"I've set my invention to go off at three o'clock," he concluded. "Tomorrow forenoon, it will have to be delivered early—and I don't believe we shall be troubled any longer by Miss Elaine Dodge," he added venomously.
Even the crooks, hardened as they were, could only gasp.
Calmly he wrapped up the apparently innocent engine of destruction and handed it to Spike.
"See that she gets it in time," he said merely.
"I will, sir," answered Spike, taking it gingerly.
Flirty Florrie had returned that afternoon, late, from some expedition on which she had been sent.
Rankling in her heart yet was the death of her lover, Dan the Dude. For, although in her sphere of crookdom they are neither married nor given in marriage, still there is a brand of loyalty that higher circles might well copy. Sacred to the memory of the dead, however, she had one desire—revenge.
Thus when she arrived home, she went to the telephone to report and called a number, 4494 Greenwich.
"Hello, Chief," she repeated. "This is Flirty. Have you done anything yet in the little matter we talked about?"
"Say—be careful of names—over the wire," came a growl.