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.
"Here you, what in hell are you doing!" he spluttered angrily.
Embarrassed and confused, Jimmie Dale drew back, glanced around, and smiled again a little sheepishly as his eyes rested on the red-flushed jowl of the inspector.
"I--I wanted to see how it was stuck on," he explained inanely.
"Stuck on!" bellowed Clayton.

"I'll show you how it's STUCK on, if you monkey around here! Don't you know any better than that! Where were you dragged up anyway?
The coroner hasn't been here yet.

You're a hot cub of a reporter, you are!" He turned to Carruthers.

"Y'ought to get out printed instructions for 'em before you turn 'em loose!" he snapped.
Carruthers' face was red with mortification.