Smarlinghue, in a sort of stupefied amazement, stared around the room--as though he expected to see a gleaming heap of diamonds leap into sight somewhere before him. He shook his head helplessly.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled. "I--I heard a row outside there a little while ago. Maybe that's it."
"Yes--_mabbe_ it is!" sneered the Wolf viciously. "So you don't know anything about it--eh? You've got a hell of a good memory, haven't you! You don't know anything about the Spider's safe, or about a little fight in the Spider's room, or about jumping out of the window, and beating it for here with the gang after you--no, you don't! You never heard of it before--of course, you didn't!"
Smarlinghue began to wring his hands nervously one over the other. He shook his head helplessly again.
"It wasn't me!" He licked his lips. "Honest, it wasn't me! I--I don't know what you're talking about. I ain't been out of this room. Honest! Somebody's trying to put me in wrong. I tell you, I ain't been out of here all night. I--look!" With sudden, feverish eagerness, as though from an inspiration, he pointed to the paint brush, the palette, and the canvas on the easel. "Look! Look for yourself! You can see for yourself! I've been painting."
And then the Wolf laughed--and it was not a pleasant laugh.
"Yes, you've been painting!" he jeered. "Sure, you have! I know that! Only you've been _painting_ a damned sight more than you thought you were!"
The revolver muzzle covered Jimmie Dale steadily, unswervingly; in the Wolf's face was malicious and sardonic mockery--but the Wolf's eyes were no longer on Jimmie Dale's face, they seemed curiously intent upon the floor at Jimmie Dale's feet. Mechanically Jimmie Dale followed their direction--and his eyes, too, held on the floor. For a moment neither spoke. _The game was up_! His boot top was soaked with blood, and, trickling down the side of the boot, a little crimson stream was collecting in a pool upon the floor.
"You _painted_ some of that on the doorstep!" The Wolf's taunting laugh held a deadly menace. "And you painted a drop or two of it along the street as you ran. I thought when you bust away from the Spider's and that cursed gang nosed in that I was going to lose out; but I figured that I had hit you, and I was keeping my eyes skinned to see. And then you commenced to do the drip act--savvy? I was still looking for it when I came out of the lane--you remember, Smarlinghue, don't you?--you got your memory back, ain't you?--that I was a bit ahead of the rest of 'em? It didn't take a second to spot that on the doorstep, and there's some more of it in the hall. Damned queer, ain't it--that it led right to Smarlinghue's room!" The laugh was gone. The Wolf began to come forward across the room. The snarl was in his voice again. "You come across with those sparklers, and you come across--_quick_!"