I may as well say that the conversation which ensued was interlarded with expressions common to the lawless class which Marlowe represented, but I prefer to translate them into common speech. The room which they entered seemed full of odds and ends of wearing apparel, and might have been taken for a pawnbroker's shop, or second-hand clothing store. Or it might have been taken for a dressing-room to a theatre, but that the articles displayed had long since seen their best days, with few exceptions.
"What have you been up to?" asked Jacob, varying the form of his question.
"Jack Morgan and I tried to break into a house on Madison avenue to-night."
"Couldn't you get in?"
"Yes; but the police were in waiting for us. They nabbed Jack, but I got away. They followed me to Jack's room, but I got out of the window. They're on my track now."
"They didn't see you come in here?" asked the old man, alarmed.
"No, I have given them the slip. But they'll have me unless you help me."
"My son, I'll do what I can. What is your plan?"
"To disguise myself so that my own mother wouldn't know me. See what you can do for me."
My reader will now understand the character of the old man's business.
Thieves, and others who had rendered themselves amenable to the law, came to him for disguises, paying heavily for the use of what articles he supplied them. In many cases he was obliged to give them credit, but the old adage, "There is honor among thieves," was exemplified here, for he seldom failed, sooner or later, to receive full payment.
It might be, and probably was, from motives of policy that his customers were so honorable; for if unfaithful to their agreements they could hardly expect to be accommodated a second time, and this was a serious consideration.
When appealed to by Marlowe, Jacob understood that the details of the disguise were left to his judgment. He raised his candle, and took a good look at his customer. Then he dove under a heap of clothing on the floor, and fished out a dirty sailor's dress. "Try it on," he said.
"I don't know about that," said Marlowe, hesitating. "I don't know any sailor's lingo."
"That's no matter. You can say, 'shiver 'my timbers,' can't you?"
"Yes, I can do that."
"That's enough. It's all I know myself. But it won't do any harm to pick up something else; the police won't never think of you as a sailor."
"I don't know but you're right, Jacob, shiver my timbers if I don't!"
and he laughed as he used the expression.
"Try it on. I guess it'll be about right," said the old man.
Marlowe quickly stripped off the suit he wore, and arrayed himself in the strange and unfamiliar garb presented. By good luck it had originally been made for a man of about his size, and there was no discrepancy likely to excite suspicion.
"Let me look at myself," said he.
Jacob produced a small cracked glass, and the ex-burglar surveyed his transformed figure.
"What do you think of it?" asked the dealer.
"The dress is well enough, but they'll know my face."
"Sit down."
"What for?"
"I must cut your hair."
"What then?"
"I'll give you a red wig. There's nothing will disguise you so quick as different colored hair."
"Have you got a wig?"
"Yes, here it is."
"It's ugly enough."
"Better wear it than your own hair at Sing Sing."
"That's where you're right, old man! Go ahead. You understand your business. I'll put myself in your hands."
Marlowe sat down in a wooden chair with a broken back, and the old man proceeded, with trembling hands, to cut his black locks with a pair of large shears, which he kept for this and other purposes.
"You're cutting it pretty close, Jacob. I shall look like a scarecrow."
"All the better," said the old man, laconically.
When the operation was over, Marlowe surveyed his closely-cropped head in the cracked mirror with some disgust.
"You've made a beauty of me," he said. "However, it had to be done.
Now where's that wig?"
He was adjusting it awkwardly, when Jacob took it from his hands and put it on properly.
"Now look at yourself," he said.
Marlowe did look, and, as the old man had predicted, found his looks so transformed that he hardly knew himself.
"That's good," he said, in a tone of satisfaction. "It don't improve my beauty, but then I ain't vain. I care more for my liberty. If it hadn't been for that cussed boy there wouldn't have been any need of this."
"What boy?"
"Jack Morgan's boy--Julius."
"What did he do?"
"He split on us--gave warning of our attempt. That's how we came to be taken. I'd give something to get at him."
"Maybe you will."
"I'll try, at any rate. If not now, my revenge will keep. Is that all?"
"Not quite. Sit down again."