Mechanically Jimmie Dale followed their
direction--and his eyes, too, held on the floor. For a moment neither
spoke. _The game was up_! His boot top was soaked with blood, and,
trickling down the side of the boot, a little crimson stream was
collecting in a pool upon the floor.
"You _painted_ some of that on the doorstep!" The Wolf's taunting laugh
held a deadly menace. "And you painted a drop or two of it along the
street as you ran. I thought when you bust away from the Spider's and
that cursed gang nosed in that I was going to lose out; but I figured
that I had hit you, and I was keeping my eyes skinned to see. And then
you commenced to do the drip act--savvy? I was still looking for it when
I came out of the lane--you remember, Smarlinghue, don't you?--you got
your memory back, ain't you?--that I was a bit ahead of the rest of 'em?
It didn't take a second to spot that on the doorstep, and there's some
more of it in the hall. Damned queer, ain't it--that it led right to
Smarlinghue's room!" The laugh was gone. The Wolf began to come forward
across the room. The snarl was in his voice again. "You come across with
those sparklers, and you come across--_quick_!"
But now Smarlinghue was like a crazed and demented creature, and he
shook his fists at the Wolf.
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