“That dressy man that’s talking to him,” said the Chicago man, “is Jimmy Lannigan, the swell crackman of Philadelphia. He’s the best lock man in the world. I was surprised to see him here, for I supposed he was in St. Louis. He was in Chicago all last winter, and while we suspected him of several jobs, we couldn’t fix it on him.”
By this time the three men had entered the liquor saloon on the corner, and Patsy said:
“I’d like to talk to you a little longer, but I must get closer to those people.”
He slipped across the avenue and the Chicago sleuth went his way.
Peering into the saloon, Patsy saw the three men standing in a little group at the bar.
There was no one else in the saloon, and Patsy did not dare to enter lest his appearance should be noted. But he did see that Spike Thomas was urging something strongly on the one the Chicago sleuth had called Lannigan, and he heard the latter say in a rather loud voice:
“We can’t talk about it here. Let’s go to another place.”
Patsy retired from the door and took such a position on the corner that he could observe both the front and the rear doors.
In a few minutes the three men appeared at the front door and, turning the corner, walked down Thirty-fourth Street in the direction of the East River.
Patsy sauntered after them. It was not a difficult matter to keep them in sight, although from time to time both Thomas and Lannigan looked behind them. Patsy thought it was more because of habit than in a belief they were followed.