The two men started up the street,/arm in arm.// The man from the West,/his ego enlarged by success,/was beginning to outline the history of his career.// The other,/submerged in his overcoat,/listened with interest.//
　At the corner stood a drug store,/brilliant with electric lights.// When they came into this glare,/each of them turned simultaneously/to gaze upon the other’s face.//
　The man from the West stopped suddenly/and released his arm.//
　“You’re not Jimmy Wells,”/he snapped.// “Twenty years is a long time,/but not long enough to change a man’s nose/from a Roman to a pug.”//
　“It sometimes changes a good man into a bad one,”/said the tall man.// “You’ve been under arrest for ten minutes,/‘Silky’ Bob.// Chicago bureau thought/you may have dropped over our way/and wired us/that they wanted to have a chat with you.// Going quietly,/are you?// That’s sensible.// Now,/before we go on to the station,/here’s a note/I was asked to hand you.// You can read it here at the window.// It’s from Patrolman Wells.”//
　The man from the West unfolded the little piece of paper/handed to him.// His hand was steady/when he began to read,/but it trembled a little/by the time he had finished.// The note was rather short.//

　Bob: I was at the appointed  place on time.// When you struck the match to light your cigar,/I saw it was the face of the man/wanted  in Chicago.// Somehow,/I couldn’t do it myself,/so I went around/and got a plainclothesman  to do the job.// JIMMY.