"Sure! I guess youse have pulled a winner,
all right! Wot's de lay? Have youse doped it out?"
"Ask me!" responded the other, with a complacent chuckle. "Youse look
after de old guy, dat's all youse have ter do. Hook up wid him, an' keep
him busy at his house. Get me? De old nut has a crazy notion of goin'
down ter de office in de middle of de night sometimes, an' dere's no use
takin' any chances. Youse can put up some hard luck story on him, throw
in a weep, an' youse got his goat fer as long as youse can talk. Leave
de rest ter me. Only, say, youse keep away from me fer de rest of de
night--get me? Dey might smell a plant after youse bein' wid him. Youse
go somewhere to an all-night joint so's youse have an alibi all de way
through, an'--"
The voice ceased abruptly. In a flash the left sleeve of Jimmie Dale's
ragged, threadbare coat was pushed up, leaving the forearm exposed. The
hypodermic needle pricked the flesh. There was no sound of any step; but
the cretonne hanging wavered almost imperceptibly, as though some one,
or perhaps but a current of air from the passage without, had swayed it
slightly. Jimmie Dale was mumbling incoherently to himself now; his
lips, like his fingers, working in nervous twitches.
Pages:
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202