CHAPTER XXVII

TIGERS’ DEN Just eleven, by the illuminated dial of some obscure factory, when Leamy raised stricken eyes for a look about him. Still time! But he was getting old, getting a trifle fat and soft. The water beckoned. “Just eleven,” said Craig to himself, as he looked at that same dial from the north. “Still time.” But his thought was of Count Wolf, and he regretted the time that he had given to Leamy thus far. Not that he had given very much. After all, Leamy had been incidental to his search for Wolf. It was Wolf wh…