“What numbah?” asked the negro.
“Feefity-nine Main.”
The Italian restaurant! Another letter to Spanelli! The men he was after!
Jack waited to hear no more, but tiptoeing back about the corner, was off for the woods, jubilant at his success.
Indeed Jack was over jubilant—so jubilant that he forgot the necessity of caution, made a short cut across an open space in full view of the shanty, and half way was brought to a sudden realization of his mistake by the creak of an opening door. In consternation he at once saw he could not reach cover before being seen, and also that did he run, the Black-Handers would understand they had been discovered.
With quick presence of mind he recognized and instantly did the one thing possible. Turning, he headed back boldly for the cabin. The next instant the three Italians came into view, immediately discovered him, and halted. Secretly trembling, but with a cool front, Jack approached them as they stood, excitedly whispering.
“Would you kindly tell me the time?” he asked.
The three men exchanged glances, then, as at a signal, stepped forward and surrounded him. “Now, whata you want?” demanded one of them sharply, thrusting his dark face close to Jack’s. Before Jack could repeat his question the shanty door opened and the negro appeared. Exclaiming angrily, he ran toward them.
“W’at he want? W’at he want now?” he demanded.
“He say, whata da time,” repeated one of the Italians.