“Well, I’ve got a squint dat way,” reluctantly admitted Spike. “But, wot’s dem lines youse got?”
“Well, de first one is dat Nick Carter is in de case and Patsy Murphy wid him.”
“I got dat line meself,” said Spike. “I knows Patsy, dis long time. I seed him dis mornin’ an’ I tumbled to de job.”
“Well, here’s a line you ain’t got. De lags took out of de house a case wid some papers in it wot’s worth more’n fifty times what all de odder things is.”
“Wot’s dat you’re givin’ me?” asked Spike, roughly. “Wot are yer gittin’ to?”
“It’s dis. Some big feller in de dark put up de job of gittin’ de lags to git hold of dat case. Dey put up for it, but nothin’ like wot it’s wurth. Why, man, dere’s thousands and thousands in dat case and dere’s more’n one dat would put up big for it.”
Spike pricked up his ears, for he began to see what was meant and of what use the knowledge of it would be to him in his contest with Lannigan.
“Oh, gwan!” he cried. “You’re dopey. Youse dreamin’.”
“Naw, I ain’t dreamin’,” exclaimed the other. “His nibs dat lives in de crib dat was cracked would give enough to make us all rich, to git dat case back wid wot’s in it.”
“Say,” asked Spike, “where did you get dat line?”