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Updated: June 28, 2025
Then Mittel's voice, high-pitched, as though in pain: "Can't any of you run a motor boat? He's got me bad, I'm afraid. That other one there is twice as fast." "Sure!" another voice responded promptly. "And if that's right, he's run his head into a trap. Cast loose, there, MacVeay, and pile in, all of you! You go back to the house, Mr. Mittel, and fix yourself up. We'll get him!"
Mittel circled his lips with the tip of his tongue. "What do you want?" he whispered hoarsely. "The balance of the amount." There was an ominous quiet in Jimmie Dale's voice. "A check payable to Mrs. Michael Breen for five thousand dollars." "I I haven't got that much in the bank," Mittel fenced, stammering. "No?
Mittel gave when he came downstairs and put his head in here, and then him shouting and using the most terrible language into the telephone, and then finding the wires cut. And me following him downstairs half dead with fright. And he shouts at me. 'Bella, he shouts, 'shut those windows, but don't you touch a thing in that room. I'm going for the police. And then he rushes out of the house."
"It might be as well to remind you, Mittel," he cautioned sternly, "that if for any reason this check is not honoured, whether through lack of funds or an attempt by you to stop payment, you'll be in a cell in the Tombs to-morrow for this night's work that is quite understood, isn't it?" Mittel was on his feet sweat glistened on his forehead. "My God!" he cried out shrilly. "Who are you?"
Inside the room, Mittel passed the windows, pacing the floor, one side of his face badly cut and bruised from the blow with the boat hook and as he passed, his back turned for an instant, Jimmie Dale stepped into the room. Mittel whirled at the sound, and, with a suppressed cry, instinctively drew back Jimmie Dale's automatic was dangling carelessly in his right hand.
Jimmie Dale was at the French windows, tearing at the bolts. They stuck. Shouts came from the front entryway. He wrenched viciously at the fastenings. They gave now. The windows flew open. He glanced over his shoulder. A man, Mittel presumably, since he was the only one not in uniform, was springing into the room.
Then I should advise you to see that you have by ten o'clock to-morrow morning!" returned Jimmie Dale curtly. "Make out that check!" Mittel hesitated. The revolver edged insistently a little farther across the desk and Mittel, picking up a pen, wrote feverishly. He tore the check from its stub, and, with a snarl, pushed it toward Jimmie Dale.
We must repudiate the sinister delusion of a “Mittel Europa” which is haunting the diseased brains of the Pan-Germanists. On the other hand, we must repudiate any offensive or defensive economic alliance between the Allied Powers. The terms of peace must be engraved on clean white marble. If a permanent peace is to be attained we must remove the deeper causes which brought about the catastrophe.
It seemed an age, a year to Jimmie Dale before the line was clear. Shouts rang still louder across the lawn the police, racing in a pack, were more than halfway from the house. He flung the line into the boat, sprang in after it and Mittel, looming over him, grasped at the boat's gunwhale. Both men were panting from their exertions. "Let go!" snarled Jimmie Dale between clenched teeth.
He is compelled to serve the lord of the land every year with so much labor of his hands. The small farmers, the 'Gross' and 'Mittel Bauern', we call them, are also mortgaged to the nobles who tyrannize our Vaterland. Our merchants are little merchants shopkeepers, you would say. My poor father, an educated man, was such. They fought our revolution."
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