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Updated: June 19, 2025
They were lifting Stangeist up now, propping him up in the chair. Stangeist moaned, opened his eyes, stared in a dazed way at the three faces that leered into his, then dawning intelligence came, and his face, that had been white before, took on a pasty, grayish pallor. "You the three of you!" he mumbled. "What's this mean?" And then Clarie Deane laughed in a low, brutal way.
"Yes," said Stangeist easily. "You see I was looking for something like this." Clarie Deane's fist clenched. "You lie!" he choked. "The Mope, here, was the last of us you showed the paper to yesterday afternoon, an' the vaults was closed then an' you ain't been there to-day, 'cause you've been watched.
And then suddenly Jimmie Dale rose from his chair, and slipped into the window recess behind the portieres. The front door closed, a step came along the hall, the library opened, closed again and Clarie Archman, his face as the flickering firelight played upon it, like a face of death, came forward into the room.
If anything happened to Stangeist, a stab in the dark, for instance, a bullet from some dark alleyway, a blackjack deftly wielded, as only Australian Ike, The Mope or Clarie Deane knew how to wield it the document automatically became a DEATH SENTENCE for Australian Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane!
Why, then, Sonnino's safe to-night? What was in that letter signed "J. Barca" that Clarie Archman had received? J. Barca was Gentleman Laroque; that would have been evident in any case, even if the Tocsin had not expressly said so but the letter! Did the letter, apart from its incriminating ingenuity, supply the answer to his question?
Stangeist had made himself master of Australian Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane and he had driven them a little too hard on the division of the spoils and laughed at them, and cracked the whip much after the fashion that the trainer in the cage handles the growling beasts around him.
That's why we fixed it fer to-night after the divvy that you've just tried ter do us on again, 'cause we knew you had it here." "I tell you, it's not here," said Stangeist evenly. "You lie!" said Clarie Deane again. "It's in that safe.
He was here well ahead of the other, there was no possibility, granting even the start the boy had had, that Clarie Archman could have made the trip uptown in the same time. It was more likely that the boy might even linger a long while in misery and indecision before he came home. That was why he, Jimmie Dale, had dismissed Benson and the car for the night, and
"It's your father. We've an idea that maybe he won't be so keen about going ahead with that little investigation of the private clubs after we've put a certain little proposition about his son up to him." "No, no! No you won't!" Clarie Archman's voice rose suddenly shrill, beyond control. "You won't! You can't!
Stangeist opened the bag, and dumped the contents on the desk pile after pile of banknotes, the pay roll of the Martindale-Kensington Mills. "Some haul!" observed Clarie Deane, with a hoarse chuckle. "The papers said over twenty thousand." "You can't always believe what the papers say," returned Stangeist curtly; and, taking a scribbling pad from the desk, began to check up the packages.
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