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Updated: June 19, 2025
"I've been here in the room all the time. I want to know whether you were stalling on Slimmy Jack, or not. And I want to know, if you were stalling, how you came to be here with him." "That's a queer spiel," said Birdie Lee, in a troubled way. "I thought at first you were a bull but you don't talk like one.
What could the Magpie want? What could there be in common between the Magpie and Silver Mag? The Magpie, alias Slimmy Joe, was counted the cleverest safe worker in the United States, barring only and always one a smile flickered across the lips of Larry the Bat one whose pre-eminence the Magpie, much to his own chagrin, admitted himself the Gray Seal!
The "murder" of Slimmy Jack had evidently been discovered too late for the make-up of the early morning papers; but from the noon editions onward it had been flung across the front pages in glaring type even the most stately journals, for the nonce aroused out of their dignified calm, indulging in "display" headlines that, quite apart from the mere text, could not but have startled their equally stately and dignified readers.
Go on, Mag, draw de dope fer Slimmy. Dat's better dan tryin' to put one over on de swell guy. Dis'll make him squeal fer fair!" The Magpie produced a pencil and a piece of paper from his pocket, and laid them on the table in front of the Tocsin. "Dere youse are," he announced. "Help yerself, an' go to it, Mag!"
"Open it! And open it quick!" Slimmy Jack's hand was wrenching at his side pocket. "But, I tell you, I can't, Slimmy!" cried Birdie Lee, almost piteously. "It's queered me up there in the pen. I" he was rising to his feet "Slimmy for God's, sake what are you doing you "
"Youse don't need to be sore all night! I told youse I wasn't tryin' to hand youse one, didn't I?" "Never mind Larry, Slimmy," put in the Tocsin petulantly. "He's down on his luck, dat's all. He ain't had de price of a pinch of coke fer two days." "Oho!" exclaimed the Magpie, grinning again. "So dat's wot's givin' youse de pip, eh, Larry?
He does not confine his attentions to the Slimmy Jacks. The criminal records of the past few years reek with his acts, that run the gamut of every crime in the decalogue, crimes for the most part actuated apparently by no other motive than a monstrously innate thirst for notoriety and the victims, for the most part, too, have been the innocent and the defenceless. What is the end of this to be?
"Well, den, dat's wot I want, dat's wot I come fer, Mag a plan of de house. See?" Jimmie Dale could feel the Tocsin's eyes upon him, questioning, searching, seeking a cue. A plan of the house yes or no? And a decision on the instant! "Sure!" said Larry the Bat brightly. "Dat's wot I was t'inkin' youse were after all de time. Say, youse are all right, Slimmy! Youse are de kind to work wid!
"That's the way I had doped it out up there in the pen that I was goin' straight. That's all, isn't it? I told Slimmy I was through but Slimmy held something over me that was good for twenty years. What could I do? I said I'd come in on this, figurin' that I could queer the game by stallin'. I I tried it. If you were here, you saw me. I pretended that I couldn't open the safe, and "
Didn't I tell you I was handing you one on a gold platter!" The light ray now flooded the front of the safe, and outlined the forms of the two men. One of them, holding the flashlight, dropped on his knees, and began to twirl the dial tentatively; the other leaned negligently against the corner of the safe. "I ain't so sure it's easy, Slimmy," replied the man on his knees, after a moment.
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