The Pippin, threading his way
amongst the tables, gained the door, and passed out into the street.
And then Jimmie Dale's eyes reverted to the piece of paper under the
adjacent table. It was not at all likely that it was of the slightest
importance or significance, and yet--Jimmie Dale stretched out his
foot, drew the paper toward him, and, stooping over, picked it up. He
unfolded it, and found it to contain several typewritten lines. He
frowned in a puzzled way as he read them; then read them over again,
and his frown deepened.
Melinoff has the goods. Go the limit if he squeals. Not later than
ten-thirty to-night.
Jimmie Dale's eyes lifted and strayed around the noisy, riotous dance
hall. Just what exactly did the message mean? The Pippin was a bad
actor--literally, as well as metaphorically. The Pippin, if asked,
would probably still have styled himself an actor; but, though still
young, his career on the stage had ended several years ago rather
abruptly--with a year's imprisonment! Jimmie Dale did not recall the
details of the particular offence of which the Pippin had been found
guilty, save that it had been for theft. It did not, however, matter
very much.
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