"No, you can go, Spike."
"You stay where you are, you red-headed devil!" said McEachern, tartly.
"Run along, Spike," said Jimmy.
The Bowery boy looked doubtfully at the huge form of the ex-policeman, which blocked access to the door.
"Would you mind letting my man pass?" said Jimmy.
"You stay—" began McEachern.
Jimmy got up and walked round to the door, which he opened. Spike shot out. He was not lacking in courage, but he disliked embarrassing interviews, and it struck him that Jimmy was the man to handle a situation of this kind. He felt that he himself would only be in the way.
"Now, we can talk comfortably," said Jimmy, going back to his chair.
McEachern's deep-set eyes gleamed, and his forehead grew red, but he mastered his feelings.
"And now—" said he, then paused.
"Yes?" asked Jimmy.
"What are you doing here?"
"Nothing, at the moment."
"You know what I mean. Why are you here, you and that red-headed devil, Spike Mullins?" He jerked his head in the direction of the door.
"I am here because I was very kindly invited to come by Lord Dreever."
"I know you."
