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Updated: May 13, 2025
The others could hardly overtake him in that time they hadn't got started yet. He could hear them still shouting and talking at the wharf. And Mittel's "twice as fast" was undoubtedly an exaggeration, anyhow.
It was even longer than he had counted on, and time, with the Weasel on one hand and the return of the police on the other, was a factor to be reckoned with again, as, a half hour later, Jimmie Dale stole across the lawn of Mittel's house for the second time that night, and for the second time crouched beneath the open French windows.
Jimmie Dale read on, muttering snatches of the letter aloud: "Michael Breen prospecting in Alaska map of location of rich mining claim Hamvert, his former partner, had previously fleeced him of fifteen thousand dollars his share of a deal together Breen was always a very poor man Breen later struck a claim alone; but, taking sick, came back home died on arrival in New York after giving map to his wife wife in very needy circumstances lives with little daughter of seven in New Rochelle works out by the day at Henry Mittel's house on the Sound near-by wife intrusted map for safe-keeping and advice to Mittel Hamvert after map telephone wires cut room one hundred and forty-eight, corner, right, first floor, Palais-Metropole Hotel, unoccupied connecting doors quarter past nine to-night the Weasel Mittel's house later the police look out for both the Weasel and the police, Jimmie "
"I'd have made it a good deal harder," said Jimmie Dale, with sudden insolence, "if I hadn't been afraid of putting you out of business and so precluding the possibility of this little meeting. Now then" the revolver swung upward and held steadily on a line with Mittel's eyes "I'll trouble you for the diagram of that Alaskan claim that belongs to Mrs. Michael Breen!"
He smiled miserably at Jimmie Dale. "QUICK!" Jimmie Dale flung out the word in a sharp, peremptory bark. "Do you need to be told that the CARTRIDGES are dry?" Mittel's hand, trembling, went into his pocket and produced an envelope. "Open it!" commanded Jimmie Dale. "And lay it on the desk, so that I can read it I am too wet to touch it." Mittel obeyed like a dog that has been whipped.
You seem to have eluded the police for the moment, somehow, but let me tell you I " "No," interrupted Jimmie Dale softly, "let ME tell you all there is to be told." He leaned over the desk and stared rudely at the bruise on Mittel's face. "Rather a nasty crack, that," he remarked. Mittel's fists clenched, and an angry flush swept his cheeks.
Jimmie Dale laughed a little harshly to himself. So far, so good but the game was not ended yet for all the crackle of the crisp notes in his pocket. There was still the map, still the robbery at Mittel's house the ten-thousand-dollar "theft" would not in any way change that, and it was a question of time now to forestall any move the Weasel might make.
There was no moon, and, while it was not particularly dark, objects and surroundings at best were blurred and indistinct; but that, after all, was a matter of little concern to Jimmie Dale the first house beyond was Mittel's. He reached the water's edge and kept along the shore. There should be a little wharf, she had said.
The Weasel was well qualified to point the way a fake robbery of your house would answer the purpose admirably you could not be held either legally or morally responsible for a document that was placed, unsolicited by you, in your possession, if it were stolen from you." Mittel's face was ashen, colourless. His hands were opening and shutting with nervous twitches on the top of the desk.
Mittel's answer was a hoarse, gasping shout to the police to hurry and then Mittel reeled back, measuring his length upon the wharf from a blow with a boat hook full across the face, driven with a sudden, untamed savagery that seemed for the moment to have mastered Jimmie Dale. There was no time not a second not the fraction of a second.
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