for a stroll on the Embankment before bed.

He was leaning on the balustrade, looking across the river at the
vague, mysterious mass of buildings on the Surrey side, when a voice
broke in on his thoughts.

"Say, boss. Excuse me."

Jimmy spun round. A ragged man with a crop of fiery red hair was
standing at his side. The light was dim, but Jimmy recognized that
hair.

"Spike!" he cried.

The other gaped, then grinned a vast grin of recognition.

"Mr. Chames! Gee, dis cops de limit!"

Three years had passed since Jimmy had parted from Spike Mullins, Red
Spike to the New York police, but time had not touched him. To Jimmy
he looked precisely the same as in the old New York days.

A policeman sauntered past, and glanced curiously at them. He made as
if to stop, then walked on. A few yards away he halted. Jimmy could
see him watching covertly. He realized that this was not the place for
a prolonged conversation.

"Spike," he said, "do you know Savoy Mansions?"

"Sure. Foist to de left across de way."