the man's smug face.

"Damn you, you blasted snitch!" he burst out furiously. "We'll get you
down here some day, and--"

"Some day, perhaps," said Jimmie Dale softly. "But to-night--did I
explain that I was in a hurry--_Thorold!_ Every pocket inside out,
please!"

Thorold's hand went reluctantly to his pockets. He began with the inside
pocket of his coat, laying a pile of letters and papers on the table.

"Anything there you want?" he sneered.

"Go on!" prompted Jimmie Dale.

From vest pockets came a varied assortment of articles--watch, cigars, a
cigar-cutter, a silver-mounted pencil, and a fountain pen. The man's
hands travelled to his outside coat pockets.

"The _inside_ pocket of the vest, Thorold," suggested Jimmie Dale
coldly.

With a malicious snort, Thorold unbuttoned his vest, and turned the
pocket out. There was nothing in it.

Jimmie Dale nodded complacently.

"My mistake, Thorold," he murmured apologetically. "Go on!"