The minutes passed; at first quickly enough, and then they began to drag
heavily. Jimmie Dale's mind was back now on old Melinoff. What had the
man meant by his feverish, eager, pitiful insistence that he had not
forgotten, that he had remembered, that he could never forget, and that
he had not understood at first? The answer to that question would supply
the motive for the Pippin's crime, and for half an hour, sitting there
in the darkness, Jimmie Dale pondered the question, but the answer would
not come. There were theories without number that he could formulate;
but theories at best were indefinite. What had Melinoff meant by saying
he had played square? Was it some previous criminal undertaking between
himself and the Pippin, in which the Pippin believed himself to have
been betrayed by Melinoff, while Melinoff, on the other hand, protested
that--and then Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders impatiently. What was
the use of speculation? The vital matter of the moment was the Pippin's
delay in returning for that cuff link!
Another fifteen minutes passed, and still another--and then Jimmie Dale
restored his mask to his pocket, rose from his seat, and made his way to
the front door of the shop.
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