"Hand me the bag, Dash," said Whistler, as they hurried southward along the walk.
"Don't shove," answered Dashington. "It's tucked away in my kimono and I'm so busy with the getaway I don't want to cough up until we're with the rest of the push. Honest, though, I'm no understudy for a low card, am I?"
"You're the goods, Dash, and no mistake. Don't drop that bag out of your sweater while we're hurrying."
"Nay, Frances, I couldn't be so absent-minded. When I get my hooks onto a good thing I'm worse than the Terrible Turk with a strangle hold."
"What did Townsend say?"
"He wanted me to come in at the rear; said some one had been piping off the house from across the street. Who was that?"
Whistler chuckled.
"Sometimes Bangs," he answered, "and sometimes a fellow Bangs got to spell him."
"Then, Bangs and the other must have spelled it like a couple of farmers. Townsend was wise."
"Motor Matt hadn't been there?"