The cigarette dangled limply; the Runt's eyes were like a hunted beast's.
"Dey got him!" he mumbled.

"It's Stace--Stace Morse.

He come to me after croakin' Metzer, an' he's been hidin' up dere all afternoon." Stace Morse--known in gangland as a man with every crime in the calendar to his credit, and prominent because of it! Something seemed to go suddenly queer inside of Jimmie Dale.

Stace Morse! Was he wrong, after all?
Jimmie Dale drew closer to the Runt.
"Yer givin' me a steer, ain't youse ?" He spoke again from the corner of his mouth, almost inaudibly.

"Are youse sure it was Stace croaked Metzer?
Wot fer?
How'd yer know ?" The Runt was listening, his eyes strained toward the stairs.