wouldn’t put a man out—that ain’t my line.” And, indeed, it wasn’t, for Jimmy the Dude had gained his reputation as an expert manipulator of combination locks.
The detective had listened with a satisfied smile.
“Higgins,” he said, “this is the fellow who brought Thompson home ain’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” responded the janitor inarticulately.
“This,” observed Jimmy, with fine indignation, “is what a man gets for doing a good action. I found that cove over at Magraw’s just spoilin’ for trouble, and I took him in tow and brought him home. Now you say I put him out! I’d better have kept my hands off!”
“We all know you’ve got a kind heart, Jimmy,” retorted Simmonds. “Did he have anything in his pockets besides that key?”
“What key?”
“The key to his room; of course you took that.”
“Of course I did!” said Jimmy, with deep irony. “Why, of course I did! You’ll find it on me.”
“Oh, no, we won’t,” returned Simmonds, still smiling. “I’ve a much better opinion of you than that, Jimmy.”
“Why, look here,” cried Jimmy, seemingly deeply exasperated, “what ’d I want t’ put him out for? Did he have any dough?”
“You probably know more about that than we do,” answered Simmonds, with meaning.
“You mean I went through him? Well, I didn’t! But if I did, what ’d I want t’ come back and kill him for?”
