“Forget it. The fellow was only bluffing. Listen, I’m going right now to call on Staples. We’ll sell to him for what we can get (it ought to be plenty) and then if there’s any trouble with Bankhead⁠—well, that’s Staples’ worry.” He patted the other on the shoulder. “Our troubles are practically over.”

Unfortunately, however, Taylor was wrong; their troubles were only beginning.

Across the street, a furtive figure, with beady eyes peering from upturned coat collar, surveyed the house carefully. A curious policeman might have identified him as “Slappy” Egan, if he had bothered to look, but no one did and “Slappy” remained unmolested.

“Cripes,” he muttered to himself, “dis is gonna be a cinch. De whole woiks on the bottom floor, back window can be jimmied wid a toot’pick, no alarms, no nuttin.” He chuckled and walked away.