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Updated: June 28, 2025


He had been pulling the mattress away from the front of the safe, and now, with a sharp, exultant exclamation, he stooped quickly and picked up a small object from the floor. He held it out, twirling It between thumb and forefinger, for Kenleigh's inspection a flashy scarf pin, horseshoe-shaped, of blatantly imitation diamonds. Kenleigh shook his head bewilderingly.

"Murdered!" cried Kenleigh; then, frantically: "But the bonds, the bonds! Did they find the bonds? Ask them! Tell them to look! The bonds! Are the bonds there?" "Hello!" Meighan was evidently speaking into the 'phone again. "Any trace of the bonds? ... What? ... Yes, yes; go on, I'm listening! ... Who? ... What?... Good Lord!" The receiver clicked back on its hook. "What is it?

So some time between seven o'clock and halfpast eleven, Mr. Magpie got into the courtyard, put a jimmy at work on the bathroom window beyond the bedroom there, got busy more likely to be nearer eleven than seven he would have been back before now, otherwise, eh?" Meighan seemed to be communing with himself, rather than talking to Kenleigh.

His face was pale, his hair ruffled; and, in his distraction, apparently, he had forgotten to remove the cloak which he was wearing over his evening clothes. In the far corner of the room, Meighan, the detective, knelt upon the floor amidst a scene of grotesque disorder. The door of a very small safe had been "souped," and now sagged open. "You don't understand!" Kenleigh burst out, with a groan.

Obeying mechanically, Kenleigh moved toward the electric-light switch. There was a faint click, and the apartment was in darkness. Came then the sound of Kenleigh making his way back across the room, and settling himself in the chair beside the detective. "I I don't quite see," said Kenleigh, a little nervously. "You will in a minute," interrupted Meighan, in a low voice.

Jimmie Dale heard Meighan fumble for the receiver; and then, as the other spoke, seizing the opportunity, he began to retreat stealthily back across the hallway toward the vestibule door. "Hello!" Meighan's voice was still guarded. "Yes yes ... What!" His voice rose suddenly in a rasping cry. "What's that! Dead! Murdered! Wait a minute! Kenleigh, they've found the Magpie murdered in his room!"

"Wouldn't make such an awful noise didn't need much juice on that safe pretty slick with the smother game didn't raise an item, anyway." There was silence for a moment. Then Meighan spoke again: "Let's have your story, Mr. Kenleigh. How did you come to bring a hundred thousand dollars' worth of bonds home with you? And how did the Magpie get onto the lay?"

One glance around the room Jimmie Dale gave instinctively; and then he was crawling through the window, and, outside, regaining his feet, he darted across the yard, and out into the lane. Kenleigh, the insurance broker he repeated the address she had given in the note over to himself. It was an apartment house on Avenue near Washington Square.

But how did youse know dat guy Kenleigh had de goods?" "That's none of your business, is it?" replied Virat, a little defiantly. "You're getting yours now." Larry the Bat appeared to ponder the other's words, a curious smile on his lips. "Well, mabbe it ain't," he admitted. "Let it go anyway, an' split the swag. Count 'em out!"

"Mabbe," murmured Larry the Bat, "youse'd know him better when he ain't dolled up." He swept the glasses from Virat's nose, and wrenched away the black moustache and goatee. "Kenleigh!" gasped Meighan. "Mabbe," said Larry the Bat, with a twisted grin, "dere's somethin' he may have fergotten ter wise youse up on, but he didn't mean ter hide nothin' in his confession did youse, Frenchy?

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