In the house on Houston street, Bill wasted little regret on the absence of his wife and child. Neither did he trouble himself to speculate as to where she had gone.

"I'm better without her," he said to his confederate, Mike. "She's always a-whinin' and complainin', Nance is. It makes me sick to see her. If I speak a rough word to her, and it stands to reason a chap can't always be soft-spoken, she begins to cry. I like to see a woman have some spirit, I do."

"They may have too much," said Mike, shrugging his shoulders. "My missus ain't much like yours. She don't cry, she don't. If I speak rough to her, she ups with something and flings it at my head. That's her style."

"And what do you do?" asked Bill, in some curiosity.

"Oh, I just leave her to get over it; that's the best way."

"Is it?" said Bill, grimly. "Why, you're not half a man, you ain't. Do you want to know what I'd do if a woman raised her hand against me?"

"Well, what would you do?"

"I'd beat her till she couldn't see!" said Bill, fiercely; and he looked as if he was quite capable of it.

"I don't know," said Mike. "You haven't got a wife like mine."

"I just wish I had. I'd tame her."

"She ain't easy to tame."

"Just you take me round there some time, Mike. If she has a tantrum, turn her over to me."

Mike did not answer. He was not as great a ruffian as Bill, and the proposal did not strike him favorably.

His wife was certainly a virago, and though strong above the average, he was her superior in physical strength, but something hindered him from using it to subdue her. So he was often overmatched by the shrill-voiced vixen, who knew very well that he would not proceed to extremities. Had she been Bill's wife, she would have had to yield, or there would have been bloodshed.

"I say, Bill," said Mike, suddenly, "how much did your wife hear of our plans last night?"

"Nothing."

"She might."

"If she had she would not dare to say a word," said Bill, carelessly.

"You don't know. Women like to use their tongues."

"She knows I'd kill her if she betrayed me," said Bill. "There ain't no use considerin' that."

"Well, I'm glad you think so. It would be awkward if the police got wind of it."

"They won't."

"What do you think of that chap that's puttin' us up to it?"

"I don't like him, but I like his money."

"Five hundred dollars a-piece ain't much for the risk we run."

"We'll have more."

"How?"

"If we don't find more in the safe, we'll bleed him when all's over. He'll be in our power."

"Well, Bill, you know best. You've got a better head nor me."

"And a stouter heart, man. You're always afeared of something."

It was true that Bill was the leading spirit. He was reckless and desperate, while Mike was apt to count the cost, and dwell upon the danger incurred.

They had been associated more than once in unlawful undertakings; and though both had served a short term of imprisonment, they had in general escaped scot-free.

It was Bill who hung round the store, and who received from Talbot at the close of the afternoon the "combination," which was to make the opening of the safe comparatively easy.

"It's a good thing to have a friend inside," he said to his confederate. "Our money is as good as made."

"There'll be the janitor to dispose of," suggested Mike.

"Leave him to me. I'll knock him on the head."

"Don't kill him if you can help it, Bill. Murder has an ugly look, and they'll look out twice as sharp for a murderer as for a burglar. Besides, swingin' ain't pleasant."

"Never you mind. I'll only stun him a little. He can wake up when we're gone, but we'll tie him so he can't give the alarm."

"How cool you take things, Bill!"

"Do I? Well, it's my business. You just leave everything to me. Obey orders, and I'll bring you out all right."

So the day passed, and darkness came on. It was the calm before the storm.