Jet took the bit of paper and hurried away at full speed, to find that he had been sent to a bar-room which was by no means noted for bearing a good reputation so far as the honesty of its patrons was concerned.
Seated at one of the tables were two men. The elder, tall and slim, and the other of medium height, but rather fleshy.
"Come here!" the thin man called as the messenger entered, and Jet fancied that the fellow's full beard looked suspiciously heavy and black.
"I wouldn't like to bet that all that hair grew on his face," Jet said to himself, as he approached the table, but he gave the matter no further thought, for it was his business to obey orders, and not criticize his patrons.
"How long will it take you to go to the corner of Sixth Avenue and Fifteenth Street?"
"Not more than ten minutes."
"Take this satchel and give it to a party with red hair who is standing on the northwest corner."
"Suppose there should be more than one?" Jet asked as he took the traveling-bag which was remarkably light in weight although it was apparently stuffed full to bursting.
"The right man will ask your number, and you are to tell him it is one hundred and ten."
"But he can see by my cap that I'm forty-eight."