He Knew the Place.
The man with his coat collar turned up and his hat pulled down over his eyes, who was slouching alone in the shadow of the buildings, suddenly beckoned to the man on the other side of the street.
“Here’s a graft, Bill,” he said when the other had crossed over.
“Wot is?” asked Bill, gruffly.
“This here house,” replied the first speaker. “It’s just like finding things all fixed for you. Some bloomin’ idiot has gone away and left his latchkey in the door.”
Bill took a long look at the house and then shook his head.
“You kin have it,” he said. “I don’t want nuthin’ to do with the game.”
“Wot’s the matter?”
“The feller wot lives here ain’t to be trusted. He’s a low-down, mean, tricky cuss. He ain’t got no feelin’s at all.”
“D’ye know him?”
“No; but I was here onct before, an’ I’m onto his game. He left the key just like that before, an’ I thought it was dead easy. I went up and tried to turn it, an’ I thought I was bein’ electrocuted sure.”