“Youse is comin’ to yer milk now, Brockey,” he remarked.
“Were you in this place last night?”
“Wot’s de use o’ talking here? It ain’t safe, Brockey. Le’ me gi’ you a tip. Nick Carter may turn up here eny moment, an’ youse an’ me might not be able to git on to him, see?”
Brockey uttered an oath. His face turned pale. He glanced over his shoulder and his eyes wandered about the room.
“Ain’t my advice sensible?” the detective asked.
“I guess it is,” Brockey replied.
“Den le’s git out o’ here.”
“All right. But I’ll be hanged if I can understand what——”
“I’ll explain everything, Brockey.”
“Where’ll we go?”