“Yes, youse will—­not!” announced the Magpie, with cold finality.  “Do youse t’ink I want to queer myself!  A hot one youse’d be on an inside job!  Youse’ll be outside, wid yer peepers skinned for de bulls—­youse an’ Mag here, too.  See!  Get dat straight.  While I’m on de job youse two plays de game.  Now youse listen to me, both of youse.  Don’t start nothin’ unless youse has to.  If it’s a cinch I got to make a get-away, youse two start a drunk fight.  Get me?  Youse know de lay.  T’row de talk loud—­an’ I’ll fade.  Dat’s all!  We’ll crack de crib early—­it’ll be quiet enough up dere by one o’clock.”

One o’clock!  Larry the Bat shook his head.  What time was it now?  It was about nine when he had first met the Tocsin, then the Sanctuary, then the long walk as he had followed her—­say a quarter of ten for that.  And he had certainly been here with her not less than an hour and a half.  It must be after eleven, then.  One o’clock!  And before that must come Makoff and Spider Jack!  The night that half an hour ago had seemed so sterile, was crowding a program of events upon him now—­too fast!

“Nothin’ doin’!” he said thoughtfully.  “Youse are in wrong dere, Slimmy.  One o’clock don’t go!  Say, take it from me, I’ve watched dat guy too many nights fer Mag.  ’Tain’t often he leaves de club before one o’clock—­an’ he ain’t never in bed before two.”

“All right,” agreed the Magpie, after a moment’s reflection.  “Youse ought to know.  Make it three o’clock.”  He pulled a cigar from his pocket, lighted it, and, leaning back in his chair, stuck his feet up on the table.  “If youse don’t mind, Mag, I’ll stick around a while,” he decided calmly.  “Mabbe de less I’m seen to-night de better—­an’ I guess dere won’t be nobody lookin’ fer me here.”

Larry the Bat coughed suddenly, and rose up a little heavily from his chair.  He had not counted on that!  If the Magpie was settling down for a prolonged stay, it devolved upon him, Jimmie Dale, to get away, and at once—­and without exciting the Magpie’s suspicions.  He coughed again, looked nervously from the Tocsin to the Magpie—­stammered—­swallowed hard—­and coughed once more.

“Well, wot’s bitin’ youse?” inquired the Magpie ironically.

“Nothin’,” said Larry the Bat—­and hesitated.  “Nothin’, only—­” He hesitated again; and then, the words in a rush: 

“Say, Slimmy, couldn’t youse come across wid a piece of dat century now?”

“Wot fer?” demanded the Magpie, a little aggressively.

Larry the Bat cleared his throat with a desperate effort.

“Youse knows,” he admitted sheepishly.  “Just gimme de price of one, Slimmy—­just one.”

“Coke!” exploded the Magpie.  “An’ get soaked to de eyes—­not by a damn sight!”

“No!  Honest to Gawd, no, Slimmy—­just one!” pleaded Larry the Bat.

“Nix!” said the Magpie shortly.

Larry the Bat thrust out a hand before the Magpie’s eyes that shook tremulously.