“Did you see the undertaker’s wagon again?”
“Not after it left the house,” said Mulligan. “I supposed it was heading for the station baggage room. I know nothing more about it.”
“I believe you, Mulligan,” said Patsy. “You know something, nevertheless, that you have not told me. I can read that in your eyes.”
“You’ve got keen ones, Garvan, all right,” Mulligan said, with a laugh. “’Tain’t much.”
“Come across. What is it?”
“I’ve seen a woman coming out of that house who don’t stand ace high. She pretends to be all right, but between you and me, Garvan, she’s as clever and crooked a jade as you’ll find from Harlem to the Battery. Harlem—that’s where she hangs out when at home.”
“What is her name?” questioned Patsy, with increasing interest.
“Nell Margate.”
“Any relation to Jim Margate, of Harlem?”
“She’s his sister.”