Lombroso and other great criminologists have given it out that your true degenerate has no sense of humor, but on two faces at least there was a broad grin when the object of the little man’s visit was revealed.
“He came to burgle Connor,” said Bat admiringly. “Here, pass over the whisky, one of ye!”
He forced a little down the man’s throat, and Mr. Lane blinked and opened his eyes in a frightened stare.
“Stand up,” commanded Bat, “an’ give an account of yourself, young feller. What d’ye mean by breaking into——”
“Never mind about that,” Goyle interrupted savagely. “What has he heard when he was sneaking outside?—that’s the question.”
“Nothin’, gentlemen!” gasped the unfortunate Mr. Lane, “on me word, gentlemen! I’ve been in trouble like yourselves, an’——”
He realized he had blundered.
“Oh,” said Goyle with ominous calm, “so you’ve been in trouble like us, have you?”
“I mean——”
“I know what you mean,” hissed the other; “you mean you’ve been listenin’ to what we’ve been saying, you little skunk, and you’re ready to bleat to the first copper.”