Jacob Heine, believed to be the perpetrator of several mysterious shooting affrays, and member of a dangerous West Side gang, was arrested to-day.
The light being dim, Ravenslee drew closer to the lamp, and standing thus against the light, his face was in shadow—also his long figure was silhouetted upon the opposite wall, plain to be seen by any one opening the door. Suddenly, as he stood with head bent above the paper, this door opened suddenly, and M'Ginnis entered; he also held a paper, and now he spoke without troubling to lift his scowling gaze from the printed column he was scanning:
"That you, Lefty? Here's a hell of a mix-up—that dog-gone fool Heine's got himself pinched—and in Jersey City too! I told him t' stay around here till things was quiet! It's goin' t' be a hell of a job t' fix things for him over there—'t ain't like N' York. But we got t' fix things for him or chance him squealing on th' rest of us, but what beats me is—"
M'Ginnis's teeth clicked together, and the paper tore suddenly between his hands as, glancing up at last, he beheld two keen, grey eyes that watched him and a mouth, grim and close-lipped, that curled in the smile Spider didn't like.
For a long, tense moment they stood motionless, eye to eye, then, reaching behind him, M'Ginnis locked the door, and drawing out the key, thrust it into his pocket.
"So—I got ye at last—have I?" said he slowly.
"And I've got you," said Ravenslee pleasantly; "we seem to have got each other, don't we?"
"See here, you," said M'Ginnis, his massive shoulders squared, his big chin viciously outthrust, "you're goin' t' leave Mulligan's, see?"
"Am I?" said Ravenslee, lounging upon a corner of the battered desk.
"You sure are," nodded M'Ginnis. "Hell's Kitchen ain't big enough for you an' me, I guess; you're goin' because I say so, an' you're goin' t'night!"