And, once here, since he had been forced to lose that much
time, he had risked a little more, precious as the moments were, for
the advantages, the safety, the freedom of movement, afforded by the
character of Smarlinghue. However, it was still but barely eleven
o'clock, and the chances were that the Wolf would hardly have deemed it
late enough as yet to set to work. On the other hand--well, on the other
hand, if the Wolf had proved the early bird, then, perhaps, he and the
Wolf would have, in another place and time to-night, a more personal
reckoning than was anticipated in the Tocsin's plan!
His eyes picked up snatches of her note, as they skimmed it
swiftly again.
"... The Wolf ... old storehouse on river front ... through trap into
the water ... old Webb ... Spider Webb ... ten thousand dollar
Moorcliffe jewel robbery ... cash box ... safe behind panelling in
bedroom directly opposite the door ... false bottom ... afraid of the
Wolf ... last few days ... unfinished ... Wolf does not know ... man and
wife upstairs ... old couple ... keep house for the Spider ... no
suspicion that anything has happened ..." And then, at the end, a more
personal, intimate touch: "Jimmie, it is not to save some one else that
I have written this to-night, for that is now too late--it is to save
_you_.
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