make out a word of their conversation through the closed window. It was exasperating. By the exultant look on their faces, he was sure they were discussing their coup in capturing the car. If he could catch only a few words of what they were saying, he knew he could learn something to his advantage. But he was doomed to disappointment.
Just as he was debating whether he should walk boldly in and accuse them of the theft or, allowing discretion to govern his movements, to dash away in search of a policeman, Puggy Callahan arose and walked out of the room. Guessing that Puggy was headed for the front door, Speedy dropped down flat upon his stomach in the shadows and waited. Sure enough, he soon heard the front door open and shut again and in a few seconds Puggy waddled past the open space between the shack and the lumber yard and disappeared up the street.
When he judged the thug captain was twenty yards or more away, Speedy slipped out from his concealment and, reaching the side walk, walked briskly along in the same direction pursued by Puggy. He could plainly see the stout figure of Callahan ahead of him.
Two blocks further along, Puggy turned at right angles and crossed the street, Speedy alertly in his wake. Callahan's course was now westward through a crosstown highway leading away from the river. In a square or two pursued and pursuer were in a region of tenements, pushcart peddlers, sidewalks swarming with people speaking a score of different languages and streets a jumble of vehicles
