"T'ink of
me when dey pins de medal on yer breast fer dis!"
And then Jimmie Dale laid Meighan's revolver down on the floor of the
room, and locked the door on the outside with a pick-lock, and went down
the stairs.
CHAPTER IX
'WARE THE WOLF
Jimmie Dale's fingers, in the darkness, were deftly tying around his
body the leather girdle with its finely-tempered, compact kit of
burglar's tools. It was strange, this note of hers to-night--strange,
even, where all the notes that she had ever written had been strange! It
had been left half an hour ago at the door of the St. James Club--and he
had hastened here to the Sanctuary. It was curiously strange! Three
nights ago, he had seen Frenchy Virat safely in the hands of the police,
and Frenchy Virat was still safely in police custody--but he, Jimmie
Dale, was not yet done with Frenchy Virat, it seemed! The note had made
that quite clear. There was still the Wolf; and it was the Wolf that
filled this anxious, hurried word from her to-night.
The Wolf! He knew the Wolf well--as Larry the Bat in the old days he had
even known the other personally as Smarlinghue of to-day he had
progressed that far into the inner ring of the underworld again as to be
on nodding terms with the Wolf.
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