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Updated: May 5, 2025
"What do you mean?" he demanded. "Mabbe nothin' mabbe a whole lot." Larry the Bat dropped his voice mysteriously. "I was thinkin' of pullin' off a little show here, an' youse have de luck ter get an invite, dat's all. Mabbe I'll hand youse somethin' on a gold platter, an' mabbe I'll hand youse this!" The automatic was shoved significantly an inch closer to Meighan's face. "Youse know me!
It was almost analogous to Meighan's waiting for the return of the Magpie, except that he, Jimmie Dale, had neither the desire nor the intention of usurping the functions of the police.
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!"
And then Jimmie Dale laid Meighan's revolver down on the floor of the room, and locked the door on the outside with a pick-lock, and went down the stairs. Jimmie Dale's fingers, in the darkness, were deftly tying around his body the leather girdle with its finely-tempered, compact kit of burglar's tools.
Put yer hands over yer head, an' do it quick!" Jimmie Dale's left hand reached out and switched on the light. It was Meighan, hands elevated, startled, angry, who stood blinking in the glare and then a low cry came from the man. "Larry the Bat the Gray Seal! So it's a plant, is it! That damned she-pal of yours handed it to me good over the 'phone!" Meighan's lips tightened.
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