His jaws were clamped
together now, the square, determined chin out-thrust; and while one hand
held the letter, the other curled into a clenched fist. It was dirty
work--vile, miserable work--a coward's work! And then Jimmie Dale smiled
grimly, as his eyes fell upon the glaring headline of the paper on the
top of the pile beside him. Perhaps the _morning_ papers would carry
other headlines that would be still more startling!
He began to study the several sheets again, critically, carefully this
time. There should be no danger here, she said. He knew what she
meant--that she counted on his being able to nip the whole scheme in the
bud. He shook his head thoughtfully. That might be true; he might be
able to do that, probably would, for it was still very early; but if
not--what then? He glanced out of the window--they were just turning
into Riverside Drive. He looked at his watch. It wanted but a few
minutes of seven--progress up the Avenue had been unusually slow. He
tore the letter into small fragments, and reaching out through the
window, let the pieces flutter away in the wind. It was none too early
at that, and it was unfortunate that he must first of all go home--there
were certain things there indispensable to the night's work.
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