The telephone on the table was
ringing. His automatic covering Hunchback Joe, he pulled the instrument
toward him, and lifted the receiver from the hook.
"Hello!" he said gruffly. "What's wanted?"
A voice responded in feverish excitement:
"Say, dat youse, Joe? Dis is Hoppy Meggs. Say, de fly cops has got
tipped off; dey're on de way down to yer place now. Youse want to beat
it on de jump!"
"Wait a minute!" said Jimmie Dale. He passed the instrument over to
Hunchback Joe. "It's for you," he said, with a queer smile.
Hunchback Joe put the receiver to his ear--and a moment later, without a
word in reply, returned it to the hook. But he had risen from his seat,
and, swaying on his feet, was gripping at the table edge for support.
"I could have told you that," said Jimmie Dale evenly; "but you've got
it now from a source that you won't question. I told you the buttons
were off the foils tonight, but you don't seem to realise it yet. Three
nights ago you laid a trap for me--_and the Pippin died_. Do you
understand what I mean now by naked foils? You've one chance for
life--and that's to answer my question. But I'll play fair with you, and
tell you that I'm going to see that the police get you even if you do
answer.
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