Curley, a deadly
glitter in his wicked little eyes, moistened his lips with the tip of
his tongue.
"How'd you get here, and what the hell d'you want?" he burst out
fiercely.
"As to the first question, I haven't time to answer it," said Jimmie
Dale evenly. "What I want is the sealed envelope stolen from Henry
Grenville's safe--and I'm in a _hurry_, Mr. Curley."
"You're a fool!" said Curley, with a sneer. "It's--"
"Yes, I know," said Jimmie Dale, with ominous patience, "it's
counterfeit, you miserable pair of curs! Counterfeit like the rest of
that stuff there on the table! Nice place you've got here--everything, I
see--press, plates, engraver's tools--nothing missing but the rest of
the gang! Perhaps, though, they can be found! Now then, that
envelope--quick!" Jimmie Dale's automatic swung forward significantly.
"It's in the drawer of the table," snarled Curley. "Curse you,
who--"
"Thank you!" Jimmie Dale's lips were a thin line. "Now, you two, stand
out there in the middle of the floor--and if either of you make a move
other than you are told to make, I'll drop you as I would drop a mad
dog!" He jerked the two chairs out from the table, and, still covering
Curley and Haines, placed the chairs back to back.
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