“That's all right,” observed Lannigan coolly. “I'm not questioning your sincerity for a minute; I know all about that; but that doesn't land the Gray Seal. I'll work with you if you've anything to offer, but we've had enough 'tips' and 'information' handed us at headquarters in the last few years to make us a trifle skeptical. Show me what you've got, Whitey?”
“Show you!” echoed Whitey Mack passionately. “Sure, I'll show you! That's what I'm going to do—show you. I'll show you the Gray Seal! I ain't handing you any tips. I'VE FOUND OUT WHO THE GRAY SEAL IS!”
There was a tense silence. It seemed to Jimmie Dale as though cold fingers were clutching at his heart, stifling its beat—then the blood came bursting to his forehead. He could not see into the room, but that silence was eloquent. It seemed as though he could picture the two men—Lannigan leaning suddenly forward—Lannigan and Whitey Mack staring tensely into each other's eyes.
“You—WHAT!” It came low and grim from Lannigan.
“That's what!” asserted Whitey Mack bluntly. “You heard me! That's what I said! I know who the Gray Seal is—and I'm the only guy that's wise to him. Am I letting you in right?”
“You're sure?” demanded Lannigan hoarsely. “You're sure? Who is he, then?”
There was a half laugh, half snarl from Whitey Mack.
“Oh, no, you don't!” he growled. “Nix on that! What do you take me for—a fool? You beat it out of here and round him up—eh—while I suck my thumbs? Say, forget it! Do you think I'm doing this because I love you? Why, blame you, you've been aching for a year to put the bracelets on me yourself! Say, wake up! I'm in on this myself.”
Again that silence. Then Lannigan spoke slowly, in a puzzled way.
“I don't get you, Whitey,” he said. “What do you mean?” Then, a little sharply: “You're quite right; you've got some reputation yourself, and you're badly 'wanted' if we could get the 'goods' on you. If you're trying to plant something, look out for yourself, or—”