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John asked, feeling reassured, however, by Gibson's announcement that the "Gink" was not to be overlooked. "It's another case of where 'actions speak louder than words," the police commissioner said. "Cummings isn't afraid of what someone says is going to happen to him. He's a veteran. He's heard that kind of talk before. So have the people of Los Angeles.

The 'Gink' and Gibson planned this stunt together; otherwise, how did Murphy happen to find out about it? And what was the 'Gink's' reason for closing the town if it wasn't to give Gibson a chance to claim the credit?"

Without waiting for an answer, he snapped out: "In 'Gink' Cummings' apartment!" John discovered that he had been holding his breath. Gibson in Cummings' apartment! A thrill like a mild electric shock shot up and down his spine. "The 'Gink's' apartment?" asked Brennan. "That's the place," Hatch confirmed. "It was about a month ago. I can give you the exact day and hour later.

"Still, there's a chance that it was only a coincidence, that the 'Gink' had some other reason to call his men off and that Gibson, believing that he really had frightened Cummings and his gang, took advantage of an opportunity and claimed the credit for it," suggested John. Brennan inhaled deeply on his cigarette before answering.

Returning to his room at three o'clock in the morning after separating from the mayor, Brennan, John and Smith following their escape from "Gink" Cummings' pistol shots, he had slept until noon. He went to the cheap dairy lunch near his rooming house for a heavy breakfast of ham and eggs, purchased the Sunday papers and came back to smoke and read.

"'Sure the fuse is out, but before it went out it set fire to something on the cellar bottom, an' the blaze is workin' its way up to the powder, or whatever it is. Ouch!" he added, as Jack gave a pull at his foot. "You let go!" "Let him go," Ned advised. "Perhaps he can get in there in time to prevent the explosion." "The little gink!" Jack exclaimed, "I wanted to see the thing bust up.

Then there was a funny little old guy in a cutaway and a purple tie, a couple of squatty, full-chested women dressed as fancy as a pair of plush sofas, a maid or so, and a pie-faced scared-lookin' gink that it was easy to guess must be the butler. Everybody had been so busy talkin' that they hadn't heard us swarm up the steps. "I say," whispers Mr. Robert, "hadn't we better call it off?"

The realization shocked him and he felt a hate for Gibson, the deceiver, surge through him. But he knew that this hate was engendered more by the fact that Gibson was misleading Consuello than that he was a political Judas, betraying his city for "Gink" Cummings' stolen silver.

He was accompanied to the private office of the publisher by P. Q., who informed him that his discovery of what could be regarded as evidence that there was an alliance between Gibson and "Gink" Cummings had brought the situation to a point where orders were to be given by the "chief," who supervised the policy of the paper. Mr.

"Oh, now we can't hear any more of the story," said Chako, the big monkey, to Gink the little, long-tailed chap. "Why can't we?" Gink wanted to know. "Because the circus is going to move on. Our cage will be put on the steam cars, and away we will go, and Umboo, and the rest of the elephants, will be put in big box-cars."