There was a half laugh, half snarl from Whitey Mack.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” he growled.  “Nix on that!  What do you take me for—­a fool?  You beat it out of here and round him up—­eh—­while I suck my thumbs?  Say, forget it!  Do you think I’m doing this because I love you?  Why, blame you, you’ve been aching for a year to put the bracelets on me yourself!  Say, wake up!  I’m in on this myself.”

Again that silence.  Then Lannigan spoke slowly, in a puzzled way.

“I don’t get you, Whitey,” he said.  “What do you mean?” Then, a little sharply:  “You’re quite right; you’ve got some reputation yourself, and you’re badly ‘wanted’ if we could get the ‘goods’ on you.  If you’re trying to plant something, look out for yourself, or—­”

“Can that!” snapped Whitey Mack threateningly.  “Can that sort of spiel right now—­or quit!  I ain’t telling you his name—­yet.  But I’ll take you to him to-night—­and you and me nabs him together.  Is that straight enough goods for you?”

“Don’t get sore,” said Lannigan, more pacifically.  “Yes, if you’ll do that it’s good enough for any man.  But lay your cards on the table face up, Whitey—­I want to see what you opened the pot on.”

“You’ve seen ’em,” Whitey Mack answered ungraciously.  “I’ve told you already.  The Gray Seal goes out for keeps—­curse him for a snitch!  If I bumped him off, or wised up any of the guys to it, and we was caught, we’d get the juice for it even if it was the Gray Seal, wouldn’t we?  Well, what’s the use!  If one of you dicks get him, he gets bumped off just the same, only regular, up in the wire parlour at Sing Sing.  I ain’t looking for that kind of trouble when I can duck it.  See?”

“Sure,” said Lannigan.

“Besides, and moreover,” continued Whitey Mack, “there’s some reward hung out for him that I’m figuring to born in on.  I’d swipe it all myself, don’t you make any mistake about that, and you’d never get a look-in, only, sore as the mob is on the Gray Seal, it ain’t healthy for any guy around these parts to get the reputation of being a snitch, no matter who he snitches on.  Bump him off—­sure!  Snitching—­well, you get the idea, eh?  I’m ducking that too.  Get me?”

“I get you,” said Lannigan, with a short, pleased laugh.

“Well, then,” announced Whitey Mack, “here’s my proposition, and it’s my turn to hand out the ‘look-out-for-your-self’ dope.  I’m busting the game wide open for you to play, but you throw me down, and”—­his voice sank into a sullen snarl again—­“you can take it from me, I’ll get you for it!”

“All right,” responded Lannigan soberly.  “Let’s hear it.  If I agree to it, I’ll stick to it.”