Then he turned to Parks.
“Did you find out about that place?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Can you work it?”
“Yes; but it must be done to-night, and I must have help.”
CHAPTER XIV.
THE FLAT BURGLARY.
It was long past midnight, and a slow, winter rain was falling.
Shivering with the cold, and muttering imprecations against the weather, Parks and Nixon left the shelter of the chophouse and walked rapidly toward Wabash Avenue.
“We ought to have been out an hour ago,” muttered the former, “then we shouldn’t have missed the cable.”
“The owl car’s all right for a job like this,” was the sullen reply. “You’ll be wanting a hack next.”