"Larry the Bat, eh? It was another voice, harsh and curt. "What are you doing here?"
He was not first, after all! The telephone message from Pelham—it was almost certainly that—had beaten him! They were ahead of him, just ahead of him, they had only been a few steps ahead of him going up the stairs, just a second ahead of him on their way to Hagan's room! Jimmie Dale was thinking fast now. He must go, too—to Hagan's room with them—somehow—there was no other way—there was Hagan's life at stake.
"Aw, I ain't done nothin'!" he whined. "I was just goin' ter borrow the price of a feed from Mike Hagan—lemme go!"
"Hagan, eh!" snapped the questioner. "Are you a friend of his?"
"Sure, I am!"
The officers whispered for a moment together.
"We'll try it," decided the one who appeared to be in command. "We're in the dark, anyhow, and the thing may be only a steer. Mabbe it'll work—anyway, it won't do any harm." His hand fell heavily on Jimmie Dale's shoulder. "Mrs. Hagan know you?" brusquely.
"Sure she does!" sniffled Larry the Bat.
"Good!" rasped the officer. "Well, we'll make the visit with you. And you do what you're told, or we'll put the screws on you—see? We're after something here, and you've blown the whole game—savvy? You've spilled the gravy—understand?"
In the darkness, Jimmie Dale smiled grimly. It was far more than he had dared to hope for—they were playing into his hands!
"But I don't know 'bout any game," grovelled Larry the Bat piteously.
"Who in hell said you did!" growled the officer. "You're supposed to have snitched the lay to us, that's all—and mind you play your part! Come on!"
It was two doors down the hall to Mike Hagan's room, and there one of the officers, putting his shoulder to the
