"Of course you may be mistaken."

"Not me, Mr. Chames."

"Anyhow, I shall be seeing him at dinner. I can get talking to him
afterward. I shall soon find out what his game is."

For the moment, Molly was forgotten. The old reckless spirit was
carrying him away. This thing was a deliberate challenge. He had been
on parole. He had imagined that his word was all that McEachern had to
rely on. But if the policeman had been working secretly against him
all this time, his parole was withdrawn automatically. The thought
that, if he did nothing, McEachern would put it down complacently to
the vigilance of his detective and his own astuteness in engaging him
stung Jimmy. His six years of burglary had given him an odd sort of
professional pride. "I've half a mind," he said softly. The familiar
expression on his face was not lost on Spike.

"To try for de jools, Mr. Chames?" he asked eagerly.

His words broke the spell. Molly resumed her place. The hard look died
out of Jimmy's eyes.

"No," he said. "Not that. It can't be done."

"Yes, it could, Mr. Chames. Dead easy. I've been up to de room, and
I've seen de box what de jools is put in at night. We could get at
them easy as pullin' de plug out of a bottle. Say, dis is de softest
proposition, dis house. Look what I got dis afternoon, Mr. Chames."