“Try another?” suggested Jimmy.

Spike’s grin showed that the idea had been well received.

Jimmy sat and smoked in silence for a while. He was thinking the thing over. He felt like a detective who has found a clue. At last he would be able to discover the name of the Mauretania girl. The discovery would not take him very far, certainly, but it would be something. Possibly Spike might even be able to fix the position of the house they had broken into that night.

Spike was looking at him over his glass with silent admiration. This flat, which Jimmy had rented for a year, in the hope that the possession of a fixed abode might help to tie him down to one spot, was handsomely, even luxuriously, furnished. To Spike every chair and table in the room had a romance of its own as having been purchased out of the proceeds of that New Asiatic Bank robbery, or from the revenue accruing from the Duchess of Havent’s jewels. He was dumb with reverence for one who could make burglary pay to this extent. In his own case the profession had rarely provided anything more than bread and butter and an occasional trip to Coney Island.

Jimmy caught his eye, and spoke.

“Well, Spike,” he said. “Curious that we should meet like this?”

“De limit,” agreed Spike.

“I can’t imagine you three thousand miles from New York. How do you know the cars still run both ways on Broadway?”

A wistful look came into Spike’s eyes.

“I t’ought it was time I give old Lunnon a call. T’ings was getting too fierce in Noo York. De cops was layin’ for me. Dey didn’t seem like as if they had any use for me. So I beat it.”

“Bad luck,” said Jimmy.

“Fierce,” agreed Spike.

“Do you know, Spike,” said Jimmy, “I spent a great deal of time before I left New York looking for you.”

“Gee, I wish you’d found me. And did youse want me to help on some lay, boss?”

“Well, no, not that. Do you remember that night we broke into that house up-town—the police-captain’s house?”

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