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Updated: May 18, 2025
He used the name of John Johansson, not to hoodwink Spider Jack, I should say, but as an added safeguard against the Crime Club. Travers must have known both Makoff and Spider Jack in the old days, and probably had reason, and good reason, to trust them both possibly, a crook then himself, as he confessed, he may have acted in a legal capacity for them in their frequent tangles with the police."
There had been so much to tell that she had not thought of all, and she had not told him the details about that. "That box No. 428!" he cried quickly. "What is that? What does it mean?" She shook her head. "I do not know," she answered. "Then who is this John Johansson?" "I do not know," she said again. "Nor where the Crime Club is?" "No" dully. He stared at her for a moment in a dazed way.
He was born in 1496, and was the oldest son of Sir Eric Johansson, governor of a little group of islands in the Gulf of Bothnia. Returning home after his precipitate flight from school, Gustavus grew up under the eye of his stalwart father, who trained him to be not only a strong and a shrewd man, but also a good one.
What did that mean? What box? Where was it? Who was John Johansson? He hadn't heard any more than that; the smash had come then. And lastly, he was back again to the same question he had begun with: Where was he now himself? It looked as though some good Samaritan had picked him up. Who was this gentleman so quietly reading there at the desk? Jimmie Dale opened his eyes for the third time.
The reason given him was, on the face of it now, in view of what he now knew, mere pretence. What was the ulterior motive behind that pretence? What did this package, that had already cost a man his life to-night, contain? Who was the chauffeur? What was this death feud between the Tocsin and these men? Did she know where the Crime Club was? Who and where was John Johansson?
"Glad to know you, gents," said Spider Jack, with a handgrip apiece. The chauffeur lowered his voice a little. "I suppose we're alone here, eh, Spider? Yes? Well, then, you know what I've come for that package Marvin and Stead, here, are the ones that are in on it with me. Get it for me, will you, Spider?" "Sure Mr. Johansson!" Spider grinned. "Sure!
He looked up mechanically as the Tocsin walked to a broken mirror at the rear of the miserable room; nodded mechanically in approval as she began deftly to retouch the make-up on her face where the tears had left their traces and resumed his abstracted gaze before him. Box number four-two-eight John Johansson the Crime Club the identity of the man who was posing as Henry LaSalle!
There was no chance, no further room to turn, no time to stop the man driving the other car jumped for safety they would be into it in an instant. "Box 428!" Jimmie pleaded fiercely. "Go on, man! Go on! "Yes!" cried the chauffeur. "John Johansson, at " But Jimmie Dale heard no more.
"Yes," said Jimmie Dale grimly; "I am sure." And then the pent-up flood of questions burst from his lips. Who was the chauffeur? The package, the box numbered 428, and John Johansson? And the Crime Club? And the issue at stake? The danger, the peril that surrounded her? And she above all more than anything else about herself her strange life, its mystery?
"John Johansson box number four-two-eight! And like a fool I never thought of it! Don't you see? Don't you know now yourself? She stood up, clinging to him; a wild relief, that was based on her confidence in him, in her eyes and face, even while she shook her head. "No," she said frantically. "No I do not know. Tell me, Jimmie! Tell me quickly! You mean at Makoff's?" "No!
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