The uncertain, timorous actions of the strangers in Thieves' Alley brought a fantastic smile to the lips of the smoker. He watched them as they looked up at the boot and compared notes in rather subdued tones.
"This must be the place," said one of the men. There was no mistaking the note of disgust in his voice.
"Looking for some one, gents?" demanded the smoker, without rising from the stool on which he sat leaning against the wall.
"Is this No. 24—Hello! It's Dick!"
"Ain't you afraid to be seen down here, Joey?" asked the man on the stool, chuckling.
"It's worth an honest man's life to be seen 'ere," said Joey Noakes, in hushed tones. "God 'elp 'im as can't 'elp 'isself if he ever strolls in 'ere unawares."
"It's rather late in the night for any one to be about," said Dick Cronk. "Still, I've been expecting you, gents. That's why I'm sitting out here, takin' things easy—and makin' things easy for you. If you don't mind I'll keep my seat, David. It ain't wise to be seen hobnobbin' with swell gents at this time o' night—in Hell's Kitchen particularly. I know what you're here for. He's back there asleep. Don't worry. I've got him safely sidetracked."
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the narrow passage. The others looked down that filthy corridor and shuddered.
"What a place!" muttered David Jenison.
"Wot 'as Brad been up to to-night?" demanded Joey.