Smarlinghue's hands twined and twined over the box, caressing it in
hideous greed and avarice; and he mumbled, and his lips worked.
"Half--give me half?" he whispered feverishly.
"I'll give you--_nothing_!" snarled the Wolf.
"Half--give me a quarter then?" whimpered Smarlinghue.
"_Drop it_!" The Wolf's revolver jerked forward into Jimmie Dale's face.
And then Smarlinghue screamed out in impotent rage, and, wrenching the
cover of the cash-box open, flung the jewels in a glittering heap upon
the table--and, dancing in demented fashion upon his toes, like a man
gone mad, he hurled the cash-box in fury from him. It went through the
canvas on the easel, and clattered to the floor.
The Wolf laughed.
But Smarlinghue had retreated now, and, crouched upon the cot, was
mumbling through twisted lips.
And again the Wolf laughed, and, gathering up the jewels, dropped them
into his pocket, and backed to the door. He stood there an instant, his
eyes narrowed on Jimmie Dale.
"I got the stuff now"--he was snarling low, viciously--"and mabbe that
puts it a little more up to me. But if you ever open your mug about
this, I'll do to you what I did to the Spider to-day--and if you want to
know what that is, go and ask the police to let you have a look! D'ye
understand?"
Came the brutal, taunting laugh again, and the door closed behind the
Wolf, and his step died away along the passage, and rang an instant
later on the pavement without.
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