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Updated: April 30, 2025
"What an ould buffalo it is!" exclaimed Bryan, pushing Gaspard rudely aside with his left shoulder, and hitching off La Roche's cap with his right, as he sprang back to the canoe for another load. "Pardonay mwa, Losh, may garson," he exclaimed, with a broad grin. "Now thin, boys, out wid the fixin's.
Garson, however, was unconvinced, notwithstanding his deference to the judgment of his leader. "Whether we've done anything, or whether we haven't, don't matter," he objected. "Once the police set out after you, they'll get you. Russia ain't in it with some of the things I have seen pulled off in this town." "Oh, can that 'fraid talk!" Aggie exclaimed, roughly. "I tell you they can't get us.
"Somebody's opening the front door!" Garson forgot his weapon in this new alarm. He sprang to the octagonal window, even as Dick took possession of the pistol. "The street's empty! We must jump for it!" His hate was forgotten now in an emotion still deeper, and he turned to Mary. His face was all gentleness again, where just before it had been evil incarnate, aflame with the lust to destroy.
"You did, I tell you! You did!" Garson leaned still further forward, until his face was almost level with the Inspector's. His eyes were unclouded now, were blazing. His voice came resonant in its denial. The entire pose of him was intrepid, dauntless. "And I tell you, I didn't!"
"Thank you," Mary said with a smile that was the result of her sense of humor rather than from any tenderness. It was then that Garson spoke. He was a delicate man in his sensibilities at times, in spite of the fact that he followed devious methods in his manner of gaining a livelihood. So, now, he put a question of vital significance. "Do you love him?"
Just see that she is tipped off, that Joe Garson and some pals are going to break into Edward Gilder's house to-night. Get some stool-pigeon to hand her the information. You'd better get to work damned quick. Understand?" The Inspector pulled out that watch of which Aggie Lynch had spoken so avariciously, and glanced at it, then went on speaking: "It's ten-thirty now.
Garson sat huddled, stricken for he had recognized the victim thrust into the cell before his eyes.... It was Dacey, one of his own cronies in crime Dacey, who, the night before, had seen him kill Eddie Griggs. There was something concretely sinister to Garson in this fact of Dacey's presence there in the cell.
Garson shook his head spoke with fiercer hatred, "because he was a skunk, and a stool-pigeon," he repeated. "Have you got it?" And then, as the stenographer nodded assent, he went on, less violently: "I croaked him just as he was going to call the bulls with a police-whistle. I used a gun with smokeless powder. It had a Maxim silencer on it, so that it didn't make any noise."
"I have never heard of that," Mary said, with some interest. "No," Griggs replied. "You naturally wouldn't, for the simple reason that it's been kept on the dead quiet." "Are them things really worth that much?" Garson exclaimed. "Sometimes more," Mary answered. "Morgan has a set of Gothic tapestries worth half a million dollars." Garson uttered an ejaculation of disgust.
Indeed, had any one suggested the thought to him, he would have met it with a sneer, to the effect that a wretch thus tired of life could hardly object to any one who constituted himself her savior. In this manner, Joe Garson, the notorious forger, led the dripping girl eastward through the squalid streets, until at last they came to an adequately lighted avenue, and there a taxicab was found.
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