Seen! Suppose he WERE seen? He shuddered a little.
“Yes; that's so!” he said hoarsely. He glanced numbly up and down the wide, deserted, but well-lighted, avenue. It was no place, that most aristocratic section of the city, for such as Silver Mag and Larry the Bat to be seen at that hour of night, or, rather, morning. And if anything HAPPENED inside that house! “I—I didn't think of that,” he said mechanically.
“Come across the street—under the stoop of that house there.” She had his arm, and was half dragging him as she spoke, the alarm in her voice intensified. And then, a moment later, safe from observation: “Jimmie, Jimmie, what is the matter? What has happened? What makes you act so strangely?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I—”
“TELL me!” she insisted wildly.
And then, with a violent effort, Jimmie Dale forced his mind back to the immediate present. He was only inspiring her with terror—and there was the Magpie—and that money in the safe!
“Where is the Magpie?” he asked, with quick apprehension. “Am I late? Is he in there already?”
“No,” she said. “He hasn't come yet.”
“What time is it?” he demanded anxiously.
“About half-past two,” she replied. “But, Jimmie—”