A pair of gray flannel trousers and boots out of which two toes peeped coyly completed the picture.
Even Spike himself seemed to be aware that there were points in his appearance which would have distressed the editor of a men's fashion-paper.
"'Scuse these duds," he said. "Me man's bin an' mislaid de trunk wit' me best suit in. Dis is me number two."
"Don't mention it, Spike," said Jimmy. "You look a perfect matinée idol. Have a drink?"
Spike's eyes gleamed as he reached for the decanter. He took a seat.
"Cigar, Spike?"
"Sure. T'anks, boss."
Jimmy lighted his pipe. Spike, after a few genteel sips, threw off his restraint, and finished the rest of his glass at a gulp.
"Try another," suggested Jimmy.
Spike's grin showed that the idea had been well received.
Jimmy sat and smoked in silence for a while. He was thinking the thing over. He felt like a detective who has found a clue. At last, he would be able to discover the name of the Lusitania girl. The discovery would not take him very far certainly, but it would be something. Possibly, Spike might even be able to fix the position of the house they had broken into that night.
Spike was looking at Jimmy over his glass in silent admiration. This flat which Jimmy had rented for
