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Updated: June 14, 2025
"That is what Stace Morse said," said Jimmie Dale coolly. "Sit down!" Then Clayton tried to laugh. "You're you're having a joke, ain't you? It was Stace I can prove it. Come down to headquarters, and I can prove it. I got the goods on him all the way. I tell you" his voice rose shrilly "it was Stace Morse." "You are a despicable hound," said Jimmie Dale, through set lips.
Her disposition was clinging and affectionate, and she had enjoyed the religious bringing up that her lover thought of supreme importance to a woman. General Stace agreed to allow his daughter L300 a year, which with the L400 that Willis made by his pen, was considered a sufficient income for the young couple to start housekeeping upon.
There was a second's pause in the rush; and, in the pause, Clayton's voice, in a vicious undertone: "You two ginks open your traps, and I'll run you both in!" And then the rush passed, and swept on up the stairs. Jimmie Dale looked at the Runt. The cigarette dangled limply; the Runt's eyes were like a hunted beast's. "Dey got him!" he mumbled. "It's Stace Stace Morse.
Three-inch headlines in red ink screamed, exulted, and shrieked out the news that the Gray Seal, in the person of Stace Morse, fence, yeggman and murderer, had been captured. The public, if it had held any private admiration for the one-time mysterious crook could now once and forever disillusion itself.
While staying with the Skinners in August, Willis met his fate in the person of Miss Mary Stace, daughter of a General Stace. After a week's acquaintance he proposed to her, and was accepted. She was, we are told, a beauty of the purest Saxon type, with a bright complexion, blue eyes, light-brown hair, and delicate, regular features.
Dey've got de goods on Stace, too. He made a bum job of it." "Why didn't he get out of de country den when he had de chanst, instead of hangin' around here all afternoon?" demanded Jimmie Dale. "He was broke," the Runt answered. "We was gettin' de coin fer him ter fade away wid ter-night, an' " A revolver shot from above cut short his words.
The man was beside himself now racked to the soul by a paroxysm of fear. "I'm innocent innocent!" he screamed out. "Oh, for God's sake, don't send an innocent man to his death. It WAS Stace Morse. Listen! Listen! I'll tell the truth." He was clawing with his hands, piteously, over the desk at Jimmie Dale.
Fillimore certainly had a flair, and when Beryl Stace presently demanded of him, "What's the dead bird going to be on Saturday, Filly?" he put it generously at her service. Among the friends of Mr.
Fillimore certainly had a flair, and when Beryl Stace presently demanded of him, "What's the dead bird going to be on Saturday, Filly?" he put it generously at her service. Among the friends of Mr.
The Gray Seal was Stace Morse and Stace Morse was of the dregs of the city's scum, a pariah, an outcast, with no single redeeming trait to lift him from the ruck of mire and slime that had strewn his life from infancy. The face of Inspector Clayton, blandly self-complacent, leaped out from the paper to meet Jimmie Dale's eyes and with it a column and a half of perfervid eulogy.
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