It was the biggest chance that ever came across of
getting the Gray Seal in a trap. Some stage setting--some play--clever
brain that--"
The voice trailed off. Outside there was quiet now, save for the crunch
of an occasional footstep. The police who, as Jimmie Dale understood
quite clearly now, had run into the Mole's gang as the two converged at
the rear of the Mole's house, had evidently now got the better of the
gangsters. And that convergence, too, explained why the Pippin had
accompanied him so meekly toward the shed--the Pippin's one aim and
object at that moment had been to avoid the police! He leaned suddenly
forward over the man--the Pippin was going fast now. There was one thing
yet, a thing that was vital, paramount, above all others.
"Pippin," he said quietly, "you're going out. Who put up this plant? It
wasn't the Mole, he's not big enough, he's only a tool like yourself.
Who was it?"
"No--not the Mole," murmured the Pippin. "He--he isn't big enough.
Clever brain--clever brain--clever--"
"Who was it? Answer me, Pippin!"
"Yes," said the Pippin, and the queer smile came again, "I--I'll tell
you. It--it was some one"--Jimmie Dale could scarcely hear the
words--"some one--who will--get you yet!"
The smile was still on the Pippin's lips--but the man was dead.
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