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Nothing could have been more convenient, for that very day happened to be Thursday. "I rubbered around," said Pugsy, "an' done de sleut' act, an' it's this way. Dere's a feller blows in every T'ursday 'bout six o'clock, an' den it's up to de folks to dig down inter deir jeans for de stuff, or out dey goes before supper. I got dat from my kid frien' what knows a kid what lives dere.

Rent-day, announced Pugsy, fell on the last day of the month. "I rubbered around," he said, "and did de sleut' act, and I finds t'ings out. Dere's a feller comes round 'bout supper time dat day, an' den it's up to de fam'lies what lives in de tenements to dig down into deir jeans fer de stuff, or out dey goes dat same night." "Evidently a hustler, our nameless friend," said Psmith.

'I'm a sure-'nough sleut', he says. 'I blows into dis house at de special request of Mr. McEachern, de American gent. De odder mug hands de lemon again. 'Tell it to de King of Denmark, he says. 'Dis cop's de limit. Youse has enough gall fer ten strong men, he says. 'Show me to Mr. McEachern, says Galer. 'He'll crouch, is dat it?" "Vouch?" suggested Jimmy. "Meaning give the glad hand to."

He had appeared at dinner that night, a short, wooden-faced man, with no more conversation than Hargate. Jimmy had paid little attention to the newcomer. "What about him?" he said. "He's a sleut', boss." "A what?" "A sleut'." "A detective?" "Dat's right. A fly cop." "What makes you think that?" "T'ink! Why, I can tell dem by deir eyes an' deir feet, an' de whole of dem.

"De odder mug was too busy catchin' up wit' his breat' to shoot it back swift, but after he's bin doin' de deep breathin' stunt for a while, he says, 'You mutt', he says, 'youse to de bad. You've made a break, you have. He put it different, but dat's what he meant. Den he says that he's a sleut', too. Does de Galer mug give him de glad eye? Not on your life.

When it's all dark 'cos of de storm comin' on, I'm in de dressin'-room, chasin' around fer de jool-box, an' just as I gits a line on it, gee! I hears a footstep comin' down de passage, very soft, straight fer de door. Was I to de bad? Dat's right. I says to meself, here's one of de sleut' guys what's bin and got wise to me, an' he's comin' in to put de grip on me.

I ain't read an "Old Sleut'" for more'n a week, and there's two murder myst'ries runnin' in the sportin' extras that I'm way behind on. You wouldn't guess it in a month, but I'm takin' a fall out of the knowledge game. Mr. Mallory says I'm part in the sixt' grade and part in the eight'. "I believe it," says I; "my nut feels that way."

I could pick out a fly cop from a bunch of a t'ousand. He's a sure 'nough sleut' all right, all right. I seen him rubber in' at youse, boss." "At me! Why at me? Why, of course. I see now. Our friend McEachern has got him in to spy on us." "Dat's right, boss." "Of course, you may be mistaken." "Not me, boss. An', say, he ain't de only one." "What, more detectives?

"De mug what came dis afternoon. Ole man McEachern brought him. I seed Miss Molly talking to him." "The chap from the inn? Why, that's an old New York friend of McEachern's." "Anyhow, Mr. Chames, he's a sleut'. I can tell 'em by deir eyes and deir feet, and de whole of dem." An idea came into Jimmy's mind. "I see," he said. "Our friend McEachern has got him in to spy on us.

I'm in de dressin' room, chasin' around wit' dis lantern here for de jool box" he produced from his other pocket a small bicycle lamp "and just as I gets a line on it, gee! I hears a footstep comin' down de passage straight for de door. Was to de bad? Dat's right. Gee, I says to m'self, here's one of de sleut' guys what's bin an' got wise to me, and he's comin' in to put de grip on me.