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Updated: July 8, 2025
Clutching Hand hesitated by the wounded crook. This was the loyalty of gangland, worthy a better cause. He could not bring himself to desert his pal. He was undecided, still. But there was the door, bulging, and a panel bursting. He moved over to a panel in the wall and pushed a spring. It slid open and he stepped through. Then it closed not a second too soon.
Ostensibly, she kept a little variety store; but her business, if report were true, was the edifying occupation of school mistress the children graduating under her tuition being ranked by common consent as the most accomplished pickpockets in gangland! Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders, as he swung at last from the Bowery into a narrow, poorly lighted street.
There he had learned the code, which can be summarized in two words, "Don't squeal." For gangland hates nothing so much as a "snitch." As a beginner he could be trusted to commit any crime assigned to him and go to prison, perhaps the chair, rather than betray a leader. As a leader he had those under him trained in the same code. That still was his code to those above him in the System.
No; gangland struck more swiftly, with less finesse than that the "cat-and-mouse" act was never one it favoured, for the mouse had been known to get away. Jimmie Dale lighted the gas again, and turned the package over in his hands. It was, as he had surmised, a small cardboard box; and it was wrapped in plain paper and tied with a string.
The old man's trade was not entirely gone. Yesterday, an old-time lag, who had dealt with the Spider for many years, and who had "pulled" the Moorcliffe job the robbery of a summer mansion a few miles up the Hudson had "fenced" the proceeds at the antique shop. Ten thousand dollars' worth of first-water sparklers! Everybody that was anybody in gangland knew this.
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