There was a taxi-cab near by, as there always is in New York. Jimmy pushed Spike in.
The luxury of riding in a taxi-cab kept Spike dumb for several miles. At One Hundred and Fiftieth Street Jimmy stopped the cab and paid the driver, who took the money with that magnificently aloof air which characterizes the taxi-chauffeur. A lesser man might have displayed some curiosity about the ill-matched pair. The chauffeur, having lit a cigarette, drove off without any display of interest whatsoever. It might have been part of his ordinary duties to drive gentlemen in evening clothes and shock-headed youths in parti-coloured sweaters about the city at three o’clock in the morning.
“We will now,” said Jimmy, “stroll on and prospect. It might excite comment if we drove up to the door. It is up to you, Spike. Lead me to this house you mentioned.”
They walked on, striking eastward out of Broadway. It caused Jimmy some surprise to find that much-enduring thoroughfare extended as far as this. It had never occurred to him before to ascertain what Broadway did with itself beyond Times Square. He had spent much of his time abroad, in cities where a street changes its name every hundred yards or so without any apparent reason.
It was darker now that they had moved from the centre of things, but it was still far too light for Jimmy’s tastes. He was content, however, to leave matters entirely in his companion’s charge. Spike probably had his method for evading publicity on these occasions.
Spike, meanwhile, plodded steadily onwards. Block after block he passed, until finally the houses began to be more scattered.
At length he stopped outside a fair-sized detached house. As he did so a single rain-drop descended with a splash on the nape of Jimmy’s neck. In another moment the shower had begun—jerkily at first, then, as if warming to its work, with the quiet persistence of a shower-bath.
“Dis is de place, boss,” said Spike.
From a burglar’s point of view it was an admirable house. It had no porch, but there was a handy window only a few feet from the ground. Spike pulled from his pocket a small bottle and a piece of coarse paper.
“What’s that?” inquired Jimmy.