"Say, boss. Excuse me."
Jimmy spun round. A ragged man with a crop of fiery red hair was standing at his side. The light was dim, but Jimmy recognized that hair.
"Spike!" he cried.
The other gaped, then grinned a vast grin of recognition.
"Mr. Chames! Gee, dis cops de limit!"
Three years had passed since Jimmy had parted from Spike Mullins, Red Spike to the New York police, but time had not touched him. To Jimmy he looked precisely the same as in the old New York days.
A policeman sauntered past, and glanced curiously at them. He made as if to stop, then walked on. A few yards away he halted. Jimmy could see him watching covertly. He realized that this was not the place for a prolonged conversation.
"Spike," he said, "do you know Savoy Mansions?"
"Sure. Foist to de left across de way."
"Come on there. I'll meet you at the door. We can't talk here. That cop's got his eye on us."