Carruthers was but an example. Carruthers now would hunt the Gray Seal
like a mad dog. The Gray Seal, to Carruthers and every one else, would
be the vilest name in the land--a synonym for murder.
On the car flew--and upon Jimmie Dale's face, as though chiselled in
marble, was a look that was not good to see. And a mirthless smile set,
frozen, on his lips.
"I'll get the man that did this," gritted Jimmie Dale between his teeth.
"I'll GET him! And, when I get him, I'll wring a confession from him if
I have to swing for it!"
The car swept from Broadway into Astor Place, on down the Bowery, and
presently stopped.
Jimmie Dale stepped out. "I shall not want you any more, Benson," he
said. "You may return home."
Jimmie Dale started down the block--a nonchalant Jimmie Dale now, if
anything, bored a little. Near the corner, a figure, back turned, was
lounging at the edge of the sidewalk. Jimmie Dale touched the man on the
arm.
"Hello, Carruthers!" he drawled.
"Ah, Jimmie!" Carruthers turned with an excited smile. "That's the boy!
You've made mighty quick time."
"Well, you told me to hurry," grumbled Jimmie Dale. "I'm doing my best
to please you to-night. Came down in my car, and got summoned for three
fines to-morrow."
Carruthers laughed. "Come on," he said; and, linking his arm in Jimmie
Dale's, turned the corner, and headed west along the cross street.
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