I gave him the directions and then:
"It's a restaurant; he's eating. But it may only be a doughnut and a glass of milk. If it's pancakes we're safe, but a man lighting out with a fortune in a handbag don't generally want anything so filling. I'll follow him until I drop, but I don't want to travel round with a jewel thief unless I have to."
"I'll send O'Malley now. You stay right there and if Willitts finishes before he comes, hold him any way you can. Get a cop. I'll 'phone to headquarters for a warrant. So long."
Of course I thought of the cop, but spying out from the doorway, there wasn't one in sight. And by this time I was considerably worked up, afraid to move in any direction, afraid to take my eyes from the restaurant entrance. I pulled up one of the chairs they have for people getting prescriptions filled, and sat down by the doorway, watching the place opposite, like a cat camped in front of a mouse hole.
Ten minutes had passed. If the traffic wasn't too thick on Broadway O'Malley could make it in less than twenty. But the traffic was thick—it was the middle of the day; if he was stalled or had to make a detour it might run toward half an hour. He might be—The door of the restaurant opened and out crept the mouse.
The cat rose up, soft and stealthy, with her claws ready. As I crossed the street I sent a look both ways—not a taxi in sight, not a cop, only the whole thoroughfare tangled up with drays and delivery wagons. There was nothing for it but to stop him, first put out the velvet paw and then shoot the claws. Jumping quick on the curb I came up alongside of him, a smile on my face that felt like the grin you get when you make a joke that no one sees.
"Why, hullo," I said, going at him with my hand out, "I couldn't at first believe it—but it is you."
He drew up quick, all on the alert, looking at me with hard, ferret eyes.
"Who are you?" he said, fierce and forbidding. "What do you want?"
I put my head sideways, and tried to take the curse off the smile, changing it to a sort of trembly sweetness.