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Well, by pumping Moriarty, he admitted that Metzer had had a visitor about an hour after I left." "Who was it? Know what his name is, inspector?" asked one of the reporters quickly. Inspector Clayton winked heavily. "Don't be greedy boys," he grinned. "You mean you've got him?" burst out another one of the men excitedly. "Sure! Sure, I've got him." Inspector Clayton waved his fat hand airily.
"Only I t'ought I'd let youse know. I was passin' Moriarty's an' got de tip. Say, some guy's croaked Jake Metzer dere." "Aw, ferget it!" observed the Runt airily. "Dat's stale. Was wise to dat hours ago." Jimmie Dale's face fell. "But I just come from dere," he insisted; "an' de harness bulls only just found it out." "Mabbe," grunted the Runt. "But Metzer got his early in de afternoon see?"
Clayton dropped Jimmie Dale's hand, and waved his own in the air. Jimmie Dale remained modestly on the outside of the circle as the reporters gathered around the police inspector. "Now, then," said Clayton coarsely, "the guy that's croaked there is Metzer, Jake Metzer. Get that?"
Well, me and Metzer there was getting ready to close down on a big piece of game, and I was over here in this room talking to him about it early this afternoon. We had it framed to get our man to-night see? I left Metzer, say, about three o'clock, and he was to show up over at headquarters with another little bit of evidence we wanted at eight o'clock to-night."
We was after one of the biggest hauls we'd ever pulled off. I waited till nine o'clock, an hour ago, and I was getting nervous. Then I started over here to find out what was the matter. When I got here I asked Moriarty if he'd seen Metzer. Moriarty said he hadn't since I was here before. He was a little suspicious that I had something on Metzer see?
"Do you imagine I waylaid Mr. Clarke, and then sprained my ankle on purpose?" said Betty, who began to look dangerous. "Certainly not that; only it seems so odd that he should be the one to rescue all the damsels in distress. Day before yesterday he stopped a runaway horse, and saved Nell Metzer who was in the wagon, a severe shaking up, if not something more serious.
He spoke again from the corner of his mouth, almost inaudibly. "Are youse sure it was Stace croaked Metzer? Wot fer? How'd yer know?" The Runt was listening, his eyes strained toward the stairs. The hall door to the street was closed, but both were quite well aware that there was an officer on guard outside. "He told me," whispered the Runt. "Metzer was fixin' ter snitch on him ter-night.
Yes, everything was in disorder, as though there had been a struggle a chair upturned, a table canted against the wall, broken pieces of crockery from the washstand on the carpet, and "Metzer was a stool pigeon, see?" went on Clayton, "and he lived here. Moriarty wasn't on to him. Metzer stood in thick with a wider circle of crooks than any other snitch in New York."
He come to me after croakin' Metzer, an' he's been hidin' up dere all afternoon." Stace Morse known in gangland as a man with every crime in the calendar to his credit, and prominent because of it! Something seemed to go suddenly queer inside of Jimmie Dale. Stace Morse! Was he wrong, after all? Jimmie Dale drew closer to the Runt. "Yer givin' me a steer, ain't youse?"
Metzer was going to show you up; and so, Metzer being in the road, you removed him. And you seized on the fact of Stace Morse having paid a visit to him this afternoon to fix the crime on Stace Morse. Proofs? Oh, yes, I know you've manufactured proofs enough to convict him if there weren't stronger proofs to convict YOU."
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