"He doesn't even
mention the name of his friend to the dear people who are to hunt him
down! Fine dope!"
Darrow's face expressed a sleepy satisfaction. He stretched his arms and
yawned.
"You might supply the deficiency," he suggested. "Well," he remarked to
Jack, "that settles it. Everything's running like a catboat in a fair
wind. He's in communication with us; he is gaining confidence in his
inflated imaginary importance; we are to have a continuance of his
peculiar activities; and we can put our hands on him at a moment's
notice."
"What!" shouted Hallowell and Jack Warford, leaping to their feet.
"Where is he?" demanded the reporter.
"How do you know?" cried Jack.
Simmons, his head-piece laid aside, looked up at him in silent curiosity.
"It is sufficient for now that I do know," smiled Darrow. "As for how I
know, that last wireless proved it to me."
All three men immediately bent over the message for a detailed perusal.
After a minute's scrutiny, Hallowell looked up in disappointment.
"Too many for me," he confessed. "What is there in that?"
But Darrow shook his head.
"I play my own game," was all the explanation he would vouchsafe.
"You may as well knock off, old man," he told Simmons. "I don't think
there'll be anything more doing to-night; and it doesn't matter if there
is. Tell your other man to jot down anything from that sending, if any
comes.
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