"I won't! I won't!" he screamed. "You went there to do the same thing!
I had as much right as you! And I _got_ them--I _got_ them! They said he
had them there, they were all talking about them to-day, and I _got_
them! I won! They're mine now! I won't give them to you! I won't! I tell
you, I won't!"
"Won't you?" The Wolf had reached Jimmie Dale, and one of the Wolf's
hands found and shook Jimmie Dale's throat, while the revolver muzzle
pressed hard against Jimmie Dale's breast. "Oh, I guess you will! D'ye
hear about a man being murdered to-day with his face cut up? Oh, you
did--eh? Well, I happen to know that man was the Spider, and one of
these days, mabbe, the police'll tumble to who it was, too. Get me?
Suppose I call some of that gang back, and show 'em the _painting_
you've done along the hall--eh? And then, by and by, when the bulls get
wise, it'll be yours for the juice route, not just a space or two for
cracking a box! Get me again?"
Smarlinghue, struggling weakly, pulled the other's hand from his throat.
"You--you were there, too, at--at the Spider's," he choked craftily.
"You're--you're in it as--as bad as I am."
"Sure, I was there!" mocked the Wolf, and snatched at Jimmie Dale's
throat again.
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