Dopey Jack looked at us in disgust. "Say," he replied, "if I wanted a skirt to help me in such a job, believe me I know plenty that could put it all over that girl. Naw, I did it all myself. I picked the lock, burnt the safe with that powder the guy give me, and took out something in soft leather, a lot of typewriting."
We were all on our feet in unrestrained excitement. It was the Black
Book at last!
"Yes," prompted Carton, "and what then—what did you do with it?"
"Gave it to Mr. Murtha, of course," came back the matter-of-fact answer of the young tough.
"What did he do with it?" demanded Carton.
Dopey Jack shook his head dubiously. "It ain't no use trying to kid you, Mr. Carton. If I told you a fake you'd find it out. I'd tell you what he did, if I knew, but I don't—on the level. He just took it. Maybe he burnt it—I don't know. I did my work."
Unprincipled as the young man was, I could not help the feeling that in this case he was telling only the truth as he knew it.
We looked at each other aghast. What if Murtha had got it and had destroyed it before his death? That was an end of the dreams we had built on its capture. On the other hand, if he had hidden it there was small likelihood now of finding it. The only chance, as far as I could see, was that he had passed it along to someone else. And of that Dopey Jack obviously knew nothing.
Still, his information was quite valuable enough. He had given us the first definite information we had received of it.
Carton, his assistants, and Kennedy now vigorously proceeded in a sort of kid glove third degree, without getting any further than convincing themselves that Rubano genuinely did not know.