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Updated: June 20, 2025
But whatever the Pippin's reasoning might have been, the one morally certain fact remained every minute of delay increased the risk that the cuff link would be found by some one else, and if the Pippin were coming back at all he would have been back long before this.
His fingers, as he thrust the Pippin's note into the side pocket of his coat, touched the torn fragments of another note, tiny little particles of paper, torn over and over again into fine and minute shreds the Tocsin's note the note that seemed suddenly to have changed all his life.
Then a pause, the sound of hard breathing, and quick questions the visitor's voice again, again the patter, and Pippin's ingratiating but decisive murmurs.
The secretary seated beside him wore an expression of faint alarm, such as Pippin's driving was warranted to evoke from almost any face. The sky had darkened strangely, but pale streaks of light, coming from one knew not where, filtered through the trees. No breath was stirring; the wheels and horses' hoofs made no sound on the deep fern mould.
The other miseries of this calamity at present left him cold; he barely thought of the smothered men; but Pippin's struggle, his lonely struggle with this hydra-headed monster, touched him very nearly. He fell asleep and dreamed of watching Pippin slowly strangled by a snake; the agonised, kindly, ironic face peeping out between two gleaming coils was so horribly real, that he awoke.
He knew now why the underworld, believing what it had been told, had been warned to keep away from the Mole's he knew now that it was because he was to have no inkling that he was walking into a baited trap. He had torn the Pippin's clothing loose, found the bullet hole in the left side, perilously near the heart, and was striving now to staunch the other's wound.
The failure of that night, the Pippin's death, the stir and publicity, the stimulus given to police activity, had, it seemed, in no way acted as a deterrent upon the sinister ingenuity which, he made no doubt, was likewise the author of the mysterious crime that to-night was upon every tongue in the city the murder of one of New York's most prominent bankers under almost incredible circumstances, and the coincident disappearance of a number of documents which were vaguely hinted at as being of international importance and of priceless worth.
Another fifteen minutes passed, and still another and then Jimmie Dale restored his mask to his pocket, rose from his seat, and made his way to the front door of the shop. He had waited there a full hour and over now, his only purpose had been to prevent the removal of the evidence of the Pippin's guilt by the Pippin, and logic told him it was useless to wait longer.
They had no warrant, it is true, for the arrest of any other person than "the said Ralph Colleton" but the unlucky color of Pippin's horse, and their perfect knowledge of the animal, readily identifying him, did the business for the pedler.
"Glad to hear you say that about going too, Mr. Scorrier; we must be careful Pippin's such a good fellow, and so sensitive; and our friend there a bit heavy in the hand, um?" Scorrier did in fact go out with Hemmings.
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