“Of course, Spike, my boss is working for Herron. I am working for my boss, so I’m workin’ for Herron, too. Now, if you can get your hooks on that case, or what’s in it, and you don’t want to tackle Herron, why not tackle my boss.”
“What?” cried Spike, in horror. “Tackle Nick Carter? Nit, nit, Pauline.”
“Well, then, if that don’t suit you,” said Patsy, “I’ll give you another steer. The widder will put up for them papers, and put up big.”
“Now, you’re shouting,” said Spike. “Dat’s de lay. Now, where is she?”
“Her name is Pemberton, but you can’t get to her before ten o’clock to-morrow morning,” said Patsy, anxious to get enough time to notify Ida and to let her arrange for the part she was to play in the matter.
He was thoughtful a moment or two, and then he said:
“If you can work the Lannigan end, Spike,” he said, “you come to me to-morrow morning at nine o’clock and I’ll give you the place where Mrs. Pemberton lives; and, say, Spike, if you pull it off, you ought to do something square with me for putting you on and giving you the straight steer.”
“Sure,” said Spike. “Dere ain’t nothin’ in de hull shootin’ match dat I didn’t get from youse. I’ll give yer a whack if I pulls anything off.”
Patsy now believed that he had gotten from Spike all that was possible, and that he had laid a train in which Spike could be used which would lead to good results, and he was anxious to get away and hunt up Nick to report to him what he had done.
Seeking the best excuse he could, he left the two and went over to the Bowery.