quarter past nine
`` Dear Philanthropic Crook '' -- it was the same inevitable beginning . `` You are well enough again , are n't you , Jimmie ? -- I am sending these little things back to you , for you will need them to-night . '' -- Jimmie Dale read on , muttering snatches of the letter aloud : `` Michael Breen prospecting in Alaska -- map of location of rich mining claim -- Hamvert , his former partner , had previously fleeced him of fifteen thousand dollars -- his share of a deal together -- Breen was always a very poor man -- Breen later struck a claim alone ; but , taking sick , came back home -- died on arrival in New York after giving map to his wife -- wife in very needy circumstances -- lives with little daughter of seven in New Rochelle -- works out by the day at Henry Mittel 's house on the Sound near-by -- wife intrusted map for safe-keeping and advice to Mittel -- Hamvert after map -- telephone wires cut -- room one hundred and forty-eight , corner , right , first floor , Palais-Metropole Hotel , unoccupied -- connecting doors -- quarter past nine to-night -- the Weasel -- Mittel 's house later -- the police -- look out for both the Weasel and the police , Jimmie -- '' There was more , several pages of it , explanations , specific details down to a minute description of the locality and plan of the house on the Sound . Jimmie Dale , too intent now to mutter , read on silently . At the end he shuffled the sheets a little abstractedly , as his face hardened . Then his fingers began to tear the letter into little shreds , tearing it over and over again , tearing the shreds into tiny particles .