at a moment's notice, they at least were not going to
run empty-handed! Far from empty-handed, it seemed! It would not be
difficult for the estate's executor to realise a vast sum in short order
on instantly marketable, gilt-edged securities--say, half a million
dollars. Not very bulky, either--in large bills! Five thousand
hundred-dollar bills would make half a million. It was astonishing
how small a hand bag, say, might hold a fortune! "Wot fer, Slimmy?" he
inquired again, wiggling his cigarette butt on his tongue tip. "Wot'd he
do dat fer?"

"How de hell do youse suppose I knows!" demanded the Magpie, politely
scornful. "Dat's his business--dat ain't wot's worryin' me!"

"No--sure, it ain't!" admitted Larry the Bat ingratiatingly. "But go on,
keep movin', Slimmy! Wot's he done wid de stuff?"

"Done wid it!" echoed the Magpie, with a short laugh. "Wot do youse
t'ink! He's been luggin' it home to his swell joint up dere on de
avenoo, an' crammin' his safe full of it."

Larry the Bat sucked in his breath.

"Gee, dat's soft!" he murmured, and then suddenly, as though with
painful inspiration: "Say, Slimmy--say, are youse sure youse ain't been
handed a steer?"

The Magpie grinned wickedly.

"I ain't fallin' fer steers!" he said shortly. "Dis is on de level."

Jimmie Dale lurched up from his chair, and, leaning over the lamp
chimney, drew wheezily on his cigarette to get a light. His eyes sought
the Tocsin's face. To all intents and purposes she was entirely absorbed
in the Magpie. He sat down again to gape, with well-stimulated, doglike
admiration, at Slimmy Joe. WAS THIS, TOO, A PLANT? Why had the Magpie
come to THEM with this story of Henry LaSalle? And then, the next
instant, as the Magpie spoke, his suspicions were allayed.

"Let's get down to cases!" the Magpie invited crisply. "I didn't blow
in here just by luck. Dis Henry LaSalle is de guy youse worked fer once,
ain't he, Mag? Dat's de spiel, ain't it?--he sent youse up fer pinchin'
de tacks out of his carpets!"

"I never pinched nothin'!" snarled Silver Mag truculently. "He's a dirty
liar! I never did!"

"Cut it out! Cut it out! Can dat!" complained the Magpie patiently. "De
point is, youse worked in his house, didn't youse?"

"Sure I did!" snapped the Tocsin, sullenly aggressive; "but--"

"Well, den, dat's wot I want, dat's wot I come fer, Mag--a plan of de
house. See?"

Jimmie Dale could feel the Tocsin's eyes upon him, questioning,
searching,