"Unto
Caesar!"--yes, there was grim justice here--but that was not enough!
Justice might and _would_ have its turn, but before then there was
another sort of justice, too!
He went back into the office, and sat down in a chair beside the table
where he could command the door. He laid his flashlight, the ray on,
upon the table, took from his pocket the metal insignia case, lifted out
a seal, dropped it by means of the tweezers on his handkerchief, folded
the handkerchief carefully, and replaced the insignia case and
handkerchief in his pocket; then, switching off the flashlight, he
restored that, too, to his pocket.
It was dark now again--and silent. There was no sound, save the gentle
lap of water against the pier, and the distant, muffled murmur of
traffic from one of the great bridges that spanned the river. Jimmie
Dale's automatic was in his hand. There was one man who stood between
the woman whom he loved and her happiness, one man, who had driven her
from her home and by every foul art and craft had sought to take her
life, one man, one man only--Marre, alias Clarke. And once Clarke were
run to earth, she was free forever--no one else had any incentive in
hounding her to her death.
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