There was nothing in it.
Jimmie Dale nodded complacently.
"My mistake, Thorold," he murmured apologetically. "Go on!"
The man continued to denude himself of his effects, but with increasing
savagery and reluctance. There was silence in the room--and then
suddenly, so faint as to be almost inaudible, there was a soft _pat_
upon the floor. Jimmie Dale did not turn his head.
"I think you dropped something, Jake," he observed pleasantly. "Now take
your foot off it, and put it on the table!"
A miserable smile twisting his lips, old Jake stooped, picked up a roll
of bills, and, mumbling and crooning to himself, laid it on the table.
Jimmie Dale immediately transferred it to his pocket.
"Yes," he said, "I certainly seem to be in luck tonight! That all you
got, Thorold?" He reached forward, and possessed himself of a
well-filled wallet that Thorold had added to the heterogeneous
collection in front of him.
Thorold's face was black with fury.
"There's the watch, you cheap poke-getter!" he choked. "Don't forget to
frisk that while you're at it!"
Jimmie Dale examined the collection with a sort of imperturbable
appraisement.
"No," he said judicially.
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