
An idea came into Jimmy's mind.
”I see,” he said. ”Our friend McEachern has got him in to spy on us. I might have known he'd be up to something like that.”
”Dat's right, Mr. Chames.”
”Of course you may be mistaken.”
”Not me, Mr. Chames.”
”Anyhow, I shall be seeing him at dinner. I can get talking to him afterward. I shall soon find out what his game is.”
For the moment, Molly was forgotten. The old reckless spirit was carrying him away. This thing was a deliberate challenge. He had been on parole. He had imagined that his word was all that McEachern had to rely on. But if the policeman had been working secretly against him all this time, his parole was withdrawn automatically. The thought that, if he did nothing, McEachern would put it down complacently to the vigilance of his detective and his own astuteness in engaging him stung Jimmy. His six years of burglary had given him an odd sort of professional pride. ”I've half a mind,” he said softly. The familiar expression on his face was not lost on Spike.