“Chicago, if you say so.”
“Well, I do. It is now near five o’clock. Meet me at half-past seven at the Forty-second Street Station, and I’ll hand you the tickets and the stake. Is that settled?”
There was a movement of chairs as if the three men were rising, and Patsy slipped down from his perch and from behind the door.
He was out in the saloon in a position to see them when they came from the room.
“I needn’t worry about Masson,” said Patsy to himself. “He can be picked up at the station. I’ll follow the others to find out who they are.”
His chase after these two was not a long one, though it did carry him to the Bowery, to which place the two hurried.
The two toughs, for such, indeed, they were, reaching that famous thoroughfare, quickly made for a saloon which was well known to Patsy through frequent visits to it in the way of business.
So skillfully had his shadow work been done that neither of the two toughs had even seen him.
Entering this place close behind them, Patsy was surprised and not gratified to see within it an old acquaintance, Bally Morris.
But what had rather annoyed him he quickly saw was likely to turn out to his advantage.