It simply amounts to
advising every crook in the country that you have a quarter of a million
at his disposal, which he can carry away in his vest pocket, once he can
get his hands on it--and you invite him to try."
Jimmie Dale laughed. "What Carruthers means, Markel, is that you'll have
the Gray Seal down your street. Carruthers talks of crooks generally,
but he thinks in terms of only one. He can't help it. He's been
trying so long to catch the chap that it's become an obsession. Eh,
Carruthers?"
Carruthers smiled seriously. "Perhaps," he admitted. "I hope, though,
for Mr. Markel's sake, that the Gray Seal won't take a fancy to it--if
he does, Mr. Markel can say good-bye to his necklace."
"Pouf!" coughed Markel arrogantly. "Overrated! His cleverness is all
in the newspaper columns. If he knows what's good for him, he'll know
enough to leave this alone."
Jimmie Dale was leaning over the table poking gingerly with the tip of
his forefinger at the centre stone in the setting, revolving it gently
to and fro in the light--a very large stone, whose weight would hardly
be less than fifteen carats. Jimmie Dale lowered his head for a closer
examination--and to hide a curious, mocking little gleam that crept into
his dark eyes.
"Yes, I should say you're right, Markel," he agreed judicially. "He
ought to know better than to touch this.
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