Jimmie Dale did not move--his automatic was covering the misshapen,
toad-like figure of Hunchback Joe, as the other stood just inside the
room. For a moment neither spoke--then Hunchback Joe laughed suddenly in
cool contempt.
"What's the game?" he demanded. "You don't need any mask on here--I deal
with your kind every day. What do you want?"
Jimmie Dale rose to his feet.
"This--to begin with!" he said--and, crossing the room, felt through the
other's pockets, and possessed himself of the man's revolver. "Now go
over there, and sit down at that table!"
Hunchback Joe laughed contemptuously again, as he obeyed; but there was
a hint of deadly menace in his voice as he spoke.
"Go to it--while you can!" he snarled. "You've got the drop on me. Well,
what do you want?"
Jimmie Dale followed, and faced the other across the table. Hunchback
Joe's eyes, with that curious, unpleasant trick of which the man seemed
possessed, were blinking ceaselessly.
"I want to give this back to you," said Jimmie Dale quietly--and
flung the roll of bills that he had taken from Klanner's trunk down
upon the table.
Hunchback Joe's eyes ceased to blink.
"Why, thanks!" grinned Hunchback Joe.
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