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Updated: June 19, 2025
"You know what will happen to you, if anything happens to me." "Don't youse kid yerself!" retorted Clarie Deane. "D'ye think we're fools? This ain't like it was yesterday see! We GETS the paper this time so there won't nothin' happen to us. You come across with it blasted quick now, or The Mope'll give you another on the bean that'll put you to sleep fer keeps!"
And, besides, there was the letter! If he, Jimmie Dale, had been in time even to have prevented Gentleman Laroque from sinking a bit into the safe, the letter would have counted not at all but now it counted to the extent that it literally meant life and death. Who had it? Not Clarie Archman that was certain.
In 1838 the Frenchman Dumont d'Urville stopped at the Ice Bank in latitude 62 degrees 57', sighting the Louis-Philippe Peninsula; on January 21 two years later, at a new southerly position of 66 degrees 30', he named the Adélie Coast and eight days later, the Clarie Coast at 64 degrees 40'. In 1838 the American Wilkes advanced as far as the 69th parallel on the 100th meridian.
And then Gentleman Laroque laughed gratingly. "Hello, Sonnino!" he said coolly. "A little late, aren't you? You've kept me stalling for the last five minutes. Know my friend Mr. Martin Moore, alias Mr. Clarie Archman? Clarie, this is Signor Niccolo Sonnino, the proprietor of this joint."
Sonnino was forewarned, and undoubtedly forearmed! The front door closed softly, so softly that had Jimmie Dale, supersensitive as his hearing was, not been intent upon it, it would have escaped him. The glow from the inner room, faint as it was, threw into shadowy relief a man's form tiptoeing forward and then a board creaked. "What's that!" came in a wild whisper from Clarie Archman.
Jimmie Dale drew back for a second time that night into the hallway. A step, slow, faltering, unsteady, like that of a man blinded, passed out from the inner room, and passed on down the length of the front room and the door opened and closed. Clarie Archman, with God alone knew what purpose in his heart, was gone.
The door burst open, two men rushed in and one, with a bound, flung himself at Stangeist. The man's hand, grasping a clubbed revolver, rose in the air, descended on Stangeist's head and Stangeist went down in a limp heap, crashed into the chair, and slid from the chair with a thud to the floor. There was an oath from Clarie Deane.
The parting in the portieres widened a little more, a very little more, slowly, imperceptibly, until Jimmie Dale, by the simple expedient of moving his head, could obtain an unobstructed view of the entire room. Stangeist tossed a bag he had been carrying on the desk, pulled up a chair opposite to Clarie Deane, and sat down. Both men were side face to Jimmie Dale.
On his arrival at Hobart Town, where his old friend John Franklin was now governor, Ross heard of the discovery of Adélie and of Clarie Lands by the French, and the simultaneous survey of them by Wilkes, who had even left a sketch of his map of the coasts.
The blood was running down Stangeist's face. He wiped it away from his eyes. "It's not here," he said innocently. "It's in my box in the safety-deposit vaults." "Aw," blurted out Australian Ike, pushing suddenly forward, "youse can't work dat crawl on " "Cut it out, Ike!" snapped Clarie Dane. "I'm runnin' this! So it's in the vaults, eh?" He shoved his face toward Stangeist's.
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