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Jimmie Dale's fingers crept inside his vest and fumbled there for a moment and a diamond stud, extracted from his shirt front, glistened sportively in the necktie that was now tucked jauntily in at one side of his shirt bosom. He had reached the Blue Dragon, one of Wowzer's usual hang outs, and, swerving from the sidewalk, entered the place.
The Mole was the leader of the gang with which the Pippin was allied; it was at the Mole's place that the Pippin usually lived; it was at the Mole's place that the police would first institute their search for the Pippin and five minutes ago, through Carruthers, he had unleashed the police! The Wowzer's face seemed to be swirling around and around in front of him again. To get away and think!
The Wowzer, beyond a shadow of doubt, in his own profession stood upon a plane entirely by himself among those qualified to speak, no one yet had ever questioned the Wowzer's claim to the distinction of being the most dexterous and finished "poke getter" in the United States!
It had been no more, at most, than a matter of seconds since Jimmie Dale had hurled himself into the room; and now, with a gurgling sigh, the Wowzer's arms, that had been wound around Jimmie Dale's back and shoulders, relaxed, and, from the blow on his head the man, lay back inert and stunned.
Well, when I'm ridin' in me private buzz wagon, Wowzer, youse stick around an' mabbe I'll tell youse an' mabbe I won't!" "By God" the Wowzer's voice rose in a scream "youse hand over dat letter!" "Youse go to " Red, lurid red, a stream of flame seemed to cut across Jimmie Dale's line of vision, came the roar of a revolver shot and like a madman Jimmie Dale flung his body at the door.
"Forget it!" observed the barkeeper cordially. "Dis is on me. Any friend of de Wowzer's gets de glad hand here any time." "T'anks!" said Jimmie Dale gratefully, as he turned away. "So long, then see youse later." Chang Foo's! Jimmie Dale's face set even a little harder than it had before, as he swung on again down the Bowery. Yes; he knew Chang Foo's too well.
It seemed to Jimmie Dale as though the clutch of an icy hand was suddenly at his heart, as though the ground beneath his feet had grown suddenly unstable and that the Wowzer's face, close to his own, was swirling around and around in swift and endless gyrations but he was conscious, too, that he was master of himself. The muscles of his face twitched but it was to express incredulity.
Doors were opening everywhere now, forms were pushing out into the semi-darkness only to duck hastily back again, as Jimmie Dale's automatic barked and spat a running fire of warning ahead of him. And then, behind, the Wowzer's voice shrieked out: "Soak him! Kill de guy! He's croaked Dago Jim! Put a hole in him, de "
"Say, is de Wowzer up dere?" he inquired in a cautious whisper. The man behind the bar, well known to Jimmie Dale as one of the Wowzer's particular pals, favoured him with a blank stare. "Never heard of de guy!" he announced brusquely. "Wot's yours?" "Gimme a mug of suds," said Jimmie Dale, reaching for a match.
He was in a downtown subway train now the roar in his ears in consonance, it seemed, with the turmoil in his brain. But now, too, he was Jimmie Dale again; and, apart from the slightly outthrust jaw, the tight-closed lips, impassive, debonair, composed. There was yet a chance. As Larry the Bat he knew every den and lair below the dead line, and he knew, too, the Wowzer's favourite haunts.
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