In Jimmie Dale' hand, hidden as he turned his back, the tiny combination
of powerful lenses was focused on the seal.
Clayton guffawed. "That's right!" he called out. "Take a good look.
That's a bright young man you've got, Carruthers."
Jimmie Dale looked up a little sheepishly--and got a grin from the
assembled reporters, and a scowl from Carruthers.
"Now, then," continued Clayton, "here's the facts--as much of 'em as I
can let you boys print at present. You know I'm stretching a point
to let you in here--don't forget that when you come to write up the
case--honour where's honour's due, you know. Well, me and Metzer there
was getting ready to close down on a big piece of game, and I was over
here in this room talking to him about it early this afternoon. We had
it framed to get our man to-night--see? I left Metzer, say, about three
o'clock, and he was to show up over at headquarters with another little
bit of evidence we wanted at eight o'clock to-night."
Jimmie Dale was listening--to every word. But he stooped now again over
the murdered man's head deliberately, though he felt the inspector's
rat's eyes upon him--stooped, and, with his finger nail, lifted back the
right-hand point of the diamond-shaped seal where it bordered a faint
thread of blood on the man's forehead.
There was a bull-like roar from the inspector, and he burst through the
ring of reporters, and grabbed Jimmie Dale by the shoulder.
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