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+Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of Jimmie Dale, by Frank L. Packard
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Adventures of Jimmie Dale
+
+Author: Frank L. Packard
+
+Release Date: May 3, 2006 [EBook #1218]
+Last Updated: March 13, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF JIMMIE DALE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Donald Lainson
+
+
+
+
+
+THE ADVENTURES OF JIMMIE DALE
+
+by Frank L. Packard
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+PART ONE: THE MAN IN THE CASE
+
+
+I.    THE GRAY SEAL
+
+II.   BY PROXY
+
+III.  THE MOTHER LODE
+
+IV.   THE COUNTERFEIT FIVE
+
+V.    THE AFFAIR OF THE PUSHCART MAN
+
+VI.   DEVIL'S WORK
+
+VII.  THE THIEF
+
+VIII. THE MAN HIGHER UP
+
+IX.   TWO CROOKS AND A KNAVE
+
+X.    THE ALIBI
+
+XI.   THE STOOL-PIGEON
+
+
+
+PART TWO: THE WOMAN IN THE CASE
+
+
+I.    BELOW THE DEAD LINE
+
+II.   THE CALL TO ARMS
+
+III.  THE CRIME CLUB
+
+IV.   THE INNOCENT BYSTANDER
+
+V.    ON GUARD
+
+VI.   THE TRAP
+
+VII.  THE “HOUR”
+
+VIII. THE TOCSIN
+
+IX.   THE TOCSIN'S STORY
+
+X.    SILVER MAG
+
+XI.   THE MAGPIE
+
+XII.  JOHN JOHANSSON--FOUR-TWO-EIGHT
+
+XIII. THE ONLY WAY
+
+XIV.  OUT OF THE DARKNESS
+
+XV.   RETRIBUTION
+
+XVI. “DEATH TO THE GRAY SEAL!”
+
+
+
+
+
+PART ONE: THE MAN IN THE CASE
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE GRAY SEAL
+
+
+Among New York's fashionable and ultra-exclusive clubs, the St. James
+stood an acknowledged leader--more men, perhaps, cast an envious eye at
+its portals, of modest and unassuming taste, as they passed by on Fifth
+Avenue, than they did at any other club upon the long list that the city
+boasts. True, there were more expensive clubs upon whose membership roll
+scintillated more stars of New York's social set, but the St. James was
+distinctive. It guaranteed a man, so to speak--that is, it guaranteed a
+man to be innately a gentleman. It required money, it is true, to keep
+up one's membership, but there were many members who were not wealthy,
+as wealth is measured nowadays--there were many, even, who were pressed
+sometimes to meet their dues and their house accounts, but the accounts
+were invariably promptly paid. No man, once in, could ever afford, or
+ever had the desire, to resign from the St. James Club. Its membership
+was cosmopolitan; men of every walk in life passed in and out of
+its doors, professional men and business men, physicians, artists,
+merchants, authors, engineers, each stamped with the “hall mark” of
+the St. James, an innate gentleman. To receive a two weeks' out-of-town
+visitor's card to the St. James was something to speak about, and men
+from Chicago, St. Louis, or San Francisco spoke of it with a sort of
+holier-than-thou air to fellow members of their own exclusive clubs, at
+home again.
+
+Is there any doubt that Jimmie Dale was a gentleman--an INNATE
+gentleman? Jimmie Dale's father had been a member of the St. James
+Club, and one of the largest safe manufacturers of the United States, a
+prosperous, wealthy man, and at Jimmie Dale's birth he had proposed his
+son's name for membership. It took some time to get into the St. James;
+there was a long waiting list that neither money, influence, nor pull
+could alter by so much as one iota. Men proposed their sons' names for
+membership when they were born as religiously as they entered them upon
+the city's birth register. At twenty-one Jimmie Dale was elected to
+membership; and, incidentally, that same year, graduated from Harvard.
+It was Mr. Dale's desire that his son should enter the business and
+learn it from the ground up, and Jimmie Dale, for four years thereafter,
+had followed his father's wishes. Then his father died. Jimmie Dale had
+leanings toward more artistic pursuits than business. He was credited
+with sketching a little, writing a little; and he was credited with
+having received a very snug amount from the combine to which he sold out
+his safe-manufacturing interests. He lived a bachelor life--his mother
+had been dead many years--in the house that his father had left him on
+Riverside Drive, kept a car or two and enough servants to run his
+menage smoothly, and serve a dinner exquisitely when he felt hospitably
+inclined.
+
+Could there be any doubt that Jimmie Dale was innately a gentleman?
+
+It was evening, and Jimmie Dale sat at a small table in the corner of
+the St. James Club dining room. Opposite him sat Herman Carruthers,
+a young man of his own age, about twenty-six, a leading figure in the
+newspaper world, whose rise from reporter to managing editor of the
+morning NEWS-ARGUS within the short space of a few years had been almost
+meteoric.
+
+They were at coffee and cigars, and Jimmie Dale was leaning back in his
+chair, his dark eyes fixed interestedly on his guest.
+
+Carruthers, intently engaged in trimming his cigar ash on the edge of
+the Limoges china saucer of his coffee set, looked up with an abrupt
+laugh.
+
+“No; I wouldn't care to go on record as being an advocate of crime,” he
+said whimsically; “that would never do. But I don't mind admitting quite
+privately that it's been a positive regret to me that he has gone.”
+
+“Made too good 'copy' to lose, I suppose?” suggested Jimmie Dale
+quizzically. “Too bad, too, after working up a theatrical name like that
+for him--the Gray Seal--rather unique! Who stuck that on him--you?”
+
+Carruthers laughed--then, grown serious, leaned toward Jimmie Dale.
+
+“You don't mean to say, Jimmie, that you don't know about that, do you?”
+ he asked incredulously. “Why, up to a year ago the papers were full of
+him.”
+
+“I never read your beastly agony columns,” said Jimmie Dale, with a
+cheery grin.
+
+“Well,” said Carruthers, “you must have skipped everything but the stock
+reports then.”
+
+“Granted,” said Jimmie Dale. “So go on, Carruthers, and tell me about
+him--I dare say I may have heard of him, since you are so distressed
+about it, but my memory isn't good enough to contradict anything you may
+have to say about the estimable gentleman, so you're safe.”
+
+Carruthers reverted to the Limoges saucer and the tip of his cigar.
+
+“He was the most puzzling, bewildering, delightful crook in the annals
+of crime,” said Carruthers reminiscently, after a moment's silence.
+“Jimmie, he was the king-pin of them all. Clever isn't the word for him,
+or dare-devil isn't either. I used to think sometimes his motive was
+more than half for the pure deviltry of it, to laugh at the police and
+pull the noses of the rest of us that were after him. I used to dream
+nights about those confounded gray seals of his--that's where he got
+his name; he left every job he ever did with a little gray paper affair,
+fashioned diamond-shaped, stuck somewhere where it would be the first
+thing your eyes would light upon when you reached the scene, and--”
+
+“Don't go so fast,” smiled Jimmie Dale. “I don't quite get the
+connection. What did you have to do with this--er--Gray Seal fellow?
+Where do you come in?”
+
+“I? I had a good deal to do with him,” said Carruthers grimly. “I was a
+reporter when he first broke loose, and the ambition of my life, after
+I began really to appreciate what he was, was to get him--and I nearly
+did, half a dozen times, only--”
+
+“Only you never quite did, eh?” cut in Jimmie Dale slyly. “How near did
+you get, old man? Come on, now, no bluffing; did the Gray Seal ever even
+recognise you as a factor in the hare-and-hound game?”
+
+“You're flicking on the raw, Jimmie,” Carruthers answered, with a wry
+grimace. “He knew me, all right, confound him! He favoured me with
+several sarcastic notes--I'll show 'em to you some day--explaining
+how I'd fallen down and how I could have got him if I'd done something
+else.” Carruthers' fist came suddenly down on the table. “And I would
+have got him, too, if he had lived.”
+
+“Lived!” ejaculated Jimmie Dale. “He's dead, then?”
+
+“Yes,” averted Carruthers; “he's dead.”
+
+“H'm!” said Jimmie Dale facetiously. “I hope the size of the wreath you
+sent was an adequate tribute of your appreciation.”
+
+“I never sent any wreath,” returned Carruthers, “for the very simple
+reason that I didn't know where to send it, or when he died. I said he
+was dead because for over a year now he hasn't lifted a finger.”
+
+“Rotten poor evidence, even for a newspaper,” commented Jimmie Dale.
+“Why not give him credit for having, say--reformed?”
+
+Carruthers shook his head. “You don't get it at all, Jimmie,” he said
+earnestly. “The Gray Seal wasn't an ordinary crook--he was a classic.
+He was an artist, and the art of the thing was in his blood. A man like
+that could no more stop than he could stop breathing--and live. He's
+dead; there's nothing to it but that--he's dead. I'd bet a year's salary
+on it.”
+
+“Another good man gone wrong, then,” said Jimmie Dale capriciously. “I
+suppose, though, that at least you discovered the 'woman in the case'?”
+
+Carruthers looked up quickly, a little startled; then laughed shortly.
+
+“What's the matter?” inquired Jimmie Dale.
+
+“Nothing,” said Carruthers. “You kind of got me for a moment, that's
+all. That's the way those infernal notes from the Gray Seal used to
+end up: 'Find the lady, old chap; and you'll get me.' He had a damned
+patronising familiarity that would make you squirm.”
+
+“Poor old Carruthers!” grinned Jimmie Dale. “You did take it to heart,
+didn't you?”
+
+“I'd have sold my soul to get him--and so would you, if you had been in
+my boots,” said Carruthers, biting nervously at the end of his cigar.
+
+“And been sorry for it afterward,” supplied Jimmie Dale.
+
+“Yes, by Jove, you're right!” admitted Carruthers, “I suppose I should.
+I actually got to love the fellow--it was the GAME, really, that I
+wanted to beat.”
+
+“Well, and how about this woman? Keep on the straight and narrow path,
+old man,” prodded Jimmie Dale.
+
+“The woman?” Carruthers smiled. “Nothing doing! I don't believe there
+was one--he wouldn't have been likely to egg the police and reporters on
+to finding her if there had been, would he? It was a blind, of course.
+He worked alone, absolutely alone. That's the secret of his success,
+according to my way of thinking. There was never so much as an
+indication that he had had an accomplice in anything he ever did.”
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes travelled around the club's homelike, perfectly
+appointed room. He nodded to a fellow member here and there, then his
+eyes rested musingly on his guest again.
+
+Carruthers was staring thoughtfully at his coffee cup.
+
+“He was the prince of crooks and the father of originality,” announced
+Carruthers abruptly, following the pause that had ensued. “Half the time
+there wasn't any more getting at the motive for the curious things he
+did, than there was getting at the Gray Seal himself.”
+
+“Carruthers,” said Jimmy Dale, with a quick little nod of approval,
+“you're positively interesting to-night. But, so far, you've been kind
+of scouting around the outside edges without getting into the thick of
+it. Let's have some of your experiences with the Gray Seal in detail;
+they ought to make ripping fine yarns.”
+
+“Not to-night, Jimmie,” said Carruthers; “it would take too long.” He
+pulled out his watch mechanically as he spoke, glanced at it--and pushed
+back his chair. “Great Scott!” he exclaimed. “It's nearly half-past
+nine. I'd no idea we had lingered so long over dinner. I'll have to
+hurry; we're a morning paper, you know, Jimmie.”
+
+“What! Really! Is it as late as that.” Jimmie Dale rose from his chair
+as Carruthers stood up. “Well, if you must--”
+
+“I must,” said Carruthers, with a laugh.
+
+“All right, O slave.” Jimmie Dale laughed back--and slipped his hand,
+a trick of their old college days together, through Carruthers' arm as
+they left the room.
+
+He accompanied Carruthers downstairs to the door of the club, and saw
+his guest into a taxi; then he returned inside, sauntered through the
+billiard room, and from there into one of the cardrooms, where, pressed
+into a game, he played several rubbers of bridge before going home.
+
+It was, therefore, well on toward midnight when Jimmie Dale arrived at
+his house on Riverside Drive, and was admitted by an elderly manservant.
+
+“Hello, Jason,” said Jimmie Dale pleasantly. “You still up!”
+
+“Yes, sir,” replied Jason, who had been valet to Jimmie Dale's father
+before him. “I was going to bed, sir, at about ten o'clock, when a
+messenger came with a letter. Begging your pardon, sir, a young lady,
+and--”
+
+“Jason”--Jimmie Dale flung out the interruption, sudden, quick,
+imperative--“what did she look like?”
+
+“Why--why, I don't exactly know as I could describe her, sir,” stammered
+Jason, taken aback. “Very ladylike, sir, in her dress and appearance,
+and what I would call, sir, a beautiful face.”
+
+“Hair and eyes--what color?” demanded Jimmie Dale crisply. “Nose, lips,
+chin--what shape?”
+
+“Why, sir,” gasped Jason, staring at his master, “I--I don't rightly
+know. I wouldn't call her fair or dark, something between. I didn't take
+particular notice, and it wasn't overlight outside the door.”
+
+“It's too bad you weren't a younger man, Jason,” commented Jimmie Dale,
+with a curious tinge of bitterness in his voice. “I'd have given a
+year's income for your opportunity to-night, Jason.”
+
+“Yes, sir,” said Jason helplessly.
+
+“Well, go on,” prompted Jimmie Dale. “You told her I wasn't home, and
+she said she knew it, didn't she? And she left the letter that I was on
+no account to miss receiving when I got back, though there was no need
+of telephoning me to the club--when I returned would do, but it was
+imperative that I should have it then--eh?”
+
+“Good Lord, sir!” ejaculated Jason, his jaw dropped, “that's exactly what
+she did say.”
+
+“Jason,” said Jimmie Dale grimly, “listen to me. If ever she comes here
+again, inveigle her in. If you can't inveigle her, use force; capture
+her, pull her in, do anything--do anything, do you hear? Only don't let
+her get away from you until I've come.”
+
+Jason gazed at his master as though the other had lost his reason.
+
+“Use force, sir?” he repeated weakly--and shook his head. “You--you
+can't mean that, sir.”
+
+“Can't I?” inquired Jimmie Dale, with a mirthless smile. “I mean every
+word of it, Jason--and if I thought there was the slightest chance of
+her giving you the opportunity, I'd be more imperative still. As it
+is--where's the letter?”
+
+“On the table in your studio, sir,” said Jason, mechanically.
+
+Jimmie Dale started toward the stairs--then turned and came back to
+where Jason, still shaking his head heavily, had been gazing anxiously
+after his master. Jimmie Dale laid his hand on the old man's shoulder.
+
+“Jason,” he said kindly, with a swift change of mood, “you've been a
+long time in the family--first with father, and now with me. You'd do a
+good deal for me, wouldn't you?”
+
+“I'd do anything in the world for you, Master Jim,” said the old man
+earnestly.
+
+“Well, then, remember this,” said Jimmie Dale slowly, looking into the
+other's eyes, “remember this--keep your mouth shut and your eyes open.
+It's my fault. I should have warned you long ago, but I never dreamed
+that she would ever come here herself. There have been times when it was
+practically a matter of life and death to me to know who that woman is
+that you saw to-night. That's all, Jason. Now go to bed.”
+
+“Master Jim,” said the old man simply, “thank you, sir, thank you for
+trusting me. I've dandled you on my knee when you were a baby, Master
+Jim. I don't know what it's about, and it isn't for me to ask. I
+thought, sir, that maybe you were having a little fun with me. But I
+know now, and you can trust me, Master Jim, if she ever comes again.”
+
+“Thank you, Jason,” said Jimmie Dale, his hand closing with an
+appreciative pressure on the other's shoulder “Good-night, Jason.”
+
+Upstairs on the first landing, Jimmie Dale opened a door, closed and
+locked it behind him--and the electric switch clicked under his fingers.
+A glow fell softly from a cluster of shaded ceiling lights. It was a
+large room, a very large room, running the entire depth of the
+house, and the effect of apparent disorder in the arrangement of its
+appointments seemed to breathe a sense of charm. There were great
+cozy, deep, leather-covered lounging chairs, a huge, leather-covered
+davenport, and an easel or two with half-finished sketches upon them;
+the walls were panelled, the panels of exquisite grain and matching; in
+the centre of the room stood a flat-topped rosewood desk; upon the floor
+was a dark, heavy velvet rug; and, perhaps most inviting of all, there
+was a great, old-fashioned fireplace at one side of the room.
+
+For an instant Jimmie Dale remained quietly by the door, as though
+listening. Six feet he stood, muscular in every line of his body, like
+a well-trained athlete with no single ounce of superfluous fat about
+him--the grace and ease of power in his poise. His strong, clean-shaven
+face, as the light fell upon it now, was serious--a mood that became him
+well--the firm lips closed, the dark, reliant eyes a little narrowed, a
+frown on the broad forehead, the square jaw clamped.
+
+Then abruptly he walked across the room to the desk, picked up an
+envelope that lay upon it, and, turning again, dropped into the nearest
+lounging chair.
+
+There had been no doubt in his mind, none to dispel. It was precisely
+what he had expected from almost the first word Jason had spoken. It was
+the same handwriting, the same texture of paper, and there was the same
+old haunting, rare, indefinable fragrance about it. Jimmie Dale's
+hands turned the envelope now this way, now that, as he looked at it.
+Wonderful hands were Jimmie Dale's, with long, slim, tapering fingers
+whose sensitive tips seemed now as though they were striving to decipher
+the message within.
+
+He laughed suddenly, a little harshly, and tore open the envelope.
+Five closely written sheets fell into his hand. He read them slowly,
+critically, read them over again; and then, his eyes on the rug at his
+feet, he began to tear the paper into minute pieces between his fingers,
+depositing the pieces, as he tore them, upon the arm of his chair. The
+five sheets demolished, his fingers dipped into the heap of shreds on
+the arm of the chair and tore them over and over again, tore them until
+they were scarcely larger than bits of confetti, tore at them absently
+and mechanically, his eyes never shifting from the rug at his feet.
+
+Then with a shrug of his shoulders, as though rousing himself to present
+reality, a curious smile flickering on his lips, he brushed the pieces
+of paper into one hand, carried them to the empty fireplace, laid them
+down in a little pile, and set them afire. Lighting a cigarette, he
+watched them burn until the last glow had gone from the last charred
+scrap; then he crunched and scattered them with the brass-handled fender
+brush, and, retracing his steps across the room, flung back a portiere
+from where it hung before a little alcove, and dropped on his knees in
+front of a round, squat, barrel-shaped safe--one of his own design and
+planning in the years when he had been with his father.
+
+His slim, sensitive fingers played for an instant among the knobs and
+dials that studded the door, guided, it seemed by the sense of touch
+alone--and the door swung open. Within was another door, with locks and
+bolts as intricate and massive as the outer one. This, too, he opened;
+and then from the interior took out a short, thick, rolled-up leather
+bundle tied together with thongs. He rose from his knees, closed the
+safe, and drew the portiere across the alcove again. With the bundle
+under his arm, he glanced sharply around the room, listened intently,
+then, unlocking the door that gave on the hall, he switched off the
+lights and went to his dressing room, that was on the same floor. Here,
+divesting himself quickly of his dinner clothes, he selected a dark
+tweed suit with loose-fitting, sack coat from his wardrobe, and began to
+put it on.
+
+Dressed, all but his coat and vest, he turned to the leather bundle that
+he had placed on a table, untied the thongs, and carefully opened it
+out to its full length--and again that curious, cryptic smile tinged his
+lips. Rolled the opposite away from that in which it had been tied
+up, the leather strip made a wide belt that went on somewhat after
+the fashion of a life preserver, the thongs being used for shoulder
+straps--a belt that, once on, the vest would hide completely, and,
+fitting close, left no telltale bulge in the outer garments. It was not
+an ordinary belt; it was full of stout-sewn, up-right little pockets
+all the way around, and in the pockets grimly lay an array of fine,
+blued-steel, highly tempered instruments--a compact, powerful burglar's
+kit.
+
+The slim, sensitive fingers passed with almost a caressing touch over
+the vicious little implements, and from one of the pockets extracted
+a thin, flat metal case. This Jimmie Dale opened, and glanced
+inside--between sheets of oil paper lay little rows of GRAY, ADHESIVE,
+DIAMOND-SHAPED SEALS.
+
+Jimmie Dale snapped the case shut, returned it to its recess, and from
+another took out a black silk mask. He held it up to the light for
+examination.
+
+“Pretty good shape after a year,” muttered Jimmie Dale, replacing it.
+
+He put on the belt, then his vest and coat. From the drawer of his
+dresser he took an automatic revolver and an electric flashlight,
+slipped them into his pocket, and went softly downstairs. From the hat
+stand he chose a black slouch hat, pulled it well over his eyes--and
+left the house.
+
+Jimmie Dale walked down a block, then hailed a bus and mounted to the
+top. It was late, and he found himself the only passenger. He inserted
+his dime in the conductor's little resonant-belled cash receiver, and
+then settled back on the uncomfortable, bumping, cushionless seat.
+
+On rattled the bus; it turned across town, passed the Circle, and
+headed for Fifth Avenue--but Jimmie Dale, to all appearances, was quite
+oblivious of its movements.
+
+It was a year since she had written him. SHE! Jimmie Dale did not smile,
+his lips were pressed hard together. Not a very intimate or personal
+appellation, that--but he knew her by no other. It WAS a woman,
+surely--the hand-writing was feminine, the diction eminently so--and had
+SHE not come herself that night to Jason! He remembered the last letter,
+apart from the one to-night, that he had received from her. It was
+a year ago now--and the letter had been hardly more than a note. The
+police had worked themselves into a frenzy over the Gray Seal, the
+papers had grown absolutely maudlin--and she had written, in her
+characteristic way:
+
+
+Things are a little too warm, aren't they, Jimmie? Let's let them cool
+for a year.
+
+
+Since then until to-night he had heard nothing from her. It was a
+strange compact that he had entered into--so strange that it could never
+have known, could never know a parallel--unique, dangerous, bizarre, it
+was all that and more. It had begun really through his connection with
+his father's business--the business of manufacturing safes that should
+defy the cleverest criminals--when his brains, turned into that channel,
+had been pitted against the underworld, against the methods of a
+thousand different crooks from Maine to California, the report of whose
+every operation had reached him in the natural course of business,
+and every one of which he had studied in minutest detail. It had begun
+through that--but at the bottom of it was his own restless, adventurous
+spirit.
+
+He had meant to set the police by the ears, using his gray-seal device
+both as an added barb and that no innocent bystander of the underworld,
+innocent for once, might be involved--he had meant to laugh at them and
+puzzle them to the verge of madness, for in the last analysis they would
+find only an abortive attempt at crime--and he had succeeded. And then
+he had gone too far--and he had been caught--by HER. That string of
+pearls, which, to study whose effect facetiously, he had so idiotically
+wrapped around his wrist, and which, so ironically, he had been unable
+to loosen in time and had been forced to carry with him in his sudden,
+desperate dash to escape from Marx's the big jeweler's, in Maiden Lane,
+whose strong room he had toyed with one night, had been the lever which,
+AT FIRST, she had held over him.
+
+The bus was on Fifth Avenue now, and speeding rapidly down the deserted
+thoroughfare. Jimmie Dale looked up at the lighted windows of the St.
+James Club as they went by, smiled whimsically, and shifted in his seat,
+seeking a more comfortable position.
+
+She had caught him--how he did not know--he had never seen her--did not
+know who she was, though time and again he had devoted all his energies
+for months at a stretch to a solution of the mystery. The morning
+following the Maiden Lane affair, indeed, before he had breakfasted,
+Jason had brought him the first letter from her. It had started by
+detailing his every move of the night before--and it had ended with an
+ultimatum: “The cleverness, the originality of the Gray Seal as a crook
+lacked but one thing,” she had naively written, “and that one thing was
+that his crookedness required a leading string to guide it into channels
+that were worthy of his genius.” In a word, SHE would plan the coups,
+and he would act at her dictation and execute them--or else how did
+twenty years in Sing Sing for that little Maiden Lane affair appeal to
+him? He was to answer by the next morning, a simple “yes” or “no” in the
+personal column of the morning NEWS-ARGUS.
+
+A threat to a man like Jimmie Dale was like flaunting a red rag at a
+bull, and a rage ungovernable had surged upon him. Then cold reason had
+come. He was caught--there was no question about that--she had taken
+pains to show him that he need make no mistake there. Innocent enough in
+his own conscience, as far as actual theft went, for the pearls would in
+due course be restored in some way to the possession of their owner, he
+would have been unable to make even his own father, who was alive then,
+believe in his innocence, let alone a jury of his peers. Dishonour,
+shame, ignominy, a long prison sentence, stared him in the face,
+and there was but one alternative--to link hands with this unseen,
+mysterious accomplice. Well, he could at least temporise, he could
+always “queer” a game in some specious manner, if he were pushed too
+far. And so, in the next morning's NEWS-ARGUS, Jimmie Dale had answered
+“yes.” And then had followed those years in which there had been NO
+temporising, in which every plan was carried out to the last detail,
+those years of curious, unaccountable, bewildering affairs that
+Carruthers had spoken of, one on top of another, that had shaken the old
+headquarters on Mulberry Street to its foundations, until the Gray Seal
+had become a name to conjure with. And, yes, it was quite true, he
+had entered into it all, gone the limit, with an eagerness that was
+insatiable.
+
+The bus had reached the lower end of Fifth Avenue, passed through
+Washington Square, and stopped at the end of its run. Jimmie Dale
+clambered down from the top, threw a pleasant “good-night” to the
+conductor, and headed briskly down the street before him. A little
+later he crossed into West Broadway, and his pace slowed to a leisurely
+stroll.
+
+Here, at the upper end of the street, was a conglomerate business
+section of rather inferior class, catering doubtless to the poor,
+foreign element that congregated west of Broadway proper, and to the
+south of Washington Square. The street was, at first glance, deserted;
+it was dark and dreary, with stores and lofts on either side. An
+elevated train roared by overhead, with a thunderous, deafening clamour.
+Jimmie Dale, on the right-hand side of the street, glanced interestedly
+at the dark store windows as he went by. And then, a block ahead, on the
+other side, his eyes rested on an approaching form. As the other reached
+the corner and paused, and the light from the street lamp glinted on
+brass buttons, Jimmie Dale's eyes narrowed a little under his slouch
+hat. The policeman, although nonchalantly swinging a nightstick,
+appeared to be watching him.
+
+Jimmie Dale went on half a block farther, stooped to the sidewalk to
+tie his shoe, glanced back over his shoulder--the policeman was not in
+sight--and slipped like a shadow into the alleyway beside which he had
+stopped.
+
+It was another Jimmie Dale now--the professional Jimmie Dale. Quick as
+a cat, active, lithe, he was over a six foot fence in the rear of a
+building in a flash, and crouched a black shape, against the back door
+of an unpretentious, unkempt, dirty, secondhand shop that fronted
+on West Broadway--the last place certainly in all New York that the
+managing editor of the NEWS-ARGUS, or any one else, for that matter,
+would have picked out as the setting for the second debut of the Gray
+Seal.
+
+From the belt around his waist, Jimmie Dale took the black silk mask,
+and slipped it on; and from the belt, too, came a little instrument
+that his deft fingers manipulated in the lock. A curious snipping sound
+followed. Jimmie Dale put his weight gradually against the door. The
+door held fast.
+
+“Bolted,” said Jimmie Dale to himself.
+
+The sensitive fingers travelled slowly up and down the side of the door,
+seeming to press and feel for the position of the bolt through an inch
+of plank--then from the belt came a tiny saw, thin and pointed at the
+end, that fitted into the little handle drawn from another receptacle in
+the leather girdle beneath the unbuttoned vest.
+
+Hardly a sound it made as it bit into the door. Half a minute
+passed--there was the faint fall of a small piece of wood--into the
+aperture crept the delicate, tapering fingers--came a slight rasping of
+metal--then the door swung back, the dark shadow that had been Jimmie
+Dale vanished and the door closed again.
+
+A round, white beam of light glowed for an instant--and disappeared. A
+miscellaneous, lumbering collection of junk and odds and ends
+blocked the entry, leaving no more space than was sufficient for bare
+passageway. Jimmie Dale moved cautiously--and once more the flashlight
+in his hand showed the way for an instant--then darkness again.
+
+The cluttered accumulation of secondhand stuff in the rear gave place to
+a little more orderly arrangement as he advanced toward the front of the
+store. Like a huge firefly, the flashlight twinkled, went out, twinkled
+again, and went out. He passed a sort of crude, partitioned-off
+apartment that did duty for the establishment's office, a sort of little
+boxed-in place it was, about in the middle of the floor. Jimmie Dale's
+light played on it for a moment, but he kept on toward the front door
+without any pause.
+
+Every movement was quick, sure, accurate, with not a wasted second. It
+had been barely a minute since he had vaulted the back fence. It was
+hardly a quarter of a minute more before the cumbersome lock of the
+front door was unfastened, and the door itself pulled imperceptibly
+ajar.
+
+He went swiftly back to the office now--and found it even more of a
+shaky, cheap affair than it had at first appeared; more like a box stall
+with windows around the top than anything else, the windows doubtless to
+permit the occupant to overlook the store from the vantage point of the
+high stool that stood before a long, battered, wobbly desk. There was
+a door to the place, too, but the door was open and the key was in
+the lock. The ray of Jimmie Dale's flashlight swept once around the
+interior--and rested on an antique, ponderous safe.
+
+Under the mask Jimmie Dale's lips parted in a smile that seemed almost
+apologetic, as he viewed the helpless iron monstrosity that was little
+more than an insult to a trained cracksman. Then from the belt came the
+thin metal case and a pair of tweezers. He opened the case, and with
+the tweezers lifted out one of the gray-coloured, diamond-shaped seals.
+Holding the seal with the tweezers, he moistened the gummed side with
+his lips, then laid it on a handkerchief which he took from his pocket,
+and clapped the handkerchief against the front of the safe, sticking
+the seal conspicuously into place. Jimmie Dale's insignia bore no finger
+prints. The microscopes and magnifying glasses at headquarters had many
+a time regretfully assured the police of that fact.
+
+And now his hands and fingers seemed to work like lightning. Into the
+soft iron bit a drill--bit in and through--bit in and through again.
+It was dark, pitch black--and silent. Not a sound, save the quick, dull
+rasp of the ratchet--like the distant gnawing of a mouse! Jimmie Dale
+worked fast--another hole went through the face of the old-fashioned
+safe--and then suddenly he straightened up to listen, every faculty
+tense, alert, and strained, his body thrown a little forward. WHAT WAS
+THAT!
+
+From the alleyway leading from the street without, through which he
+himself had come, sounded the stealthy crunch of feet. Motionless in the
+utter darkness, Jimmie Dale listened--there was a scraping noise in the
+rear--someone was climbing the fence that he had climbed!
+
+In an instant the tools in Jimmie Dale's hands disappeared into their
+respective pockets beneath his vest--and the sensitive fingers shot to
+the dial on the safe.
+
+“Too bad,” muttered Jimmie Dale plaintively to himself. “I could have
+made such an artistic job of it--I swear I could have cut Carruthers'
+profile in the hole in less than no time--to open it like this is really
+taking the poor old thing at a disadvantage.”
+
+He was on his knees now, one ear close to the dial, listening as the
+tumblers fell, while the delicate fingers spun the knob unerringly--the
+other ear strained toward the rear of the premises.
+
+Came a footstep--a ray of light--a stumble--nearer--the newcomer was
+inside the place now, and must have found out that the back door had
+been tampered with. Nearer came the steps--still nearer--and then the
+safe door swung open under Jimmie Dale's hand, and Jimmie Dale, that he
+might not be caught like a rat in a trap, darted from the office--but he
+had delayed a little too long.
+
+From around the cluttered piles of junk and miscellany swept the
+light--full on Jimmie Dale. Hesitation for the smallest fraction of a
+second would have been fatal, but hesitation was something that in all
+his life Jimmie Dale had never known. Quick as a panther in its spring,
+he leaped full at the light and the man behind it. The rough voice, in
+surprised exclamation at the sudden discovery of the quarry, died in a
+gasp.
+
+There was a crash as the two men met--and the other reeled back before
+the impact. Onto him Jimmie Dale sprang, and his hands flew for the
+other's throat. It was an officer in uniform! Jimmie Dale had felt the
+brass buttons as they locked. In the darkness there was a queer smile on
+Jimmie Dale's tight lips. It was no doubt THE officer whom he had passed
+on the other side of the street.
+
+The other was a smaller man than Jimmie Dale, but powerful for his
+build--and he fought now with all his strength. This way and that the
+two men reeled, staggered, swayed, panting and gasping; and then--they
+had lurched back close to the office door--with a sudden swing, every
+muscle brought into play for a supreme effort, Jimmie Dale hurled the
+other from him, sending the man sprawling back to the floor of the
+office, and in the winking of an eye had slammed shut the door and
+turned the key.
+
+There was a bull-like roar, the shrill CHEEP-CHEEP-CHEEP of the
+patrolman's whistle, and a shattering crash as the officer flung his
+body against the partition--then the bark of a revolver shot, the tinkle
+of breaking glass, as the man fired through the office window--and past
+Jimmie Dale, speeding now for the front door, a bullet hummed viciously.
+
+Out on the street dashed Jimmie Dale, whipping the mask from his
+face--and glanced like a hawk around him. For all the racket, the
+neighbourhood had not yet been aroused--no one was in sight. From just
+overhead came the rattle of a downtown elevated train. In a hundred-yard
+sprint, Jimmie Dale raced it a half block to the station, tore up the
+steps--and a moment later dropped nonchalantly into a seat and pulled an
+evening newspaper from his pocket.
+
+Jimmie Dale got off at the second station down, crossed the street,
+mounted the steps of the elevated again, and took the next train uptown.
+His movements appeared to be somewhat erratic--he alighted at the
+station next above the one by which he had made his escape. Looking down
+the street it was too dark to see much of anything, but a confused noise
+as of a gathering crowd reached him from what was about the location of
+the secondhand store. He listened appreciatively for a moment.
+
+“Isn't it a perfectly lovely night?” said Jimmie Dale amiably to
+himself. “And to think of that cop running away with the idea that I
+didn't see him when he hid in a doorway after I passed the corner! Well,
+well, strange--isn't it?”
+
+With another glance down the street, a whimsical lift of his shoulders,
+he headed west into the dilapidated tenement quarter that huddled for
+a handful of blocks near by, just south of Washington Square. It was
+a little after one o'clock in the morning now and the pedestrians were
+casual. Jimmie Dale read the street signs on the corners as he went
+along, turned abruptly into an intersecting street, counted the
+tenements from the corner as he passed, and--for the eye of any one who
+might be watching--opened the street door of one of them quite as though
+he were accustomed and had a perfect right to do so, and went inside.
+
+It was murky and dark within; hot, unhealthy, with lingering smells of
+garlic and stale cooking. He groped for the stairs and started up.
+He climbed one flight, then another--and one more to the top. Here,
+treading softly, he made an examination of the landing with a view,
+evidently, to obtaining an idea of the location and the number of doors
+that opened off from it.
+
+His selection fell on the third door from the head of the stairs--there
+were four all told, two apartments of two rooms each. He paused for an
+instant to adjust the black silk mask, tried the door quietly, found it
+unlocked, opened it with a sudden, quick, brisk movement--and, stepping
+in side, leaned with his back against it.
+
+“Good-morning,” said Jimmie Dale pleasantly.
+
+It was a squalid place, a miserable hole, in which a single flickering,
+yellow gas jet gave light. It was almost bare of furniture; there was
+nothing but a couple of cheap chairs, a rickety table--unpawnable. A
+boy, he was hardly more than that, perhaps twenty-two, from a posture
+in which he was huddled across the table with head buried in out-flung
+arms, sprang with a startled cry to his feet.
+
+“Good-morning,” said Jimmie Dale again. “Your name's Hagan, Bert
+Hagan--isn't it? And you work for Isaac Brolsky in the secondhand shop
+over on West Broadway--don't you?”
+
+The boy's lips quivered, and the gaunt, hollow, half-starved face,
+white, ashen-white now, was pitiful.
+
+“I--I guess you got me,” he faltered “I--I suppose you're a
+plain-clothes man, though I never knew dicks wore masks.”
+
+“They don't generally,” said Jimmie Dale coolly. “It's a fad of
+mine--Bert Hagan.”
+
+The lad, hanging to the table, turned his head away for a moment--and
+there was silence.
+
+Presently Hagan spoke again. “I'll go,” he said numbly. “I won't make any
+trouble. Would--would you mind not speaking loud? I--I wouldn't like her
+to know.”
+
+“Her?” said Jimmie Dale softly.
+
+The boy tiptoed across the room, opened a connecting door a little,
+peered inside, opened it a little wider--and looked over his shoulder at
+Jimmie Dale.
+
+Jimmie Dale crossed to the boy, looked inside the other room--and his
+lip twitched queerly, as the sight sent a quick, hurt throb through his
+heart. A young woman, younger than the boy, lay on a tumble-down bed, a
+rag of clothing over her--her face with a deathlike pallor upon it, as
+she lay in what appeared to be a stupor. She was ill, critically ill;
+it needed no trained eye to discern a fact all too apparent to the most
+casual observer. The squalor, the glaring poverty here, was even more
+pitifully in evidence than in the other room--only here upon a chair
+beside the bed was a cluster of medicine bottles and a little heap of
+fruit.
+
+Jimmie Dale drew back silently as the boy closed the door.
+
+Hagan walked to the table and picked up his hat.
+
+“I'm--I'm ready,” he said brokenly. “Let's go.”
+
+“Just a minute,” said Jimmie Dale. “Tell us about it.”
+
+“Twon't take long,” said Hagan, trying to smile. “She's my wife. The
+sickness took all we had. I--I kinder got behind in the rent and things.
+They were going to fire us out of here--to-morrow. And there wasn't any
+money for the medicine, and--and the things she had to have. Maybe you
+wouldn't have done it--but I did. I couldn't see her dying there for the
+want of something a little money'd buy--and--and I couldn't”--he caught
+his voice in a little sob--“I couldn't see her thrown out on the street
+like that.”
+
+“And so,” said Jimmie Dale, “instead of putting old Isaac's cash in
+the safe this evening when you locked up, you put it in your pocket
+instead--eh? Didn't you know you'd get caught?”
+
+“What did it matter?” said the boy. He was twirling his misshappen hat
+between his fingers. “I knew they'd know it was me in the morning when
+old Isaac found it gone, because there wasn't anybody else to do it.
+But I paid the rent for four months ahead to-night, and I fixed it so's
+she'd have medicine and things to eat. I was going to beat it before
+daylight myself--I”--he brushed his hand hurriedly across his cheek--“I
+didn't want to go--to leave her till I had to.”
+
+“Well, say”--there was wonderment in Jimmie Dale's tones, and his
+English lapsed into ungrammatical, reassuring vernacular--“ain't that
+queer! Say, I'm no detective. Gee, kid, did you think I was? Say, listen
+to this! I cracked old Isaac's safe half an hour ago--and I guess there
+won't be any idea going around that you got the money and I pulled a
+lemon. Say, I ain't superstitious, but it looks like luck meant you to
+have another chance, don't it?”
+
+The hat dropped from Hagan's hands to the floor, and he swayed a little.
+
+“You--you ain't a dick!” he stammered. “Then how'd you know about me and
+my name when you found the safe empty? Who told you?”
+
+A wry grimace spread suddenly over Jimmie Dale's face beneath the mask,
+and he swallowed hard. Jimmie Dale would have given a good deal to have
+been able to answer that question himself.
+
+“Oh, that!” said Jimmie Dale. “That's easy--I knew you worked there.
+Say, it's the limit, ain't it? Talk about your luck being in, why all
+you've got to do is to sit tight and keep your mouth shut, and you're
+safe as a church. Only say, what are you going to do about the money,
+now you've got a four months' start and are kind of landed on your feet?
+
+“Do?” said the boy. “I'll pay it back, little by little. I meant to. I
+ain't no--” He stopped abruptly.
+
+“Crook,” supplied Jimmie Dale pleasantly. “Spit it right out, kid; you
+won't hurt my feelings none. Well, I'll tell you--you're talking the way
+I like to hear you--you pay that back, slide it in without his knowing
+it, a bit at a time, whenever you can, and you'll never hear a yip out
+of me; but if you don't, why it kind of looks as though I have a right
+to come down your street and get my share or know the reason why--eh?”
+
+“Then you never get any share,” said Hagan, with a catch in his voice.
+“I pay it back as fast as I can.”
+
+“Sure,” said Jimmie Dale. “That's right--that's what I said. Well, so
+long--Hagan.” And Jimmie Dale had opened the door and slipped outside.
+
+An hour later, in his dressing room in his house on Riverside Drive,
+Jimmie Dale was removing his coat as the telephone, a hand instrument on
+the table, rang. Jimmie Dale glanced at it--and leisurely proceeded
+to remove his vest. Again the telephone rang. Jimmie Dale took off his
+curious, pocketed leather belt--as the telephone repeated its summons.
+He picked out the little drill he had used a short while before, and
+inspected it critically--feeling its point with his thumb, as one might
+feel a razor's blade. Again the telephone rang insistently. He reached
+languidly for the receiver, took it off its hook, and held it to his
+ear.
+
+“Hello!” said Jimmie Dale, with a sleepy yawn. “Hello! Hello! Why the
+deuce don't you yank a man out of bed at two o'clock in the morning and
+have done with it, and--eh? Oh, that you, Carruthers?”
+
+“Yes,” came Carruthers' voice excitedly. “Jimmie, listen--listen! The
+Gray Seal's come to life! He's just pulled a break on West Broadway!”
+
+“Good Lord!” gasped Jimmie Dale. “You don't say!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+BY PROXY
+
+
+“The most puzzling bewildering, delightful crook in the annals of crime,”
+ Herman Carruthers, the editor of the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, had called the
+Gray Seal; and Jimmie Dale smiled a little grimly now as he recalled
+the occasion of a week ago at the St. James Club over their after-dinner
+coffee. That was before his second debut, with Isaac Brolsky's
+poverty-stricken premises over on West Broadway as a setting for the
+break.
+
+SHE had written: “Things are a little too warm, aren't they, Jimmie?
+Let's let them cool for a year.” Well, they had cooled for a year, and
+Carruthers as a result had been complacently satisfied in his own mind
+that the Gray Seal was dead--until that break at Isaac Brolsky's over on
+West Broadway!
+
+Jimmie Dale's smile was tinged with whimsicality now. The only effect
+of the year's inaction had been to usher in his renewed activity with
+a furor compared to which all that had gone before was insignificant.
+Where the newspapers had been maudlin, they now raved--raved in
+editorials and raved in headlines. It was an impossible, untenable,
+unbelievable condition of affairs that this Gray Seal, for all his
+incomparable cleverness, should flaunt his crimes in the faces of the
+citizens of New York. One could actually see the editors writhing in
+their swivel chairs as their fiery denunciations dripped from their
+pens! What was the matter with the police? Were the police children;
+or, worse still, imbeciles--or, still worse again, was there some one
+“higher up” who was profiting by this rogue's work? New York would not
+stand for it--New York would most decidedly not--and the sooner the
+police realised that fact the better! If the police were helpless, or
+tools, the citizens of New York were not, and it was time the citizens
+were thoroughly aroused.
+
+There was a way, too, to arouse the citizens, that was both good
+business from the newspaper standpoint, and efficacious as a method.
+Carruthers, of the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, had initiated it. The MORNING
+NEWS-ARGUS offered twenty-five thousand dollars' reward for the capture
+of the Gray Seal! Other papers immediately followed suit in varying
+amounts. The authorities, State and municipal, goaded to desperation,
+did likewise, and the five million men, women, and children of New York
+were automatically metamorphosed into embryonic sleuths. New York was
+aroused.
+
+Jimmie Dale, alias the Gray Seal, member of the ultra-exclusive St.
+James Club, the latter fact sufficient in itself to guarantee his
+social standing, graduate of Harvard, inheritor of his deceased father's
+immense wealth amassed in the manufacture of burglar-proof safes, some
+of the most ingenious patents on which were due to Jimmie Dale himself,
+figured with a pencil on the margin of the newspaper he had been
+reading, using the arm of the big, luxurious, leather-upholstered
+lounging chair as a support for the paper. The result of his
+calculations was eighty-five thousand dollars.
+
+He brushed the paper onto the Turkish rug, dove into the pocket of his
+dinner jacket for his cigarettes, and began to smoke as his eyes strayed
+around the room, his own particular den in his fashionable Riverside
+Drive residence.
+
+Eighty-five thousand dollars' reward! Jimmie Dale blew meditative rings
+of cigarette smoke at the fireplace. What would she say to that? Would
+she decide it was “too hot” again, and call it off? It added quite a
+little hazard to the game--QUITE a little! If he only knew who “she”
+ was! It was a strange partnership--the strangest partnership that had
+ever existed between two human beings.
+
+He turned a little in his chair as a step sounded in the hallway
+without--that is, Jimmie Dale caught the sound, muffled though it was by
+the heavy carpet. Came then a knock upon the door.
+
+“Come in,” invited Jimmie Dale.
+
+It was old Jason, the butler. The old man was visibly excited, as he
+extended a silver tray on which lay a letter.
+
+Jimmie Dale's hand reached quickly out, the long, slim tapering fingers
+closed upon the envelope--but his eyes were on Jason significantly,
+questioningly.
+
+“Yes, Master Jim,” said the old man, “I recognised it on the instant,
+sir. After what you said, sir, last week, honouring me, I might say, to
+a certain extent with your confidence, though I'm sure I don't know what
+it all means, I--”
+
+“Who brought it this time, Jason?” inquired Jimmie Dale quietly.
+
+“Not the young person, begging your pardon, not the young lady, sir. A
+shuffer in a big automobile. 'Your master at once,' he says, and shoves
+the letter into my hand, and was off.”
+
+“Very good, Jason,” said Jimmie Dale. “You may go.”
+
+The door closed. Yes, it was from HER--it was the same texture of paper,
+there was the same rare, haunting fragrance clinging to it.
+
+He tore the envelope open, and extracted a folded sheet of paper. What
+was it this time? To call the partnership off again until the present
+furor should have subsided once more--or the skilfully sketched outline
+of a new adventure? Which? He glanced at the few lines written on the
+sheet, and lunged forward from his chair to his feet. It was neither one
+nor the other. It was--
+
+Jimmie Dale's face was set, and an angry red surge swept his cheeks. His
+lips moved, muttering audibly fragments of the letter, as he stared at
+it.
+
+“--incredible that you--a heinous thing--act instantly--this is ruin--”
+
+For an instant--a rare occurrence in Jimmie Dale's life--he stood like a
+man stricken, still staring at the sheet in his hand. Then mechanically
+his fingers tore the paper into little pieces, and the little pieces
+into tiny shreds. Anger fled, and a sickening sense of impotent dismay
+took its place; the red left his cheeks, and in its stead a grayness
+came.
+
+“Act instantly!” The words seemed to leap at him, drum at his ears with
+constant repetition. Act instantly! But how? How? Then his brain--that
+keen, clear, master brain--sprang from stunned inaction into virility
+again. Of course--Carruthers! It was in Carruthers' line.
+
+He stepped to the desk--and paused with his hand extended to pick up the
+telephone. How explain to Carruthers that he, Jimmie Dale, already knew
+what Carruthers might not yet have heard of, even though Carruthers
+would naturally be among the first to be in touch with such affairs! No;
+that would never do. Better get there himself at once and trust to--
+
+The telephone rang.
+
+Jimmie Dale waited until it rang again, then he lifted the receiver from
+the hook.
+
+“Hello?” he said.
+
+“Hello! Hello! Jimmie!” came a voice. “This is Carruthers. That you,
+Jimmie?”
+
+“Yes,” said Jimmie Dale and sat down limply in the desk chair.
+
+“It's the Gray Seal again. I promised you I'd let you in on the ground
+floor next time anything happened, so come on down here quick if you
+want to see some of his work at firsthand.”
+
+Jimmie Dale flirted a bead of sweat from his forehead.
+
+“Carruthers,” said Jimmie languidly, “you newspaper chaps make me tired
+with your Gray Seal. I'm just going to bed.”
+
+“Bed nothing!” spluttered Carruthers, from the other end of the wire.
+“Come down, I tell you. It's worth your while--half the population of
+New York would give the toes off their feet for the chance. Come down,
+you blast idiot! The Gray Seal has gone the limit this time--it's
+MURDER.”
+
+Jimmie Dale's face was haggard.
+
+“Oh!” he said peevishly. “Sounds interesting. Where are you? I guess
+maybe I'll jog along.”
+
+“I should think you would!” snapped Carruthers. “You know the Palace on
+the Bowery? Yes? Well, meet me on the corner there as soon as you can.
+Hustle! Good--”
+
+“Oh, I say, Carruthers!” interposed Jimmie Dale.
+
+“Yes?” demanded Carruthers.
+
+“Thanks awfully for letting me know, old man.”
+
+“Don't mention it!” returned Carruthers sarcastically. “You always were
+a grateful beast, Jimmie. Hurry up!”
+
+Jimmie Dale hung up the receiver of the city 'phone, and took down the
+receiver of another, a private-house installation, and rang twice for
+the garage.
+
+“The light car at once, Benson,” he ordered curtly. “At once!”
+
+Jimmie Dale worked quickly then. In his dressing room, he changed from
+dinner clothes to tweeds; spent a second or so over the contents of a
+locked drawer in the dresser, from which he selected a very small but
+serviceable automatic, and a very small but highly powerful magnifying
+glass whose combination of little round lenses worked on a pivot, and,
+closed over one another, were of about the compass of a quarter of a
+dollar.
+
+In three minutes he was outside the house and stepping into the car,
+just as it drew up at the curb.
+
+“Benson,” he said tersely to his chauffeur, “drop me one block this
+side of the Palace on the Bowery--and forget there was ever a speed law
+enacted. Understand?”
+
+“Very good, sir,” said Benson, touching his cap. “I'll do my best, sir.”
+
+Jimmie Dale, in the tonneau, stretched out his legs under the front
+seat, and dug his hands into his pockets--and inside the pockets his
+hands were clenched and knotted fists.
+
+Murder! At times it had occurred to him that there was a possibility
+that some crook of the underworld would attempt to cover his tracks and
+take refuge from pursuit by foisting himself on the authorities as the
+Gray Seal. That was a possibility, a risk always to be run. But that
+MURDER should be laid to the Gray Seal's door! Anger, merciless and
+unrestrained, surged over Jimmie Dale.
+
+There was peril here, live and imminent. Suppose that some day he should
+be caught in some little affair, recognised and identified as the Gray
+Seal, there would be the charge of murder hanging over him--and the
+electric chair to face!
+
+But the peril was not the only thing. Even worse to Jimmie Dale's
+artistic and sensitive temperament was the vilification, the holding up
+to loathing, contumely, and abhorrence of the name, the stainless name,
+of the Gray Seal. It WAS stainless! He had guarded it jealously--as a
+man guards the woman's name he loves.
+
+Affairs that had mystified and driven the police distracted with
+impotence there had been, many of them; and on the face of them--crimes.
+But no act ever committed had been in reality a crime--none without
+the highest of motives, the righting of some outrageous wrong, the
+protection of some poor stumbling fellow human.
+
+That had been his partnership with her. How, by what amazing means, by
+what power that smacked almost of the miraculous she came in touch with
+all these things and supplied him with the data on which to work he
+did not know--only that, thanks to her, there were happier hearts and
+happier homes since the Gray Seal had begun to work. “Dear Philanthropic
+Crook,” she often called him in her letters. And now--it was MURDER!
+
+Take Carruthers, for instance. For years, as a reporter before he had
+risen to the editorial desk, he had been one of the keenest on the scent
+of the Gray Seal, but always for the sake of the game--always filled
+with admiration, as he said himself, for the daring, the originality of
+the most puzzling, bewildering, delightful crook in the annals of crime.
+Carruthers was but an example. Carruthers now would hunt the Gray Seal
+like a mad dog. The Gray Seal, to Carruthers and every one else, would
+be the vilest name in the land--a synonym for murder.
+
+On the car flew--and upon Jimmie Dale's face, as though chiselled in
+marble, was a look that was not good to see. And a mirthless smile set,
+frozen, on his lips.
+
+“I'll get the man that did this,” gritted Jimmie Dale between his teeth.
+“I'll GET him! And, when I get him, I'll wring a confession from him if
+I have to swing for it!”
+
+The car swept from Broadway into Astor Place, on down the Bowery, and
+presently stopped.
+
+Jimmie Dale stepped out. “I shall not want you any more, Benson,” he
+said. “You may return home.”
+
+Jimmie Dale started down the block--a nonchalant Jimmie Dale now, if
+anything, bored a little. Near the corner, a figure, back turned, was
+lounging at the edge of the sidewalk. Jimmie Dale touched the man on the
+arm.
+
+“Hello, Carruthers!” he drawled.
+
+“Ah, Jimmie!” Carruthers turned with an excited smile. “That's the boy!
+You've made mighty quick time.”
+
+“Well, you told me to hurry,” grumbled Jimmie Dale. “I'm doing my best
+to please you to-night. Came down in my car, and got summoned for three
+fines to-morrow.”
+
+Carruthers laughed. “Come on,” he said; and, linking his arm in Jimmie
+Dale's, turned the corner, and headed west along the cross street. “This
+is going to make a noise,” he continued, a grim note creeping into his
+voice. “The biggest noise the city has ever heard. I take back all I
+said about the Gray Seal. I'd always pictured his cleverness as being
+inseparable with at least a decent sort of man, even if he was a rogue
+and a criminal, but I'm through with that. He's a rotter and a hound
+of the rankest sort! I didn't think there was anything more vulgar or
+brutal than murder, but he's shown me that there is. A guttersnipe's got
+more decency! To murder a man and then boastfully label the corpse is--”
+
+“Say, Carruthers,” said Jimmie Dale plaintively, suddenly hanging back,
+“I say, you know, it's--it's all right for you to mess up in this sort
+of thing, it's your beastly business, and I'm awfully damned thankful to
+you for giving me a look-in, but isn't it--er--rather INFRA DIG for me?
+A bit morbid, you know, and all that sort of thing. I'd never hear the
+end of it at the club--you know what the St. James is. Couldn't I be
+Merideth Stanley Annstruther, or something like that, one of your new
+reporters, or something like that, you know?”
+
+Carruthers chuckled. “Sure, Jimmie,” he said. “You're the latest
+addition to the staff of the NEWS-ARGUS. Don't worry; the incomparable
+Jimmie Dale won't figure publicly in this.”
+
+“It's awfully good of you,” said Jimmie gratefully. “I have to have a
+notebook or something, don't I?”
+
+Carruthers, from his pocket, handed him one. “Thanks,” said Jimmie Dale.
+
+A little way ahead, a crowd had collected on the sidewalk before a
+doorway, and Carruthers pointed with a jerk of his hand.
+
+“It's in Moriarty's place--a gambling hell,” he explained. “I haven't
+got the story myself yet, though I've been inside, and had a look
+around. Inspector Clayton discovered the crime, and reported it at
+headquarters. I was at my desk in the office when the news came, and, as
+you know the interest I've taken in the Gray Seal, I decided to 'cover'
+it myself. When I got here, Clayton hadn't returned from headquarters,
+so, as you seemed so keenly interested last week, I telephoned you. If
+Clayton's back now we'll get the details. Clayton's a good fellow with
+the 'press,' and he won't hold anything out on us. Now, here we are.
+Keep close to me, and I'll pass you in.”
+
+They shouldered through the crowd and up to an officer at the door.
+The officer nodded, stepped aside, and Carruthers, with Jimmie Dale
+following, entered the house.
+
+They climbed one flight, and then another. The card-rooms, the faro,
+stud, and roulette layouts were deserted, save for policemen here and
+there on guard. Carruthers led the way to a room at the back of the
+hall, whose door was open and from which issued a hubbub of voices--one
+voice rose above the others, heavy and gratingly complacent.
+
+“Clayton's back,” observed Carruthers.
+
+They stepped over the threshold, and the heavy voice greeted them.
+
+“Ah, here's Carruthers now! H'are you, Carruthers? They told me you'd
+been here, and were coming back, so I've been keeping the boys waiting
+before handing out the dope. You've had a look at that--eh?” He flung
+out a fat hand toward the bed.
+
+The voices rose again, all directed at Carruthers now.
+
+“Bubble's burst, eh, Carruthers? What about the 'Prince of Crooks'?
+Artistry in crime, wasn't it, you said?” They were quoting from his
+editorials of bygone days, a half dozen reporters of rival papers,
+grinning and joshing him good-naturedly, seemingly quite unaffected by
+what lay within arm's reach of them upon the bed.
+
+Carruthers smiled a little wryly, shrugged his shoulders--and presented
+Jimmie Dale to Inspector Clayton.
+
+“Mr. Matthewson, a new man of ours--inspector.”
+
+“Glad to know you, Mr. Matthewson,” said the inspector.
+
+Jimmie Dale found his hand grasped by another that was flabby and
+unpleasantly moist; and found himself looking into a face that was red,
+with heavy rolls of unhealthy fat terminating in a double chin and a
+thick, apoplectic neck--a huge, round face, with rat's eyes.
+
+Clayton dropped Jimmie Dale's hand, and waved his own in the air. Jimmie
+Dale remained modestly on the outside of the circle as the reporters
+gathered around the police inspector.
+
+“Now, then,” said Clayton coarsely, “the guy that's croaked there is
+Metzer, Jake Metzer. Get that?”
+
+Jimmie Dale, scribbling hurriedly in his notebook like all the rest,
+turned a little toward the bed, and his lower jaw crept out the fraction
+of an inch. Both gas jets in the room were turned on full, giving ample
+light. A man fully dressed, a man of perhaps forty, lay upon his back on
+the bed, one arm outflung across the bedspread, the other dangling,
+with fingers just touching the floor, the head at an angle and off the
+pillow. It was as though he had been carried to the bed and flung upon
+it after the deed had been committed. Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted and
+swept the room. Yes, everything was in disorder, as though there had
+been a struggle--a chair upturned, a table canted against the wall,
+broken pieces of crockery from the washstand on the carpet, and--
+
+“Metzer was a stool pigeon, see?” went on Clayton, “and he lived here.
+Moriarty wasn't on to him. Metzer stood in thick with a wider circle of
+crooks than any other snitch in New York.”
+
+Jimmie Dale, still scribbling as Clayton talked, stepped to the bed and
+leaned over the murdered man. The murder had been done with a blackjack
+evidently--a couple of blows. The left side of the temple was crushed
+in. Right in the middle of the forehead, pasted there, a gray-colored,
+diamond shaped paper seal flaunted itself--the device of the Gray Seal.
+In Jimmie Dale' hand, hidden as he turned his back, the tiny combination
+of powerful lenses was focused on the seal.
+
+Clayton guffawed. “That's right!” he called out. “Take a good look.
+That's a bright young man you've got, Carruthers.”
+
+Jimmie Dale looked up a little sheepishly--and got a grin from the
+assembled reporters, and a scowl from Carruthers.
+
+“Now, then,” continued Clayton, “here's the facts--as much of 'em as I
+can let you boys print at present. You know I'm stretching a point
+to let you in here--don't forget that when you come to write up the
+case--honour where's honour's due, you know. Well, me and Metzer there
+was getting ready to close down on a big piece of game, and I was over
+here in this room talking to him about it early this afternoon. We had
+it framed to get our man to-night--see? I left Metzer, say, about three
+o'clock, and he was to show up over at headquarters with another little
+bit of evidence we wanted at eight o'clock to-night.”
+
+Jimmie Dale was listening--to every word. But he stooped now again over
+the murdered man's head deliberately, though he felt the inspector's
+rat's eyes upon him--stooped, and, with his finger nail, lifted back the
+right-hand point of the diamond-shaped seal where it bordered a faint
+thread of blood on the man's forehead.
+
+There was a bull-like roar from the inspector, and he burst through the
+ring of reporters, and grabbed Jimmie Dale by the shoulder.
+
+“Here you, what in hell are you doing!” he spluttered angrily.
+
+Embarrassed and confused, Jimmie Dale drew back, glanced around, and
+smiled again a little sheepishly as his eyes rested on the red-flushed
+jowl of the inspector.
+
+“I--I wanted to see how it was stuck on,” he explained inanely.
+
+“Stuck on!” bellowed Clayton. “I'll show you how it's STUCK on, if you
+monkey around here! Don't you know any better than that! Where were you
+dragged up anyway? The coroner hasn't been here yet. You're a hot cub
+of a reporter, you are!” He turned to Carruthers. “Y'ought to get out
+printed instructions for 'em before you turn 'em loose!” he snapped.
+
+Carruthers' face was red with mortification. There was a grin, expanded,
+on the faces of the others.
+
+“Stand away from that bed!” roared Clayton at Jimmie Dale. “And if you
+go near it again, I'll throw you out of here bodily!”
+
+Jimmie Dale edged away, and, eyes lowered, fumbled nervously with the
+leaves of his notebook.
+
+Clayton grunted, glared at Jimmie Dale for an instant viciously--and
+resumed his story.
+
+“I was saying,” he said, “that Metzer was to come to headquarters at
+eight o'clock this evening. Well, he didn't show up. That looked queer.
+It was mighty important business. We was after one of the biggest hauls
+we'd ever pulled off. I waited till nine o'clock, an hour ago, and I
+was getting nervous. Then I started over here to find out what was the
+matter. When I got here I asked Moriarty if he'd seen Metzer. Moriarty
+said he hadn't since I was here before. He was a little suspicious that
+I had something on Metzer--see? Well, by pumping Moriarty, he admitted
+that Metzer had had a visitor about an hour after I left.”
+
+“Who was it? Know what his name is, inspector?” asked one of the
+reporters quickly.
+
+Inspector Clayton winked heavily. “Don't be greedy boys,” he grinned.
+
+“You mean you've got him?” burst out another one of the men excitedly.
+
+“Sure! Sure, I've got him.” Inspector Clayton waved his fat hand airily.
+“Or I will have before morning--but I ain't saying anything more till
+it's over.” He smiled significantly. “Well, that's about all. You've
+got the details right around you. I left Moriarty downstairs and came up
+here, and found just what you see--Metzer laying on the bed there, and
+the gray seal stuck on his forehead--and”--he ended abruptly--“I'll have
+the Gray Seal himself behind the bars by morning.”
+
+A chorus of ejaculations rose from the reporters, while their pencils
+worked furiously.
+
+Then Jimmie Dale appeared to have an inspiration. Jimmie Dale turned a
+leaf in his notebook and began to sketch rapidly, cocking his head now
+on one side now on the other. With a few deft strokes he had outlined
+the figure of Inspector Clayton. The reporter beside Jimmie Dale leaned
+over to inspect the work, and another did likewise. Jimmie Dale drew
+in Clayton's face most excellently, if somewhat flatteringly; and then,
+with a little flourish of pride, wrote under the drawing: “The Man Who
+Captured the Gray Seal.”
+
+“That's a cracking good sketch!” pronounced the reporter at his side.
+“Let the inspector see it.”
+
+“What is it?” demanded Clayton, scowling.
+
+Jimmie Dale handed him the notebook modestly.
+
+Inspector Clayton took it, looked at it, looked at Jimmie Dale; then his
+scowl relaxed into a self-sufficient and pleased smile, and he grunted
+approvingly.
+
+“That's the stuff to put over,” he said. “Mabbe you're not much of
+a reporter, but you can draw. Y're all right, sport--y're all right.
+Forget what I said to you a while ago.”
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled too--deprecatingly. And put the notebook in his
+pocket.
+
+An officer entered the room hurriedly, and, drawing Clayton aside, spoke
+in an undertone. A triumphant and malicious grin settled on Clayton's
+features, and he started with a rush for the door.
+
+“Come around to headquarters in two hours, boys,” he called as he went
+out, “and I'll have something more for you.”
+
+The room cleared, the reporters tumbling downstairs to make for the
+nearest telephones to get their “copy” into their respective offices.
+
+On the street, a few doors up from the house where they were free from
+the crowd, Carruthers halted Jimmie Dale.
+
+“Jimmie,” he said reproachfully, “you certainly made a mark of us both.
+There wasn't any need to play the 'cub' so egregiously. However, I'll
+forgive you for the sake of the sketch--hand it over, Jimmie; I'm going
+to reproduce it in the first edition.”
+
+“It wasn't drawn for reproduction, Carruthers--at least not yet,” said
+Jimmie Dale quietly.
+
+Carruthers stared at him. “Eh?” he asked blankly.
+
+“I've taken a dislike to Clayton,” said Jimmie Dale whimsically. “He's
+too patently after free advertising, and I'm not going to help along his
+boost. You can't have it, old man, so let's think about something
+else. What'll they do with that bit of paper that's on the poor devil's
+forehead up there, for instance.”
+
+“Say,” said Carruthers, “does it strike you that you're acting queer?
+You haven't been drinking, have you, Jimmie?”
+
+“What'll they do with it?” persisted Jimmie Dale.
+
+“Well,” said Carruthers, smiling a little tolerantly, “they'll
+photograph it and enlarge the photograph, and label it 'Exhibit A' or
+'Exhibit B' or something like that--and file it away in the archives
+with the fifty or more just like it that are already in their
+collection.”
+
+“That's what I thought,” observed Jimmie Dale. He took Carruthers by the
+lapel of the coat. “I'd like a photograph of that. I'd like it so much
+that I've got to have it. Know the chap that does that work for the
+police?”
+
+“Yes,” admitted Carruthers.
+
+“Very good!” said Jimmie Dale crisply, “Get an extra print of the
+enlargement from him then--for a consideration--whatever he asks--I'll
+pay for it.”
+
+“But what for?” demanded Carruthers. “I don't understand.”
+
+“Because,” said Jimmie Dale very seriously, “put it down to imagination
+or whatever you like, I think I smell something fishy here.”
+
+“You WHAT!” exclaimed Carruthers in amazement. “You're not joking, are
+you, Jimmie?”
+
+Jimmie Dale laughed shortly. “It's so far from a joke,” he said, in
+a low tone, “that I want your word you'll get that photograph into my
+hands by to-morrow afternoon, no matter what transpires in the meantime.
+And look here, Carruthers, don't think I'm playing the silly thickhead,
+and trying to mystify you. I'm no detective or anything like that. I've
+just got an idea that apparently hasn't occurred to any one else--and,
+of course, I may be all wrong. If I am, I'm not going to say a word even
+to you, because it wouldn't be playing fair with some one else; if I'm
+right the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS gets the biggest scoop of the century. Will
+you go in on that basis?”
+
+Carruthers put out his hand impulsively. “If you're in earnest,
+Jimmie--you bet!”
+
+“Good!” returned Jimmie Dale. “The photograph by to-morrow afternoon
+then. And now--”
+
+“And now,” said Caruthers, “I've got to hurry over to the office and get
+a write-up man at work. Will you come along, or meet me at headquarters
+later? Clayton said in two hours he'd--”
+
+“Neither,” said Jimmie Dale. “I'm not interested in headquarters. I'm
+going home.”
+
+“Well, all right then,” Carruthers returned. “You can bank on me for
+to-morrow. Good-night, Jimmie.”
+
+“Good-night, old man,” said Jimmie Dale, and, turning, walked briskly
+toward the Bowery.
+
+But Jimmie Dale did not go home. He walked down the Bowery for three
+blocks, crossed to the east side, and turned down a cross street. Two
+blocks more he walked in this direction, and halfway down the next.
+Here he paused an instant--the street was dimly lighted, almost dark,
+deserted. Jimmie Dale edged close to the houses until his shadow blended
+with the shadows of the walls--and slipped suddenly into a pitch-black
+areaway.
+
+He opened a door, stepped into an unlighted hallway where the air was
+close and evil smelling, mounted a stairway, and halted before another
+door on the first landing. There was the low clicking of a lock, three
+times repeated, and he entered a room, closing and fastening the door
+behind him.
+
+Jimmie Dale called it his “Sanctuary.” In one of the worst
+neighbourhoods of New York, where no questions were asked as long as the
+rent was paid, it had the further advantage of three separate exits--one
+by the areaway where he had entered; one from the street itself; and
+another through a back yard with an entry into a saloon that fronted on
+the next street. It was not often that Jimmie Dale used his Sanctuary,
+but there had been times when it was no more nor less than exactly what
+he called it--a sanctuary!
+
+He stepped to the window, assured himself that the shade was down--and
+lighted the gas, blinking a little as the yellow flame illuminated the
+room.
+
+It was a rough place, dirty, uninviting; a bedroom, furnished in the
+most scanty fashion. Neither, apparently, was there anything suspicious
+about it to reward one curious enough to break in during the owner's
+absence--some rather disreputable clothes hanging on the wall, and flung
+untidily across the bed--that was all.
+
+Alone now, Jimmie Dale's face was strained and anxious and,
+occasionally, as he undressed himself, his hands clenched until his
+knuckles grew white. The gray seal on the murdered man's forehead was
+a GENUINE GRAY SEAL--one of Jimmie Dale's own. There was no doubt of
+that--he had satisfied himself on that point.
+
+Where had it come from? How had it been obtained? Jimmie Dale carefully
+placed the clothes he had taken off under the mattress, pulled a
+disreputable collarless flannel shirt over his head, and pulled on a
+disreputable pair of boots. There were only two sources of supply. His
+own--and the collection that the police had made, which Carruthers had
+referred to.
+
+Jimmie Dale lifted a corner of the oilcloth in a corner of the room,
+lifted a piece of the flooring, lifted out a little box which he placed
+upon the rickety table, and sat down before a cracked mirror. Who was
+it that would have access to the gray seals in the possession of the
+police, since, obviously, it was one of those that was on the dead man's
+forehead? The answer came quick enough--came with the sudden out-thrust
+of Jimmie Dale's lower jaw. ONE OF THE POLICE THEMSELVES--no one else.
+Clayton's heavy, cunning face, Clayton's shifty eyes, Clayton's sudden
+rush when he had touched the dead man's forehead, pictured themselves
+in a red flash of fury before Jimmie Dale. There was no mask now, no
+facetiousness, no acted part--only a merciless rage, and the muscles of
+Jimmie Dale's face quivered and twitched. MURDER, foisted, shifted upon
+another, upon the Gray Seal--making of that name a calumny--ruining
+forever the work that she and he might do!
+
+And then Jimmie Dale smiled mirthlessly, with thinning lips. The box
+before him was open. His fingers worked quickly--a little wax behind the
+ears, in the nostrils, under the upper lip, deftly placed-hands, wrists,
+neck, throat, and face received their quota of stain, applied with an
+artist's touch--and then the spruce, muscular Jimmie Dale, transformed
+into a slouching, vicious-featured denizen of the underworld, replaced
+the box under the flooring, pulled a slouch hat over his eyes,
+extinguished the gas, and went out.
+
+Jimmie Dale's range of acquaintanceship was wide--from the upper strata
+of the St. James Club to the elite of New York's gangland. And, adored
+by the one, he was trusted implicitly by the other--not understood,
+perhaps, by the latter, for he had never allied himself with any of
+their nefarious schemes, but trusted implicitly through long years of
+personal contact. It had stood Jimmie Dale in good stead before, this
+association, where, in a sort of strange, carefully guarded exchange,
+the news of the underworld was common property to those without the law.
+To New York in its millions, the murder of Metzer, the stool pigeon,
+would be unknown until the city rose in the morning to read the
+sensational details over the breakfast table; here, it would already be
+the topic of whispered conversations, here it had probably been known
+long before the police had discovered the crime. Especially would it be
+expected to be known to Pete Lazanis, commonly called the Runt, who
+was a power below the dead line and, more pertinent still, one in whose
+confidence Jimmie Dale had rejoiced for years.
+
+Jimmie Dale, as Larry the Bat--a euphonious “monaker” bestowed possibly
+because this particular world knew him only by night--began a search for
+the Runt. From one resort to another he hurried, talking in the accepted
+style through one corner of his mouth to hard-visaged individuals behind
+dirty, reeking bars that were reared on equally dirty and foul-smelling
+sawdust-strewn floors; visiting dance halls, secretive back rooms, and
+certain Chinese pipe joints.
+
+But the Runt was decidedly elusive. There had been no news of him, no
+one had seen him--and this after fully an hour had passed since Jimmie
+Dale had left Carruthers in front of Moriarty's. The possibilities
+however were still legion--numbered only by the numberless dives and
+dens sheltered by that quarter of the city.
+
+Jimmie Dale turned into Chatham Square, heading for the Pagoda Dance
+Hall. A man loitering at the curb shot a swift, searching glance at him
+as he slouched by. Jimmie Dale paused in the doorway of the Pagoda and
+looked up and down the street. The man he had passed had drawn a little
+closer; another man in an apparently aimless fashion lounged a few yards
+away.
+
+“Something up,” muttered Jimmie Dale to himself. “Lansing, of
+headquarters, and the other looks like Milrae.”
+
+Jimmie Dale pushed in through the door of the Pagoda. A bedlam of noise
+surged out at him--a tin-pan piano and a mandolin were going furiously
+from a little raised platform at the rear; in the centre of the room a
+dozen couples were in the throes of the tango and the bunny-hug; around
+the sides, at little tables, men and women laughed and applauded and
+thumped time on the tabletops with their beer mugs; while waiters, with
+beer-stained aprons and unshaven faces, juggled marvelous handfuls of
+glasses and mugs from the bar beside the platform to the patrons at the
+tables.
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes swept the room in a swift, comprehensive glance,
+fixed on a little fellow, loudly dressed, who shared a table halfway
+down the room with a woman in a picture hat, and a smile of relief
+touched his lips. The Runt at last!
+
+He walked down the room, caught the Runt's eyes significantly as he
+passed the table, kept on to a door between the platform and the bar,
+opened it, and went out into a lighted hallway, at one end of which a
+door opened onto the street, and at the other a stairway led above.
+
+The Runt joined him. “Wot's de row, Larry?” inquired the Runt.
+
+“Nuthin' much,” said Jimmie Dale. “Only I t'ought I'd let youse know.
+I was passin' Moriarty's an' got de tip. Say, some guy's croaked Jake
+Metzer dere.”
+
+“Aw, ferget it!” observed the Runt airily. “Dat's stale. Was wise to dat
+hours ago.”
+
+Jimmie Dale's face fell. “But I just come from dere,” he insisted; “an'
+de harness bulls only just found it out.”
+
+“Mabbe,” grunted the Runt. “But Metzer got his early in de
+afternoon--see?”
+
+Jimmie Dale looked quickly around him--and then leaned toward the Runt.
+
+“Wot's de lay, Runt?” he whispered.
+
+The Runt pulled down one eyelid, and, with his knowing grin, the
+cigarette, clinging to his upper lip, sagged down in the opposite corner
+of his mouth.
+
+Jimmie Dale grinned, too--in a flash inspiration had come to Jimmie
+Dale.
+
+“Say, Runt”--he jerked his head toward the street door--“wot's de fly
+cops doin' out dere?”
+
+The grin vanished from the Runt's lips. He stared for a second wildly at
+Jimmie Dale, and then clutched at Jimmie Dale's arm.
+
+“De WOT?” he said hoarsely.
+
+“De fly cops,” Jimmie Dale repeated in well-simulated surprise. “Dey was
+dere when I come in--Lansing an' Milrae, an--”
+
+The Runt shot a hurried glance at the stairway, and licked his lips as
+though they had gone suddenly dry.
+
+“My Gawd, I--” He gasped, and shrank hastily back against the wall
+beside Jimmie Dale.
+
+The door from the street had opened noiselessly, instantly. Black forms
+bulked there--then a rush of feet--and at the head of half a dozen men,
+the face of Inspector Clayton loomed up before Jimmie Dale. There was
+a second's pause in the rush; and, in the pause, Clayton's voice, in a
+vicious undertone:
+
+“You two ginks open your traps, and I'll run you both in!”
+
+And then the rush passed, and swept on up the stairs.
+
+Jimmie Dale looked at the Runt. The cigarette dangled limply; the Runt's
+eyes were like a hunted beast's.
+
+“Dey got him!” he mumbled. “It's Stace--Stace Morse. He come to me after
+croakin' Metzer, an' he's been hidin' up dere all afternoon.”
+
+Stace Morse--known in gangland as a man with every crime in the calendar
+to his credit, and prominent because of it! Something seemed to go
+suddenly queer inside of Jimmie Dale. Stace Morse! Was he wrong, after
+all? Jimmie Dale drew closer to the Runt.
+
+“Yer givin' me a steer, ain't youse?” He spoke again from the corner
+of his mouth, almost inaudibly. “Are youse sure it was Stace croaked
+Metzer? Wot fer? How'd yer know?”
+
+The Runt was listening, his eyes strained toward the stairs. The hall
+door to the street was closed, but both were quite well aware that there
+was an officer on guard outside.
+
+“He told me,” whispered the Runt. “Metzer was fixin' ter snitch on him
+ter-night. Dey've got de goods on Stace, too. He made a bum job of it.”
+
+“Why didn't he get out of de country den when he had de chanst, instead
+of hangin' around here all afternoon?” demanded Jimmie Dale.
+
+“He was broke,” the Runt answered. “We was gettin' de coin fer him ter
+fade away wid ter-night, an'--”
+
+A revolver shot from above cut short his words. Came then the sound of a
+struggle, oaths, the shuffling tread of feet--but in the dance hall the
+piano still rattled on, the mandolin twanged, voices sang and applauded,
+and beer mugs thumped time.
+
+They were on the stairs now, the officers, half carrying, half dragging
+some one between them--and the man they dragged cursed them with utter
+abandon. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Jimmie Dale
+caught sight of the prisoner's face--not a prepossessing
+one--villainous,--low-browed, contorted with a mixture of fear and rage.
+
+“It's a lie! A lie! A lie!” the man shrieked. “I never seen him in me
+life--blast you!--curse you!--d'ye hear!”
+
+Inspector Clayton caught Jimmie Dale and the Runt by the collars.
+
+“There's nothing to interest you around here!” he snapped maliciously.
+“Go on, now--beat it!” And he pushed them toward the door.
+
+They had heard the disturbance in the dance hall now and the occupants
+were swarming to the sidewalk. A patrol wagon came around the corner. In
+the crowd Jimmie Dale slipped away from the Runt.
+
+Was he wrong, after all? A fierce passion seized him. It was Stace Morse
+who had murdered Metzer, the Runt had said. In Jimmie Dale's brain the
+words began to reiterate themselves in a singsong fashion: “It was Stace
+Morse. It was Stace Morse.” Then his lips drew tight together. WAS it
+Stace Morse? He would have given a good deal for a chance to talk to the
+man--even for a minute. But there was no possibility of that now. Later,
+to-morrow perhaps, if he was wrong, after all!
+
+Jimmie Dale returned to the Sanctuary, removed from his person all
+evidences of Larry the Bat--and from the Sanctuary went home to
+Riverside Drive.
+
+In his den there, in the morning after breakfast, Jason, the butler,
+brought him the papers. Three-inch headlines in red ink screamed,
+exulted, and shrieked out the news that the Gray Seal, in the person of
+Stace Morse, fence, yeggman and murderer, had been captured. The public,
+if it had held any private admiration for the one-time mysterious crook
+could now once and forever disillusion itself. The Gray Seal was Stace
+Morse--and Stace Morse was of the dregs of the city's scum, a pariah,
+an outcast, with no single redeeming trait to lift him from the ruck
+of mire and slime that had strewn his life from infancy. The face of
+Inspector Clayton, blandly self-complacent, leaped out from the paper
+to meet Jimmie Dale's eyes--and with it a column and a half of perfervid
+eulogy.
+
+Something at first like dismay, the dismay of impotency, filled Jimmie
+Dale--and then, cold, leaving him unnaturally calm, the old merciless
+rage took its place. There was nothing to do now but wait--wait until
+Carruthers should send that photograph. Then if, after all, he were
+wrong--then he must find some other way. But was he wrong! The notebook
+that Carruthers had given him, open at the sketch he had made of
+Clayton, lay upon the desk. Jimmie Dale picked it up--he had already
+spent quite a little time over it before breakfast--and examined it
+again minutely, even resorting to his magnifying glass. He put it down
+as a knock sounded at the door, and Jason entered with a silver card
+tray. From Carruthers already! Jimmie Dale stepped quickly forward--and
+then Jimmie Dale met the old man's eyes. It wasn't from Carruthers--it
+was from HER!
+
+“The same shuffer brought it, Master Jim,” said Jason.
+
+Jimmie Dale snatched the envelope from the tray, and waved the other
+from the room. As the door closed, he tore open the letter. There was
+just a single line:
+
+
+Jimmie--Jimmie, you haven't failed, have you?
+
+
+Jimmie Dale stared at it. Failed! Failed--HER! The haggard look was in
+his face again. It was the bond between them that was at stake--the Gray
+Seal--the bond that had come, he knew for all time in that instant, to
+mean his life.
+
+“God knows!” he muttered hoarsely, and flung himself into a lounging
+chair, still staring at the note.
+
+The hours dragged by. Luncheon time arrived and passed--and then by
+special messenger the little package from Carruthers came.
+
+Jimmie Dale started to undo the string, then laid the package down,
+and held out his hands before him for inspection. They were trembling
+visibly. It was a strange condition for Jimmie Dale either to witness or
+experience, unlike him, foreign to him.
+
+“This won't do, Jimmie,” he said grimly, shaking his head.
+
+He picked up the package again, opened it, and from between two pieces
+of cardboard took out a large photographic print. A moment, two, Jimmie
+Dale examined it, used the magnifying glass again; and then a strange
+gleam came into the dark eyes, and his lips moved.
+
+“I've won,” said Jimmie Dale, with ominous softness. “I've WON!”
+
+He was standing beside the rosewood desk, and he reached for the phone.
+Carruthers would be at home now--he called Carruthers there. After a
+moment or two he got the connection.
+
+“This is Jimmie, Carruthers,” he said. “Yes, I got it. Thanks. . . .
+Yes. . . . Listen. I want you to get Inspector Clayton, and bring him up
+here at once. . . . What? No, no--no! . . . How? . . . Why--er--tell him
+you're going to run a full page of him in the Sunday edition, and you
+want him to sit for a sketch. He'd go anywhere for that. . . . Yes. . . .
+Half an hour. . . . YES. . . . Good-bye.”
+
+Jimmie Dale hung up the receiver; and, hastily now, began to write upon
+a pad that lay before him on the desk. The minutes passed. As he wrote,
+he scored out words and lines here and there, substituting others. At
+the end he had covered three large pages with, to any one but himself,
+an indecipherable scrawl. These he shoved aside now, and, very
+carefully, very legibly, made a copy on fresh sheets. As he finished, he
+heard a car draw up in front of the house. Jimmie Dale folded the copied
+sheets neatly, tucked them in his pocket, lighted a cigarette, and was
+lolling lazily in his chair as Jason announced: “Mr. Carruthers, sir,
+and another gentleman to see you.”
+
+“Show them up, Jason,” instructed Jimmie Dale.
+
+Jimmie Dale rose from his chair as they came in. Jason, well-trained
+servant, closed the door behind them.
+
+“Hello, Carruthers; hello, inspector,” said Jimmie Dale pleasantly, and
+waved them to seats. “Take this chair, Carruthers.” He motioned to one
+at his elbow. “Glad to see you, inspector--try that one in front of the
+desk, you'll find it comfortable.”
+
+Carruthers, trying to catch Jimmie Dale's eye for some sort of a cue,
+and, failing, sat down. Inspector Clayton stared at Jimmie Dale.
+
+“Oh, it's YOU, eh?” His eyes roved around the room, fastened for an
+instant on some of Jimmie Dale's work on an easel, came back finally
+to Jimmie Dale--and he plumped himself down in the chair indicated.
+“Thought you was more'n a cub reporter,” he remarked, with a grin.
+“You were too slick with your pencil. Pretty fine studio you got here.
+Carruthers says you're going to draw me.”
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled--not pleasantly--and leaned suddenly over the desk.
+
+“Yes,” he said slowly, a grim intonation in his voice, “going to draw
+you--TRUE TO LIFE.”
+
+With an exclamation, Clayton slued around in his chair, half rose, and
+his shifty eyes, small and cunning, bored into Jimmie Dale's face.
+
+“What d'ye mean by that?” he snapped out
+
+“Just exactly what I say,” replied Jimmie Dale curtly. “No more,
+no less. But first, not to be too abrupt, I want to join with the
+newspapers in congratulating you on the remarkable--shall I call it
+celerity, or acumen?--with which you solved the mystery of Metzer's
+death, and placed the murderer behind the bars. It is really remarkable,
+inspector, so remarkable, in fact, that it's almost--SUSPICIOUS. Don't
+you think so? No? Well, that's what Mr. Carruthers was good enough to
+bring you up here to talk over--in an intimate and confidential way, you
+know.”
+
+Inspector Clayton surged up from his chair to his feet, his fists
+clenched, the red sweeping over his face--and then he shook one fist at
+Carruthers.
+
+“So that's your game, is it!” he stormed. “Trying to crawl out of that
+twenty-five thousand reward, eh? And as for you”--he turned on Jimmie
+Dale--“you've rigged up a nice little plant between you, eh? Well, it
+won't work--and I'll make you squirm for this, both of you, damn you,
+before I'm through!” He glared from one to the other for a moment--then
+swung on his heel. “Good-afternoon, gentlemen,” he sneered, as he
+started for the door.
+
+He was halfway across the room before Jimmie Dale spoke.
+
+“Clayton!”
+
+Clayton turned. Jimmie Dale was still leaning over the desk, but now one
+elbow was propped upon it, and in the most casual way a revolver covered
+Inspector Clayton.
+
+“If you attempt to leave this room,” said Jimmie Dale, without raising
+his voice, “I assure you that I shall fire with as little compunction as
+though I were aiming at a mad dog--and I apologise to all mad dogs for
+coupling your name with them.” His voice rang suddenly cold. “Come back
+here, and sit down in that chair!”
+
+The colour ebbed slowly from Clayton's face. He hesitated--then sullenly
+retraced his steps; hesitated again as he reached the chair, and finally
+sat down.
+
+“What--what d'ye mean by this?” he stammered, trying to bluster.
+
+“Just this,” said Jimmie Dale. “That I accuse you of the murder of Jake
+Metzer--IT WAS YOU WHO MURDERED METZER.”
+
+“Good God!” burst suddenly from Carruthers.
+
+“You lie!” yelled Clayton--and again he surged up from his chair.
+
+“That is what Stace Morse said,” said Jimmie Dale coolly. “Sit down!”
+
+Then Clayton tried to laugh. “You're--you're having a joke, ain't you?
+It was Stace--I can prove it. Come down to headquarters, and I can prove
+it. I got the goods on him all the way. I tell you”--his voice rose
+shrilly--“it was Stace Morse.”
+
+“You are a despicable hound,” said Jimmie Dale, through set lips.
+“Here”--he handed the revolver over to Carruthers--“keep him covered,
+Carruthers. You're going to the CHAIR for this, Clayton,” he said, in
+a fierce monotone. “The chair! You can't send another there in your
+place--this time. Shall I draw you now--true to life? You've been
+grafting for years on every disreputable den in your district. Metzer
+was going to show you up; and so, Metzer being in the road, you removed
+him. And you seized on the fact of Stace Morse having paid a visit to
+him this afternoon to fix the crime on--Stace Morse. Proofs? Oh, yes, I
+know you've manufactured proofs enough to convict him--if there weren't
+stronger proofs to convict YOU.”
+
+“Convict ME!” Clayton's lower jaw hung loosely; but still he made
+an effort at bluster. “You haven't a thing on me--not a thing--not a
+thing.”
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled again--unpleasantly.
+
+“You are quite wrong, Clayton. See--here.” He took a sheet of paper from
+the drawer of his desk.
+
+Clayton reached for it quickly. “What is it?” he demanded.
+
+Jimmie Dale drew it back out of reach.
+
+“Just a minute,” he said softly. “You remember, don't you, that in the
+presence of Carruthers here, of myself, and of half a dozen reporters,
+you stated that you had been alone with Metzer in his room at three
+o'clock yesterday, and that it was you--alone--who found the body later
+on at nine o'clock? Yes? I mention this simply to show that from your
+own lips the evidence is complete that you had an OPPORTUNITY to commit
+the crime. Now you may look at this, Clayton.” He handed over the sheet
+of paper.
+
+Clayton took it, stared at it, turning it over from first one side to
+the other. Then a sort of relief seemed to come to him and he gulped.
+
+“Nothing but a damned piece of blank paper!” he mumbled.
+
+Jimmie Dale reached over and took back the sheet.
+
+“You're wrong again, Clayton,” he said calmly. “It WAS quite blank
+before I handed it to you--but not now. I noticed yesterday that your
+hands were generally moist. I am sure they are more so now--excitement,
+you know. Carruthers, see that he doesn't interrupt.”
+
+From a drawer, Jimmie Dale took out a little black bottle, the notebook
+he had used the day before, and the photograph Carruthers had sent him.
+On the sheet of paper Clayton had just handled, Jimmie Dale sprinkled a
+little powder from the bottle.
+
+“Lampblack,” explained Jimmie Dale. He shook the paper carefully,
+allowing the loose powder to fall on the desk blotter--and held out the
+sheet toward Clayton. “Rather neat, isn't it? A very good impression,
+too. Your thumb print, Clayton. Now don't move. You may look--not
+touch.” He laid the paper down on the desk in front of Clayton. Beside
+it he placed the notebook, open at the sketch--a black thumb print now
+upon it. “You recall handling this yesterday, I'm sure, Clayton. I tried
+the same experiment with the lampblack on it this morning, you see. And
+this”--beside the notebook he placed the police photograph; that,
+too, in its enlargement, showed, sharply defined, a thumb print on
+a diamond-shaped background. “You will no doubt recognise it as an
+official photograph, enlarged, taken of the gray seal on Metzer's
+forehead--AND THE THUMB PRINT OF METZER'S MURDERER. You have only to
+glance at the little scar at the edge of the centre loop to satisfy
+yourself that the three are identical. Of course, there are a dozen
+other points of similarity equally indisputable, but--”
+
+Jimmie Dale stopped. Clayton was on his feet--rocking on his feet. His
+face was deathlike in its pallor. Moisture was oozing from his forehead.
+
+“I didn't do it! I didn't do it!” he cried out wildly. “My God, I tell
+you, I DIDN'T do it--and--and--that would send me to the chair.”
+
+“Yes,” said Jimmie Dale coldly, “and that's precisely where you're
+going--to the chair.”
+
+The man was beside himself now--racked to the soul by a paroxysm of
+fear.
+
+“I'm innocent--innocent!” he screamed out. “Oh, for God's sake, don't
+send an innocent man to his death. It WAS Stace Morse. Listen! Listen!
+I'll tell the truth.” He was clawing with his hands, piteously, over the
+desk at Jimmie Dale. “When the big rewards came out last week I stole
+one of the gray seals from the bunch at headquarters to--to use it the
+first time any crime was committed when I was sure I could lay my hands
+on the man who did it. Don't you see? Of course he'd deny he was the
+Gray Seal, just as he'd deny that he was guilty--but I'd have the
+proof both ways and--and I'd collect the rewards, and--and--” The man
+collapsed into the chair.
+
+Carruthers was up from his seat, his hands gripping tight on the edge of
+the desk as he leaned over it.
+
+“Jimmie--Jimmie--what does this mean?” he gasped out.
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled--pleasantly now.
+
+“That he has told the truth,” said Jimmie Dale quietly. “It is quite
+true that Stace Morse committed the murder. Shows up the value of
+circumstantial evidence though, doesn't it? This would certainly have
+got him off, and convicted Clayton here before any jury in the land. But
+the point is, Carruthers, that Stace Morse ISN'T the Gray Seal--and that
+the Gray Seal is NOT a murderer.”
+
+Clayton looked up. “You--you believe me?” he stammered eagerly.
+
+Jimmie Dale whirled on him in a sudden sweep of passion.
+
+“NO, you cur!” he flashed. “It's not you I believe. I simply wanted your
+confession before witnesses.” He whipped the three written sheets from
+his pocket. “Here, substantially, is that confession written out.” He
+passed it to Carruthers. “Read it to him, Carruthers.”
+
+Carruthers read it aloud.
+
+“Now,” said Jimmie Dale grimly, “this spells ruin for you, Clayton. You
+don't deserve a chance to escape prison bars, but I'm going to give you
+one, for you're going to get it pretty stiff, anyhow. If you refuse to
+sign this, I'll hand you over to the district attorney in half an hour,
+and Carruthers and I will swear to your confession; on the other hand,
+if you sign it, Carruthers will not be able to print it until to-morrow
+morning, and that gives you something like fourteen hours to put
+distance between yourself and New York. Here is a pen--if you are quick
+enough to take us by surprise once you have signed, you might succeed in
+making a dash for that door and effecting your escape--without forcing
+us to compound a felony--understand?”
+
+Clayton's hand trembled violently as he seized the pen. He scrawled
+his name--looked from one to the other--wet his lips--and then, taking
+Jimmie Dale at his word, rushed for the door--and the door slammed
+behind him.
+
+Carruthers' face was hard. “What did you let him go for, Jimmie?” he
+said uncompromisingly.
+
+“Selfishness. Pure selfishness,” said Jimmie Dale softly. “They'd guy me
+unmercifully if they ever heard of it at the St. James Club. The
+honour is all yours, Carruthers. I don't appear on the stage. That's
+understood? Yes? Well, then”--he handed over the signed confession--“is
+the 'scoop' big enough?”
+
+Carruthers fingered the sheets, but his eyes in a bewildered way
+searched Jimmie Dale's face.
+
+“Big enough!” he echoed, as though invoking the universe. “It's the
+biggest thing the newspaper game has ever known. But how did you come to
+do it? What started you? Where did you get your lead?”
+
+“Why, from you, I guess, Carruthers,” Jimmie Dale answered thoughtfully,
+with artfully puckered brow. “I remembered that you had said last week
+that the Gray Seal never left finger marks on his work--and I saw one on
+the seal on Metzer's forehead. Then, you know, I lifted one corner where
+the seal overlapped a thread of blood, and, underneath, the thread of
+blood wasn't in the slightest disturbed; so, of course, I knew the seal
+had been put on quite a long time after the man was dead--not until the
+blood had dried thoroughly, to a crust, you know, so that even the damp
+surface of the sticky side of the seal hadn't affected it. And then,
+I took a dislike to Clayton somehow--and put two and two together,
+and took a flyer in getting him to handle the notebook. I guess that's
+all--no other reason on earth. Jolly lucky, don't you think?”
+
+Carruthers didn't say anything for a moment. When he spoke, it was
+irrelevantly.
+
+“You saved me twenty-five thousand dollars on that reward, Jimmie.”
+
+“That's the only thing I regret,” said Jimmie Dale brightly. “It wasn't
+nice of you, Carruthers, to turn on the Gray Seal that way. And
+it strikes me you owe the chap, whoever he is, a pretty emphatic
+exoneration after what you said in this morning's edition.”
+
+“Jimmie,” said Carruthers earnestly. “You know what I thought of him
+before. It's like a new lease of life to get back one's faith in him.
+You leave it to me. I'll put the Gray Seal on a pedestal to-morrow that
+will be worthy of the immortals--you leave it to me.”
+
+And Carruthers kept his word. Also, before the paper had been an hour
+off the press, Carruthers received a letter. It thanked Carruthers
+quite genuinely, even if couched in somewhat facetious terms, for his
+“sweeping vindication,” twitted him gently for his “backsliding,”
+ begged to remain “his gratefully,” and in lieu of signature there was a
+gray-coloured piece of paper shaped like this:
+
+[Picture]
+
+Only there were no fingerprints on it.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE MOTHER LODE
+
+
+It was the following evening, and they had dined together again at the
+St. James Club--Jimmie Dale, and Carruthers of the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS.
+From Clayton and a discussion of the Metzer murder, the conversation had
+turned, not illogically, upon the physiognomy of criminals in general.
+Jimmie Dale, lazily ensconced now in a lounging chair in one of the
+club's private library rooms, flicked a minute speck of cigar ash from
+the sleeve of his dinner jacket, and smiled whimsically across the table
+at his friend.
+
+“Oh, I dare say there's a lot in physiognomy, Carruthers,” he drawled.
+“Never studied the thing, you know--that is, from the standpoint
+of crime. Personally, I've only got one prejudice: I distrust, on
+principle, the man who wears a perennial and pompous smirk--which isn't,
+of course, strictly speaking, physiognomy at all. You see, a man can't
+help his eyes being beady or his nose pronounced, but pomposity and a
+smirk, now--” Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders.
+
+Carruthers laughed--and then glanced ludicrously at Jimmie Dale, as the
+door, ajar, was pushed open, and a man entered.
+
+“Speaking of angels,” murmured Jimmie Dale--and sat up in his chair.
+“Hello, Markel!” he observed casually, “You've met Carruthers, of the
+NEWS-ARGUS, haven't you?”
+
+Markel was fat and important; he had beady black eyes, fastidiously
+trimmed whiskers--and a pronounced smirk.
+
+Markel blew his nose vigorously, coughed asthmatically, and held out his
+hand.
+
+“Of course, certainly,” said he effusively. “I've met Carruthers several
+times--used his sheet more than once to advertise a new bond flotation.”
+
+The dominant note in Markel's voice was an ingratiating and unpleasant
+whine, and Carruthers nodded, not very cordially--and shook hands.
+
+Markel went back to the door, closed it carefully, and returned to the
+table.
+
+“Fact is,” he smiled confidentially, “I saw you two come in here a few
+minutes ago, and I've got something that I thought Carruthers might be
+glad to have for his society column--say, in the Sunday edition.”
+
+He dove into the inside pocket of his coat, produced a large morocco
+leather jeweller's case, and, holding it out over the table between
+Carruthers and Jimmie Dale, suddenly snapped the cover open--and then,
+with a complacent little chuckle that terminated in another fit of
+coughing, spilled the contents on the table under the electric reading
+lamp.
+
+Like a thing of living, pulsing fire it rolled before their eyes--a
+magnificent diamond necklace, of wondrous beauty, gleaming and
+scintillating as the light rays shot back from a thousand facets.
+
+For a moment, both men gazed at it without a word.
+
+“Little surprise for my wife,” volunteered Markel, with a debonair wave
+of his pudgy hand, and trying to make his voice sound careless.
+
+The case lay open--patently displaying the name of the most famous
+jewelry house in America. Jimmie Dale's eyes fixed on Markel's whiskers
+where they were brushed outward in an ornate and fastidious gray-black
+sweep.
+
+“By Jove!” he commented. “You don't do things by halves, do you,
+Markel?”
+
+“Two hundred and ten thousand dollars I paid for that little bunch of
+gewgaws,” said Markel, waving his hand again. Then he clapped Carruthers
+heartily on the shoulder. “What do you think of it, Carruthers--eh?
+Say, a photograph of it, and one of Mrs. Markel--eh? Please her, you
+know--she's crazy on this society stunt--all flubdub to me of course.
+How's it strike you, Carruthers?”
+
+Carruthers, very evidently, liked neither the man nor his manners, but
+Carruthers, above everything else, was a gentleman.
+
+“To be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Markel,” he said a little frigidly,
+“I don't believe in this sort of thing. It's all right from a newspaper
+standpoint, and we do it; but it's just in this way that owners of
+valuable jewelry lay themselves open to theft. It simply amounts to
+advising every crook in the country that you have a quarter of a million
+at his disposal, which he can carry away in his vest pocket, once he can
+get his hands on it--and you invite him to try.”
+
+Jimmie Dale laughed. “What Carruthers means, Markel, is that you'll have
+the Gray Seal down your street. Carruthers talks of crooks generally,
+but he thinks in terms of only one. He can't help it. He's been
+trying so long to catch the chap that it's become an obsession. Eh,
+Carruthers?”
+
+Carruthers smiled seriously. “Perhaps,” he admitted. “I hope, though,
+for Mr. Markel's sake, that the Gray Seal won't take a fancy to it--if
+he does, Mr. Markel can say good-bye to his necklace.”
+
+“Pouf!” coughed Markel arrogantly. “Overrated! His cleverness is all
+in the newspaper columns. If he knows what's good for him, he'll know
+enough to leave this alone.”
+
+Jimmie Dale was leaning over the table poking gingerly with the tip of
+his forefinger at the centre stone in the setting, revolving it gently
+to and fro in the light--a very large stone, whose weight would hardly
+be less than fifteen carats. Jimmie Dale lowered his head for a closer
+examination--and to hide a curious, mocking little gleam that crept into
+his dark eyes.
+
+“Yes, I should say you're right, Markel,” he agreed judicially. “He
+ought to know better than to touch this. It--it would be too hard to
+dispose of.”
+
+“I'm not worrying,” declared Markel importantly.
+
+“No,” said Jimmie Dale. “Two hundred and ten thousand, you said.
+Any special--er--significance to the occasion, if the question's not
+impertinent? Birthday, wedding anniversary--or something like that?”
+
+“No, nothing like that!” Markel grinned, winked secretively, and rubbed
+his hands together. “I'm feeling good, that's all--I'm going to make the
+killing of my life to-morrow.”
+
+“Oh!” said Jimmie Dale.
+
+Markel turned to Carruthers. “I'll let you in on that, too, Carruthers,
+in a day or two, if you'll send a reporter around--financial man, you
+know. It'll be worth your while. And now, how about this? What do you
+say to a little article and the photos next Sunday?”
+
+There was a slight hint of rising colour in Carruthers' face.
+
+“If you'll send them to the society editor, I've no doubt he'll be able
+to use them,” he said brusquely.
+
+“Right!” said Markel, and coughed, and patted Carruthers' shoulder
+patronisingly again. “I'll just do that little thing.” He picked up the
+necklace, dangled it till it flashed and flashed again under the light,
+then restored it very ostentatiously to its case, and the case to his
+pocket. “Thanks awfully, Carruthers,” he said, as he rose from his
+chair. “See you again, Dale. Good-night!”
+
+Carruthers glared at the door as it closed behind the man.
+
+“Say it!” prodded Jimmie Dale sweetly. “Don't feel restrained because
+you are a guest--I absolve you in advance.”
+
+“Rotter!” said Carruthers.
+
+“Well,” said Jimmie Dale softly. “You see--Carruthers?”
+
+Carruthers' match crackled savagely as he lighted a cigar.
+
+“Yes, I see,” he growled. “But I don't see--you'll pardon my saying
+so--how vulgarity like that ever acquired membership in the St. James
+Club.”
+
+“Carruthers,” said Jimmie Dale plaintively, “you ought to know better
+than that. You know, to begin with, since it seems he has advertised
+with you, that he runs some sort of brokerage business in Boston. He's
+taken a summer home up here on Long Island, and some misguided chap put
+him on the club's visitor's list. His card will NOT be renewed. Sleek
+customer, isn't he? Trifle familiar--I was only introduced to him last
+night.”
+
+Carruthers grunted, broke his burned match into pieces, and began to
+toss the pieces into an ash tray.
+
+Jimmie Dale became absorbed in an inspection of his hands--those
+wonderful hands with long, slim, tapering fingers, whose clean, pink
+flesh masked a strength and power that was like to a steel vise.
+
+Jimmie Dale looked up. “Going to print a nice little story for him about
+the 'costliest and most beautiful necklace in America'?” he inquired
+innocently.
+
+Carruthers scowled. “No,” he said bluntly. “I am not. He'll read the
+NEWS-ARGUS a long time before he reads anything about that, Jimmie.”
+
+But therein Carruthers was wrong--the NEWS-ARGUS carried the “story” of
+Markel's diamond necklace in three-inch “caps” in red ink on the front
+page in the next morning's edition--and Carruthers gloated over it
+because the morning NEWS-ARGUS was the ONLY paper in New York that did.
+Carruthers was to hear more of Markel and Markel's necklace than he
+thought, though for the time being the subject dropped between the two
+men.
+
+It was still early, barely ten o'clock, when Carruthers left the club,
+and, preferring to walk to the newspaper offices, refused Jimmie Dale's
+offer of his limousine. It was but five minutes later when Jimmie Dale,
+after chatting for a moment or two with those about in the lobby, in
+turn sought the coat room, where Markel was being assisted into his
+coat.
+
+“Getting home early, aren't you, Markel?” remarked Jimmie Dale
+pleasantly.
+
+“Yes,” said Markel, and ran his fingers fussily, comb fashion, through
+his whiskers. “Quite a little run out to my place, you know--and with,
+you know what, I don't care to be out too late.”
+
+“No, of course,” concurred Jimmie Dale, getting into his own coat.
+
+They walked out of the club together, and Markel climbed importantly
+into the tonneau of a big gray touring car.
+
+“Ah--home, Peters,” he sniffed at his chauffeur; and then, with a
+grandiloquent wave of his hand to Jimmie Dale: “'Night, Dale.”
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled with his eyes--which were hidden by the brim of his
+hat.
+
+“Good-night, Markel,” he replied, and the smile crept curiously to
+the corners of his mouth as he watched the gray car disappear down the
+street.
+
+A limousine drew up, and Benson, Jimmie Dale's chauffeur, opened the
+door.
+
+“Home, Mr. Dale?” he asked cheerily, touching his cap. “Yes,
+Benson--home,” said Jimmie Dale absently, and stepped into the car.
+
+It was a luxurious car, as everything that belonged to Jimmie Dale was
+luxurious--and he leaned back luxuriously on the cushions, extended
+his legs luxuriously to their full length, plunged his hands into his
+overcoat pockets--and then a change stole strangely, slowly over Jimmie
+Dale.
+
+The sensitive fingers of his right hand in the pocket had touched, and
+now played delicately over a sealed envelope that they had found there,
+played over it as though indeed by the sense of touch alone they could
+read the contents--and he drew his body gradually erect.
+
+It was another of those mysterious missives from--HER. The texture of
+the paper was invariably the same--like this one. How had it come there?
+Collusion with the coat boy at the club? That was hardly probable.
+Perhaps it had been there before he had entered the club for dinner--he
+remembered, now, that there had been several people passing, and that he
+had been jostled slightly in crossing the sidewalk. What, however, did
+it matter? It was there mysteriously, as scores of others had come to
+him mysteriously, with never a clew to her identity, to the identity of
+his--he smiled a little grimly--accomplice in crime.
+
+He took the envelope from his pocket and stared at it. His fingers had
+not been at fault--it was one of hers. The faint, elusive, exquisite
+fragrance of some rare perfume came to him as he held it.
+
+“I'd give,” said Jimmie Dale wistfully to himself--“I'd give everything
+I own to know who you are--and some day, please God, I will know.”
+
+Jimmie Dale tore the envelope very gently, as though the tearing almost
+were an act of desecration--and extracted the letter from within. He
+began to read aloud hurriedly and in snatches:
+
+
+“DEAR PHILANTHROPIC CROOK: Charleton Park Manor--Markel's house is the
+second one from the gates on the right-hand side--library leads off
+reception hall on left, door opposite staircase--telephone in reception
+hall near vestibule entrance, left-hand side--safe is one of your
+father's make, No. 14,321--clothes closet behind the desk--probably will
+be kept in cash box--five servants; two men, three maids--quarters on
+top story--Markel and wife occupy room over library--French windows to
+dining room on opposite side of the house--opening on the lawn--get
+it TO-NIGHT, Jimmie--TO-MORROW WOULD BE TOO LATE--dispose of it--see
+fit--Henry Wilbur, Marshall Building, Broadway--fifth story--”
+
+
+Through the glass-panelled front of the car, Jimmie Dale could see his
+chauffeur's back, and the hand that held the letter dropped now to his
+side, and Jimmie Dale stared--at his chauffeur's back. Then, presently,
+he read the letter again, as though committing it to memory now; and
+then, tearing the paper into tiny shreds, as he did with every one of
+her communications, he reached out of the window and allowed the little
+pieces to filter gradually from his hand.
+
+The Gray Seal! He smiled in his whimsical way. If it were ever known!
+He, Jimmie Dale, with his social standing, his wealth, his position--the
+Gray Seal! Not a police official, not a secret-service bureau probably
+in the civilised world, but knew the name--not a man, woman, or child
+certainly in this great city around him but to whom it was as
+familiar as their own! Danger? Yes. A battle of wits? Yes. His against
+everybody's--even against Carruthers', his old college chum! For, even
+as a reporter, before he had risen to the editorial desk, and even now
+that he had, Carruthers had been one of the keenest on the scent of the
+Gray Seal.
+
+Danger? Yes. But it was worth it! Worth it a thousand times for the very
+lure of the danger itself; but worth it most of all for his association
+with her who, by some amazing means, verging indeed on the miraculous,
+came into touch with all these things, and supplied him with the data on
+which to work--that always some wrong might be righted, or gladness
+come where there had been gloom before, or hope where there had been
+despair--that into some fellow human's heart should come a gleam
+of sunshine. Yes, in spite of the howls of the police, the virulent
+diatribes of the press, an angry public screaming for his arrest,
+conviction, and punishment, there were those perhaps who even on their
+bended knees at night asked God's blessing on--the Gray Seal!
+
+Was it strange, then, after all, that the police, seeking a clew through
+motive, should have been driven to frenzy on every occasion in finding
+themselves forever confronted with what, from every angle they were able
+to view it, was quite a purposeless crime! On one point only they
+were right, the old dogma, the old, old cry, old as the institution of
+police, older than that, old since time immemorial--CHERCHEZ LA FEMME!
+Quite right--but also quite purposeless! Jimmie Dale's eyes grew
+wistful. He had been “hunting for the woman in the case” himself,
+now, for months and years indefatigably, using every resource at his
+command--quite purposelessly.
+
+Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders. Why go over all this to-night--there
+were other things to do. She had come to him again--and this time with
+a matter that entailed more than ordinary difficulty, more than usual
+danger, that would tax his wits and his skill to the utmost, not only
+to succeed, but to get out of it himself with a whole skin. Markel--eh?
+Jimmie Dale leaned back in his seat, clasped his hands behind his
+head--and his eyes, half closed now, were studying Benson's back again
+through the plate-glass front.
+
+He was still sitting in that position as the car approached his
+residence on Riverside Drive--but, as it came to a stop, and Benson
+opened the door, it was a very alert Jimmie Dale that stepped to the
+sidewalk.
+
+“Benson,” he said crisply, “I am going downtown again later on, but I
+shall drive myself. Bring the touring car around and leave it in front
+of the house. I'll run it into the garage when I get back--you need not
+wait up.”
+
+“Very good, sir,” said Benson.
+
+In the hallway, Jason, the butler, who had been butler to Jimmie Dale's
+father before him, took Jimmie Dale's hat and coat.
+
+“It's a fine evening, Master Jim,” said the privileged old man
+affectionately.
+
+Jimmie Dale took out his silver cigarette case, selected a cigarette,
+tapped it daintily on the cover of the case--and accepted the match the
+old man hastily produced.
+
+“Yes, Jason.” said Jimmie Dale, pleasantly facetious, “it a fine night,
+a glorious night, moon and stars and a balmy breeze--quite too fine,
+indeed, to remain indoors. In fact, you might lay out my gray ulster; I
+think I will go for a spin presently, when I have changed.”
+
+“Yes, sir,” said Jason. “Anything else, Master Jim?”
+
+“No; that's all, Jason. Don't sit up for me--you may go to bed now.”
+
+“Thank you, sir,” said the old man.
+
+Jimmie Dale went upstairs, opened the door of his own particular den on
+the right of the landing, stepped inside, closed the door, switched on
+the light--and Jimmie Dale's debonair nonchalance dropped from him as a
+mask instantly--and it was another Jimmie Dale--the professional Jimmie
+Dale.
+
+Quick now in every action, he swung aside the portiere that curtained
+off the squat, barrel-shaped safe in the little alcove, opened the safe,
+took out that curious leather girdle with its kit of burglar's tools,
+added to it a flashlight and an automatic revolver, closed the safe--and
+passed into his dressing room. Here, he proceeded to divest himself
+rapidly of his evening clothes, selecting in their stead a suit of dark
+tweed. He heard Jason come up the stairs, pass along the hall, and mount
+the second flight to his own quarters; and presently came the sound of
+an automobile without. The dressing room fronted on the Drive--Jimmie
+Dale looked out. Benson was just getting out of the touring car.
+Slipping the leather girdle, then, around his waist, Jimmie Dale put on
+his vest, then his coat--and walked briskly downstairs.
+
+Jason had laid out a gray ulster on the hall stand. Jimmie Dale put it
+on, selected a leather cap with motor-goggle attachment that pulled down
+almost to the tip of his nose, tucked a slouch hat into the pocket of
+the ulster, and, leaving the house, climbed into his car.
+
+He glanced at his watch as he started--it was a quarter of eleven.
+Jimmie Dale's lips pursed a little.
+
+“I guess it'll make a night of it, and a tight squeeze, at that, to get
+back under cover before daylight,” he muttered. “I'll have to do some
+tall speeding.”
+
+But at first, across the city and through Brooklyn, for all his
+impatience, it was necessarily slow--after that, Jimmie Dale took
+chances, and, once on the country roads of Long Island, the big,
+powerful car tore through the night like a greyhound whose leash is
+slipped.
+
+A half hour passed--Jimmie Dale's eyes shifting occasionally from the
+gray thread of road ahead of him under the glare of the dancing lamps,
+to the road map spread out at his feet, upon which, from time to time,
+he focused his pocket flashlight. And then, finally, he slowed the car
+to a snail's pace--he should be very near his destination--that very
+ultra-exclusive subdivision of Charleton Park Manor.
+
+On either side of the road now was quite a thickly set stretch of wooded
+land, rising slightly on the right--and this Jimmie Dale scrutinised
+sharply. In fact, he stopped for an instant as he came opposite to a
+wagon track--it seemed to be little more than that--that led in through
+the trees.
+
+“If it's not too far from the seat of war,” commented Jimmie Dale to
+himself, as he went on again, “it will do admirably.”
+
+And then, a hundred yards farther on, Jimmie Dale nodded his head in
+satisfaction--he was passing the rather ornate stone pillars that marked
+the entrance to Charleton Park Manor, and on which the initial promoters
+of the subdivision, the real-estate people, had evidently deemed it good
+advertising policy to expend a small fortune.
+
+Another hundred yards farther on, Jimmie Dale turned his car around
+and returned past the gates to the wagon track again. The road was
+deserted--not a car nor a vehicle of any description was in sight.
+Jimmie Dale made sure of that--and in another instant Jimmie Dale's own
+car, every light extinguished, had vanished--he had backed it up the
+wagon track, just far enough in for the trees to screen it thoroughly
+from the main road.
+
+Nor did Jimmie Dale himself appear again on the main road--until just as
+he emerged close to the gates of Charleton Park Manor from a short cut
+through the woods. Also, he was without his ulster now, and the slouch
+hat had replaced the motor cap.
+
+Jimmie Dale, in the moonlight, took stock of his surroundings, as he
+passed in at a businesslike walk through the gates. It was a large park,
+if that name could properly be applied to it at all, and the houses--he
+caught sight of one set back from the driveway on the right--were quite
+far apart, each in its own rather spacious grounds among the trees.
+
+“The second house on the right,” her letter had said. Jimmie Dale had
+already passed the first one--the next would be Markel's then--and it
+loomed ahead of him now, black and shadowy and unlighted.
+
+Jimmie Dale shot a glance around him--there was stillness, quiet
+everywhere--no sign of life--no sound.
+
+Jimmie Dale's face became tense, his lips tight--and he stepped suddenly
+from the sidewalk in among the trees. They were not thick here, of
+course, the trees, and the turf beneath his feet was well kept--and,
+therefore, soundless. He moved quickly now, but cautiously, from tree to
+tree, for the moonlight, flooding the lawn and house, threw all objects
+into bold relief.
+
+A minute, two, three went by--and a shadow flitted here and there across
+the light-green sward, like the moving of the trees swaying in the
+breeze--and then Jimmie Dale was standing close up against one side of
+the house, hidden by the protecting black shadows of the walls.
+
+But here, for a moment, Jimmie Dale seemed little occupied with the
+house itself--he was staring down past its length to where the woods
+made a heavy, dark background at the rear. Then he turned his head,
+to face directly to the main road, then back again slowly, as though
+measuring an angle. Jimmie Dale had no intention of making his escape by
+the roundabout way in which he had been forced to come in order to make
+certain of locating the right house, the second one from the gates--and
+he was getting the bearings of his car and the wagon track now.
+
+“I guess that'll be about right,” Jimmie Dale muttered finally. “And now
+for--”
+
+He slipped along the side of the house and halted where, almost on a
+level with the ground, the French windows of the dining room opened on
+the lawn. Jimmie Dale tried them gently. They were locked.
+
+An indulgent smile crept to Jimmie Dale's lips--and his hand crept in
+under his vest. It came out again--not empty--and Jimmie Dale leaned
+close against the window. There was a faint, almost inaudible,
+scratching sound, then a slight, brittle crack--and Jimmie Dale laid a
+neat little four-inch square of glass on the ground at his feet. Through
+the aperture he reached in his hand, turned the key that was in the
+lock, turned the bolt-rod handle, pushed the doors silently open--wide
+open--left them open--and stepped into the room.
+
+He could see quite well within, thanks to the moonlight. Jimmie Dale
+produced a black silk mask from one of the little leather pockets,
+adjusted it carefully over his face, and crossed the room to the hall
+door. He opened this--wide open--left it open--and entered the hall.
+
+Here it was dark--a pitch blackness. He stood for a moment,
+listening--utter silence. And then--alert, strained, tense in an
+instant, Jimmie Dale crouched against the wall--and then he smiled a
+little grimly. It was only some one coughing upstairs--Markel--in his
+sleep, perhaps, or, perhaps--in wakefulness.
+
+“I'm a fool!” confided Jimmie Dale to himself, as he recognised the
+cough that he had heard at the club. “And yet--I don't know. One's
+nerves get sort of taut. Pretty stiff business. If I'm ever caught, the
+penitentiary sentence I get will be the smallest part of what's to pay.”
+
+A round button of light played along the wall from the flashlight in
+his hand--just for an instant--and all was blackness again. But in that
+instant Jimmie Dale was across the hall, and his fingers were tracing
+the telephone connection from the instrument to where the wires
+disappeared in the baseboard of the floor. Another instant, and he had
+severed the wires with a pair of nippers.
+
+Again the quick, firefly gleam of light to locate the stair case and the
+library door opposite to it--and, moving without the slightest noise,
+Jimmie Dale's hand was on the door itself. Again he paused to listen.
+All was silence now.
+
+The door swung under his hand, and, left open behind him, he was in
+the room. The flashlight winked once--suspiciously. Then he snapped its
+little switch, keeping the current on, and the ray dodged impudently
+here and there all over the apartment.
+
+The safe was set in a sort of clothes closet behind the desk, she had
+said. Yes, there it was--the door, at least. Jimmie Dale moved toward
+it--and paused as his light swept the top of the intervening desk. A
+mass of papers, books, and correspondence littered it untidily. The
+yellow sheet of a telegram caught Jimmie Dale's eye.
+
+He picked it up and glanced at it. It read:
+
+
+“Vein uncovered to-day. Undoubtedly mother lode. Enormously rich. Put
+the screws on at once. THURL.”
+
+
+Under the mask, Jimmie Dale's lips twitched.
+
+“I think, Markel, you miserable hound,” said he softly, “that God will
+forgive me for depriving you of a share of the profits. Two hundred and
+ten thousand, I think it was, you said the sparklers cost.” A curious
+little sound came from Jimmie Dale's lips--like a chuckle.
+
+Jimmie Dale tossed the telegram back on the desk, moved on behind the
+desk, opened the door of the closet that had been metamorphosed into
+a vault--and the white light travelled slowly, searchingly, critically
+over the shining black-enamelled steel, the nickelled knobs, and dials
+of a safe that confronted him.
+
+Jimmie Dale nodded at it--familiarly, grimly.
+
+“It's number one-four-three-two-one, all right,” he murmured. “And one
+of the best we ever made. Pretty tough. But I've done it before. Say,
+half an hour of gentle persuasion. It would be too bad to crack it with
+'soup'--besides, that's crude--Carruthers would never forgive the Gray
+Seal for that!”
+
+The light went out--blackness fell. Jimmie Dale's slim, sensitive
+fingers closed on the dial's knob, his head touched the steel front of
+the safe as he pressed his ear against it for the tumblers' fall.
+
+And then silence. It seemed to grow heavier, that silence, with
+each second--to palpitate through the quiet house--to grow pregnant,
+premonitory of dread, of fear--it seemed to throb in long undulations,
+and the stillness grew LOUD. A moonbeam filtered in between the edge
+of the drawn shade and the edge of the window. It struggled across the
+floor in a wavering path, strayed over the desk, and died away, shadowy
+and formless, against the blackness of the opened recess door, against
+the blackness of the great steel safe, the blackness of a huddled
+form crouched against it. Only now and then, in a strange, projected,
+wraithlike effect, the moon ray glinted timidly on the tip of a nickel
+dial, and, ghostlike, disclosed a human hand.
+
+Upstairs, Markel coughed again. Then from the safe a whisper,
+heavy-breathed as from great exertion:
+
+“MISSED IT!”
+
+The dial whirled with faint, musical, little metallic clicks; then
+began to move slowly again, very, very slowly. The moonbeam, as though
+petulant at its own abortive attempt to satisfy its curiosity, retreated
+back across the floor, and faded away.
+
+Blackness!
+
+Time passed. Then from the safe again, but now in a low gasp, a pant of
+relief:
+
+“Ah!”
+
+The ear might barely catch the sound--it was as of metal sliding in
+well-oiled grooves, of metal meeting metal in a padded thud. The massive
+door swung outward. Jimmie Dale stood up, easing his cramped muscles,
+and flirted the sweat beads from his forehead.
+
+After a moment, he knelt again. There was still the inner door--but that
+was a minor matter to Jimmie Dale compared with what had gone before.
+
+Stillness once more--a long period of it. And then again that cough from
+above--a prolonged paroxysm of it this time that went racketing through
+the house.
+
+Jimmie Dale, in the act of swinging back the inner door of the safe,
+paused to listen, and little furrows under his mask gathered on his
+forehead. The coughing stopped. Jimmie Dale waited a moment, still
+listening--then his flashlight bored into the interior of the safe.
+
+“The cash box, probably,” quoted Jimmie Dale, beneath his breath--and
+picked it up from where it lay in the bottom compartment of the safe.
+
+The lock snipped under the insistent probe of a delicate little
+blued-steel instrument, and Jimmie Dale lifted the cover. There was
+a package of papers and documents on top, held together with elastic
+bands. Jimmie Dale spent a moment or two examining these, then
+his fingers dived down underneath, and the next minute, under the
+flashlight, the morocco leather case open, the diamond necklace was
+sparkling and flashing on its white satin bed.
+
+“A tempting little thing, isn't it?” said Jimmie Dale gently. “It was
+really thoughtful of you, Markel, to buy that this afternoon!”
+
+Jimmie Dale replaced the necklace in the cash box, set the cash box on
+the floor, closed the inner door of the safe, and swung the outer door
+a little inward--but left it flauntingly ajar. Then from a pocket of the
+leather girdle beneath his vest he produced his small, thin, flat, metal
+case. From this, from between sheets of oil paper, with the aid of a
+pair of tweezers, he lifted out a gray, diamond-shaped seal. Jimmie
+Dale was apparently fastidious. He held the seal with the tweezers as
+he moistened the adhesive side with his tongue, laid the seal on his
+handkerchief, and pressed the handkerchief firmly against the safe--as
+usual, Jimmie Dale's insignia bore no finger prints as it lay neatly
+capping the knob of the dial.
+
+He reached down, picked up the cash box--and then, for the second time
+that night, held suddenly tense, alert, listening, his every muscle
+taut. A door opened upstairs. There came a murmur of voices. Then a
+momentary lull.
+
+Jimmie Dale listened. Like a statue he stood there in the black,
+absolutely motionless--his head a little forward and to one side.
+Nothing--not a sound. Then a very low, curious, swishing noise, and a
+faint creak. SOMEBODY WAS COMING DOWN THE STAIRS!
+
+Jimmie Dale moved stealthily from the recess, and noiselessly to the
+desk. Very faintly, but distinctly now, came a pad of either slippered
+or bare feet on the stairway carpet. Like a cat, soundless in his
+movements, Jimmie Dale crept toward the door of the room. Down the
+stairs came that pad of feet; occasionally came that swishing sound.
+Nearer the door crept Jimmie Dale, and his lips were thinned now, his
+jaws clamped. How near were they together, he and this night prowler? At
+times he could not hear the other at all, and, besides, the heavy carpet
+made the judgment of distance an impossibility. If he could gain the
+hall, and, in the darkness, elude the other, the way of escape through
+the dining room was open. And then, within a few feet of the door,
+Jimmie Dale halted abruptly, as a woman's voice rose querulously from
+the hallway above:
+
+“You are making a perfect fool of yourself, Theodore Markel! Come back
+here to bed!”
+
+Jimmie Dale's face hardened like stone--the answer came almost from the
+very threshold in front of him:
+
+“I can't sleep, I tell you”--it was Markel's voice, in a disgruntled
+snarl. “I was a fool to bring the confounded thing home. I'm going to
+take the library couch for the rest of the night.”
+
+It happened quick, then--quick as the winking of an eye. Two sharp,
+almost simultaneous, clicks of the electric-light buttons pressed by
+Markel, and the hall and library were a flood of light--and Jimmie Dale
+leaped forward to where, in dressing gown and pajamas, blankets and
+bedding over one arm, a revolver dangling in the other hand, Markel
+stood full before the door in the hallway without.
+
+There was a wild yell of terror and surprise from Markel, then a
+deafening roar and a spit of flame from his revolver--a bitter,
+smothered exclamation from Jimmie Dale as the cash box crashed to the
+floor from his left hand, and he was upon the other like a tiger.
+
+With the impact, both men went to the floor, grappled, and rolled over
+and over. Half mad with fear, shock, and surprise, Markel fought like a
+maniac, and his voice, in gasping shouts, rang through the house.
+
+A minute, two passed--and the men rolled about the hall floor. Markel,
+over middle age and unheathily fat, against Jimmie Dale's six feet of
+muscle--only Jimmie Dale's left hand, dripping a red stream now, was
+almost useless.
+
+From above came wild confusion--women's voices in little shrieks; men's
+voices shouting in excitement; doors opening, running feet. And then
+Jimmie Dale had snatched the revolver from the floor where Markel
+had dropped it in the scuffle, and was pressing it against Markel's
+forehead--and Markel, terror-stricken, had collapsed in a flabby, pliant
+heap.
+
+Jimmie Dale, still covering Markel with the weapon, stood up. The
+frightened faces of women protruded over the banisters above. The two
+men-servants, at best none too enthusiastically on the way down, stopped
+as though stunned as Jimmie Dale swung the revolver upon them.
+
+Then Jimmie Dale spoke--to Markel--pointing the weapon at Markel again.
+
+“I don't like you, Markel,” he said, with cold impudence. “The only
+decent thing you'll ever do will be to die--and if those men of yours
+on the stairs move another step it will be your death warrant. Do you
+understand? I would suggest that you request them to stay where they
+are.”
+
+Cold sweat was on Markel's face as he stared into the muzzle of the
+revolver, and his teeth chattered.
+
+“Go back!” he screamed hysterically at the servants. “Go back! Sit down!
+Don't move! Do what he tells you!”
+
+“Thank you!” said Jimmie Dale grimly. “Now, get up yourself!”
+
+Markel got up.
+
+Jimmie Dale backed to the library door, picked up the cash box, tucked
+it under his left armpit, and faced those on the stairs.
+
+“Mr. Markel and I are going out for a little walk,” he announced coolly.
+“If one of you make a move or raise an alarm before your master comes
+back, I shall be obliged, in self-defence, to shoot--Mr. Markel. Mr.
+Markel quite understands that--I am sure. Do you not, Mr. Markel?”
+
+“Helen,” screamed Markel to his wife, “don't let 'em move! For God's
+sake, do as he says!”
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips, just showing beneath the edge of his mask, broadened
+in a pleasant little smile.
+
+“Will you lead the way, Mr. Markel?” he requested, with ironic
+deference. “Through the dining room, please. Yes, that's right!”
+
+Markel walked weakly into the dining room, and Jimmie Dale followed. A
+prod in the back from the revolver muzzle, and Markel stepped through
+the French windows and out on the lawn. Jimmie Dale faced the other
+toward the woods at the rear of the house.
+
+“Go on!” Jimmie Dale's voice was curt now, uncompromising. “And step
+lively!”
+
+They passed on along the side of the house and in among the trees. Fifty
+yards or so more, and Jimmie Dale halted. He backed Markel up against a
+large tree--not over gently.
+
+“I--I say”--Markel's teeth were going like castanets. “I--”
+
+“You'll oblige me by keeping your mouth shut,” observed Jimmie Dale
+politely--and he whipped the cord of Markel's dressing gown loose
+and began to tie the man to the tree. “You have many unpleasant
+characteristics, Markel--your voice is one of them. Shall I repeat that
+I do not like you?” He stepped to the back of the tree. “Pardon me if I
+draw this uncomfortably tight. I don't think you can reach around to the
+knot. No? The trunk is too large? Quite so!” He stepped around to face
+Markel again--the man was thoroughly frightened, his face was livid, his
+jaw sagged weakly, and his eyes followed every movement of the revolver
+in Jimmie Dale's hand in a sort of miserable fascination. Jimmie Dale
+smiled unhappily. “I am going to do something, Markel, that I should
+advise no other man to do--I am going to put you on your honour! For the
+next fifteen minutes you are not to utter a sound. Do you understand?”
+
+“Y-yes,” said Markel hoarsely.
+
+“No,” said Jimmie Dale sadly, “I don' think you do. Let me be painfully
+explicit. If you break your vow of silence by so much as a second, then
+to-morrow, or the next day, or the day after, at my convenience, Markel,
+you and I will meet again--for the LAST time. There can be no possible
+misapprehension on your part now--Markel?”
+
+“N-no,”--Markel could scarcely chatter out the word.
+
+“Quite so,” said Jimmie Dale, in velvet tones. He stood for an
+instant looking at the other with cool insolence; then: “Good-night,
+Markel”--and five minutes later a great touring car was tearing New
+Yorkward over the Long Island roads at express speed.
+
+It was one o'clock in the morning as Jimmie Dale swung the car into a
+cross street off lower Broadway, and drew up at the curb beside a large
+office building. He got out, snuggled the cash box under his ulster,
+went around to the Broadway entrance, glanced up to note that a light
+burned in a fifth-story window, and entered the building.
+
+The hallway was practically in darkness, one or two incandescents only
+threw a dim light about. Jimmie Dale stopped for a moment at the foot
+of the stairs, beside the elevator well, to listen--if the watchman was
+making rounds, it was in another part of the building Jimmie Dale began
+to climb.
+
+He reached the fifth floor, turned down the corridor, and halted in
+front of a door, through the ground-glass panel of which a light glowed
+faintly--as though coming from an inner office beyond. Jimmie Dale drew
+the black silk mask from his pocket, adjusted it, tried the door, found
+it unlocked, opened it noiselessly, and stepped inside. Across the
+room, through another door, half open, the light streamed into the outer
+office, where Jimmie Dale stood.
+
+Jimmie Dale stole across the room, crouched by the door to look into the
+inner office--and his face went suddenly rigid.
+
+“Good God!” he whispered. “As bad as that!”--but it was a nonchalant
+Jimmie Dale to all outward appearances that, on the instant, stepped
+unconcernedly over the threshold.
+
+An elderly man, white-haired, kindly-faced, kindly-eyed, save now that
+the face was drawn and haggard, the eyes full of weariness, was standing
+behind a flat-topped desk, his fingers twitching nervously on a revolver
+in his hand. He whirled, with a startled cry, at Jimmie Dale's entrance,
+and the revolver clattered from his fingers to the floor.
+
+“I am afraid,” said Jimmie Dale, smiling pleasantly, “that you were
+going to shoot yourself. Your name is Wilbur, Henry Wilbur, isn't it?”
+
+Unmanned, trembling, the other stood--and nodded mechanically.
+
+“It's really not a nice thing to do,” said Jimmie Dale confidentially.
+“Makes a mess, you see, too”--he was pulling off his motor gauntlet,
+his ulster, his jacket, and, having set the cash box on the desk, was
+rolling back his sleeve as he spoke. “Had a little experience myself
+this evening.” He held out his hand that, with the forearm, was covered
+with blood. “A little above the wrist--fortunately only a flesh wound--a
+little memento from a chap named Markel, and--”
+
+“MARKEL!” The word burst, quivering, from the other's lips.
+
+“Yes,” said Jimmie Dale imperturbably. “Do you mind if I wash a bit--and
+could you oblige me with a towel, or something that would do for a
+bandage?”
+
+The man seemed dazed. In a subconscious way, he walked from the desk to
+a little cupboard, and took out two towels.
+
+Jimmie Dale stooped, while the other's back was turned, picked up the
+revolver from the floor, and slipped it into his trousers pocket.
+
+“Markel?” said Wilbur again, the same trembling anxiety in his voice, as
+he handed Jimmie Dale the towels and motioned toward a washstand in the
+corner of the room. “Did you say Markel--Theodore Markel?”
+
+“Yes,” said Jimmie Dale, examining his wound critically.
+
+“You had trouble--a fight with him? Is he--he--dead?”
+
+“No,” said Jimmie Dale, smiling a little grimly. “He's pretty badly
+hurt, though, I imagine--but not in a physical way.”
+
+“Strange!” whispered Wilbur, in a numbed tone to himself; and he went
+back and sank down in his desk chair. “Strange that you should speak of
+Markel--strange that you should have come here to-night!”
+
+Jimmie Dale did not answer. He glanced now and then at the other, as he
+deftly dressed his wrist--the man seemed on the verge of collapse, on
+the verge of a nervous breakdown. Jimmie Dale swore softly to himself.
+Wilbur was too old a man to be called upon to stand against the trouble
+and anxiety that was mirrored in the misery in his face, that had
+brought him to the point of taking his own life.
+
+Jimmie Dale put on his coat again, walked over to the desk, and picked
+up the 'phone.
+
+“If I may?” he inquired courteously--and confided a number to the
+mouthpiece of the instrument.
+
+There was a moment's wait, during which Wilbur, in a desperate sort of
+way, seemed to be trying to rally himself, to piece together a puzzle,
+as it were; and for the first time he appeared to take a personal
+interest in the masked figure that leaned against his desk. He kept
+passing his hands across his eyes, staring at Jimmie Dale.
+
+Then Jimmie Dale spoke--into the 'phone.
+
+“MORNING NEWS-ARGUS office? Mr. Carruthers, please. Thank you.”
+
+Another wait--then Jimmie Dale's voice changed its pitch and register to
+a pleasant and natural, though quite unrecognisable bass.
+
+“Mr. Carruthers? Yes. I thought it might interest you to know that
+Mr. Theodore Markel purchased a very valuable diamond necklace this
+afternoon. . . . Oh, you knew that, did you? Well, so much the better;
+you'll be all the more keenly interested to know that it is no longer in
+his possession. . . . I beg pardon? Oh, yes, I quite forgot--this is the
+Gray Seal speaking. . . . Yes. . . . The Gray Seal. . . . I have just
+come from Mr. Markel's country house, and if you hurry a man out there
+you ought to be able to give the public an exclusive bit of news,
+a scoop, I believe you call it--you see, Mr. Carruthers, I am not
+ungrateful for, I might say, the eulogistic manner in which the MORNING
+NEWS-ARGUS treated me in that last affair, and I trust I shall be able
+to do you many more favours--I am deeply in your debt. And, oh, yes,
+tell your reporter not to overlook the detail of Mr. Markel in his
+pajamas and dressing gown tied to a tree in his park--Mr. Markel might
+be inclined to be reticent on that point, and it would be a pity to
+deprive the public of any--er--'atmosphere' in the story, you know. . . .
+What? . . . No; I am afraid Mr. Markel's 'phone is--er--out of order.
+. . . Yes. . . . And, by the way, speaking of 'phones, Mr. Carruthers,
+between gentlemen, I know you will make no effort under the
+circumstances to discover the number I am calling from. Good-night, Mr.
+Carruthers.” Jimmie Dale hung the receiver abruptly on the hook.
+
+“You see,” said Jimmie Dale, turning to Wilbur--and then he stopped. The
+man was on his feet, swaying there, his face positively gray.
+
+“My God!” Wilbur burst out. “What have you done? A thousand times better
+if I had shot myself, as I would have done in another moment if you had
+not come in. I was only ruined then--I am disgraced now. You have robbed
+Markel's safe--I am the one man in the world who would have a reason
+above all others for doing that--and Markel knows it. He will accuse
+me of it. He can prove I had a motive. I have not been home to-night.
+Nobody knows I am here. I cannot prove an alibi. What have you done!”
+
+“Really,” said Jimmie Dale, almost plaintively, swinging himself up on
+the corner of the desk and taking the cash box on his knee, “really, you
+are alarming yourself unnecessarily. I--”
+
+But Wilbur stopped him. “You don't know what you are talking about!”
+ Wilbur cried out, in a choked way; then, his voice steadying, he rushed
+on: “Listen! I am a ruined man, absolutely ruined. And Markel has ruined
+me--I did not see through his trick until too late. Listen! For years,
+as a mining engineer, I made a good salary--and I saved it. Two years
+ago I had nearly seventy thousand dollars--it represented my life work.
+I bought an abandoned mine in Alaska for next to nothing--I was certain
+it was rich. A man by the name of Thurl, Jason T. Thurl, another mining
+engineer, a steamer acquaintance, was out there at the time--he was a
+partner of Markel's, though I didn't know it then. I started to work the
+mine. It didn't pan out. I dropped nearly every cent. Then I struck
+a small vein that temporarily recouped me, and supplied the necessary
+funds with which to go ahead for a while. Thurl, who had tried to buy
+the mine out from under my option in the first place, repeatedly then
+tried to buy it from me at a ridiculous figure. I refused. He persisted.
+I refused--I was confident, I KNEW I had one of the richest properties
+in Alaska.”
+
+Wilbur paused. A little row of glistening drops had gathered on his
+forehead. Jimmie Dale, balancing Markel's cash box on one knee, drummed
+softly with his finger tips on the cover.
+
+“The vein petered out,” Wilbur went on. “But I was still confident.
+I sank all the proceeds of the first strike--and sank them fast, for
+unaccountable accidents that crippled me both financially and in the
+progress of the work began to happen.” Wilbur flung out his hands
+impotently. “Oh, it's a long story--too long to tell. Thurl was at the
+bottom of those accidents. He knew as well as I did that the mine was
+rich--better than I did, for that matter, for we discovered before we
+ran him out of Alaska that he had made secret borings on the property.
+But what I did not know until a few hours ago was that he had actually
+uncovered what we uncovered only yesterday--the mother lode. He was
+driving me as fast as he could into the last ditch--for Markel. I
+didn't know until yesterday that Markel had any thing to do with it. I
+struggled on out there, hoping every day to open a new vein. I raised
+money on everything I had, except my insurance and the mine--and sank
+it in the mine. No one out there would advance me anything on a property
+that looked like a failure, that had once already been abandoned. I
+have always kept an office here, and I came back East with the idea of
+raising something on my insurance. Markel, quite by haphazard as I then
+thought, was introduced to me just before we left San Francisco on
+our way to New York. On the run across the continent we became very
+friendly. Naturally, I told him my story. He played sympathetic good
+fellow, and offered to lend me fifty thousand dollars on a demand note.
+I did not want to be involved for a cent more than was necessary, and,
+as I said, I hoped from day to day to make another strike. I refused
+to take more than ten thousand. I remember now that he seemed strangely
+disappointed.”
+
+Again Wilbur stopped. He swept the moisture from his forehead--and his
+fist, clenched, came down upon the desk.
+
+“You see the game!”--there was bitter anger in his voice now. “You see
+the game! He wanted to get me in deep enough so that I couldn't wriggle
+out, deeper than ten thousand that I could get at any time on my
+insurance, he wanted me where I couldn't get away--and he got me. The
+first ten thousand wasn't enough. I went to him for a second, a third, a
+fourth, a fifth--hoping always that each would be the last. Each time a
+new note, a demand note for the total amount, was made, cancelling the
+former one. I didn't know his game, didn't suspect it--I blessed God for
+giving me such a friend--until this, or, rather, yesterday afternoon,
+when I received a telegram from my manager at the mine saying that
+he had struck what looked like a very rich vein--the mother lode.
+And”--Wilbur's fist curled until the knuckles were like ivory in their
+whiteness--“he added in the telegram that Thurl had wired the news of
+the strike to a man in New York by the name of Markel. Do you see? I
+hadn't had the telegram five minutes, when a messenger brought me a
+letter from Markel curtly informing me that I would have to meet my note
+to-morrow morning. I can't meet it. He knew I couldn't. With wealth in
+sight--I'm wiped out. A DEMAND note, a call loan, do you understand--and
+with a few months in which to develop the new vein I could pay it
+readily. As it is--I default the note--Markel attaches all I have left,
+which is the mine. The mine is sold to satisfy my indebtedness. Markel
+buys it in legally, upheld by the law--and acquires, ROBS me of it,
+and--”
+
+“And so,” said Jimmie Dale musingly, “you were going to shoot yourself?”
+
+Wilbur straightened up, and there was something akin to pathetic
+grandeur in the set of the old shoulders as they squared back.
+
+“Yes!” he said, in a low voice. “And shall I tell you why? Even if,
+which is not likely, there was something reverting to me over the
+purchase price, it would be a paltry thing compared with the mine. I
+have a wife and children. If I have worked for them all my life, could I
+stand back now at the last and see them robbed of their inheritance by a
+black-hearted scoundrel when I could still lift a hand to prevent it!
+I had one way left. What is my life? I am too old a man to cling to it
+where they are concerned. I have referred to my insurance several times.
+I have always carried heavy insurance”--he smiled a little curious,
+mirthless smile--“THAT HAS NO SUICIDE CLAUSE.” He swept his hand over
+the desk, indicating the papers scattered there. “I have worked late
+to-night getting my affairs in order. My total insurance is fifty-two
+thousand dollars, though I couldn't BORROW anywhere near the full amount
+on it--but at my death, paid in full, it would satisfy the note. My
+executors, by instruction would pay the note--and no dollar from the
+mine, no single grain of gold, not an ounce of quartz, would Markel ever
+get his hands on, and my wife and children would be saved. That is--”
+
+His words ended abruptly--with a little gasp. Jimmie Dale had opened
+the cash box and was dangling the necklace under the light--a stream of
+fiery, flashing, sparkling gems.
+
+Then Wilbur spoke again, a hard, bitter note in his voice, pointing his
+hand at the necklace.
+
+“But now, on top of everything, you have brought me disgrace--because
+you broke into his safe to-night for THAT? He would and will accuse me.
+I have heard of you--the Gray Seal--you have done a pitiful night's work
+in your greed for that thing there.”
+
+“For this?” Jimmie Dale smiled ironically, holding the necklace up.
+Then he shook his head. “I didn't break into Markel's safe for this--it
+wouldn't have been worth while. It's only paste.”
+
+“PASTE!” exclaimed Wilbur, in a slow way.
+
+“Paste,” said Jimmie Dale placidly, dropping the necklace back into its
+case. “Quite in keeping with Markel, isn't it--to make a sensation on
+the cheap?”
+
+“But that doesn't change matters!” Wilbur cried out sharply, after a
+numbed instant's pause. “You still broke into the safe, even if you
+didn't know then that the necklace was paste.”
+
+“Ah, but, you see--I did know then,” said Jimmie Dale softly. “I am
+really--you must take my word for it--a very good judge of stones, and I
+had--er--seen these before.”
+
+Wilbur stared--bewildered, confused.
+
+“Then why--what was it that--”
+
+“A paper,” said Jimmie Dale, with a little chuckle--and produced it from
+the cash box. “It reads like this: 'On demand, I promise to pay--'”
+
+“My note!” It came in a great, surging cry from Wilbur; and he strained
+forward to read it.
+
+“Of course,” said Jimmie Dale. “Of course--your note. Did you think that
+I had just happened to drop in on you? Now, then, see here, you just
+buck up, and--er--smile. There isn't even a possibility of you being
+accused of the theft. In the first place, Markel saw quite enough of me
+to know that it wasn't you. Secondly, neither Markel nor any one else
+would ever dream that the break was made for anything else but the
+necklace, with which you have no connection--the papers were in the cash
+box and were just taken along with it. Don't you see? And, besides, the
+police, with my very good friend, Carruthers at their elbows, will see
+very thoroughly to it that the Gray Seal gets full and ample credit for
+the crime. But”--Jimmie Dale pulled out his watch, and yawned under his
+mask--“it's getting to be an unconscionable hour--and you've still a
+letter to write.”
+
+“A letter?” Wilbur's voice was broken, his lips quivering.
+
+“To Markel,” said Jimmie Dale pleasantly. “Write him in reply to his
+letter of the afternoon, and post it before you leave here--just as
+though you had written it at once, promptly, on receipt of his. He will
+still get it on the morning delivery. State that you will take up the
+note immediately on presentation at whatever bank he chooses to name.
+That's all. Seeing that he hasn't got it, he can't very well present
+it--can he? Eventually, having--er--no use for fake diamonds, I
+shall return the necklace, together with the papers in his cash box
+here--including your note.”
+
+“Eventually?” Uncomprehendingly, stumblingly, Wilbur repeated the word.
+
+“In a month or two or three, as the case may be,” explained Jimmie
+Dale brightly. “Whenever you insert a personal in the NEWS-ARGUS to
+the effect that the mother lode has given you the cash to meet it.” He
+replaced the note in the cash box, slipped down to his feet from the
+desk--and then he choked a little. Wilbur, the tears streaming down
+his face, unable to speak, was holding out his hands to Jimmie Dale.
+“I--er--good-night!” said Jimmie Dale hurriedly--and stepped quickly
+from the room.
+
+Halfway down the first flight of stairs he paused. Steps, running after
+him, sounded along the corridor above; and then Wilbur's voice.
+
+“Don't go--not yet,” cried the old man. “I don't understand. How did you
+know--who told you about the note?”
+
+Jimmie Dale did not answer--he went on noiselessly down the stairs. His
+mask was off now, and his lips curved into a strange little smile.
+
+“I wish I knew,” said Jimmie Dale wistfully to himself.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE COUNTERFEIT FIVE
+
+
+It was still early in the evening, but a little after nine o'clock.
+The Fifth Avenue bus wended its way, jouncing its patrons, particularly
+those on the top seats, across town, and turned into Riverside Drive. A
+short distance behind the bus, a limousine rolled down the cross street
+leisurely, silently.
+
+As the lights of passing craft on the Hudson and a myriad scintillating,
+luminous points dotting the west shore came into view, Jimmie Dale rose
+impulsively from his seat on the top of the bus, descended the little
+circular iron ladder at the rear, and dropped off into the street. It
+was only a few blocks farther to his residence on the Drive, and
+the night was well worth the walk; besides, restless, disturbed, and
+perplexed in mind, the walk appealed to him.
+
+He stepped across to the sidewalk and proceeded slowly along. A month
+had gone by and he had not heard a word from--HER. The break on West
+Broadway, the murder of Metzer in Moriarty's gambling hell, the theft
+of Markel's diamond necklace had followed each other in quick
+succession--and then this month of utter silence, with no sign of her,
+as though indeed she had never existed.
+
+But it was not this temporary silence on her part that troubled Jimmie
+Dale now. In the years that he had worked with this unknown, mysterious
+accomplice of his whom he had never seen, there had been longer
+intervals than a bare month in which he had heard nothing from her--it
+was not that. It was the failure, total, absolute, and complete,
+that was the only result for the month of ceaseless, unremitting,
+doggedly-expended effort, even as it had been the result many times
+before, in an attempt to solve the enigma that was so intimate and vital
+a factor in his own life.
+
+If he might lay any claims to cleverness, his resourcefulness, at
+least, he was forced to admit, was no match for hers. She came, she went
+without being seen--and behind her remained, instead of clews to her
+identity, only an amazing, intangible mystery, that left him at times
+appalled and dismayed. How did she know about those conditions in West
+Broadway, how did she know about Metzer's murder, how did she know about
+Markel and Wilbur--how did she know about a hundred other affairs of the
+same sort that had happened since that night, years ago now, when out of
+pure adventure he had tampered with Marx's, the jeweller's strong
+room in Maiden Lane, and she had, mysteriously then, too, solved HIS
+identity, discovered him to be the Gray Seal?
+
+Jimmie Dale, wrapped up in his own thoughts, entirely oblivious to his
+surroundings, traversed another block. There had never been since the
+world began, and there would never be again, so singular and bizarre a
+partnership as this--of hers and his. He, Jimmie Dale, with his strange
+double life, one of New York's young bachelor millionaires, one whose
+social status was unquestioned; and she, who--who WHAT? That was just
+it! Who what? What was she? What was her name? What one personal,
+intimate thing did he know about her? And what was to be the end?
+Not that he would have severed his association with her--not for
+worlds!--though every time, that, by some new and curious method, one of
+her letters found its way into his hands, outlining some fresh coup
+for him to execute, his peril and danger of discovery was increased in
+staggering ratio. To-day, the police hunted the Gray Seal as they hunted
+a mad dog; the papers stormed and raved against him: in every detective
+bureau of two continents he was catalogued as the most notorious
+criminal of the age--and yet, strange paradox, no single crime had ever
+been committed!
+
+Jimmie Dale's strong, fine-featured face lighted up. Crime! Thanks to
+her, there were those who blessed the name of the Gray Seal, those
+into whose lives had come joy, relief from misery, escape from death
+even--and their blessings were worth a thousandfold the risk and peril
+of disaster that threatened him at every minute of the day.
+
+“Thank God for her!” murmured Jimmie Dale softly. “But--but if I could
+only find her, see her, know who she is, talk to her, and hear her
+voice!” Then he smiled a little wanly. “It's been a pretty tough
+month--and nothing to show for it!”
+
+It had! It had been one of the hardest months through which Jimmie Dale
+had ever lived. The St. James, that most exclusive club, his favourite
+haunt, had seen nothing of him; the easel in his den, that was his
+hobby, had been untouched; there had been days even when he had not
+crossed the threshold of his home. Every resource at his command he
+had called into play in an effort to solve the mystery. For nearly the
+entire month, following first this lead and then that, he had lived in
+the one disguise that he felt confident she knew nothing of--that was,
+or, rather, had become, almost a dual personality with him. From the
+Sanctuary, that miserable and disreputable room in a tenement on the
+East Side, a tenement that had three separate means of entrance and
+exit, he had emerged day after day as Larry the Bat, a character as well
+known and as well liked in the exclusive circles of the underworld as
+was Jimmie Dale in the most exclusive strata of New York's society
+and fashion. And it had been useless--all useless. Through his own
+endeavours, through the help of his friends of the underworld, the
+lives of half a dozen men, Bert Hagan's on West Broadway, for instance,
+Markel's, and others', had been laid bare to the last shred, but nowhere
+could be found the one vital point that linked their lives with hers,
+that would account for her intimate knowledge of them, and so furnish
+him with the clew that would then with certainty lead him to a solution
+of her identity.
+
+It was baffling, puzzling, unbelievable, bordering, indeed, on the
+miraculous--herself, everything about her, her acts, her methods, her
+cleverness, intangible in one sense, were terrifically real in another.
+Jimmie Dale shook his head. The miraculous and this practical, everyday
+life were wide and far apart. There was nothing miraculous about it--it
+was only that the key to it was, so far, beyond his reach.
+
+And then suddenly Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders in consonance with
+a whimsical change in both mood and thought.
+
+“Larry the Bat, is a hard taskmaster!” he muttered facetiously. “I'm
+afraid I'm not very presentable this evening--no bath this morning,
+and no shave, and, after nearly a month of make-up, that beastly grease
+paint gets into the skin creases in a most intimate way.” He chuckled
+as the thought of old Jason, his butler, came to him. “I saw Jason,
+torn between two conflicting emotions, shaking his head over the black
+circles under my eyes last night--he didn't know whether to worry over
+the first signs of a galloping decline, or break his heart at witnessing
+the young master he had dandled on his knees going to the damnation
+bowwows and turning into a confirmed roue! I guess I'll have to mind
+myself, though. Even Carruthers detached his mind far enough from his
+editorial desk and the hope of exclusively publishing the news of the
+Gray Seal's capture in the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, to tell me I was looking
+seedy. It's wonderful the way a little paint will metamorphose a man!
+Well, anyway, here's for a good hot tub to-night, and a fresh start!”
+
+He quickened his pace. There were still three blocks to go, and here was
+no hurrying, jostling crowd to impede his progress; indeed, as far as he
+could see up the Drive, there was not a pedestrian in sight. And then,
+as he walked, involuntarily, insistently, his mind harked back into the
+old groove again.
+
+“I've tried to picture her,” said Jimmie Dale softly to himself. “I've
+tried to picture her a hundred, yes, a thousand times, and--”
+
+A bus, rumbling cityward, went by him, squeaking, creaking, and rattling
+in its uneasy joints--and out of the noise, almost at his elbow it
+seemed, a voice spoke his name--and in that instant intuitively he KNEW,
+and it thrilled him, stopped the beat of his heart, as, dulcet, soft,
+clear as the note of a silver bell it fell--and only one word:
+
+“Jimmie!”
+
+He whirled around. A limousine, wheels just grazing the curb, was
+gliding slowly and silently past him, and from the window a woman's
+arm, white-gloved and dainty, was extended, and from the fingers to the
+pavement fluttered an envelope--and the car leaped forward.
+
+For the fraction of a second, Jimmie Dale stood dazed, immovable, a
+gamut of emotions, surprise, fierce exultation, amazement, a strange
+joy, a mighty uplift, swirling upon him--and then, snatching up the
+envelope from the ground, he sprang out into the road after the car. It
+was the one chance he had ever had, the one chance she had ever given
+him, and he had seen--a white-gloved arm! He could not reach the car,
+it was speeding away from him like an arrow now, but there was something
+else that would do just as well, something that with all her cleverness
+she had overlooked--the car's number dangling on the rear axle, the
+rays of the little lamp playing on the enamelled surface of the plate!
+Gasping, panting, he held his own for a yard or more, and there floated
+back to him a little silvery laugh from the body of the limousine, and
+then Jimmie Dale laughed, too, and stopped--it was No. 15,836!
+
+He stood and watched the car disappear up the Drive. What delicious
+irony! A month of gruelling, ceaseless toil that had been vain, futile,
+useless--and the key, when he was not looking for it, unexpectedly,
+through no effort of his, was thrust into his hand--No. 15,836!
+
+Jimmie Dale, the gently ironic smile still on his lips, those slim,
+supersensitive fingers of his subconsciously noting that the texture of
+the envelope was the same as she always used, retraced his steps to the
+sidewalk.
+
+“Number fifteen thousand eight hundred and thirty-six,” said Jimmie Dale
+aloud--and halted at the curb as though rooted to the spot. It sounded
+strangely familiar, that number! He repeated it over again slowly:
+“One-five-eight-three-six.” And the smile left his lips, and upon his
+face came the look of a chastened child. She had used a duplicate plate!
+Fifteen thousand eight hundred and thirty-six was the number of one of
+his own cars--his own particular runabout!
+
+For a moment longer he stood there, undecided whether to laugh or swear,
+and then his eyes fastened mechanically on the envelope he was twirling
+in his fingers. Here, at least, was something that was not elusive;
+that, on the contrary, as a hundred others in the past had done,
+outlined probably a grim night's work ahead for the Gray Seal! And, if
+it were as those others had been, every minute from the moment of its
+receipt was precious time. He stepped under the nearest street light,
+and tore the envelope open.
+
+“Dear Philanthropic Crook,” it began--and then followed two closely
+written pages. Jimmie Dale read them, his lips growing gradually
+tighter, a smouldering light creeping into his dark eyes, and once he
+emitted a short, low whistle of consternation--that was at the end, as
+he read the post-script that was heavily underscored: “Work quickly.
+They will raid to-night. Be careful. Look out for Kline, he is the
+sharpest man in the United States secret service.”
+
+For a brief instant longer, Jimmie Dale stood under the street lamp,
+his mind in a lightning-quick way cataloguing every point in her letter,
+viewing every point from a myriad angles, constructing, devising,
+mapping out a plan to dove-tail into them--and then Jimmie Dale swung on
+a downtown bus. There was neither time nor occasion to go home now--that
+marvellous little kit of burglar's tools that peeped from their tiny
+pockets in that curious leather undervest, and that reposed now in
+the safe in his den, would be useless to him to-night; besides, in the
+breast pocket of his coat, neatly folded, was a black silk mask, and,
+relics of his role of Larry the Bat, an automatic revolver, an
+electric flashlight, a steel jimmy, and a bunch of skeleton keys, were
+distributed among the other pockets of his smart tweed suit.
+
+Jimmie Dale changed from the bus to the subway, leaving behind him,
+strewn over many blocks, the tiny and minute fragments into which he had
+torn her letter; at Astor Place he left the subway, walked to Broadway,
+turned uptown for a block to Eighth Street, then along Eighth Street
+almost to Sixth Avenue--and stopped.
+
+A rather shabby shop, a pitiful sort of a place, displaying in its
+window a heterogeneous conglomeration of cheap odds and ends, ink
+bottles, candy, pencils, cigarettes, pens, toys, writing pads, marbles,
+and a multitude of other small wares, confronted him. Within, a little,
+old, sweet-faced, gray-haired woman stood behind the counter, pottering
+over the rearrangement of some articles on the shelves.
+
+“My word!” said Jimmie Dale softly to himself. “You wouldn't believe it,
+would you! And I've always wondered how these little stores managed to
+make both ends meet. Think of that old soul making fifteen or twenty
+thousand dollars from a layout like this--even if it has taken her a
+lifetime!”
+
+Jimmie Dale had halted nonchalantly and unconcernedly by the curb,
+not too near the window, busied apparently in an effort to light a
+refractory cigarette; and then, about to enter the store, he gazed
+aimlessly across the street for a moment instead. A man came briskly
+around the corner from Sixth Avenue, opened the store door, and went in.
+
+Jimmie Dale drew back a little, and turned his head again as the door
+closed--and a sudden, quick, alert, and startled look spread over his
+face.
+
+The man who had entered bent over the counter and spoke to the old lady.
+She seemed to listen with a dawning terror creeping over her features,
+and then her hands went piteously to the thin hair behind her ears. The
+man motioned toward a door at the rear of the store. She hesitated,
+then came out from behind the counter, and swayed a little as though her
+limbs would not support her weight.
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips thinned.
+
+“I'm afraid,” he muttered slowly, “I'm afraid that I'm too late even
+now.” And then, as she came to the door and turned the key on the
+inside: “Pray Heaven she doesn't turn the light out--or somebody might
+think I was trying to break in!”
+
+But in that respect Jimmie Dale's fears were groundless. She did not
+turn out either of the gas jets that lighted the little shop; instead,
+in a faltering, reluctant sort of manner, she led the way directly
+through the door in the rear, and the man followed her.
+
+The shop was empty--and Jimmie Dale was standing against the door on the
+outside. His position was perfectly natural--a hundred passers-by would
+have noted nothing but a most commonplace occurrence--a man in the act
+of entering a store. And, if he appeared to fumble and have trouble with
+the latch, what of it! Jimmie Dale, however, was not fumbling--hidden by
+his back that was turned to the street, those wonderful fingers of his,
+in whose tips seemed embodied and concentrated every one of the human
+senses, were working quickly, surely, accurately, without so much as the
+wasted movement of a single muscle.
+
+A faint tinkle--and the key within fell from the lock to the floor. A
+faint click--and the bolt of the lock slipped back. Jimmie Dale restored
+the skeleton keys and a little steel instrument that accompanied them
+to his pocket--and quietly opened the door. He stepped inside, picked up
+the key from the floor, inserted it in the lock, closed the door behind
+him, and locked it again.
+
+“To guard against interruption,” observed Jimmie Dale, a little
+quizzically.
+
+He was, perhaps, thirty seconds behind the others. He crossed the shop
+noiselessly, cautiously, and passed through the door at the rear. It
+opened into a short passage that, after a few feet, gave on a sort of
+corridor at right angles--and down this latter, facing him, at the end,
+the door of a lighted room was open, and he could see the figure of the
+man who had entered the shop, back turned, standing on the threshold.
+Voices, indistinct, came to him.
+
+The corridor itself was dark; and Jimmie Dale, satisfied that he was
+fairly safe from observation, stole softly forward. He passed two
+doors on his left--and the curious arrangement of the building that had
+puzzled him for a moment became clear. The store made the front of an
+old tenement building, with apartments above, and the rear of the store
+was a sort of apartment, too--the old lady's living quarters.
+
+Step by step, testing each one against a possible creaking of the floor,
+Jimmie Dale moved forward, keeping close up against one wall. The man
+passed on into the room--and now Jimmie Dale could distinguish every
+word that was being spoken; and, crouched up, in the dark corridor, in
+the angle of the wall and the door jamb itself, could see plainly enough
+into the room beyond. Jimmie Dale's jaw crept out a little.
+
+A young man, gaunt, pale, wrapped in blankets, half sat, half reclined
+in an invalid's chair; the old lady, on her knees, the tears streaming
+down her face, had her arms around the sick man's neck; while the other
+man, apparently upset at the scene, tugged vigorously at long, gray
+mustaches.
+
+“Sammy! Sammy!” sobbed the woman piteously. “Say you didn't do it,
+Sammy--say you didn't do it!”
+
+“Look here, Mrs. Matthews,” said the man with the gray mustaches gently,
+“now don't you go to making things any harder. I've got to do my duty
+just the same, and take your son.”
+
+The young man, a hectic flush beginning to burn on his cheeks, gazed
+wildly from one to the other.
+
+“What--what is it?” he cried out.
+
+The man threw back his coat and displayed a badge on his vest.
+
+“I'm Kline of the secret service,” he said gravely. “I'm sorry, Sammy,
+but I want you for that little job in Washington at the bureau--before
+you left on sick leave!”
+
+Sammy Matthews struggled away from his mother's arms, pulled himself
+forward in his chair--and his tongue licked dry lips.
+
+“What--what job?” he whispered thickly.
+
+“You know, don't you?” the other answered steadily. He took a large,
+flat pocketbook from his pocket, opened it, and took out a five-dollar
+bill. He held this before the sick man's eyes, but just out of reach,
+one finger silently indicating the lower left-hand corner.
+
+Matthews stared at it for a moment, and the hectic flush faded to a
+grayish pallor, and a queer, impotent sound gurgled in his throat.
+
+“I see you recognise it,” said the other quietly. “It's open and shut,
+Sammy. That little imperfection in the plate's got you, my boy.”
+
+“Sammy! Sammy!” sobbed the woman again. “Sammy, say you didn't do it!”
+
+“It's a lie!” said Matthews hoarsely. “It's a lie! That plate was
+condemned in the bureau for that imperfection--condemned and destroyed.”
+
+“Condemned TO BE destroyed,” corrected the other, without raising his
+voice. “There's a little difference there, Sammy--about twenty years'
+difference--in the Federal pen. But it wasn't destroyed; this note was
+printed from it by one of the slickest gangs of counterfeiters in the
+United States--but I don't need to tell you that, I guess you know who
+they are. I've been after them a long time, and I've got them now, just
+as tight as I've got you. Instead of destroying that plate, you stole
+it, and disposed of it to the gang. How much did they give you?”
+
+Matthews' face seemed to hold a dumb horror, and his fingers picked at
+the arms of the chair. His mother had moved from beside him now, and
+both her hands were patting at the man's sleeve in a pitiful way, while
+again and again she tried to speak, but no words would come.
+
+“It's a lie!” said Matthews again, in a colourless, mechanical way.
+
+The man glanced at Mrs. Matthews as he put the five-dollar note back
+into his pocket, seemed to choke a little, shook his head, and all trace
+of the official sternness that had crept into his voice disappeared.
+
+“It's no good,” he said in a low tone. “Don't do that, Mrs. Matthews,
+I've got to do my duty.” He leaned a little toward the chair. “It's dead
+to rights, Sammy. You might as well make a clean breast of it. It was
+up to you and Al Gregor to see that the plate was destroyed. It WASN'T
+destroyed; instead, it shows up in the hands of a gang of counterfeiters
+that I've been watching for months. Furthermore, I've got the plate
+itself. And finally, though I haven't placed him under arrest yet for
+fear you might hear of it before I wanted you to and make a get-away,
+I've got Al Gregor where I can put my hands on him, and I've got his
+confession that you and he worked the game between you to get that plate
+out of the bureau and dispose of it to the gang.”
+
+“Oh, my God!”--it came in a wild cry from the sick man, and in a
+desperate, lurching way he struggled up to his feet. “Al Gregor said
+that? Then--then I'm done!” He clutched at his temples. “But it's not
+true--it's not true! If the plate was stolen, and it must have been
+stolen, or that note wouldn't have been found, it was Al Gregor who
+stole it--I didn't, I tell you! I knew nothing of it, except that he and
+I were responsible for it and--and I left it to him--that's the only way
+I'm to blame. He's caught, and he's trying to get out of it with a light
+sentence by pretending to turn State's evidence, but--but I'll fight
+him--he can't prove it--it's only his word against mine, and--”
+
+The other shook his head again.
+
+“It's no good, Sammy,” he said, a touch of sternness back in his tones
+again. “I told you it was open and shut. It's not only Al Gregor. One
+of the gang got weak knees when I got him where I wanted him the other
+night, and he swears that you are the one who DELIVERED the plate to
+them. Between him and Gregor and what I know myself, I've got evidence
+enough for any jury against every one of the rest of you.”
+
+Horror, fear, helplessness seemed to mingle in the sick man's staring
+eyes, and he swayed unsteadily upon his feet.
+
+“I'm innocent!” he screamed out. “But I'm caught, I'm caught in a net,
+and I can't get out--they lied to you--but no one will believe it any
+more than you do and--and it means twenty years for me--oh, God!--twenty
+years, and--” His hands went wriggling to his temples again, and he
+toppled back in a faint into the chair.
+
+“You've killed him! You've killed my boy!” the old lady shrieked out
+piteously, and flung herself toward the senseless figure.
+
+The man jumped for the table across the room, on which was a row of
+bottles, snatched one up, drew the cork, smelled it, and ran back with
+the bottle. He poured a little of the contents into his cupped hand,
+held it under young Matthews' nostrils, and pushed the bottle into Mrs.
+Matthews' hands.
+
+“Bathe his forehead with this, Mrs. Matthews,” he directed reassuringly.
+“He'll be all right again in a moment. There, see--he's coming around
+now.”
+
+There was a long, fluttering sigh, and Matthews opened his eyes; then
+a moment's silence; and then he spoke, with an effort, with long pauses
+between the words:
+
+“Am--I--to--go--now?”
+
+The words seemed to ring absolute terror in the old lady's ears. She
+turned, and dropped to her knees on the floor.
+
+“Mr. Kline, Mr. Kline,” she sobbed out, “oh, for God's love, don't take
+him! Let him off, let him go! He's my boy--all I've got! You've got
+a mother, haven't you? You know--” The tears were streaming down the
+sweet, old face again. “Oh, won't you, for God's dear name, won't you
+let him go? Won't--”
+
+“Stop!” the man cried huskily. He was mopping at his face with his
+handkerchief. “I thought I was case-hardened, I ought to be--but I guess
+I'm not. But I've got to do my duty. You're only making it worse for
+Sammy there, as well as me.”
+
+Her arms were around his knees now, clinging there.
+
+“Why can't you let him off!” she pleaded hysterically. “Why can't
+you! Why can't you! Nobody would know, and I'd do anything--I'd pay
+anything--anything--I'll give you ten--fifteen thousand dollars!”
+
+“My poor woman,” he said kindly, placing his hand on her head, “you are
+talking wildly. Apart altogether from the question of duty, even if
+I succeeded in hushing the matter up, I would probably at least be
+suspected and certainly discharged, and I have a family to support--and
+if I were caught I'd get ten years in the Federal prison for it. I'm
+sorry for this; I believe it's your boy's first offence, and if I could
+let him off I would.”
+
+“But you can--you can!” she burst out, rocking on her knees, clinging
+tighter still to him, as though in a paroxysm of fear that he might
+somehow elude her. “It will kill him--it will kill my boy. And you can
+save him! And even if they discharged you, what would that mean against
+my boy's life! You wouldn't suffer, your family wouldn't suffer,
+I'll--I'll take care of that--perhaps I could raise a little more than
+fifteen thousand--but, oh, have pity, have mercy--don't take him away!”
+
+The man stared at her a moment, stared at the white face on the
+reclining chair--and passed his hand heavily across his eyes.
+
+“You will! You will!” It came in a great surging cry of joy from the old
+lady. “You will--oh, thank God, thank God!--I can see it in your face!”
+
+“I--I guess I'm soft,” he said huskily, and stooped and raised Mrs.
+Matthews to her feet. “Don't cry any more. It'll be all right--it'll be
+all right. I'll--I'll fix it up somehow. I haven't made any arrests yet,
+and--well, I'll take my chances. I'll get the plate and turn it over to
+you to-morrow, only--only it's got to be destroyed in my presence.”
+
+“Yes, yes!” she cried, trying to smile through her tears--and then
+she flung her arms around her son's neck again. “And when you come
+to-morrow, I'll be ready with the money to do my share, too, and--”
+
+But Sammy Matthews shook his head.
+
+“You're wrong, both of you,” he said weakly. “You're a white man,
+Kline. But destroying that plate won't save me. The minute a single note
+printed from it shows up, they'll know back there in Washington that the
+plate was stolen, and--”
+
+“No; you're safe enough there,” the other interposed heavily. “Knowing
+what was up, you don't think I'd give the gang a chance to get them
+into circulation, do you? I got them all when I got the plate. And”--he
+smiled a little anxiously--“I'll bring them here to be destroyed with
+the plate. It would finish me now, as well as you, if one of them ever
+showed up. Say,” he said suddenly, with a catch in his breath, “I--I
+don't think I know what I'm doing.”
+
+Mrs. Matthews reached out her hands to him.
+
+“What can I say to you!” she said brokenly, “What--”
+
+Jimmie Dale drew back along the wall. A little way from the door he
+quickened his pace, still moving, however, with extreme caution. They
+were still talking behind him as he turned from the corridor into the
+passageway leading to the store, and from there into the store itself.
+And then suddenly, in spite of caution, his foot slipped on the bare
+floor. It was not much--just enough to cause his other foot, poised
+tentatively in air, to come heavily down, and a loud and complaining
+creak echoed from the floor.
+
+Jimmie Dale's jaws snapped like a steel trap. From down the corridor
+came a sudden, excited exclamation in the little old lady's voice, and
+then her steps sounded running toward the store. In the fraction of a
+second Jimmie Dale was at the front door.
+
+“Clumsy, blundering fool!” he whispered fiercely to himself as he turned
+the key, opened the door noiselessly until it was just ajar, and turned
+the key in the lock again, leaving the bolt protruding out. One step
+backward, and he was rapping on the counter with his knuckles. “Isn't
+anybody here?” he called out loudly. “Isn't any--oh!”--as Mrs. Matthews
+appeared in the back doorway. “A package of cigarettes, please.”
+
+She stared at him, a little frightened, her eyes red and swollen with
+recent crying.
+
+“How--how did you get in here?” she asked tremendously.
+
+“I beg your pardon?” inquired Jimmie Dale, in polite surprise.
+
+“I--I locked the door--I'm sure I did,” she said, more to herself than
+to Jimmie Dale, and hurried across the floor to the door as she spoke.
+
+Jimmie Dale, still politely curious, turned to watch her. For a moment
+bewilderment and a puzzled look were in her face--and then a sort of
+surprised relief.
+
+“I must have turned the key in the lock without shutting the door
+tight,” she explained, “for I knew I turned the key.”
+
+Jimmie Dale bent forward to examine the lock--and nodded.
+
+“Yes,” he agreed, with a smile. “I should say so.” Then, gravely
+courteous: “I'm sorry to have intruded.”
+
+“It is nothing,” she answered; and, evidently anxious to be rid of him,
+moved quickly around behind the counter. “What kind of cigarettes do you
+want?”
+
+“Egyptians--any kind,” said Jimmie Dale, laying a bill on the counter.
+
+He pocketed the cigarettes and his change, and turned to the door.
+
+“Good-evening,” he said pleasantly--and went out.
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled a little curiously, a little tolerantly. As he
+started along the street, he heard the door of the little shop close
+with a sort of supercareful bang, the key turned, and the latch rattle
+to try the door--the little old lady was bent on making no mistake a
+second time!
+
+And then the smile left Jimmie Dale's lips, his face grew strained and
+serious, and he broke into a run down the block to Sixth Avenue. Here he
+paused for an instant--there was the elevated, the surface cars--which
+would be the quicker? He looked up the avenue. There was no train
+coming; the nearest surface car was blocks away. He bit his lips in
+vexation--and then with a jump he was across the street and hailing a
+passing taxicab that his eyes had just lighted on.
+
+“Got a fare?” called Jimmie Dale.
+
+“No, sir,” answered the chauffeur, bumping his car to an abrupt halt.
+
+“Good!” Jimmie Dale ran alongside, and yanked the door open. “Do you
+know where the Palace Saloon on the Bowery is?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” replied the man.
+
+Jimmie Dale held a ten-dollar bank note up before the chauffeur's eyes.
+
+“Earn that in four minutes, then,” he snapped--and sprang into the cab.
+
+The taxicab swerved around on little better than two wheels, started on
+a mad dash down the Avenue--and Jimmie Dale braced himself grimly in
+his seat. The cab swerved again, tore across Waverly Place, circuited
+Washington Square, crossed Broadway, and whirled finally into the upper
+end of the Bowery.
+
+Jimmie Dale spoke once--to himself--plaintively.
+
+“It's too bad I can't let old Carruthers in on this for a scoop with his
+precious MORNING NEWS-ARGUS--but if I get out of it alive myself, I'll
+do well! Wonder if the day'll ever come when he finds out that his very
+dear friend and old college pal, Jimmie Dale, is the Gray Seal that he's
+turned himself inside out for about four years now to catch, and that
+he'd trade his soul with the devil any time to lay hands on! Good old
+Carruthers! 'The most puzzling, bewildering, delightful crook in the
+annals of crime'--am I?”
+
+The cab drew up at the curb. Jimmie Dale sprang out, shoved the bill
+into the chauffeur's hand, stepped quickly across the sidewalk, and
+pushed his way through the swinging doors of the Palace Saloon. Inside
+leisurely and nonchalantly, he walked down past the length of the bar to
+a door at the rear. This opened into a passageway that led to the side
+entrance of the saloon on the cross street. Jimmie Dale emerged from
+the side entrance, crossed the street, retraced his steps to the Bowery,
+crossed over, and walked rapidly down that thoroughfare for two blocks.
+Here he turned east into the cross street; and here, once more, his pace
+became leisurely and unhurried.
+
+“It's a strange coincidence, though possibly a very happy one,” said
+Jimmie Dale, as he walked along, “that it should be on the same street
+as the Sanctuary--ah, this ought to be the place!”
+
+An alleyway, corresponding to the one that flanked the tenement where,
+as Larry the Bat, he had paid room rent as a tenant for several years,
+in fact, the alleyway next above it, and but a short block away,
+intersected the street, narrow, black, and uninviting. Jimmie Dale, as
+he passed, peered down its length.
+
+“No light--that's good!” commented Jimmie Dale to himself. Then: “Window
+opens on alleyway ten feet from ground--shoe store, Russian Jew, in
+basement--go in front door--straight hallway--room at end--Russian
+Jew probably accomplice--be careful that he does not hear you moving
+overhead”--Jimmie Dale's mind, with that curious faculty of his, was
+subconsciously repeating snatches from her letter word for word, even
+as he noted the dimly lighted, untidy, and disorderly interior of what,
+from strings of leather slippers that decorated the cellarlike entrance,
+was evidently a cheap and shoddy shoe store in the basement of the
+building.
+
+The building itself was rickety and tumble-down, three stories high, and
+given over undoubtedly to gregarious foreigners of the poorer class, a
+rabbit burrow, as it were, having a multitude of roomers and lodgers.
+There was nothing ominous or even secretive about it--up the short
+flight of steps to the entrance, even the door hung carelessly half
+open.
+
+Jimmie Dale's slouch hat was pulled a little farther down over his eyes
+as he mounted the steps and entered the hallway. He listened a moment.
+A sort of subdued, querulous hubbub seemed to hum through the place, as
+voices, men's, women's, and children's, echoing out from their various
+rooms above, mingled together, and floated down the stairways in a
+discordant medley. Jimmie Dale stepped lightly down the length of
+the hall--and listened again; this time intently, with his ear to the
+keyhole of the door that made the end of the passage. There was not a
+sound from within. He tried the door, smiled a little as he reached for
+his keys, worked over the lock--and straightened up suddenly as his
+ear caught a descending step on the stairs. It was two flights up,
+however--and the door was unlocked now. Jimmie Dale opened it, and, like
+a shadow, slipped inside; and, as he locked the door behind him, smiled
+once more--the door lock was but a paltry makeshift at best, but INSIDE
+his fingers had touched a massive steel bolt that, when shot home, would
+yield when the door itself yielded--and not before. Without moving the
+bolt, he turned--and his flashlight for a moment swept the room.
+
+“Not much like the way they describe this sort of place in storybooks!”
+ murmured Jimmie Dale capriciously. “But I get the idea. Mr. Russian Jew
+downstairs makes a bluff at using it for a storeroom.”
+
+Again the flashlight made a circuit. Here, there, and everywhere,
+seemingly without any attempt at order, were piles of wooden shipping
+cases. Only the centre of the room was clear and empty; that, and a
+vacant space against the wall by the window.
+
+Jimmie Dale, moving without sound, went to the window. There was a shade
+on it, and it was pulled down. He reached up underneath it, felt for
+the window fastening, and unlocked it; then cautiously tested the window
+itself by lifting it an inch or two--it slid easily in its grooves.
+
+He stood then for a moment, hardfaced, a frown gathering his forehead
+into heavy furrows, as the flashlight's ray again and again darted
+hither and thither. There was nothing, absolutely nothing in the room
+but wooden packing cases. He lifted the cover of the one nearest to him
+and looked inside. It was quite empty, except for some pieces of heavy
+cord, and a few cardboard shoe boxes that, in turn, were empty, too.
+
+“It's here, of course,” said Jimmie Dale thoughtfully to himself.
+“Clever work, too! But I can't move half a hundred packing cases without
+that chap below hearing me; and I can't do it in ten minutes, either,
+which, I imagine is the outside limit of time. Fortunately, though,
+these cases are not without their compensation--a dozen men could hide
+here.”
+
+He began to move about the room. And now he stooped before one pile of
+boxes and then another, curiously attempting to lift up the entire pile
+from the bottom. Some he could not move; others, by exerting all his
+strength, gave a little; and then, finally, over in one corner, he found
+a pile that appeared to answer his purpose.
+
+“These are certainly empty,” he muttered.
+
+There was just room to squeeze through between them and the next stack
+of cases alongside; but, once through, by the simple expedient of moving
+the cases out a little to take advantage of the angle made by the
+corner of the room, he obtained ample space to stand comfortably upright
+against the wall. But Jimmie Dale was not satisfied yet. Could he see
+out into the room? He experimented with his flashlight--and carefully
+shifted the screen of cases before him a little to one side. And yet
+still he was not satisfied. With a sort of ironical droop at the
+corners of his lips, as though suddenly there had flashed upon him the
+inspiration that fathered one of those whimsical ideas and fancies that
+were so essentially a characteristic of Jimmie Dale, he came out from
+behind the cases, went across the room to the case he had opened when he
+first entered, took out the cord and the cover of one of the cardboard
+shoe boxes, and with these returned to his hiding place once more.
+
+The sounds from the upper stories of the tenement now reached him hardly
+at all; but from below, directly under his feet almost, he could hear
+some one, the proprietor of the shoe store probably, walking about.
+
+Tense, every faculty now on the alert, his head turned in a strained,
+attentive attitude, Jimmie Dale threw on the flashlight's tiny switch,
+took that intimate and thin metal case from his pocket, extracted a
+diamond-shaped, gray paper seal with the little tweezers, moistened the
+adhesive side, and stuck it in the centre of the white cardboard-box
+cover, then tore the edges of the cardboard down until the whole was
+just small enough to slip into his pocket. Through the cardboard he
+looped a piece of cord, placard fashion, and with his pencil printed the
+four words--“with the compliments of “--above the gray seal. He
+surveyed the result with a grim, mirthless chuckle--and put the piece of
+cardboard in his pocket.
+
+“I'm taking the longest chances I ever took in my life,” said Jimmie
+Dale very seriously to himself, as his fingers twisted, and doubled,
+and tied the remaining pieces of cord together, and finally fashioned a
+running noose in one end. “I don't--” The cord and the flashlight went
+into his pocket, the room was in darkness, the black mask was whipped
+from his breast pocket and adjusted to his face, and his automatic was
+in his hand.
+
+Came the creak of a footstep, as though on a ladder exactly below him,
+another, and another, receding curiously in its direction, yet at the
+same time growing louder in sound as if nearer the floor--then a crack
+of light showed in the floor in the centre of the room. This held for
+an instant, then expanded suddenly into a great luminous square--and
+through a trapdoor, opened wide now, a man's head appeared.
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes, fixed through the space between the piles of cases,
+narrowed--there was, indeed, little doubt but that the shoe-store
+proprietor below was an accomplice! The store served a most convenient
+purpose in every respect--as a secret means of entry into the room, as
+a sort of guarantee of innocence for the room itself. Why not! To the
+superficial observer, to the man who might by some chance blunder into
+the room--it was but an adjunct of the store itself!
+
+The man in the trap-doorway paused with his shoulders above the floor,
+looked around, listened, then drew himself up, walked across the floor,
+and shot the heavy bolt on the door that led into the hallway of the
+house. He returned then to the trapdoor, bent over it, and whistled
+softly. Two more men, in answer to the summons, came up into the room.
+
+“The Cap'll be along in a minute,” one of them said. “Turn on the
+light.”
+
+A switch clicked, flooding the room with sudden brilliancy from half a
+dozen electric bulbs.
+
+“Too many!” grunted the same voice again. “We ain't working
+to-night--turn out half of 'em.”
+
+The sudden transition from the darkness for a moment dazzled Jimmie
+Dale's eyes--but the next moment he was searching the faces of the three
+men. There were few crooks, few denizens of the crime world below the
+now obsolete but still famous dead line that, as Larry the Bat, he did
+not know at least by sight.
+
+“Moulton, Whitie Burns, and Marty Dean,” confided Jimmie Dale softly
+to himself. “And I don't know of any worse, except--the Cap. And gun
+fighters, every one of them, too--nice odds, to say nothing of--”
+
+“Here's the Cap now!” announced one of the three. “Hello, Cap, where'd
+you raise the mustache?”
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted to the trapdoor, and into them crept a
+contemptuous and sardonic smile--the man who was coming up now and
+hoisting himself to the floor was the man who, half an hour before, had
+threatened young Sammy Matthews with arrest.
+
+The Cap, alias Bert Malone, alias a score of other names, closed the
+trapdoor after him, pulled off his mustache and gray wig, tucked them in
+his pocket, and faced his companions brusquely.
+
+“Never mind about the mustache,” he said curtly. “Get busy, the lot of
+you. Stir around and get the works out!”
+
+“What for?” inquired Whitie Burns, a sharp, ferret-faced little man. “We
+got enough of the old stuff on hand now, and that bum break Gregor made
+when he pinched the cracked plate put the finish on that. Say, Cap--”
+
+“Close your face, Whitie, and get the works out!” Malone cut in shortly.
+“We've only got the whole night ahead of us--but we'll need it all.
+We're going to run the queer off that cracked plate.”
+
+One of the others, Marty Dean this time, a certain brutal aggressiveness
+in both features and physique, edged forward.
+
+“Say, what's the lay?” he demanded. “A joke? We printed one fiver off
+that plate--and then we knew enough to quit. With that crack along
+the corner, you couldn't pass 'em on a blind man! And Gregor saying he
+thought we could patch the plate up enough to get by with gives me a
+pain--he's got jingles in his dome factory! Run them fivers eh--say, are
+you cracked, too?”
+
+“Aw, forget it!” observed Malone caustically. “Who's running this gang?”
+ Then, with a malicious grin: “I got a customer for those fivers--fifteen
+thousand dollars for all we can turn out to-night. See?”
+
+The others stared at him for a moment, incredulity and greed mingling in
+a curious half-hesitant, half-expectant look on their faces.
+
+Then Whitie Burns spoke, circling his lips with the tip of his tongue:
+
+“D'ye mean it, Cap--honest? What's the lay? How'd you work it?”
+
+Malone, unbending with the sensation he had created, grinned again.
+
+“Easy enough,” he said offhandedly. “It was like falling off a log.
+Gregor said, didn't he, that the only way he had been able to get
+his claws on that plate was on account of young Matthews going away
+sick--eh? Well, the old Matthews woman, his mother, has got money--about
+fifteen thousand. I guess she ain't got any more than that, or I'd have
+raised the ante. Aw, it was easy. She threw it at me. I framed one up on
+them, that's all. I'm Kline, of the secret service--see? I don't suppose
+they'd ever seen him, though they'd know his name fast enough, but I
+made up something like him. I showed them where I had a case against
+Sammy for pinching the plate that was strong enough to put a hundred
+innocent men behind the bars. Of course, he knew well enough he was
+innocent, but he could see the twenty years I showed him with both eyes.
+Say, he mussed all over the place, and went and fainted like a girl. And
+then the old woman came across with an offer of fifteen thousand for the
+plate, and corrupted me.” Malone's cunning, vicious face, now that
+the softening effects of the gray hair and mustache were gone, seemed
+accentuated diabolically by the grin broadening into a laugh, as he
+guffawed.
+
+Marty Dean's hand swung with a bang to Malone's shoulder.
+
+“Say, Cap--say, you're all right!” he exclaimed excitedly. “You're
+the boy! But what's the good of running anything off the plate before
+turning it over to 'em--the stuff's no good to us.”
+
+“You got a wooden nut, with sawdust for brains,” said Malone
+sarcastically. “If he'd thought the gang of counterfeiters that was
+supposed to have bought the plate from him had run off only one fiver
+and then stopped because they say it wouldn't get by, and weren't going
+to run any more, and just destroy the plate like it was supposed to have
+been destroyed to begin with, and it all end up with no one the wiser,
+where d'ye think we'd have banked that fifteen thousand! I told him I
+had the whole run confiscated, and that the queer went with the plate,
+so we'll just make that little run to-night--that's why I sent word
+around to you this morning.”
+
+“By the jumping!” ejaculated Whitie Burns, heavy with admiration. “You
+got a head on you, Cap!”
+
+“It's a good thing for some of you that I have,” returned Malone
+complacently. “But don't stand jawing all night. Go on, now--get busy!”
+
+There was no surprise in Jimmie Dale's face--he had chosen his position
+behind a pile of cases that he had been extremely careful, as a man
+is careful when his life hangs in the balance, to assure himself were
+empty. None of the four came near or touched the pile behind which he
+stood; but, here and there about the room, they pulled this one and that
+one out from various stacks. In scarcely more than a moment, the room
+was completely transformed. It was no longer a storeroom for surplus
+stock, for the storage of bulky and empty packing cases! From the cases
+the men had picked out, like a touch of magic, appeared a veritable
+printing plant, an elaborate engraver's outfit--a highly efficient
+foot-power press, rapidly being assembled by Whitie Burns; an electric
+dryer, inks, a pile of white, silk-threaded bank-note paper, a cutter,
+and a score of other appurtenances.
+
+“Yes,” said Jimmie Dale very gently to himself. “Yes, quite so--but the
+plate? Ah!” Malone was taking it out from the middle of a bundle of old
+newspapers, loosely tied together, that he had lifted from one of the
+cases.
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes fastened on it--and from that instant never left it.
+A minute passed, two, three of them--the four men were silently busy
+about the room--Malone was carefully cleaning the plate.
+
+“They will raid to-night. Look out for Kline, he is the sharpest man in
+the United State secret service”--the warning in her letter was running
+through Jimmie Dale's mind. Kline--the real Kline--was going to raid
+the place to-night. When? At what time? It must be nearly eleven o'clock
+already, and--
+
+It came sudden, quick as the crack of doom--a terrific crash against the
+bolted door--but the door, undoubtedly to the surprise of those without,
+held fast, thanks to the bolt. The four men, white-faced, seemed for an
+instant turned to statues. Came another crash against the door--and a
+sharp, imperative order to those within to open it and surrender.
+
+“We're pinched! Beat it!” whispered Whitie Burns wildly--and dashed for
+the trapdoor.
+
+Like a rat for its hole, Marty Dean followed. Malone, farther away,
+dropped the plate on the floor, and rushed, with Moulton beside him,
+after the others--but he never reached the trapdoor.
+
+Over the crashing blows, raining now in quick succession on the door of
+the room, over a startled commotion as lodgers, roomers, and tenants on
+the floor above awoke into frightened activity with shouts and cries,
+came the louder crash of a pile of packing boxes hurled to the floor.
+And over them, vaulting those scattered in his way, Jimmie Dale sprang
+at Malone. The man reeled back, with a cry. Moulton dashed through
+the trapdoor and disappeared. The short, ugly barrel of Jimmie Dale's
+automatic was between Malone's eyes.
+
+“You make a move,” said Jimmie Dale, in a low sibilant way, “and
+I'll drop you where you stand! Put your hands behind your back--palms
+together!”
+
+Malone, dazed, cowed, obeyed. A panel of the door split and rent down
+its length--the hinges were sagging. Jimmie Dale worked like lightning.
+The cord with the slip noose from his pocket went around Malone's
+wrists, jerked tight, and knotted; the placard, his lips grim, with no
+sign of humour, Jimmie Dale dangled around the man's neck.
+
+“An introduction for you to Mr. Kline out there--that you seem so fond
+of!” gritted Jimmie Dale. Then, working as he talked: “I've got no time
+to tell you what I think of you, you pitiful hound”--he snatched up the
+plate from the floor and put it in his pocket--“Twenty years, I think
+you said, didn't you?”--his hand shot into Malone's pocket-book, and
+extracted the five-dollar note--“If you can open this with your toes
+maybe you can get a way”--he wrenched the trapdoor over and slammed it
+shut--“good-night, Malone”--and he leaped for the window.
+
+The door tottered inward from the top, ripping, tearing, smashing
+hinges, panels, and jamb. Jimmie Dale got a blurred vision of brass
+buttons, blue coats, and helmets, and, in the forefront, of a stocky,
+gray-mustached, gray-haired man in plain clothes.
+
+Jimmie Dale threw up the window, swung out, as with a rush the officers
+burst through into the room and a revolver bullet hummed viciously past
+his ear, and dropped to the ground--into encircling arms!
+
+“Ah, no, you don't, my bucko!” snapped a hoarse voice in his ear. “Keep
+quiet now, or I'll crack your bean--understand!”
+
+But the officer, too heavy to be muscular, was no match for Jimmie
+Dale, who, even as he had dropped from the sill, had caught sight of
+the lurking form below; and now, with a quick, sudden, lithe movement he
+wriggled loose, his fist from a short-arm jab smashed upon the point of
+the other's jaw, sending the man staggering backward--and Jimmie Dale
+ran.
+
+A crowd was already collecting at the mouth of the alleyway, mostly
+occupants of the house itself, and into these, scattering them in all
+directions, eluding dexterously another officer who made a grab for him,
+Jimmie Dale charged at top speed, burst through, and headed down the
+street, running like a deer.
+
+Yells went up, a revolver spat venomously behind him, came the shrill
+CHEEP-CHEEP! of the police whistle, and heavy boots pounding the
+pavement in pursuit.
+
+Down the block Jimmie Dale raced. The yells augmented in his rear.
+Another shot--and this time he heard the bullet buzz. And then he
+swerved--into the next alleyway--that flanked the Sanctuary.
+
+He had perhaps a ten yards' lead, just a little more than the distance
+from the street to the side door of the Sanctuary that opened on
+the alleyway. And, as he ran now, his fingers tore at his clothing,
+loosening his tie, unbuttoning coat, vest, collar, shirt, and
+undershirt. He leaped at the door, swung it open, flung himself
+inside--and then sacrificing speed to silence, went up the stairs like a
+cat, cramming his mask now into his pocket.
+
+His room was on the first landing. In an instant he had unlocked the
+door, entered, and locked it again behind him. From outside, an excited
+street urchin's voice shrilled up to him:
+
+“He went in that door! I seen him!”
+
+The police whistle chirped again; and then an authoritative voice:
+
+“Get around and watch the saloon back of this, Heeney--there's a way out
+through there from this joint.”
+
+Jimmie Dale, divested of every stitch of clothing that he had worn,
+pulled a disreputable collarless flannel shirt over his head, pulled on
+a dirty and patched pair of trousers, and slipped into a threadbare and
+filthy coat. Jimmie Dale was working against seconds. They were at the
+lower door now. He lifted the oilcloth in the corner of the room,
+lifted up the loose piece of the flooring, shoved his discarded garments
+inside, and from a little box that was there smeared the hollow of
+his hand with some black substance, possessed himself of two little
+articles, replaced the flooring, replaced the oilcloth, and, in bare
+feet, stole across the room to the door. Against the door, without a
+sound, Jimmie Dale placed a chair, and on the chair seat he laid the two
+little articles he had been carrying in his hand. It was intensely black
+in the room, but Jimmie Dale needed no light here. From under the bed he
+pulled out a pair of woolen socks and a pair of congress boots, both as
+disreputable as the rest of his attire, put them on--and very quietly,
+softly, cautiously, stretched himself out on the bed.
+
+The officers were at the top of the stairs. A voice barked out:
+
+“Stand guard on this landing, Peters. Higgins, you take the one above.
+We'll start from the top of the house and work down. Allow no one to
+pass you.”
+
+“Yes, sir! Very good, Mr. Kline,” was the response.
+
+Kline!--the sharpest man in the United States secret service, she had
+said. Jimmie Dale's lips set.
+
+“I'm glad I had no shave this morning,” said Jimmie Dale grimly to
+himself.
+
+His fingers were working with the black substance in the hollow of his
+hand--and the long, slim, tapering fingers, the shapely, well-cared-for
+hands grew unkempt and grimy, black beneath the finger nails--and a
+little, too, played its part on the day's growth of beard, a little
+around the throat and at the nape of the neck, a little across the
+forehead to meet the locks of straggling and disordered hair. Jimmie
+Dale wiped the residue from the hollow of his hand on the knee of his
+trousers--and lay still.
+
+An officer paced outside. Upstairs doors opened and closed. Gruff, harsh
+tones in commands echoed through the house. The search party descended
+to the second floor--and again the same sounds were repeated. And then,
+thumping down the creaking stairs, they stopped before Jimmie Dale's
+room. Some one tried the door, and, finding it locked, rattled it
+violently.
+
+“Open the door!” It was Kline's voice.
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes were closed, and he was breathing regularly, though
+just a little slower than in natural respiration.
+
+“Break it down!” ordered Kline tersely.
+
+There was a rush at it--and it gave. It surged inward, knocked against
+the chair, upset the latter, something tinkled to the floor--and four
+officers, with Kline at their head, jumped into the room.
+
+Jimmie Dale never moved. A flashlight played around the room and focused
+upon him--and then he was shaken roughly--only to fall inertly back on
+the bed again.
+
+“I guess this is all right, Mr. Kline,” said one of the officers. “It's
+Larry the Bat, and he's doped to the eyes. There's the stuff on the
+floor we knocked off the chair.”
+
+“Light the gas!” directed Kline curtly; and, being obeyed, stooped to
+the floor and picked up a hypodermic syringe and a small bottle. He held
+the bottle to the light, and read the label: LIQUOR MORPHINAE. “Shake
+him again!” he commanded.
+
+None too gently, a policeman caught Jimmie Dale by the shoulder and
+shook him vigorously--again Jimmie Dale, once the other let go his hold,
+fell back limply on the bed, breathing in that same, slightly slowed
+way.
+
+“Larry the Bat, eh?” grunted Kline; then, to the officer who had
+volunteered the information: “Who's Larry the Bat? What is he? And how
+long have you known him?”
+
+“I don't know who he is any more than what you can see there for
+yourself,” replied the officer. “He's a dope fiend, and I guess a pretty
+tough case, though we've never had him up for anything. He's lived here
+ever since I've been on the beat, and that's three years or--”
+
+“All right!” interrupted Kline crisply. “He's no good to us! You say
+there's an exit from this house into that saloon at the back?”
+
+“Yes, sir but the fellow, whoever he is, couldn't get away from there.
+Heeney's been over on guard from the start.”
+
+“Then he's still inside there,” said Kline, clipping off his words.
+“We'll search the saloon. Nice night's work this is! One out of the
+whole gang--and that one with the compliments of the Gray Seal!”
+
+The men went out and began to descend the stairs.
+
+“One,” said Jimmie Dale to himself, still motionless, still breathing in
+that slow way so characteristic of the drug. “Two. Three. Four.”
+
+The minutes went by--a quarter of an hour--a half hour. Still Jimmie
+Dale lay there--still motionless--still breathing with slow regularity.
+His muscles began to cramp, to give him exquisite torture. Around
+him all was silence--only distant sounds from the street reached
+him, muffled, and at intervals. Another quarter of an hour passed--an
+eternity of torment. It seemed to Jimmie Dale, for all his will power,
+that he could not hold himself in check, that he must move, scream out
+even in the torture that was passing all endurance. It was silent now,
+utterly silent--and then out of the silence, just outside his door, a
+footstep creaked--and a man walked to the stairs and went down.
+
+“Five,” said Jimmie Dale to himself. “The sharpest man in the United
+States secret service.”
+
+And then for the first time Jimmie Dale moved--to wipe away the beads of
+sweat that had sprung out upon his forehead.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+THE AFFAIR OF THE PUSHCART MAN
+
+
+Larry the Bat shambled out of the side door of the tenement into the
+back alleyway; shambled along the black alleyway to the street--and
+smiled a little grimly as a shadow across the roadway suddenly shifted
+its position. The game was growing acute, critical, desperate even--and
+it was his move.
+
+Larry the Bat, disreputable denizen of the underworld, alias Jimmie
+Dale, millionaires' clubman, alias the Gray Seal, whom Carruthers of the
+MORNING NEWS-ARGUS called the master criminal of the age, shuffled along
+in the direction of the Bowery, his hands plunged deep in the pockets
+of his frayed and tattered trousers, where his fingers, in a curious,
+wistful way, fondled the keys of his own magnificent residence on
+Riverside Drive. It was his move--and it was an impasse, ironical,
+sardonic, and it was worse--it was full of peril.
+
+True, he had outwitted Kline of the secret service two nights before,
+when Kline had raided the counterfeiters' den; true, he had no reason to
+believe that Kline suspected HIM specifically, but the man Kline wanted
+HAD entered the tenement that night, and since then the house had been
+shadowed day and night. The result was both simple and disastrous--to
+Jimmie Dale. Larry the Bat, a known inmate of the house, might come
+and go as he pleased--but to emerge from the Sanctuary in the person of
+Jimmie Dale would be fatal. Kline had been outwitted, but Kline had not
+acknowledged final defeat. The tenement had been searched from top to
+bottom--unostentatiously. His own room on the first landing had been
+searched the previous afternoon, when he was out, but they had failed to
+find the cunningly contrived opening in the floor under the oilcloth in
+the corner, an impromptu wardrobe, that would proclaim Larry the Bat and
+Jimmie Dale to be one and the same person--that would inevitably lead
+further to the establishment of his identity as the Gray Seal. In time,
+of course, the surveillance would cease--but he could not wait. That was
+the monumental irony of it--the factor that, all unknown to Kline, was
+forcing the issue hard now. It was his move.
+
+Since, years ago now, as the Gray Seal, he had begun to work with HER,
+that unknown, mysterious accomplice of his, and the police, stung to
+madness both by the virulent and constant attacks of the press and by
+the humiliating prod of their own failures, sought daily, high and low,
+with every resource at their command, for the Gray Seal, he had never
+been in quite so strange and perilous a plight as he found himself at
+that moment. To preserve inviolate the identity of Larry the Bat was
+absolutely vital to his safety. It was the one secret that even she, who
+so strangely appeared to know all else about him, he was sure, had not
+discovered--and it was just that, in a way, that had brought the present
+impossible situation to pass.
+
+In the month previous, in a lull between those letters of hers, he had
+set himself doggedly and determinedly to the renewed task of what had
+become so dominantly now a part of his very existence--the solving of
+HER identity. And for that month, as the best means to the end--means,
+however, that only resulted as futilely as the attempts that had gone
+before--he had lived mostly as Larry the Bat, returning to his home in
+his proper person only when occasion and necessity demanded it. He had
+been going home that evening, two nights before, walking along Riverside
+Drive, when from the window of the limousine she had dropped the letter
+at his feet that had plunged him into the affair of the Counterfeit
+Five--and he had not gone home! Eventually, to save himself, he had, in
+the Sanctuary, performing the transformation in desperate haste, again
+been forced to assume the role of Larry the Bat.
+
+That was really the gist of it. And yesterday morning he had remembered,
+to his dismay, that he had had little or no money left the night before.
+He had intended, of course, to replenish his supply--when he got home.
+Only he hadn't gone home! And now he needed money--needed it badly,
+desperately. With thousands in the bank, with abundance even in
+his safe, in his own den at home, a supply kept there always for an
+emergency, he was facing actual want--he rattled two dimes, a nickel,
+and a few odd pennies thoughtfully against the keys in his pocket.
+
+To a certain extent, old Jason, his butler, could be trusted. Jason even
+knew that mysterious letters of tremendous secretive importance came
+to the house, and the old man always meant well--but he dared not trust
+even Jason with the secret of his dual personality. What was he to do?
+He needed money imperatively--at once. Thanks to Kline, for the time
+being, at least, he could not rid himself of the personality of Larry
+the Bat by the simple expedient or slipping into the clothes of Jimmie
+Dale--he must live, act, and remain Larry the Bat until the secret
+service officer gave up the hunt. How bridge the gulf between Jimmie
+Dale and Larry the Bat in old Jason's eyes!
+
+Nor was that all. There was still another matter, and one that, in order
+to counteract it, demanded at once a serious inroad--to the extent of
+a telephone call--upon his slender capital. A too prolonged and
+unaccounted-for absence from home, and old Jason, in his anxious,
+blundering solicitude, would have the fat in the fire at that end--and
+the city, and the social firmament thereof, would be humming with the
+startling news of the disappearance of a well-known millionaire. The
+complications that would then ensue, with himself powerless to lift a
+finger, Jimmie Dale did not care to think about--such a contretemps must
+at all hazards be prevented.
+
+Jimmie Dale reached the corner of the street, where it intersected
+the Bowery, and paused languidly by the curb. No one appeared to be
+following. He had not expected that there would be--but it was as well
+to be sure. He walked then a few steps along the Bowery--and slipped
+suddenly into a doorway, from where he could command a view of the
+street corner that he had just left. At the end of ten minutes,
+satisfied that no one had any concern in his immediate movements, he
+shambled on again down the Bowery.
+
+There was a saloon two blocks away that boasted a private telephone
+booth. Jimmie Dale made that his destination.
+
+Larry the Bat was a very well-known character in that resort, and the
+bullet-headed dispenser of drinks behind the bar nodded unctuously to
+him over the heads of those clustered at the rail as he entered; Larry
+the Bat, as befitted one of the elite of the underworld, was graciously
+pleased to acknowledge the proletariat salutation with a curt nod. He
+walked down to the end of the room, entered the telephone booth--and was
+carelessly careful to close the door tightly behind him.
+
+He gave the number of his residence on Riverside Drive, and waited for
+the connection. After some delay, Jason's voice answered him.
+
+“Jason,” said Jimmie Dale, in matter-of-fact tones, “I shall be out
+of the city for another three or four days, possibly a week, and--” he
+stopped abruptly, as a sort of gasp came to him over the wire.
+
+“Thank God that's you, sir!” exclaimed the old butler wildly. “I've been
+near mad, sir, all day!”
+
+“Don't get excited, Jason!” said Jimmie Dale a little sharply. “The mere
+matter of my absence for the last two days is nothing to cause you any
+concern. And while I am on the subject, Jason, let me say now that I
+shall be glad if you will bear that fact in mind in future.”
+
+“Yes, sir,” stammered Jason. “But, sir, it ain't that--good Lord, Master
+Jim, it ain't that, sir! It's--it's one of them letters.”
+
+Something like a galvanic shock seemed to jerk the disreputable,
+loose-jointed frame of Larry the Bat suddenly erect--and a strained
+whiteness crept over the dirty, unwashed face.
+
+“Go on, Jason,” said Jimmie Dale, without a quiver in his voice.
+
+“It came this morning, sir--that shuffer with his automobile left it.
+I had just time to say you weren't at home, sir, and he was gone. And
+then, sir, there ain't been an hour gone by all through the day that a
+woman, sir--a lady, begging your pardon, Master Jim--hasn't rung up
+on the telephone, asking if you were back, and if I could get you, and
+where you were, and half frantic, sir, half sobbing, sometimes, sir, and
+saying there was a life hanging on it, Master Jim.”
+
+Larry the Bat, staring into the mouthpiece of the instrument,
+subconsciously passed his hand across his forehead, and subconsciously
+noted that his fingers, as he drew them away, were damp.
+
+“Where is the letter now, Jason?” inquired Jimmie Dale coolly.
+
+“Here on your desk, Master Jim. Shall I bring it to you?”
+
+Bring it to him! How? When? Where? Bring it to him! The ghastly irony
+of it! Jimmie Dale tried to think--prodding, spurring desperately that
+keen, lightning brain of his that had never failed him yet. How bridge
+the gulf between Larry the Bat and Jimmie Dale in Jason's eyes--not just
+for the replenishing of funds now, but with a life at stake!
+
+“No--I think not, Jason,” said Jimmie Dale calmly. “Just leave it where
+it is. And if she telephones again, say that you have told me--that will
+be sufficient to satisfy any further inquiries. And Jason--”
+
+“Yes, sir?”
+
+“If she telephones again, try and find out where the call comes from.”
+
+“I haven't forgotten what you said once, Master Jim, sir,” said the old
+man eagerly. “And I've been trying that sir, all day. They've all come
+from different pay stations, sir.”
+
+A mirthless little smile tinged Jimmie Dale's lips. Of course! He might
+have known! It was always that way, always the same. He was as near to
+the solution of her identity at that moment as he had been years ago,
+when she, in some mysterious way, alone of all the world, had identified
+him as the Gray Seal!
+
+“Very good, Jason,” he said quietly. “Don't bother about it any more.
+It will be all right. You can expect me when you see me. Good-night.” He
+hung the receiver on the hook, walked out of the booth, and mechanically
+reached the street.
+
+All right! It was far from “all right”--very far from it. It was no
+trivial thing, that letter; they never had been trivial things, those
+letters of hers, that involved so often a matter of life and death--as
+this one now, perhaps, as her actions would seem to indicate, involved
+life and death more urgently than any that had gone before. It was far
+from all right--at a moment when his own position, his own safety, was
+at best but a desperate chance; when his every energy, brain, wit, and
+cunning were taxed to the utmost to save himself! And yet, somehow, some
+way, at any cost, he must get that letter--and at any cost he must act
+upon it! To fail her was to fail utterly in everything that failure in
+its most miserable, its widest sense, implied--failure in that which
+rose paramount to every other consideration in life!
+
+Fail her! Jimmie Dale's lips thinned into a hard, drawn line--and then
+parted slowly in a curiously whimsical smile. It would be a strange
+burglary that he had decided upon, in order that he might not fail
+her--stranger than any the Gray Seal had ever committed, and, in some
+respects, even more perilous!
+
+He started along the Bowery, walking briskly now, toward the nearest
+subway station, at Astor Place, his mind for the moment electing to face
+the situation in a humour as whimsical as his smile. Supposing that,
+as Larry the Bat, he were caught and arrested during the next hour, in
+Jimmie's Dale's residence on Riverside Drive! With his arrest as Larry
+the Bat, Jimmie's Dale would automatically disappear. Would follow then
+the suspicion that Jimmie Dale, the millionaire, had met with foul play,
+and as time went on, and Jimmie Dale, being then in prison as Larry
+the Bat, did not reappear, the assurance of it; then the certainty
+that suspicion would focus on Larry the Bat as being connected with
+the millionaire's death, since Larry the Bat had been caught in Jimmie
+Dale's home--and he would be accused of his own murder! It was quite
+humourous, of course, quite grotesquely bizarre--but it was equally
+an exceedingly grim possibility! There were drawbacks to a dual
+personality!
+
+“In a word,” confided Jimmie Dale softly to himself, and a serious light
+crept into the dark, steady eyes, “I'm in a bit of a nasty mess!”
+
+At Astor Place he entered the subway; at Fourteenth Street he changed
+to an express, and at Ninety-sixth Street he got out. It was but a short
+walk west to Riverside Drive, and from there his house was only a few
+blocks farther on.
+
+Jimmie Dale did not slouch now. And for all his disreputable attire,
+incongruous as it was in that neighbourhood, few people that he
+passed paid any attention to him, none gave him more than a casual
+glance--Jimmie Dale swung along, upright, with no attempt to make
+himself inconspicuous, hurrying a little, as one intent upon a definite
+errand. As he neared his house he slowed his pace a little until a
+couple, who were passing in front of it, had gone on; then he went up
+the steps, but noiselessly as a shadow now, to the front door, opened
+it softly, closed it softly behind him, and crouched for a moment in the
+vestibule.
+
+Through the monogrammed lace on the plate glass of the inner doors he
+could see, a little indistinctly, into the reception hall beyond. The
+hall was empty. Jason, for that matter, would be the only one likely to
+be about; the other servants would have no business there in any case,
+and whether in their quarters above or below, they had their own stairs
+at the rear.
+
+Jimmie Dale inserted the key in the spring lock, and opened the door
+a cautious fraction of an inch--to listen. There was no sound--yes,
+a subdued murmured--the servants were downstairs in the basement. He
+slipped inside, slipped, in a flash, across the hall, and, treading like
+a cat, went up the stairs. He scarcely seemed to breathe until, with a
+little sigh of relief, he stood inside his den on the first floor, with
+the door shut behind him.
+
+“I must speak to Jason about being a little more watchful,” muttered
+Jimmie Dale facetiously. “Here's all my property at the mercy of--Larry
+the Bat!”
+
+An instant he stood by the door, looking about him--in the bright
+moonlight streaming in through the side windows the room's appointments
+stood out in soft shadows, the huge davenport, the great, luxurious
+easy-chairs, an easel with a half-finished canvas, as he had left it;
+the big, flat-topped, rosewood desk, the open fireplace--and then, his
+steps silent on the thick velvet rug under foot, he walked quickly to
+the desk.
+
+Yes, there it was--the letter. He placed it hurriedly in his pocket--the
+moonlight was not strong enough to read by, and he dared not turn on the
+lights.
+
+And now money--funds. In the alcove behind the portiere, Jimmie Dale
+dropped on his knees before the squat, barrel-shaped safe, and opened
+it. He reached inside, took out a package of banknotes, placed the bills
+in his pocket--and hesitated a moment. What else would he require? What
+act did that letter call upon the Gray Seal to perform in the next few
+hours? Jimmie Dale stared thoughtfully into the interior of the safe.
+Whatever it was, it must be performed in the role of Larry the Bat, for
+though he could get into his dressing room now, and become Jimmie Dale
+again, there were still those watchers outside the Sanctuary--THEY must
+not become suspicious--and if Larry the Bat disappeared mysteriously,
+Larry the Bat would be the man that Kline and the secret service of the
+United States would never cease hunting for, and that would mean that
+he could never reassume a character that was as necessary for his
+protection as breath was to life, so long as the Gray Seal worked. True,
+he could change now to Jimmie Dale, but he would have to change back
+again and return to the Sanctuary before morning, as Larry the Bat--and
+remain there until Kline, beaten, called off his human bloodhounds. No,
+a change was not to be thought of.
+
+What, then, would he require--that compact little kit of burglar tools,
+rolled in its leather jacket, that, unrolled slipped about his body like
+a close-fitting undervest? As well to take it anyway. He removed his
+coat and vest, took out the leather bundle from the safe, untied the
+thongs that bound it together, unrolled it, passed it around his body,
+life belt fashion, secured the thongs over his shoulders, and put on
+his coat and vest again. A revolver, a flashlight? He had both--at
+the Sanctuary, under the flooring--but there were duplicates here! He
+slipped them into his pockets. Anything else--to forestall and provide
+for any possible contingency? He hesitated again for a moment, thinking,
+then slowly closed the inner door of the safe, locked it, swung the
+outer door shut--and, in the act of twirling the knobs, sprang suddenly
+to his feet. Sharp, shrill in the stillness of the room, the telephone
+bell on the desk rang out clamourously.
+
+Jimmie Dale's face set hard, as he leaped out from behind the
+curtain--had Jason heard it! It rang again before he could reach the
+desk--was ringing as he snatched the receiver from the hook.
+
+“Yes, yes!” he called, in a low, guarded, hasty way, into the
+mouthpiece. “Hello! What is it?” And then one hand, resting on the desk,
+closed around the edge, and tightened until the skin over the knuckles
+grew ivory white. It was--SHE! She! It was HER voice--he had only heard
+it once in all his life--that night, two nights before, in a silvery
+laugh from the limousine as it had sped away from him down the road--but
+he knew! It thrilled him now with a mad rhapsody, robbing him for the
+moment of every thought save that she was living, real, existent--that
+it was HER voice. “It's you--YOU!” he said hoarsely.
+
+“Oh, Jimmie--you at last!”--it came in a little gasping cry of relief.
+“The letter--”
+
+“Yes, I've got it--it's all right--it's all right”--the words would
+not seem to come fast enough in his desperate haste. “But it's you now.
+Listen! Listen!” he pleaded. “Tell me who you are! My God! how I've
+tried to find you, and--”
+
+That rippling, silvery laugh again, but now, too, it seemed to his eager
+ear, with just the faintest note of wistfulness in it.
+
+“Some day, Jimmie. That letter now. It--”
+
+Jimmie Dale straightened up suddenly--Jason's steps, running, sounded
+outside the room along the corridor--there was not an instant to lose.
+
+“Hang up! Good-bye! Danger! Don't ring again!” he whispered hurriedly,
+and, with a miserable smile, replacing the receiver bitterly on the
+hook, he jumped for the curtain.
+
+He reached it none too soon. The door opened, an electric-light switch
+clicked, and the room was flooded with light. Jason, still running,
+headed for the desk.
+
+“It'll be her again!” Jimmie Dale heard the old man mutter, as from the
+edge of the portiere he watched the other's actions.
+
+Jason picked up the telephone.
+
+“Hello! Hello!” he called--then began to click impatiently with the
+receiver hook. “Hello! . . . Who? . . . Central? . . . I don't want
+any number--somebody was calling here. . . . What? . . . Nobody on the
+wire!”
+
+He set the telephone back on the desk with a bewildered air.
+
+“That's queer!” he exclaimed. “I could have sworn I heard it ring twice,
+and--” He stopped abruptly, and, leaning across the desk, hung there,
+wide-eyed, staring, while a sickly pallor began to steal into his face.
+“The letter!” he mumbled wildly. “The letter--Master Jim's letter--the
+letter--it's GONE!”
+
+Trembling, excited, the old man began to search the desk, then down on
+his knees on the floor under it; and then, growing more frantic with
+every instant, rose and began to hunt around the room in an agitated,
+aimless fashion.
+
+Jason's distress was very real--he was almost beside himself now with
+fear and anxiety. A whimsical, affectionate smile played over Jimmie
+Dale's lips at the old man's antics--and changed suddenly into one of
+consternation. Jason was making directly now for the curtain behind
+which he stood! Perhaps, though, he would pass it by, and--Jason's hand
+reached out and grasped the portiere.
+
+“Jason!” said Jimmie Dale sharply.
+
+The old man staggered back as though he had been struck, tried to speak,
+choked, and gazed at the curtain with distended eyes.
+
+“Is--is that you, sir--Master Jim--behind the curtain there?” he finally
+blurted out. “I--sir--you gave me a start--and the letter, Master Jim--”
+
+“Don't lose your head, Jason,” said Jimmie Dale coolly. “I've got the
+letter. Now do as I bid you.”
+
+“Yes--Master Jim,” faltered the old man.
+
+“Pull down the window shades and draw the portiere together,” directed
+Jimmie Dale.
+
+Jason, still overwrought and excited, obeyed a little awkwardly.
+
+“Now the lights, Jason,” instructed Jimmie Dale. “Turn them off, and go
+and sit down in that chair at the desk.”
+
+Again Jason obeyed, stumbling in the darkness as he returned from the
+electric-light switch at the farther end of the room. He sat down in the
+chair.
+
+Larry the Bat stepped out from behind the curtain. “I came for that
+letter, Jason,” he explained quietly. “I am going out again now. I may
+be back to-morrow; I may not be back for a week. You will say nothing,
+not a word, of my having been here to-night. Do you understand, Jason?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” said Jason; then hesitantly: “Would you mind saying, sir,
+when you came in?”
+
+“It's of no consequence, Jason--is it?”
+
+“No, sir,” said Jason.
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled in the darkness.
+
+“Jason!”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“I wish you to remain where you are, without leaving that chair, for the
+next ten minutes.” He moved across the room to the door. “Good-night,
+Jason,” he said.
+
+“Good-night, Master Jim--good-night, sir--oh, Lord!”
+
+Jimmie Dale did not require that ten minutes; it was a very wide margin
+of safety to obviate the possibility of Jason, from a window, detecting
+the exit of a disreputable character from the house--in three minutes
+he was turning the corner of the first cross street and walking rapidly
+away from Riverside Drive.
+
+In the subway station Jimmie Dale read the letter--read it twice over,
+as he always read those strange epistles of hers that opened the door to
+new peril, new danger to the Gray Seal, but too, that seemed somehow to
+draw tighter, in a glad, big way, the unseen bond between them; read it,
+as he always read those letters, almost subconsciously committing the
+very words to memory with that keen faculty of brain of his. But now
+as he began to tear the sheet and envelope into minute particles, a
+strained, hard look was on his face and in his eyes, and his lips, half
+parted, moved a little.
+
+“It's a death warrant,” muttered Jimmie Dale. “I--I guess to-night will
+see the end of the Gray Seal. She says I needn't do it, but I guess it's
+worth the risk--a human life!”
+
+A downtown express roared into the station.
+
+“What time is it?” Jimmie Dale asked the guard, as he stepped aboard.
+
+“'Bout midnight,” the man answered tersely.
+
+The forward car was almost empty, and Jimmie Dale chose a seat by
+himself. How did she know? How did she know not only this, but the
+hundred other affairs that she had outlined in those letters of hers? By
+what means, superhuman, indeed, it seemed, did she--Jimmie Dale jerked
+himself erect suddenly. What good did it do to speculate on that now,
+when every minute was priceless? What was HE to do, how was he to act,
+what plan could he formulate and carry out, and WIN against odds that,
+at the outset, were desperate enough even to forecast almost certain
+failure--and death!
+
+Who would ever have suspected old Tom Ludgate, known for years
+throughout the squalour of the East Side as old Luddy, the pushcart man,
+of having a bag of unset diamonds under his pillow--or under the sack,
+rather, that he probably used for a pillow! What a queer thing to do!
+But then, old Luddy was a character--apparently always in the most
+poverty-stricken condition, apparently hardly more than keeping body
+and soul together, trusting no one, and obsessed by the dread that by
+depositing in a bank some one would discover that he had money, and
+attempt to force it from him, he had put his savings, year after
+year, for twenty years, twenty-five years, perhaps, into unset
+stone--diamonds. How had she found that out?
+
+Jimmie Dale sank into a deeper reverie. He could steal them all right,
+and they would be well worth the stealing--old Luddy had done well, and
+lived and existed on next to nothing--the stones, she said, were worth
+about fifteen thousand dollars. Not so bad, even for twenty-five years
+of vegetable selling from a pushcart! He could steal them all right; it
+would tax the Gray Seal's ingenuity little to do so simple a thing as
+that, but that was not all, nor, indeed, hardly a factor in it--it was
+vital that if he were to succeed at all he must steal them PUBLICLY, as
+it were.
+
+And after that--WHAT? His own chances were pretty slim at best. Jimmie
+Dale, staring at the grayness of the subway wall through the window,
+shook his head slowly--then, with a queer little philosophical shrug of
+his shoulders, he smiled gravely, seriously. It was all a part of the
+game, all a part of the life--of the Gray Seal!
+
+It was half-past twelve, or a little later, as nearly as he could judge,
+for Larry the Bat carried no such ornate thing in evidence as a watch,
+as he halted at the corner of a dark, squalid street in the lower
+East Side. It was a miserable locality--in daylight humming with a
+cosmopolitan hive of pitiful humans dragging out as best they could
+an intolerable existence, a locality peopled with every nationality on
+earth, their community of interest the struggle to maintain life at the
+lowest possible expenditure, where necessity even was pared and
+shaved down to a minimum; but now, at night time, or rather in the
+early-morning hours, the darkness, in very mercy, it seemed, covered it
+with a veil, as it were, and in the quiet that hung over it now hid the
+bald, the hideous, aye, and the piteous, too, from view.
+
+It was a narrow street, and the row of tenement houses, each house
+almost identical with its neighbour, that flanked the pavement on either
+side, seemed, from where Jimmie Dale stood looking down its length, from
+the corner, to converge together at a point a little way beyond,
+giving it an unreal, ominous, cavernlike effect. And, too, there seemed
+something ominous even in its quiet. It was as though one sensed acutely
+the crouching of some Thing in its lair--waiting silently, viciously,
+with sullen patience.
+
+A footstep sounded--another. Jimmie Dale drew quickly back around the
+corner into an areaway. Two men passed--in helmets--swinging their
+nightsticks--that beat was always policed in pairs!
+
+They passed on, turned the corner, and went down the narrow cross street
+that Jimmie Dale had just been inspecting. He started to follow--and
+drew back again abruptly. A form flitted suddenly across the road and
+disappeared in the darkness in the officers' wake--ten yards behind
+the first another followed--at the same interval of distance still
+another--and yet still one more--four in all.
+
+The darkness hid all six, the two policemen, the four men behind
+them--the only sounds were the OFFICERS' footsteps dying away in the
+distance.
+
+Jimmie Dale's fingers were mechanically testing the mechanism of the
+automatic in his pocket.
+
+“The Skeeter's gang!” he muttered to himself. “Red Mose, the Midget,
+Harve Thoms--and the Skeeter! The Worst apaches in the city of New York;
+death contractors--the lowest bidders! Professional assassins, and a
+man's life any time for twenty-five dollars! I wonder--I've never
+done it yet--but I wonder if it would be a crime in God's sight if one
+shot--to KILL!”
+
+Jimmie Dale was at the corner again--again the street before him was
+black, deserted, empty. He chose the right hand side, and, well in the
+shadow of the houses, as an extra precaution, stole along silently. He
+stopped finally before one where, in the doorway, hung a little sign.
+Jimmie Dale mounted the porch, and with his eyes close to the sign could
+just make out the larger words in the big printed type:
+
+
+ROOM TO RENT
+
+TOP FLOOR
+
+
+Jimmie Dale nodded. That was right. The first house on the right-hand
+side, with the room-to-rent sign, her letter had said. His fingers were
+testing the doorknob. The door was not locked.
+
+“Naturally, it wouldn't be locked,” Jimmie Dale told himself grimly--and
+stepped inside.
+
+He stood for an instant without movement, every faculty on the alert.
+Far up above him a step, guarded though his trained ear made it out
+to be, creaked faintly upon the stairs--there was no other sound. The
+creaking, almost inaudible at its loudest, receded farther up--and
+silence fell.
+
+In the darkness, noiselessly, Jimmie Dale groped for the stairway, found
+it, and began to ascend. The minutes passed--it seemed a minute even
+from step to step, and there were three flights to the top! There must
+be no creaking this time--the slightest sound, he knew well enough,
+would be not only fatal to the work he had to do, but probably fatal to
+himself as well. He had been near death many times--the consciousness
+that he was nearer to it now, possibly, than he had ever been before,
+seemed to stimulate his senses into acute and abnormal energy. And, too,
+the physical effort, as, step by step, the flexed muscles relaxing so
+slowly, little by little, gradually, each time as he found foothold
+on the step higher up, was a terrific strain. At the top his face was
+bathed in perspiration, and he wiped it off with his coat sleeve.
+
+It was still dark here, intensely dark, and his eyes, though grown
+accustomed to it, could make out nothing but the deeper shadow of the
+walls. But thanks to her, always a mistress of accurate and minute
+detail, he possessed a mental plan of his surroundings. The head of the
+stairs gave on the middle of the hallway--the hallway ran to his right
+and left. To his right, on the opposite side of the hall, was the door
+of old Luddy's squalid two-room apartment.
+
+For a moment Jimmie Dale stood hesitant--a sudden perplexity and anxiety
+growing upon him. It was strange! What did it mean? He had nerved
+himself to a quick, desperate attempt, trusting to surprise and his own
+wit and agility for victory--there had seemed no other way than that,
+since he had seen those four men at the corner--since they were AHEAD
+of him. True, they were not much ahead of him, not enough to have
+accomplished their purpose--and, furthermore, they were not in that
+room. He knew that absolutely, beyond question of doubt. He had listened
+for just that all the nerve-racking way up the stairs. But where
+were they? There was no sound--not a sound--just blackness, dark,
+impenetrable, utter, that began to palpitate now.
+
+It came in a whisper, wavering, sibilant--from his left. A sort of
+relief, fierce in the breaking of the tense expectancy, premonitory in
+the possibilities that it held, swept Jimmie Dale. He crept along the
+hall. The whisper had come from that room, presumably empty--that was
+for rent!
+
+By the door he crouched--his sensitive fingers, eyes to Jimmie Dale so
+often--feeling over jamb and panels with a delicate, soundless touch.
+The door was just ajar. The fingers crept inside and touched the knob
+and lock--there was no key within.
+
+The whispering still went on--but it seemed like a screaming of vultures
+now in Jimmie Dale's ears, as the words came to him.
+
+“Aw, say, Skeeter, dis high-brow stunt gives me de pip! Me fer goin' in
+dere an' croakin' de geezer reg'lar, widout de frills. Who's to know?
+Say, just about two minutes, an' we're beatin' it wid de sparklers.”
+
+An inch, a half inch at a time, the knob slowly, very, very slowly
+turning, the door was being closed by the crouched form on the
+threshold.
+
+“Close yer trap, Mose!” came a fierce response. “We ain't fixed the
+lay all day for nothin'. There ain't a soul on earth knows he's got any
+sparklers, 'cept us. If there was, it would be different--then they'd
+know that was what whoever did it was after, see?”
+
+The door was closed--the knob slowly, very, very slowly being released
+again. From one of the leather pockets under Jimmie Dale's vest came a
+tiny steel instrument that he inserted in the key-hole.
+
+The same voice spoke on:
+
+“That's what we're croaking him for, 'cause nobody knows about them
+diamonds, and so's he can't TELL anybody afterward that any were
+pinched. An' that's why it's got to look like he just got tired of
+living and did it himself. I guess that'll hold the police when they
+find the poor old duck hanging from the ceiling, with a bit of cord
+around his neck, and a chair kicked out from under his feet on the
+floor. Ain't you got the brains of a louse to see that?”
+
+“Sure”--the whisper came dully, in grudging intonation through the
+panels--the door was locked. “Sure, but it's de hangin' 'round waitin'
+to get busy that's gettin' me goat, an'--”
+
+Jimmie Dale straightened up and began to retreat along the corridor.
+A merciless rage was upon him now, every fiber of his being seemed to
+tingle and quiver with it--the damnable, hellish ingenuity of it all
+seemed to choke and suffocate him.
+
+“Luck!” muttered Jimmie Dale between his clenched teeth. “Oh, the
+blessed luck to get that door locked! I've got time now to set the stage
+for my own get-away before the showdown!”
+
+He stole on along the corridor. Excerpts from her letter were running
+through his brain: “It would do no good to warn him, Jimmie--the Skeeter
+and his gang would never let up on him until they got the stones. . . .
+It would do no good for you to steal them first, for they would only
+take that as a ruse of old Luddy's, and murder the man first and hunt
+afterward. . . . In some way you must let the Skeeter SEE you steal
+them, make them think, make them certain that it is a bona-fide theft,
+so that they will no longer have any interest or any desire to do old
+Luddy harm. . . . And for it to appear real to them, it must appear real
+to old Luddy himself--do not take any chances there.”
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes narrowed. Yes, it was simple enough now with that
+pack of hell's wolves guarded for the moment by a locked door, forced to
+give him warning by breaking the door before they could get out. It was
+simple enough now to enter old Luddy's room, steal the stones at the
+revolver point, then make enough disturbance--when he was ready--to set
+the gang in motion, and, as they rushed in open him, to make his escape
+with the stones to the roof through Luddy's room. That was simple
+enough--there was an opening to the roof in Luddy's room, she had said,
+and there was a ladder kept there in place. On hot nights, it seemed,
+the old man used to go up there and sleep on the roof--not now, of
+course. It was too late in the year for that--but the opening in the
+roof was there, and the ladder remained there, too.
+
+Yes, it was simple enough now. And the next morning the papers would
+rave with execrations against the Gray Seal--for the robbery of the
+life savings of a poor, defenseless old man, for committing as vile and
+pitiful a crime as had ever stirred New York! Even Carruthers, of
+the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, would be moved to bitter attack. Good old
+Carruthers--who little thought that the Gray Seal was his old college
+pal, his present most intimate friend, Jimmie Dale! And afterward--after
+the next morning? Well, that, at least, had never been in doubt. Old
+Luddy could be made to leave New York, and, once away, with the Skeeter
+and his gang robbed of incentive to pay any further attention to him,
+the stones could be secretly returned to the old man. And it would
+to the public, to the police, be just another of the Gray Seal's
+crimes--that was all!
+
+Jimmie Dale had reached old Luddy's door. The Gray Seal? Oh, yes, they
+would know it was the Gray Seal--the insignia was familiar enough;
+familiar to the crooks of the underworld, who held it in awe; familiar
+to the police, to whom it was an added barb of ridicule. He was placing
+it now, that insignia, a diamond-shaped, gray paper seal, on the panel
+of the door; and now, a black silk mask adjusted over his face, Jimmie
+Dale bent to insert the little steel instrument in the lock--a pitiful,
+paltry thing, a cheap lock, to fingers that could play so intimately
+with twirling knobs and dials, masters of the intricate mechanism of
+vaults and safes!
+
+And then, about to open the door, a sort of sudden dismay fell upon him.
+He had not thought of that--somehow, it had not occurred to him! WHAT
+WAS IT THEY WERE WAITING FOR? Why had they not struck at once, as, when
+he had first entered the house, he had supposed they would do? What was
+it? Why was it? Was old Luddy out? Were they waiting for his return--or
+what?
+
+The door, without sound, moved gradually under his hand. A faint odor
+assailed his nostrils! It was dark, very dark. Across the room, in a
+direct line, was the doorway of the inner room--she had explained that
+in her letter. It was slow progress to cross that room without sound,
+in silence--it was a snail's movement--for fear that even a muscle might
+crack.
+
+And now he stood in the inner doorway. It was dark here, to--and yet,
+how bizarre, a star seemed to twinkle through the very roof of the room
+itself! The odour was pungent now. There was a long-drawn sigh--then a
+low, indescribable sound of movement. SOMEBODY, APART FROM OLD LUDDY,
+WAS IN THE ROOM!
+
+It swept, the full consciousness of it, upon Jimmie Dale in an
+instantaneous flash. Chloroform; the open scuttle in the roof; the
+waiting of those others--all fused into a compact logical whole. They
+had loosened the scuttle during the day, probably when old Luddy was
+away--one of them had crept down there now to chloroform the old man
+into insensibility--the others would complete the ghastly work presently
+by stringing their victim up to the ceiling--and it would be suicide,
+for, long before morning came, long before the old man would be
+discovered, the fumes of the chloroform would be gone.
+
+It seemed like a cold hand, deathlike, clutching at his heart. Was he
+too late, after all! Chloroform alone could--kill! To the right, just a
+little to the right--he must make no mistake--his ear placed the sound!
+He whipped his hands from the side pockets of his coat--the ray of his
+flashlight cut across the room and fell upon an aged face upon a bed,
+upon a hand clutching a wad of cloth, the cloth pressed horribly against
+the nose and mouth of the upturned face--and then, roaring in the
+stillness, spitting a vicious lane of fire that paralleled the
+flashlight's ray, came the tongue flame of his automatic.
+
+There was a yell, a scream, that echoed out, reverberated, and went
+racketing through the house, and Jimmie Dale leaped forward--over a
+table, sending it crashing to the floor. The man had reeled back against
+the wall, clutching at a shattered wrist, staring into the flashlight's
+eye, white-faced, jaw dropped, lips working in mingled pain and fear.
+
+“Harve Thoms--you, eh?” gritted Jimmie Dale.
+
+A cunning look swept the distorted face. Here, apparently, was only one
+man--there were pals, three of them, only a few yards away.
+
+“You ain't got nothing on me!” he snarled, sparring for time. “You
+police are too damned fresh with your guns!”
+
+“I'll take yours!” snapped Jimmie Dale, and snatched it deftly from the
+other's pocket. “This ain't any police job, my bucko, and you make
+a move and I'll drop you for keeps, if what you've got already ain't
+enough to teach you to keep your hands off jobs that belong to your
+betters!”
+
+He was working with mad haste as he spoke. One minute at the outside
+was, perhaps, all he could count upon. Already he had caught the rattle
+of the locked door down the hall. He lit a match and turned on the gas
+over the bed--it was the most dangerous thing he could do--he knew that
+well enough, none knew it better--it was offering himself as a fair
+mark when the others rushed in, as they would in a moment now--but the
+Skeeter and his gang and this man here must have no misconception of his
+purpose, his reason for being there, the same as their own, the theft of
+the stones--and no misconception as to his SUCCESS.
+
+“Y'ain't the police!”--it came in a choked gasp from the other, as he
+blinked in the sudden light “Say then--”
+
+“Shut up!” ordered Jimmie Dale curtly. “And mind what I told you about
+moving!” He leaned over the bed. Old Luddy, though under the influence
+of the chloroform, was moving restlessly. Thoms had evidently only begun
+to apply the chloroform--old Luddy was safe! Jimmie Dale ran his hand
+in under the pillow. “If you ain't swiped them already they ought to be
+here!” he growled; “and if you have I'll--ah!” A little chamois bag was
+in his hand. He laughed sneeringly at Thoms, opened the bag, allowed
+a few stones to trickle into his hand--and then, without stopping to
+replace them, dashed stones and bag into his pocket. The door along the
+corridor crashed open.
+
+“What's that?” he gasped out, in well-simulated fright--and sprang for
+the ladder that led up to the roof.
+
+It had all taken, perhaps, the minute that he had counted on--no more.
+Noises came from the floors below now, a confusion of them--the shot,
+the scream had been heard by others, save those who had been in the
+locked room. And the latter were outside now in the corridor, running to
+their accomplice's aid.
+
+There was a pause at the outer door--then an oath--and coupled with the
+oath an exclamation:
+
+“The Gray Seal!”
+
+They had swept a flashlight over the door panel--Jimmie Dale, halfway up
+the ladder, smiled grimly.
+
+The door opened--there was a rush of feet. The man with the shattered
+wrist yelled, cursing wildly:
+
+“Here he is--on the ladder! Let him have it! Fill him full of holes!”
+
+Jimmie Dale was in the light--they were in the dark of the outer room.
+He fired at the threshold, checking their rush--as a hail of bullets
+chipped and tore at the ladder and spat wickedly against the wall. He
+swung through to the roof, trying, as he did so, to kick the ladder
+loose behind him. It was fastened!
+
+The three gunmen jumped into the room--from the roof Jimmie Dale got a
+glimpse of them below, as he flung himself clear of the opening. Bullets
+whistled through the aperture--a voice roared up as he gained his feet:
+
+“Come on! After him! The whole place is alive, but this lets us out.
+We can frame up how we came to be here easy enough. Never mind the old
+geezer there any more! Get the Gray Seal--the reward that's out for him
+is worth twice the sparklers, and--”
+
+Jimmie Dale hurled the cover over the scuttle. He could have stood them
+off from above and kept the ladder clear with his revolver, but the
+alarm seemed general now--windows were opening, voices were calling to
+one another--from the windows across the street he must stand out in
+sharp outline against the sky. Yes--he was seen now.
+
+A woman's voice, from a top-story window across the street, screamed
+out, high-pitched in excitement:
+
+“There he is! There he is! On the roof there!”
+
+Jimmie Dale started on the run along the roof. The houses, built wall to
+wall, flat-roofed, seemed to offer an open course ahead of him--until
+a lane or an intersecting street should bar his way! But they were not
+quite all on the same level, though--the wall of the next house rose
+suddenly breast high in front of him. He flung himself up, regained his
+feet--and ducked instantly behind a chimney.
+
+The crack of a revolver echoed through the night--a bullet drummed
+through the air--the Skeeter and his gang were on the roof now, dashing
+forward, firing as they ran. Two shots from Jimmie Dale's automatic, in
+quick succession cooled the ardour of their rush--and they broke, black,
+flitting forms, for the shelter of chimneys, too.
+
+And now the whole neighbourhood seemed awakened. A dull-toned roar,
+as from some great gulf below, rolled up from the street, a medley of
+slamming windows, the rush of feet as people poured from the houses,
+cries, shouts, and yells--and high over all the shrill call of the
+police-patrol whistle--and the CRACK, CRACK, CRACK of the Skeeter's
+revolver shots--the Skeeter and his hellhounds for once self-appointed
+allies of the law!
+
+Twice again Jimmie Dale fired--then crouching, running low, he zigzagged
+his way across the next roof. The bullets followed him--once more his
+pursuers dashed forward. And again Jimmie Dale, his face set like stone
+now, his breath coming in hard gasps, dodged behind a chimney, and with
+his gun checked their rush for the third time.
+
+He glanced about him--and with a growing sense of disaster saw that two
+houses farther on the stretch of roof appeared to end. There would be
+a lane or a street there! And in another minute or two, if it were not
+already the case, others would be following the gunmen to the roof,
+and then he would be--he caught his breath suddenly in a queer little
+strangled cry of relief. Just back of him, a few yards away, his eyes
+made out what, in the darkness, seemed to be a glass skylight.
+
+A dark form sped like a deeper shadow across the black in front of
+him, making for a chimney nearer by, closing in the range. Jimmie Dale
+fired--wide. Tight as was the corner he was in, little as was the
+mercy deserved at his hands, he could not, after all, bring himself to
+shoot--to kill.
+
+A voice, the Skeeter's, bawled out raucously:
+
+“Rush him all together--from different sides at once!”
+
+A backward leap! Jimmie Dale's boot was crashing glass and frame,
+stamping at it desperately, making a hole for his body through the
+skylight. A yell, a chorus of them, answered this--then the crunch of
+racing feet on the gravel roof. He emptied his revolver, sweeping the
+darkness with a semicircle of vicious flashes.
+
+It seemed an hour--it was barely the fraction of a second, as he hung
+by his hands from the side of the skylight frame, his body swinging
+back and forth in the unknown blackness below. The skylight might
+be, probably was, directly over the stair well, and open clear to the
+basement of the house--but it was his only chance. He swung his body
+well out, let go--and dropped. With the impetus he smashed against a
+wall, was flung back from it in a sort of rebound, and his hands closed,
+gripping fiercely, on banisters. It had been the stair well beyond any
+question of doubt, but his swing had sent him clear of it.
+
+Above, they had not yet reached the skylight. Jimmie Dale snatched a
+precious moment to listen, as he rose, and found himself, apart from
+bruises, perhaps unhurt. There was commotion, too, in this house below,
+the alarm had extended and spread along the block--but the commotion was
+all in the FRONT of the house--the street was the lure.
+
+Jimmie Dale started down the stairs, and in an instant he had gained the
+landing. In another he had slipped to the rear of the hall--somewhere
+there, from the hall itself, from one of the rear rooms, there must be
+an exit to the fire escape. To attempt to leave by the front way was
+certain capture.
+
+They were yelling, shouting down now through the sky-light above, as
+Jimmie Dale softly raised the window sash at the rear of the hall. The
+fire escape was there. Shouts from along the corridor, from the tenement
+dwellers who had been crowding their neighbours' rooms, craning their
+necks probably from the front windows, answered the shouts now from the
+roof and the skylight; doors opened; forms rushed out--but it was dark
+in the corridor, only a murky yellow at the upper end from the opened
+doors.
+
+Jimmie Dale slipped through the window to the fire escape, and, working
+cautiously, silently, but with the speed of a trained athlete, made his
+way down. At the bottom he dropped from the iron platform into the back
+yard, ran for the fence and climbed over into a lane on the other side.
+
+And then, as he ran, Jimmie Dale snatched the mask from his face and
+put it in his pocket. He was safe now. He swept the sweat drops from his
+forehead with the back of his hand--noticing them for the first time.
+It had been close--almost as close for him as it had been for old Luddy.
+And to-morrow the papers would execrate the Gray Seal! He smiled a
+little wanly. His breath was still coming hard. Presently they would
+scour the lane--when they found that their quarry was not in the house.
+What a racket they were making! The whole district seemed roused like a
+swarm of angry bees.
+
+He kept on along the lane--and dodged suddenly into a cross street where
+the two intersected. The clang of a bell dinned discordantly in
+his ears--a patrol wagon swept by him, racing for the scene of the
+disturbance--the riot call was out!
+
+Again Jimmie Dale smiled wearily, passing his hand across his eyes.
+
+“I guess,” said Jimmie Dale, “I'm pretty near all in. And I guess it's
+time that Larry the Bat went--home.”
+
+And a little later a figure turned from the Bowery and shambled down
+the cross street, a disreputable figure, with hands plunged deep in his
+pockets--and a shadow across the roadway suddenly shifted its position
+as the shambling figure slouched into the black alleyway and entered the
+tenement's side door.
+
+And Larry the Bat smiled softly to himself--Kline's men were still on
+guard!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+DEVIL'S WORK
+
+
+A white-gloved arm, a voice, and a silvery laugh! Just that--no more!
+Jimmie Dale, in his favourite seat, an aisle seat some seven or eight
+rows back from the orchestra, stared at the stage, to all outward
+appearances absorbed in the last act of the play; inwardly, quite
+oblivious to the fact that even a play was going on.
+
+A white-gloved arm, a voice, and a silvery laugh! The words had formed
+themselves into a sort of singsong refrain that, for the last few days,
+had been running through his head. A strange enough guiding star to
+mould and dictate every action in his life! And that was all he had ever
+seen of her, all that he had ever heard of her--except those letters,
+of course, each of which had outlined the details of some affair for the
+Gray Seal to execute.
+
+Indeed, it seemed a great length of time now since he had heard from her
+even in that way, though it was not so many days ago, after all. Perhaps
+it was the calm, as it were, that, by contrast, had given place to the
+strenuous months and weeks just past. The storm raised by the newspapers
+at the theft of Old Luddy's diamonds had subsided into sporadic
+diatribes aimed at the police; Kline, of the secret service, had finally
+admitted defeat, and a shadow no longer skulked day and night at
+the entrance to the Sanctuary--and Larry the Bat bore the government
+indorsement, so to speak, of being no more suspicious a character than
+that of a disreputable, but harmless, dope fiend of the underworld.
+
+Larry the Bat! The Gray Seal! Jimmie Dale the millionaire! What if it
+were ever known that that strange three were one! What if--Jimmie Dale
+smiled whimsically. A burst of applause echoed through the house, the
+orchestra was playing, the lights were on, seats banged, there was the
+bustle of the rising audience, the play was at an end--and for the life
+of him he could not have remembered a single line of the last act!
+
+The aisle at his elbow was already crowded with people on their way out.
+Jimmie Dale stooped down mechanically to reach for his hat beneath his
+seat--and the next instant he was standing up, staring wildly into the
+faces around him.
+
+It had fallen at his feet--a white envelope. Hers! It was in his hand
+now, those slim, tapering, wonderfully sensitive fingers of Jimmie
+Dale, that were an “open sesame” to locks and safes, subconsciously
+telegraphing to his mind the fact that the texture of the paper--was
+hers. Hers! And she must be one of those around him--one of those
+crowding either the row of seats in front or behind, or one of those
+just passing in the aisle. It had fallen at his feet as he had stooped
+over for his hat--but from just exactly what direction he could not
+tell. His eyes, eagerly, hungrily, critically, swept face after face.
+Which one was hers? What irony! She, whom he would have given his
+life to know, for whom indeed he risked his life every hour of the
+twenty-four, was close to him now, within reach--and as far removed as
+though a thousand miles separated them. She was there--but he could not
+recognise a face that he had never seen!
+
+With an effort, he choked back the bitter, impotent laugh that rose to
+his lips. They were talking, laughing around him. Her VOICE--yes, he
+had once heard that, and that he would recognise again. He strained to
+catch, to individualise the tone sounds that floated in a medley about
+him. It was useless--of course--every effort that he had ever made
+to find her had been useless. She was too clever, far too clever for
+that--she, too, would know that he could and would recognise her voice
+where he could recognise nothing else.
+
+And then, suddenly, he realised that he was attracting attention. Level
+stares from the women returned his gaze, and they edged away a little
+from his vicinity as they passed, their escorts crowding somewhat
+belligerently into their places. Others, in the same row of seats as his
+own, were impatiently waiting to get by him. With a muttered apology,
+Jimmie Dale raised the seat of his chair, allowing these latter to pass
+him--and then, slipping the letter into his pocketbook, he snatched up
+his hat from the seat rack.
+
+There was still a chance. Knowing he was there, she would be on her
+guard; but in the lobby, among the crowd and unaware of his presence,
+there was the possibility that, if he could reach the entrance ahead of
+her, she, too, might be talking and laughing as she left the theatre.
+Just a single word, just a tone--that was all he asked.
+
+The row of seats at whose end he stood was empty now, and, instead of
+stepping into the thronged aisle, he made his way across to the opposite
+side of the theatre. Here, the far aisle was less crowded, and in a
+minute he had gained the foyer, confident that he was now in advance of
+her. The next moment he was lost in a jam of people in the lobby.
+
+He moved slowly now, very slowly--allowing those behind to press by
+him on the way to the entrance. A babel of voices rose about him,
+as, tight-packed, the mass of people jostled, elbowed, and pushed
+good-naturedly. It was a voice now, her voice, that he was listening
+for; but, though it seemed that every faculty was strained and intent
+upon that one effort, his eyes, too, had in no degree relaxed their
+vigilance--and once, half grimly, half sardonically, he smiled to
+himself. There would be an unexpected aftermath to this exodus
+of expensively gowned and bejewelled women with their prosperous,
+well-groomed escorts! There was the Wowzer over there--sleek, dapper,
+squirming in and out of the throng with the agility and stealth of a
+cat. As Larry the Bat he had met the Wowzer many times, as indeed he
+had met and was acquainted with most of the elite of the underworld.
+The Wowzer, beyond a shadow of doubt, in his own profession stood upon
+a plane entirely by himself--among those qualified to speak, no one yet
+had ever questioned the Wowzer's claim to the distinction of being the
+most dexterous and finished “poke getter” in the United States!
+
+The crowd thinned in the lobby, thinned down to the last few belated
+stragglers, who passed him as he still loitered in the entrance; and
+then Jimmie Dale, with a shrug of his shoulders that was a great
+deal more philosophical than the maddening sense of chagrin and
+disappointment that burned within him, stepped out to the pavement and
+headed down Broadway. After all, he had known it in his heart of hearts
+all the time--it had always been the same--it was only one more occasion
+added to the innumerable ones that had gone before in which she had
+eluded him!
+
+And now--there was the letter! Automatically he quickened his steps a
+little. It was useless, futile, profitless, for the moment, at least, to
+disturb himself over his failure--there was the letter! His lips parted
+in a strange, half-serious, half-speculative smile. The letter--that
+was paramount now. What new venture did the night hold in store for
+him? What sudden emergency was the Gray Seal called upon to face this
+time--what role, unrehearsed, without warning, must he play? What story
+of grim, desperate rascality would the papers credit him with
+when daylight came? Or would they carry in screaming headlines the
+announcement that the Gray Seal was caged and caught at last, and in
+three-inch type tell the world that the Gray Seal was--Jimmie Dale!
+
+A block down, he turned from Broadway out of the theatre crowds that
+streamed in both directions past him. The letter! Almost feverishly
+now he was seeking an opportunity to open and read it unobserved; an
+eagerness upon him that mingled exhilaration at the lure of danger
+with a sense of premonition that, irritably, inevitably was with him
+at moments such as these. It seemed, it always seemed, that, with an
+unopened letter of hers in his possession, it was as though he were
+about to open a page in the Book of Fate and read, as it were, a
+pronouncement upon himself that might mean life or death.
+
+He hurried on. People still passed by him--too many. And then a cafe,
+just ahead, making a corner, gave him the opportunity that he sought.
+Away from the entrance, on the side street, the brilliant lights from
+the windows shone out on a comparatively deserted pavement. There was
+ample light to read by, even as far away from the window as the curb,
+and Jimmie Dale, with an approving nod, turned the corner and walked
+along a few steps until opposite the farthest window--but, as he halted
+here at the edge of the street, he glanced quickly behind him at a man
+whom he had just passed. The other had paused at the corner and was
+staring down the street. Jimmie Dale instantly and nonchalantly produced
+his cigarette case, selected a cigarette, and fastidiously tapped its
+end on his thumb nail.
+
+“Inspector Burton in plain clothes,” he observed musingly to himself. “I
+wonder if it's just a fluke--or something else? We'll see.”
+
+Jimmie Dale took a box of matches from his pocket. The first would not
+light. The second broke, and, with an exclamation of annoyance, he flung
+it away. The third was making a fitful effort at life, as another man
+emerged hastily from the cafe's side door, hurried to the corner, joined
+the man who was still loitering there, and both together disappeared at
+a rapid pace down the street.
+
+Jimmie Dale whistled softly to himself. The second man was even better
+known than the first; there was not a crook in New York but would
+side-step Lannigan of headquarters, and do it with amazing celerity--if
+he could!
+
+“Something up! But it's not my hunt!” muttered Jimmie Dale; then, with
+a shrug of his shoulders: “Queer the way those headquarters chaps
+fascinate and give me a thrill every time I see them, even if I haven't
+a ghost of a reason for imagining that--”
+
+The sentence was never finished. Jimmie Dale's face was gray. The street
+seemed to rock about him--and he stared, like a man stricken, white to
+the lips, ahead of him. THE LETTER WAS GONE! His hand, wriggling from
+his empty pocket, swept away the sweat beads that were bursting from his
+forehead. It had come at last--the pitcher had gone once too often to
+the well!
+
+Numbed for an instant, his brain cleared now, working with lightning
+speed, leaping from premise to conclusion. The crush in the theatre
+lobby--the pushing, the jostling, the close contact--the Wowzer, the
+slickest, cleverest pickpocket in the United States! For a moment he
+could have laughed aloud in a sort of ghastly, defiant mockery--he
+himself had predicted an unexpected aftermath, had he not!
+
+Aftermath! It was--the END! An hour, two hours, and New York would be
+metamorphosed into a seething caldron of humanity bubbling with the
+news. It seemed that he could hear the screams of the newsboys now
+shouting their extras; it seemed that he could see the people, roused to
+frenzy, swarming in excited crowds, snatching at the papers; he seemed
+to hear the mob's shouts swell in execration, in exultation--it seemed
+as though all around him had gone mad. The mystery of the Gray Seal was
+solved! It was Jimmie Dale, Jimmie Dale, Jimmie, Dale, the millionaire,
+the lion of society--and there was ignominy for an honoured name, and
+shame and disaster and convict stripes and sullen penitentiary walls--or
+death! A felon's death--the chair!
+
+He was running now, his hands clenched at his sides; his mind, working
+subconsciously, urging him onward in a blind, as yet unrealised,
+objectless way. And then gradually impulse gave way to calmer reason,
+and he slowed his pace to a quick, less noticeable walk. The Wowzer!
+That was it! There was yet a chance--the Wowzer! A merciless rage,
+cold, deadly, settled upon him. It was the Wowzer who had stolen his
+pocketbook, and with it the letter. There could be no doubt of that.
+Well, there would be a reckoning at least before the end!
+
+He was in a downtown subway train now--the roar in his ears in
+consonance, it seemed, with the turmoil in his brain. But now, too, he
+was Jimmie Dale again; and, apart from the slightly outthrust jaw, the
+tight-closed lips, impassive, debonair, composed.
+
+There was yet a chance. As Larry the Bat he knew every den and lair
+below the dead line, and he knew, too, the Wowzer's favourite haunts.
+There was yet a chance, only one in a thousand, it was true, almost too
+pitiful to be depended upon--but yet a chance. The Wowzer had probably
+not worked alone, and he and his pal, or pals, would certainly not
+remain uptown either to examine or divide their spoils--they would wait
+until they were safe somewhere in one of their hell holes on the East
+Side. If he could find the Wowzer, reach the man BEFORE THE LETTER WAS
+OPENED--Jimmie Dale's lips grew tighter. THAT was the chance! It he
+failed in that--Jimmie Dale's lips drooped downward in grim curves at
+the corners. A chance! Already the Wowzer had at least a half hour's
+lead, and, worse still, there was no telling which one of a dozen places
+the man might have chosen to retreat to with his loot.
+
+Time passed. His mind obsessed, Jimmie Dale's physical acts were
+almost wholly mechanical. It was perhaps fifteen minutes since he had
+discovered the loss of the letter, and he was walking now through the
+heart of the Bowery. Exactly how he had got there he could not have
+told; he had only a vague realisation that, following an intuitive
+sense of direction, he had lost not a second of time in making his way
+downtown.
+
+And now he found himself hesitating at the corner of a cross street. Two
+blocks east was that dark, narrow alleyway, that side door that made the
+entrance to the Sanctuary. It would be safer, a hundred times safer, to
+go there, change his clothes and his personality, and emerge again as
+Larry the Bat--infinitely safer in that role to explore the dens of the
+underworld, many of them indeed unknown and undreamed of by the police
+themselves, than to trust himself there in well-cut, fashionable
+tweeds--but that would take time. Time! When, with every second, the
+one chance he had, desperate as that already was, was slipping away from
+him. No; what was apparently the greater risk at least held out the only
+hope.
+
+He went on again--his brain incessantly at work. At the worst, there
+was one mitigating factor in it all. He had no need to think of her.
+Whatever the ruin and disaster that faced him in the next few hours, she
+in any case was safe. There was no clew to HER identity in the letter;
+and where he, for months on end, with even more to work upon, had failed
+at every turn to trace her, there was little fear that any one else
+would have any better success. She was safe. As for himself--that was
+different. The Gray Seal would be referred to in the letter, there would
+be the outline, the data for the “crime” she had planned for that night;
+and the letter, though unaddressed, being found in his pocketbook,
+where cards and notes and a dozen different things among its contents
+proclaimed him Jimmie Dale, needed no further evidence as to its
+ownership nor the identity of the Gray Seal.
+
+Jimmie Dale's fingers crept inside his vest and fumbled there for a
+moment--and a diamond stud, extracted from his shirt front, glistened
+sportively in the necktie that was now tucked jauntily in at one side of
+his shirt bosom. He had reached the Blue Dragon, one of Wowzer's usual
+hang outs, and, swerving from the sidewalk, entered the place. There was
+wild tumult within--a constant storm of applause, derision, and hilarity
+that was hurled from the tables around the room at the turkey-trotting,
+tango-writhing couples on the somewhat restricted space of polished
+hardwood flooring in the centre. Jimmie Dale swaggered down the room,
+a cigar tilted up at an angle between his teeth, his soft felt hat a
+little rakishly on one side of his head and well over his nose.
+
+At the end of the room, at the bar, Jimmie Dale leaned toward the
+barkeeper and talked out of the corner of his mouth. There were private
+rooms upstairs, and he jerked his head surreptitiously ceilingward.
+
+“Say, is de Wowzer up dere?” he inquired in a cautious whisper.
+
+The man behind the bar, well known to Jimmie Dale as one of the Wowzer's
+particular pals, favoured him with a blank stare.
+
+“Never heard of de guy!” he announced brusquely. “Wot's yours?”
+
+“Gimme a mug of suds,” said Jimmie Dale, reaching for a match. He puffed
+at his cigar, blew out the match, and, after a moment, flung the charred
+end away--but on his hand, as, palm outward, he raised it to take his
+glass, the match had traced a small black cross.
+
+The barkeeper put down the beer he had just drawn, wiped his hand
+hurriedly, and with sudden enthusiasm thrust it across the bar.
+
+“Glad to know youse, cull!” he exclaimed. “Wot's de lay?”
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled.
+
+“Nix!” said Jimmie Dale. “I just blew in from Chicago. Used to know de
+Wowzer dere. He said dis place was on de level, an' I could always find
+him here, dat's all.”
+
+“Sure, youse can!” returned the barkeeper heartily. “Only he ain't here
+now. He beat it about fifteen minutes ago, him an' Dago Jim. I guess
+youse'll find him at Chang's, I heard him an' Dago say dey was goin'
+dere. Know de place?”
+
+Jimmie Dale shook his head.
+
+“I ain't much wise to New York,” he explained.
+
+“Aw, dat's easy,” whispered the barkeeper. “Go down to Chatham Square,
+an' den any guy'll show youse Chang Foo's.” He winked confidentially. “I
+guess youse won't bump yer head none gettin' around inside.”
+
+Jimmie Dale nodded, grinned back, emptied his glass, and dug for a coin.
+
+“Forget it!” observed the barkeeper cordially. “Dis is on me. Any friend
+of de Wowzer's gets de glad hand here any time.”
+
+“T'anks!” said Jimmie Dale gratefully, as he turned away. “So long,
+then--see youse later.”
+
+Chang Foo's! Jimmie Dale's face set even a little harder than it
+had before, as he swung on again down the Bowery. Yes; he knew Chang
+Foo's--too well. Underground Chinatown--where a man's life was worth the
+price of an opium pill--or less! Mechanically his hand slipped into his
+pocket and closed over the automatic that nestled there. Once in--where
+he had to go--and the chances were even, just even, that was all, that
+he would ever get out. Again he was tempted to return to the Sanctuary
+and make the attempt as Larry the Bat. Larry the Bat was well enough
+known to enter Chang Foo's unquestioned, and--but again he shook his
+head and went on. There was not time. The Wowzer and his pal--it was
+Dago Jim it seemed--had evidently been drinking and loitering their way
+downtown from the theatre, and he had gained that much on them; but
+by now they would be smugly tucked away somewhere in that maze of dens
+below the ground, and at that moment probably were gloating over the
+biggest night's haul they had ever made in their lives!
+
+And if they were! What then? Once they knew the contents of that
+letter--what then? Buy them off for a larger amount than the many
+thousands offered for the capture of the Gray Seal? Jimmie Dale gritted
+his teeth. That meant blackmail from them all his life, an intolerable
+existence, impossible, a hell on earth--the slave, at the beck and call
+of two of the worst criminals in New York! The moisture oozed again to
+Jimmie Dale's forehead. God, if he could get that letter before it was
+opened--before they KNEW! If he could only get the chance to fight for
+it--against ANY odds! Life! Life was a pitiful consideration against the
+alternative that faced him now!
+
+From the Blue Dragon to Chang Foo's was not far; and Jimmie Dale covered
+the distance in well under five minutes. Chang Foo's was just a tea
+merchant's shop, innocuous and innocent enough in its appearance,
+blandly so indeed, and that was all--outwardly; but Jimmie Dale, as he
+reached his destination, experienced the first sensation of uplift he
+had known that night, and this from what, apparently, did not in the
+least seem like a contributing cause.
+
+“Luck! The blessed luck of it!” he muttered grimly, as he surveyed
+the sight-seeing car drawn up at the curb, and watched the passengers
+crowding out of it to the ground. “It wouldn't have been as easy to fool
+old Chang as it was that fellow back at the Dragon--and, besides, if I
+can work it, there's a better chance this way of getting out alive.”
+
+The guide was marshalling his “gapers”--some two dozen in all, men and
+women. Jimmie Dale unostentatiously fell in at the rear; and, the guide
+leading, the little crowd passed into the tea merchant's shop. Chang
+Foo, a wizened, wrinkled-faced little Celestial, oily, suave, greeted
+them with profuse bows, chattering the while volubly in Chinese.
+
+The guide made the introduction with an all-embracing sweep of his hand.
+
+“Chang Foo--ladies and gentlemen,” he announced; then held up his hand
+for silence. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said impressively, “this is one
+of the most notorious, if not THE most notorious dive in Chinatown, and
+it is only through special arrangement with the authorities and at great
+expense that the company is able exclusively to gain an entree here for
+its patrons. You will see here the real life of the Chinese, and in half
+an hour you will get what few would get in a lifetime spent in China
+itself. You will see the Chinese children dance and perform; the Chinese
+women at their household tasks; the joss, the shrine of his hallowed
+ancestors, at which Chang Foo here worships; and you will enter the most
+famous opium den in the United States. Now, if you will all keep close
+together, we will make a start.”
+
+In spite of his desperate situation, Jimmie Dale smiled a little
+whimsically. Yes; they would see it all--UPSTAIRS! The same old bunk
+dished out night after night at so much a head--and the nervous little
+schoolma'am of uncertain age, who fidgeted now beside him, would go
+back somewhere down in Maine and shiver while she related her “wider
+experiences” in tremulous whispers into the shocked ears of envious
+other maiden ladies of equally uncertain age. The same old bunk--and a
+profitable one for Chang Foo for more reasons than one. It was dust in
+the eyes of the police. The police smiled knowingly at mention of Chang
+Foo. Who should know, if they didn't, that it was all harmless fake, all
+bunk! And so it was--UPSTAIRS!
+
+They were passing out of the shop now, bowed out through a side door by
+the obsequious and oily Chang Foo. And now they massed again in a sort
+of little hallway--and Chang Foo, closing the door upon Jimmie Dale, who
+was the last in the line, shuffled back behind the counter in his shop
+to resume his guard duty over customers of quite another ilk. With the
+door closed, it was dark, pitch dark. And this, too, like everything
+else connected with Chang Foo's establishment, for more reasons than
+one--for effect--and for security. Nervous little twitters began to
+emanate from the women--the guide's voice rose reassuringly:
+
+“Keep close together, ladies and gentlemen. We are going upstairs now
+to--”
+
+Jimmie Dale hugged back against the wall, sidled along it, and like a
+shadow slipped down to the end of the hall. The scuffling of two dozen
+pairs of feet mounting the creaky staircase drowned the slight sound as
+he cautiously opened a door; the darkness lay black, impenetrable, along
+the hall. And then, as cautiously as he had opened it, he closed the
+door behind him, and stood for an instant listening at the head of a
+ladder-like stairway, his automatic in his hand now. It was familiar
+ground to Larry the Bat. The steps led down to a cellar; and diagonally
+across from the foot of the steps was an opening, ingeniously hidden by
+a heterogeneous collection of odds and ends, boxes, cases, and rubbish
+from the pseudo tea shop above; a low opening in the wall to a passage
+that led on through the cellars of perhaps half a dozen adjoining
+houses, each of which latter was leased, in one name or another--by
+Chang Foo.
+
+Jimmie Dale crept down the steps, and in another moment had gained the
+farther side of the cellar; then, skirting around the ruck of cases, he
+stooped suddenly and passed in through the opening in the wall. And
+now he halted once more. He was straining his eyes down a long, narrow
+passage, whose blackness was accentuated rather than relieved by curious
+wavering, gossamer threads of yellow light that showed here and there
+from under makeshift thresholds, from doors slightly ajar. Faint noises
+came to him, a muffled, intermittent clink of coin, a low, continuous,
+droning hum of voices; the sickly sweet smell of opium pricked at his
+nostrils.
+
+Jimmie Dale's face set rigidly. It was the resort, not only of the most
+depraved Chinese element, but of the worst “white” thugs that made New
+York their headquarters--here, in the succession of cellars, roughly
+partitioned off to make a dozen rooms on either side of the passage,
+dope fiends sucked at the drug, and Chinese gamblers spent the greater
+part of their lives; here, murder was hatched and played too often to
+its hellish end; here, the scum of the underworld sought refuge from the
+police to the profit of Chang Foo; and here, somewhere, in one of these
+rooms, was--the Wowzer.
+
+The Wowzer! Jimmie Dale stole forward silently, without a sound,
+swiftly--pausing only to listen for a second's space at the doors as he
+passed. From this one came that clink of coin; from another that jabber
+of Chinese; from still another that overpowering stench of opium--and
+once, iron-nerved as he was, a cold thrill passed over him. Let this
+lair of hell's wolves, so intent now on their own affairs, be once
+roused, as they certainly must be roused before he could hope to finish
+the Wowzer, and his chances of escape were--
+
+He straightened suddenly, alert, tense, strained. Voices, raised in a
+furious quarrel, came from a door just beyond him on the other side
+of the passage, where a film of light streamed out through a cracked
+panel--it was the Wowzer and Dago Jim! And drunk, both of them--and both
+in a blind fury!
+
+It happened quick then, almost instantaneously it seemed to Jimmie Dale.
+He was crouched now close against the door, his eye to the crack in the
+panel. There was only one figure in sight--Dago Jim--standing beside
+a table on which burned a lamp, the table top littered with watches,
+purses, and small chatelaine bags. The man was lurching unsteadily on
+his feet, a vicious sneer of triumph on his face, waving tauntingly
+an open letter and Jimmie Dale's pocket-book in his hands--waving them
+presumably in the face of the Wowzer, whom, from the restrictions of the
+crack, Jimmie Dale could not see. He was conscious of a sickening sense
+of disaster. His hope against hope had been in vain--the letter had been
+opened and read--THE IDENTITY OF THE GRAY SEAL WAS SOLVED.
+
+Dago Jim's voice roared out, hoarse, blasphemous, in drunken rage:
+
+“De Gray Seal--see! Youse betcher life I knows! I been waitin' fer
+somet'ing like dis, damn youse! Youse been stallin' on me fer a year
+every time it came to a divvy. Youse've got a pocketful now youse
+snitched to-night dat youse are tryin' to do me out of. Well, keep
+'em”--he shoved his face forward. “I keeps dis--see! Keep 'em Wowzer,
+youse cross-eyed--”
+
+“Everyt'ing I pinched to-night's on de table dere wid wot youse pinched
+yerself,” cut in the Wowzer, in a sullen, threatening growl.
+
+“Youse lie, an' youse knows it!” retorted Dago Jim. “Youse have given me
+de short end every time we've pulled a deal!”
+
+“Dat letter's mine, youse--” bawled the Wowzer furiously.
+
+“Why didn't youse open it an' read it, den, instead of lettin' me do it
+to keep me busy while youse short-changed me?” sneered Dago Jim. “Youse
+t'ought it was some sweet billy-doo, eh? Well, t'anks, Wowzer--dat's wot
+it is! Say,” he mocked, “dere's a guy'll cash a t'ousand century notes
+fer dis, an' if he don't--say, dere's SOME reward out fer the Gray
+Seal! Wouldn't youse like to know who it is? Well, when I'm ridin' in
+me private buzz wagon, Wowzer, youse stick around an' mabbe I'll tell
+youse--an' mabbe I won't!”
+
+“By God”--the Wowzer's voice rose in a scream--“youse hand over dat
+letter!”
+
+“Youse go to--”
+
+Red, lurid red, a stream of flame seemed to cut across Jimmie Dale's
+line of vision, came the roar of a revolver shot--and like a madman
+Jimmie Dale flung his body at the door. Rickety at best, it crashed
+inward, half wrenched from its hinges, precipitating him inside. He
+recovered himself and leaped forward. The room was swirling with blue
+eddies of smoke; Dago Jim, hands flung up, still grasping letter and
+pocketbook, pawed at the air--and plunged with a sagging lurch face
+downward to the floor. There was a yell and an oath from the Wowzer--the
+crack of another revolver shot, the hum of the bullet past Jimmie Dale's
+ear, the scorch of the tongue flame in his face, and he was upon the
+other.
+
+Screeching profanity, the Wowzer grappled; and, for an instant, the two
+men rocked, reeled, and swayed in each other's embrace; then, both
+men losing their balance, they shot suddenly backward, the Wowzer,
+undermost, striking his head against the table's edge--and men, table,
+and lamp crashed downward in a heap to the floor.
+
+It had been no more, at most, than a matter of seconds since Jimmie Dale
+had hurled himself into the room; and now, with a gurgling sigh,
+the Wowzer's arms, that had been wound around Jimmie Dale's back and
+shoulders, relaxed, and, from the blow on his head the man, lay
+back inert and stunned. And then it seemed to Jimmie Dale as though
+pandemonium, unreality, and chaos at the touch of some devil's hand
+reigned around him. It was dark--no, not dark--a spurt of flame was
+leaping along the line of trickling oil from the broken lamp on the
+floor. It threw into ghastly relief the sprawled form of Dago
+Jim. Outside, from along the passageway, came a confused jangle of
+commotion--whispering voices, shuffling feet, the swish of Chinese
+garments. And the room itself began to spring into weird, flickering
+shadows, that mounted and crept up the walls with the spreading fire.
+
+There was not a second to lose before the room would be swarming with
+that rush from the passageway--and there was still the letter, the
+pocketbook! The table had fallen half over Dago Jim--Jimmie Dale pushed
+it aside, tore the crushed letter and the pocketbook from the man's
+hands--and felt, with a grim, horrible sort of anxiety, for the other's
+heartbeat, for the verdict that meant life or death to himself. There
+was no sign of life--the man was dead.
+
+Jimmie Dale was on his feet now. A face, another, and another showed
+in the doorway--the Wowzer was regaining his senses, stumbling to his
+knees. There was one chance--just one--to take those crowding figures by
+surprise. And with a yell of “Fire!” Jimmie Dale sprang for the doorway.
+
+They gave way before his rush, tumbling back in their surprise against
+the opposite wall; and, turning, Jimmie Dale raced down the passageway.
+Doors were opening everywhere now, forms were pushing out into the
+semi-darkness--only to duck hastily back again, as Jimmie Dale's
+automatic barked and spat a running fire of warning ahead of him. And
+then, behind, the Wowzer's voice shrieked out:
+
+“Soak him! Kill de guy! He's croaked Dago Jim! Put a hole in him, de--”
+
+Yells, a chorus of them, took up the refrain--then the rush of following
+feet--and the passageway seemed to racket as though a Gatling gun were
+in play with the fusillade of revolver shots. But Jimmie Dale was at
+the opening now--and, like a base runner plunging for the bag, he flung
+himself in a low dive through and into the open cellar beyond. He was
+on his feet, over the boxes, and dashing up the stairs in a second. The
+door above opened as he reached the top--Jimmie Dale's right hand shot
+out with clubbed revolver--and with a grunt Chang Foo went down before
+the blow and the headlong rush. The next instant Jimmie Dale had sprung
+through the tea shop and was out on the street.
+
+A minute, two minutes more, and Chinatown would be in an uproar--Chang
+Foo would see to that--and the Wowzer would prod him on. The danger was
+far from over yet. And then, as he ran, Jimmie Dale gave a little gasp
+of relief. Just ahead, drawn up at the curb, stood a taxicab--waiting,
+probably, for a private slumming party. Jimmie Dale put on a spurt,
+reached it, and wrenched the door open.
+
+“Quick!” he flung at the startled chauffeur. “The nearest subway
+station--there's a ten-spot in it for you! Quick man--QUICK! Here they
+come!”
+
+A crowd of Chinese, pouring like angry hornets from Chang Foo's shop,
+came yelling down the street--and the taxi took the corner on two
+wheels--and Jimmie Dale, panting, choking for his breath like a man
+spent, sank back against the cushions.
+
+But five minutes later it was quite another Jimmie Dale, composed,
+nonchalant, imperturbable, who entered an up-town subway train, and,
+choosing a seat alone near the centre of the car, which at that hour
+of night in the downtown district was almost deserted, took the crushed
+letter from his pocket. For a moment he made no attempt to read it,
+his dark eyes, now that he was free from observation, full of troubled
+retrospect, fixed on the window at his side. It was not a pleasant
+thought that it had cost a man his life, nor yet that that life was also
+the price of his own freedom. True, if there were two men in the city of
+New York whose crimes merited neither sympathy nor mercy, those two men
+were the Wowzer and Dago Jim--but yet, after all, it was a human life,
+and, even if his own had been in the balance, thank God it had been
+through no act of his that Dago Jim had gone out! The Wowzer, cute and
+cunning, had been quick enough to say so to clear himself, but--Jimmie
+Dale smiled a little now--neither the Wowzer, nor Chang Foo, nor
+Chinatown would ever be in a position to recognise their uninvited
+guest!
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted to the letter speculatively, gravely. It
+seemed as though the night had already held a year of happenings, and
+the night was not over yet--there was the letter! It had already cost
+one life; was it to cost another--or what?
+
+It began as it always did. He read it through once, in amazement; a
+second time, with a flush of bitter anger creeping to his cheeks; and
+a third time, curiously memorising, as it were, snatches of it here and
+there.
+
+
+“DEAR PHILANTHROPIC CROOK: Robbery of Hudson-Mercantile National
+Bank--trusted employee is ex-convict, bad police record, served term in
+Sing Sing three years ago--known to police as Bookkeeper Bob, real name
+is Robert Moyne, lives at ---- Street, Harlem--Inspector Burton
+and Lannigan of headquarters trailing him now--robbery not yet made
+public--”
+
+
+There was a great deal more--four sheets of closely written data. With
+an exclamation almost of dismay, Jimmie Dale pulled out his watch. So
+that was what Burton and Lannigan were up to! And he had actually run
+into them! Lord, the irony of it! The--And then Jimmie Dale stared at
+the dial of his watch incredulously. It was still but barely midnight!
+It seemed impossible that since leaving the theatre at a few minutes
+before eleven, he had lived through but a single hour!
+
+Jimmie Dale's fingers began to pluck at the letter, tearing it into
+pieces, tearing the pieces over and over again into tiny shreds. The
+train stopped at station after station, people got on and off--Jimmie
+Dale's hat was over his eyes, and his eyes were glued again to the
+window. Had Bookkeeper Bob returned to his flat in Harlem with the
+detectives at his heels--or were Burton and Lannigan still trailing the
+man downtown somewhere around the cafe's? If the former, the theft
+of the letter and its incident loss of time had been an irreparable
+disaster; if the latter--well, who knew! The risk was the Gray Seal's!
+
+At One Hundred and Twenty-Fifth Street Jimmie Dale left the train; and,
+at the end of a sharp four minutes' walk, during which he had dodged in
+and out from street to street, stopped on a corner to survey the block
+ahead of him. It was a block devoted exclusively to flats and apartment
+houses, and, apart from a few belated pedestrians, was deserted. Jimmie
+Dale strolled leisurely down one side, crossed the street at the end of
+the block, and strolled leisurely back on the other side--there was no
+sign of either Burton or Lannigan. It was a fairly safe presumption then
+that Bookkeeper Bob had not returned yet, or one of the detectives at
+least would have been shadowing the house.
+
+Jimmie Dale, smiling a little grimly, retraced his steps again, and
+turned deliberately into a doorway--whose number he had noted as he had
+passed a moment or so before. So, after all, there was time yet!
+This was the house. “Number eighteen,” she had said in her letter. “A
+flat--three stories--Moyne lives on ground floor.”
+
+Jimmie Dale leaned against the vestibule door--there was a faint
+click--a little steel instrument was withdrawn from the lock--and Jimmie
+Dale stepped into the hall, where a gas jet, turned down, burned dimly.
+
+The door of the ground-floor apartment was at his right, Jimmie Dale
+reached up and turned off the light. Again those slim, tapering,
+wonderfully sensitive fingers worked with the little steel instrument,
+this time in the lock of the apartment door--again there was that almost
+inaudible click--and then cautiously, inch by inch, the door opened
+under his hand. He peered inside--down a hallway lighted, if it could be
+called lighted at all, by a subdued glow from two open doors that gave
+upon it--peered intently, listening intently, as he drew a black silk
+mask from his pocket and slipped it over his face. And then, silent as
+a shadow in his movements, the door left just ajar behind him, he stole
+down the carpeted hallway.
+
+Opposite the first of the open doorways Jimmie Dale paused--a curiously
+hard expression creeping over his face, his lips beginning to droop
+ominously downward at the corners. It was a little sitting room, cheaply
+but tastefully furnished, and a young woman, Bookkeeper Bob's wife
+evidently, and evidently sitting up for her husband, had fallen sound
+asleep in a chair, her head pillowed on her arms that were outstretched
+across the table. For a moment Jimmie Dale held there, his eyes on the
+scene--and the next moment, his hand curved into a clenched fist, he had
+passed on and entered the adjoining room.
+
+It was a child's bedroom. A night lamp burned on a table beside the bed,
+and the soft rays seemed to play and linger in caress on the tousled
+golden hair of a little girl of perhaps two years of age--and something
+seemed to choke suddenly in Jimmie Dale's throat--the sweet, innocent
+little face, upturned to his, was smiling at him as she slept.
+
+Jimmie Dale turned away his head--his eyelashes wet under his mask.
+“BENEATH THE MATTRESS OF THE CHILD'S BED,” the letter had said. His face
+like stone, his lips a thin line now, Jimmie Dale's hand reached
+deftly in without disturbing the child and took out a package--and then
+another. He straightened up, a bundle of crisp new hundred-dollar notes
+in each hand--and on the top of one, slipped under the elastic band that
+held the bills together, an unsealed envelope. He drew out the latter,
+and opened it--it was a second-class steamship passage to Vera Cruz,
+made out in a fictitious name, of course, to John Davies, the booking
+for next day's sailing. From the ticket, from the stolen money, Jimmie
+Dale's eyes lifted to rest again on the little golden head, the smiling
+lips--and then, dropping the packages into his pockets, his own lips
+moving queerly, he turned abruptly to the door.
+
+“My God, the shame of it!” he whispered to himself.
+
+He crept down the corridor, past the open door of the room where the
+young woman still sat fast asleep, and, his mask in his pocket again,
+stepped softly into the vestibule, and from there to the street.
+
+Jimmie Dale hurried now, spurred on it seemed by a hot, insensate fury
+that raged within him--there was still one other call to make that
+night--still those remaining and minute details in the latter part of
+her letter, grim and ugly in their portent!
+
+It was close upon one o'clock in the morning when Jimmie Dale stopped
+again--this time before a fashionable dwelling just off Central Park.
+And here, for perhaps the space of a minute, he surveyed the house from
+the sidewalk--watching, with a sort of speculative satisfaction, a man's
+shadow that passed constantly to and fro across the drawn blinds of one
+of the lower windows. The rest of the house was in darkness.
+
+“Yes,” said Jimmie Dale, nodding his head, “I rather thought so. The
+servants will have retired hours ago. It's safe enough.”
+
+He ran quickly up the steps and rang the bell. A door opened almost
+instantly, sending a faint glow into the hall from the lighted room; a
+hurried step crossed the hall--and the outer door was thrown back.
+
+“Well, what is it?” demanded a voice brusquely.
+
+It was quite dark, too dark for either to distinguish the other's
+features--and Jimmie Dale's hat was drawn far down over his eyes.
+
+“I want to see Mr. Thomas H. Carling, cashier of the Hudson-Mercantile
+National Bank--it's very important,” said Jimmie Dale earnestly.
+
+“I am Mr. Carling,” replied the other. “What is it?”
+
+Jimmie Dale leaned forward.
+
+“From headquarters--with a report,” he said, in a low tone.
+
+“Ah!” exclaimed the bank official sharply. “Well, it's about time! I've
+been waiting up for it--though I expected you would telephone rather
+than this. Come in!”
+
+“Thank you,” said Jimmie Dale courteously--and stepped into the hall.
+
+The other closed the front door. “The servants are in bed, of course,”
+ he explained, as he led the way toward the lighted room. “This way,
+please.”
+
+Behind the other, across the hall, Jimmie Dale followed and close at
+Carling's heels entered the room, which was fitted up, quite evidently
+regardless of cost, as a combination library and study. Carling, in
+a somewhat pompous fashion, walked straight ahead toward the
+carved-mahogany flat-topped desk, and, as he reached it, waved his hand.
+
+“Take a chair,” he said, over his shoulder--and then, turning in the act
+of dropping into his own chair, grasped suddenly at the edge of the desk
+instead, and, with a low, startled cry, stared across the room.
+
+Jimmie Dale was leaning back against the door that was closed now behind
+him--and on Jimmie Dale's face was a black silk mask.
+
+For an instant neither man spoke nor moved; then Carling, spare-built,
+dapper in evening clothes, edged back from the desk and laughed a little
+uncertainly.
+
+“Quite neat! I compliment you! From headquarters with a report, I think
+you said?”
+
+“Which I neglected to add,” said Jimmie Dale, “was to be made in
+private.”
+
+Carling, as though to put as much distance between them as possible,
+continued to edge back across the room--but his small black eyes, black
+now to the pupils themselves, never left Jimmie Dale's face.
+
+“In private, eh?”--he seemed to be sparring for time, as he smiled. “In
+private! You've a strange method of securing privacy, haven't you? A bit
+melodramatic, isn't it? Perhaps you'll be good enough to tell me who you
+are?”
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled indulgently.
+
+“My mask is only for effect,” he said. “My name is--Smith.”
+
+“Yes,” said Carling. “I am very stupid. Thank you. I--” he had reached
+the other side of the room now--and with a quick, sudden movement jerked
+his hand to the dial of the safe that stood against the wall.
+
+But Jimmie Dale was quicker--without shifting his position, his
+automatic, whipped from his pocket, held a disconcerting bead on
+Carling's forehead.
+
+“Please don't do that,” said Jimmie Dale softly. “It's rather a good
+make, that safe. I dare say it would take me half an hour to open it. I
+was rather curious to know whether it was locked or not.”
+
+Carling's hand dropped to his side.
+
+“So!” he sneered. “That's it, is it! The ordinary variety of sneak
+thief!” His voice was rising gradually. “Well, sir, let me tell you
+that--”
+
+“Mr. Carling,” said Jimmie Dale, in a low, even tone, “unless you
+moderate your voice some one in the house might hear you--I am quite
+well aware of that. But if that happens, if any one enters this room,
+if you make a move to touch a button, or in any other way attempt to
+attract attention, I'll drop you where you stand!” His hand, behind his
+back, extracted the key from the door lock, held it up for the other to
+see, then dropped it into his pocket--and his voice, cold before, rang
+peremptorily now. “Come back to the desk and sit down in that chair!” he
+ordered.
+
+For a moment Carling hesitated; then, with a half-muttered oath, obeyed.
+
+Jimmie Dale moved over, and stood in front of Carling on the other side
+of the desk--and stared silently at the immaculate, fashionably groomed
+figure before him.
+
+Under the prolonged gaze, Carling's composure, in a measure at least,
+seemed to forsake him. He began to drum nervously with his fingers on
+the desk, and shift uneasily in his chair.
+
+And then, from first one pocket and then the other, Jimmie Dale took
+the two packages of banknotes, and, still with out a word, pushed them
+across the desk until they lay under the other's eyes.
+
+Carling's fingers stopped their drumming, slid to the desk edge,
+tightened there, and a whiteness crept into his face. Then, with an
+effort, he jerked himself erect in his chair.
+
+“What's this?” he demanded hoarsely.
+
+“About ten thousand dollars, I should say,” said Jimmie Dale slowly. “I
+haven't counted it. Your bank was robbed this evening at closing time, I
+understand?”
+
+“Yes!” Carling's voice was excited now, the colour back in his face.
+“But you--how--do you mean that you are returning the money to the
+bank?”
+
+“Exactly,” said Jimmie Dale.
+
+Carling was once more the pompous bank official. He leaned back and
+surveyed Jimmie Dale critically with his little black eyes.
+
+“Ah, quite so!” he observed. “That accounts for the mask. But I am still
+a little in the dark. Under the circumstances, it is quite impossible
+that you should have stolen the money yourself, and--”
+
+“I didn't,” said Jimmie Dale. “I found it hidden in the home of one of
+your employees.”
+
+“You found it--WHERE?”
+
+“In Moyne's home--up in Harlem.”
+
+“Moyne, eh?” Carling was alert, quick now, jerking out his words. “How
+did you come to get into this, then? His pal? Double-crossing him, eh? I
+suppose you want a reward--we'll attend to that, of course. You're
+wiser than you know, my man. That's what we suspected. We've had the
+detectives trailing Moyne all evening.” He reached forward over the desk
+for the telephone. “I'll telephone headquarters to make the arrest at
+once.”
+
+“Just a minute,” interposed Jimmie Dale gravely. “I want you to listen
+to a little story first.”
+
+“A story! What has a story got to do with this?” snapped Carling.
+
+“The man has got a home,” said Jimmie Dale softly. “A home, and a
+wife--and a little baby girl.”
+
+“Oh, that's the game then, eh? You want to plead for him?” Carling flung
+out gruffly. “Well, he should have thought of all that before! It's
+quite useless for you to bring it up. The man has had his chance
+already--a better chance than any one with his record ever had before.
+We took him into the bank knowing that he was an ex-convict, but
+believing that we could make an honest man of him--and this is the
+result.”
+
+“And yet--”
+
+“NO!” said Carling icily.
+
+“You refuse--absolutely?” Jimmie Dale's voice had a lingering, wistful
+note in it.
+
+“I refuse!” said Carling bluntly. “I won't have anything to do with it.”
+
+There was just an instant's silence; and then, with a strange, slow,
+creeping motion, as a panther creeps when about to spring, Jimmie Dale
+projected his body across the desk--far across it toward the other. And
+the muscles of his jaw were quivering, his words rasping, choked with
+the sweep of fury that, held back so long, broke now in a passionate
+surge.
+
+“And shall I tell you why you won't? Your bank was robbed to-night of
+one hundred thousand dollars. There are ten thousand here. THE OTHER
+NINETY THOUSAND ARE IN YOUR SAFE!”
+
+“You lie!” Ashen to the lips, Carling had risen in his chair. “You lie!”
+ he cried. “Do you hear! You lie! I tell you, you lie!”
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips parted ominously.
+
+“Sit down!” he gritted between his teeth.
+
+The white in Carling's face had turned to gray, his lips were
+working--mechanically he sank down again in his chair.
+
+Jimmie Dale still leaned over the desk, resting his weight on his right
+elbow, the automatic in his right hand covering Carling.
+
+“You cur!” whispered Jimmie Dale. “There's just one reason, only one,
+that keeps me from putting a bullet through you while you sit there.
+We'll get to that in a moment. There is that little story first--shall
+I tell it to you now? For the past four years, and God knows how many
+before that, you've gone the pace. The lavishness of this bachelor
+establishment of yours is common talk in New York--far in excess of a
+bank cashier's salary. But you were supposed to be a wealthy man in your
+own right; and so, in reality you were--once. But you went through
+your fortune two years ago. Counted a model citizen, an upright man, an
+honour to the community--what were you, Carling? What ARE you? Shall I
+tell you? Roue, gambler, leading a double life of the fastest kind. You
+did it cleverly, Carling; hid it well--but your game is up. To-night,
+for instance, you are at the end of your tether, swamped with debts,
+exposure threatening you at any moment. Why don't you tell me again that
+I lie--Carling?”
+
+But now the man made no answer. He had sunk a little deeper in his
+chair--a dawning look of terror in the eyes that held, fascinated, on
+Jimmie Dale.
+
+“You cur!” said Jimmie Dale again. “You cur, with your devil's work! A
+year ago you saw this night coming--when you must have money, or face
+ruin and exposure. You saw it then, a year ago, the day that Moyne,
+concealing nothing of his prison record, applied through friends for a
+position in the bank. Your co-officials were opposed to his appointment,
+but you, do you remember how you pleaded to give the man his chance--and
+in your hellish ingenuity saw your way then out of the trap! An
+ex-convict from Sing Sing! It was enough, wasn't it? What chance had
+he!” Jimmie Dale paused, his left hand clenched until the skin formed
+whitish knobs over the knuckles.
+
+Carling's tongue sought his lips, made a circuit of them--and he tried
+to speak, but his voice was an incoherent muttering.
+
+“I'll not waste words,” said Jimmie Dale, in his grim monotone. “I'm not
+sure enough myself--that I could keep my hands off you much longer. The
+actual details of how you stole the money to-day do not matter--NOW. A
+little later perhaps in court--but not now. You were the last to leave
+the bank, but before leaving you pretended to discover the theft of a
+hundred thousand dollars--that, done up in a paper parcel, was even then
+reposing in your desk. You brought the parcel home, put it in that safe
+there--and notified the president of the bank by telephone from here of
+the robbery, suggesting that police headquarters be advised at once. He
+told you to go ahead and act as you saw best. You notified the police,
+speciously directing suspicion to--the ex-convict in the bank's employ.
+You knew Moyne was dining out to-night, you knew where--and at a hint
+from you the police took up the trail. A little later in the evening,
+you took these two packages of banknotes from the rest, and with this
+steamship ticket--which you obtained yesterday while out at lunch by
+sending a district messenger boy with the money and instructions in a
+sealed envelope to purchase for you--you went up to the Moynes' flat in
+Harlem for the purpose of secreting them somewhere there. You pretended
+to be much disappointed at finding Moyne out--you had just come for a
+little social visit, to get better acquainted with the home life of your
+employees! Mrs. Moyne was genuinely pleased and grateful. She took you
+in to see their little girl, who was already asleep in bed. She left
+you there for a moment to answer the door--and you--you”--Jimmie Dale's
+voice choked again--“you blot on God's earth, you slipped the money and
+ticket under the child's mattress!”
+
+Carling came forward with a lurch in his chair--and his hands went out,
+pawing in a wild, pleading fashion over Jimmie Dale's arm.
+
+Jimmie Dale flung him away.
+
+“You were safe enough,” he rasped on. “The police could only construe
+your visit to Moyne's flat as zeal on behalf of the bank. And it
+was safer, much more circumspect on your part, not to order the flat
+searched at once, but only as a last resort, as it were, after you
+had led the police to trail him all evening and still remain without
+a clew--and besides, of course, not until you had planted the evidence
+that was to damn him and wreck his life and home! You were even generous
+in the amount you deprived yourself of out of the hundred thousand
+dollars--for less would have been enough. Caught with ten thousand
+dollars of the bank's money and a steamship ticket made out in a
+fictitious name, it was prima-facie evidence that he had done the job
+and had the balance somewhere. What would his denials, his protestations
+of innocence count for? He was an ex-convict, a hardened criminal caught
+red-handed with a portion of the proceeds of robbery--he had succeeded
+in hiding the remainder of it too cleverly, that was all.”
+
+Carling's face was ghastly. His hands went out again--again his tongue
+moistened his dry lips. He whispered:
+
+“Isn't--isn't there some--some way we can fix this?”
+
+And then Jimmie Dale laughed--not pleasantly.
+
+“Yes, there's a way, Carling,” he said grimly. “That's why I'm here.” He
+picked up a sheet of writing paper and pushed it across the desk--then a
+pen, which he dipped into the inkstand, and extended to the other. “The
+way you'll fix it will be to write out a confession exonerating Moyne.”
+
+Carling shrank back into his chair, his head huddling into his
+shoulders.
+
+“NO!” he cried. “I won't--I can't--my God!--I--I--WON'T!”
+
+The automatic in Jimmie Dale's hand edged forward the fraction of an
+inch.
+
+“I have not used this--yet. You understand now why--don't you?” he said
+under his breath.
+
+“No, no!” Carling pushed away the pen. “I'm ruined--ruined as it is. But
+this would mean the penitentiary, too--”
+
+“Where you tried to send an innocent man in your place, you hound; where
+you--”
+
+“Some other way--some other way!” Carling was babbling. “Let me out of
+this--for God's sake, let me out of this!”
+
+“Carling,” said Jimmie Dale hoarsely, “I stood beside a little bed
+to-night and looked at a baby girl--a little baby girl with golden hair,
+who smiled as she slept.”
+
+Carling shivered, and passed a shaking hand across his face.
+
+“Take this pen,” said Jimmie Dale monotonously; “or--THIS!” The
+automatic lifted until the muzzle was on a line with Carling's eyes.
+
+Carling's hand reached out, still shaking, and took the pen; and his
+body, dragged limply forward, hung over the desk. The pen spluttered on
+the paper--a bead of sweat spurting from the man's forehead dropped to
+the sheet.
+
+There was silence in the room. A minute passed--another. Carling's pen
+travelled haltingly across the paper then, with a queer, low cry as
+he signed his name, he dropped the pen from his fingers, and, rising
+unsteadily from his chair, stumbled away from the desk toward a couch
+across the room.
+
+An instant Jimmie Dale watched the other, then he picked up the sheet of
+paper. It was a miserable document, miserably scrawled:
+
+
+“I guess it's all up. I guess I knew it would be some day. Moyne hadn't
+anything to do with it. I stole the money myself from the bank to-night.
+I guess it's all up.
+
+“THOMAS H. CARLING.”
+
+
+From the paper, Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted to the figure by the
+couch--and the paper fluttered suddenly from his fingers to the desk.
+Carling was reeling, clutching at his throat--a small glass vial rolled
+upon the carpet. And then, even as Jimmie Dale sprang forward, the other
+pitched head long over the couch--and in a moment it was over.
+
+Presently Jimmie Dale picked up the vial--and dropped it back on the
+floor again. There was no label on it, but it needed none--the strong,
+penetrating odor of bitter almonds was telltale evidence enough. It was
+prussic, or hydrocyanic acid, probably the most deadly poison and the
+swiftest in its action that was known to science--Carling had provided
+against that “some day” in his confession!
+
+For a little space, motionless, Jimmie Dale stood looking down at the
+silent, outstretched form--then he walked slowly back to the desk, and
+slowly, deliberately picked up the signed confession and the steamship
+ticket. He held them an instant, staring at them, then methodically
+began to tear them into little pieces, a strange, tired smile hovering
+on his lips. The man was dead now--there would be disgrace enough for
+some one to bear, a mother perhaps--who knew! And there was another way
+now--since the man was dead.
+
+Jimmie Dale put the pieces in his pocket, went to the safe, opened it,
+and took out a parcel, locked the safe carefully, and carried the parcel
+to the desk. He opened it there. Inside were nearly two dozen little
+packages of hundred-dollar bills. The other two packages that he had
+brought with him he added to the rest. From his pocket he took out the
+thin metal insignia case, and with the tiny tweezers lifted up one of
+the gray-coloured, diamond-shaped paper seals. He moistened the
+adhesive side, and, still holding it by the tweezers, dropped it on
+his handkerchief and pressed the seal down on the face of the topmost
+package of banknotes. He tied the parcel up then, and, picking up the
+pen, addressed it in printed characters:
+
+
+HUDSON-MERCANTILE NATIONAL BANK,
+
+NEW YORK CITY.
+
+
+“District messenger--some way--in the morning,” he murmured.
+
+Jimmie Dale slipped his mask into his pocket, and, with the parcel under
+his arm, stepped to the door and unlocked it. He paused for an instant
+on the threshold for a single, quick, comprehensive glance around the
+room--then passed on out into the street.
+
+At the corner he stopped to light a cigarette--and the flame of the
+match spurting up disclosed a face that was worn and haggard. He threw
+the match away, smiled a little wearily--and went on.
+
+The Gray Seal had committed another “crime.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE THIEF
+
+
+Choosing between the snowy napery, the sparkling glass and silver, the
+cozy, shaded table-lamps, the famous French chef of the ultra-exclusive
+St. James Club, his own home on Riverside Drive where a dinner fit for
+an epicure and served by Jason, that most perfect of butlers, awaited
+him, and Marlianne's, Jimmie Dale, driving in alone in his touring car
+from an afternoon's golf, had chosen--Marlianne's.
+
+Marlianne's, if such a thing as Bohemianism, or, rather, a concrete
+expression of it exists, was Bohemian. A two-piece string orchestra
+played valiantly to the accompaniment of a hoarse-throated piano; and
+between courses the diners took up the refrain--and, as it was always
+between courses with some one, the place was a bedlam of noisy riot.
+Nevertheless, it was Marlianne's--and Jimmie Dale liked Marlianne's. He
+had dined there many times before, as he had just dined in the person of
+Jimmie Dale, the millionaire, his high-priced imported car at the curb
+of the shabby street outside--and he had dined there, disreputable in
+attire, seedy in appearance, with the police yelping at his heels, as
+Larry the Bat. In either character Marlianne's had welcomed him with
+equal courtesy to its spotted linen and most excellent table-d'hote with
+VIN ORDINAIRE--for fifty cents.
+
+And now, in the act of reaching into his pocket for the change to pay
+his bill, Jimmie Dale seemed suddenly to experience some difficulty in
+finding what he sought, and his fingers went fumbling from one pocket
+to another. Two men at the table in front of him were talking--their
+voices, over a momentary lull in violin squeaks, talk, laughter,
+singing, and the clatter of dishes, reached him:
+
+“Carling commit suicide! Not on your life! No; of course he didn't! It
+was that cursed Gray Seal croaked him, just as sure as you sit in that
+chair!”
+
+The other grunted. “Yes; but what'd the Gray Seal want to pinch a
+hundred thousand out of the bank for, and then give it back again the
+next morning?”
+
+“What's he done a hundred other things for to cover up the real object
+of what he's after?” retorted the first speaker, with a short, vicious
+laugh; then, with a thump of his fist on the table: “The man's a devil,
+a fiend, and anywhere else but New York he'd have been caught and sent
+to the chair where he belongs long ago, and--”
+
+A burst of ragtime drowned out the man's words. Jimmie Dale placed a
+fifty-cent piece and a tip beside it on his dinner check, pushed
+back his chair, and rose from the table. There was a half-tolerantly
+satirical, half-angry glint in his dark, steady eyes. It was not only
+the police who yelped at his heels, but every man, woman, and child in
+the city. The man had not voiced his own sentiments--he had voiced the
+sentiments of New York! And it was quite on the cards that if he, Jimmie
+Dale, were ever caught his destination would not even be the death cell
+and the chair at Sing Sing--his fellow citizens had reached a pitch
+where they would be quite capable of literally tearing him to pieces if
+they ever got their hands on him!
+
+And yet there were a few, a very few, a handful out of five millions,
+who sometimes remembered perhaps to thank God that the Gray Seal
+lived--that was his reward. That--and SHE, whose mysterious letters
+prompted and impelled his, the Gray Seal's, acts! She--nameless,
+fascinating in her brilliant resourcefulness, amazing in her power, a
+woman whose life was bound up with his and yet held apart from him in
+the most inexplicable, absorbing way; a woman he had never seen, save
+for her gloved arm in the limousine that night, who at one unexpected
+moment projected a dazzling, impersonal existence across his path, and
+the next, leaving him battling for his life where greed and passion and
+crime swirled about him, was gone!
+
+Jimmie Dale threaded the small, crowded rooms--the interior of
+Marlianne's had never been altered from the days when the place had been
+a family residence of some pretension--and, reaching the hall, received
+his hat from the frowsy-looking boy in attendance. He passed outside,
+and, at the top of the steps, paused as he took his cigarette case
+from his pocket. It was nearly a week since Carling, the cashier of
+the Hudson-Mercantile National Bank, had been found dead in his home,
+a bottle that had contained hydrocyanic acid on the floor beside him;
+nearly a week since Bookkeeper Bob, unaware that he had ever been under
+temporary suspicion for the robbery of the bank, had, equally unknown
+to himself, been cleared of any complicity in that affair--and yet, as
+witness the conversation of a moment ago, it was still the topic of New
+York, still the vital issue that filled the maw of the newspapers
+with ravings, threats, and execrations against the Gray Seal, snarling
+virulently the while at the police for the latter's ineptitude,
+inefficiency, and impotence!
+
+Jimmie Dale closed his cigarette case with a snap that was almost human
+in its irony, dropped it back into his pocket, and lighted a match--but
+the flame was arrested halfway to the tip of his cigarette, as his eyes
+fixed suddenly and curiously on a woman's form hurrying down the street.
+She had turned the corner before he took his eyes from her, and the
+match between his fingers had gone out. Not that there was anything very
+strange in a woman walking, or even half running, along the street; nor
+that there was anything particularly attractive or unusual about
+her, and if there had been the street was too dark for him to have
+distinguished it. It was not that--it was the fact that she had neither
+passed by the house on whose steps he stood, nor come out of any of the
+adjoining houses. It was as though she had suddenly and miraculously
+appeared out of thin air, and taken form on a sidewalk a little way down
+from Marlianne's.
+
+“That's queer!” commented Jimmie Dale to himself. “However--” He took
+out another match, lighted his cigarette, jerked the match stub away
+from him, and, with a lift of his shoulders, went down the steps.
+
+He crossed the pavement, walked around the front of his machine, since
+the steering wheel was on the side next to the curb, and, with his hand
+out to open the car door--stopped. Some one had been tampering with
+it--it was not quite closed. There was no mistake. Jimmie Dale made
+no mistakes of that kind, a man whose life hung a dozen times a day on
+little things could not afford to make them. He had closed it firmly,
+even with a bang, when he had got out.
+
+Instantly suspicious, he wrenched the door wide open, switched on
+the light under the hood, and, with a sharp exclamation, bent quickly
+forward. A glove, a woman's glove, a white glove lay on the floor of the
+car. Jimmie Dale's pulse leaped suddenly into fierce, pounding beats. It
+was HERS! He KNEW that intuitively--knew it as he knew that he breathed.
+And that woman he had so leisurely watched as she had disappeared from
+sight was, must have been--she!
+
+He sprang from the car with a jump, his first impulse to dash after
+her--and checked himself, laughing a little bitterly. It was too late
+for that now--he had already let his chance slip through his fingers.
+Around the corner was Sixth Avenue, surface cars, the elevated,
+taxicabs, a multitude of people, any one of a hundred ways in which
+she could, and would, already have discounted pursuit from him--and,
+besides, he would not even have been able to recognise her if he saw
+her!
+
+Jimmie Dale's smile was mirthless as he turned back to the car, and
+picked up the glove. Why had she dropped it there? It could not have
+been intentional. Why had--he began to tear suddenly at the glove's
+little finger, and in another second, kneeling on the car's step, his
+shoulders inside, he was holding a ring close under the little electric
+bulb.
+
+It was a gold seal ring, a small, dainty thing that bore a crest:
+a bell, surmounted by a bishop's mitre--the bell, quaint in design,
+harking the imagination back to some old-time belfry tower. And
+underneath, in the scroll--a motto. It was a full minute before Jimmie
+Dale could decipher it, for the lettering was minute and the words, of
+course, reversed. It was in French: SONNEZ LE TOCSIN.
+
+He straightened up, the glove and ring in his hand, a puzzled expression
+on his face. It was strange! Had she, after all, dropped the glove
+there intentionally; had she at last let down the barriers just a little
+between them, and given him this little intimate sign that she--
+
+And then Jimmie Dale laughed abruptly, self-mockingly. He was only
+trying to deceive himself, to argue himself into believing what, with
+heart and soul, he wanted to believe. It was not like her--and neither
+was it so! His eyes had fixed on the seat beside the wheel. He had not
+used the lap rug all that day, he couldn't use a rug and drive, he had
+left it folded and hanging on the rack in the tonneau--it was now neatly
+folded and reposing on the front seat!
+
+“Yes,” said Jimmie Dale, a sort of self-pity in his tones, “I might have
+known.”
+
+He lifted the rug. Beneath it on the leather seat lay a white envelope.
+Her letter! The letter that never came save with the plan of some grim,
+desperate work outlined ahead--the call to arms for the Gray Seal.
+SONNEZ LE TOCSIN! Ring the Tocsin! Sound the alarm! The Tocsin!
+The words were running through his brain. A strange motto on that
+crest--that seemed so strangely apt! The Tocsin! Never once in all the
+times that he had heard from her, never once in the years that had gone
+since that initial letter of hers had struck its first warning note,
+had any communication from her been but to sound again a new alarm--the
+Toscin! The Tocsin--the word seemed to visualise her, to give her a
+concrete form and being, to breathe her very personality.
+
+“The Tocsin!”--Jimmie Dale whispered the word softly, a little
+wistfully. “Yes; I shall call you that--the Tocsin!”
+
+He folded the glove very carefully, placed it with the ring in his
+pocketbook, picked up the letter--and, with a sharp exclamation, turned
+it quickly over in his fingers, then bent hurriedly with it to the
+light.
+
+Strange things were happening that night! For the first time, the letter
+was not even SEALED! That was not like her, either! What did it mean?
+Quick, alert now, anxious even, he pulled the double, folded sheets
+from the envelope, glanced rapidly through them--and, after a moment, a
+smile, whimsical, came slowly to his lips.
+
+It was quite plain now--all of it. The glove, the ring, and the unsealed
+letter--and the postscript held the secret; or, rather, what had been
+intended for a postscript did, for it comprised only a few words, ending
+abruptly, unfinished: “Look in the cupboard at the rear of the room. The
+man with the red wig is--” That was all, and the words, written in ink,
+were badly blurred, as though the paper had been hastily folded before
+the ink was dry.
+
+It was quite plain; and, in view of the real explanation of it all,
+eminently characteristic of her. With the letter already written, she
+had come there, meaning to place it on the seat and cover it with the
+rug, as, indeed, she had done; then, deciding to add the postscript, and
+because she would attract less attention that way than in any other, she
+had climbed into the car as though it belonged to her, and had seated
+herself there to write it. She would have been hurried in her movements,
+of course, and in pulling off her glove to use the fountain pen the ring
+had come with it. The rest was obvious. She had but just begun to write
+when he had appeared on the steps. She had slipped instantly down to
+the floor of the car, probably dropping the glove from her lap, hastily
+inclosed the letter in the envelope which she had no time to seal,
+thrust the envelope under the rug, and, forgetting her glove and fearful
+of risking his attention by attempting to close the door firmly,
+had stolen along the body of the car, only to be noticed by him too
+late--when she was well down the street!
+
+And at that latter thought, once more chagrin seized Jimmie Dale--then
+he turned impulsively to the letter. All this was extraneous, apart--for
+another time, when every moment was not a priceless asset as it very
+probably was now.
+
+“Dear Philanthropic Crook”--it always began that way, never any other
+way. He read on more and more intently, crouched there close to the
+light on the floor of his car, lips thinning as he proceeded--read it to
+the end, absorbing, memorising it--and then the abortive postscript:
+
+“Look in the cupboard at the rear of the room. The man with the red wig
+is--”
+
+For an instant, as mechanically he tore the letter into little shreds,
+he held there hesitant--and the next, slamming the door tight, he flung
+himself into the seat behind the wheel, and the big, sixty-horse-power,
+self-starting machine was roaring down the street.
+
+The Tocsin! There was a grim smile on Jimmie Dale's lips now. The alarm!
+Yes, it was always an alarm, quick, sudden, an emergency to face on the
+instant--plans, decisions to be made with no time to ponder them, with
+only that one fact to consider, staggering enough in itself, that a
+mistake meant disaster and ruin to some one else, and to himself, if
+the courts were merciful where he had little hope for mercy, the
+penitentiary for life!
+
+And now to-night again, as it almost always was when these mysterious
+letters came, every moment of inaction was piling up the odds against
+him. And, too, the same problem confronted him. How, in what way, in
+what role, must he play the night's game to its end? As Larry the Bat?
+
+The car was speeding forward. He was heading down Broadway now, lower
+Broadway, that stretched before him, deserted like some dark, narrow
+canyon where, far below, like towering walls, the buildings closed
+together and seemed to converge into some black, impassable barrier. The
+street lights flashed by him; a patrolman stopped the swinging of his
+night-stick, and turned to gaze at the car that rushed by at a rate
+perilously near to contempt of speed laws; street cars passed at
+indifferent intervals; pedestrians were few and far between--it was the
+lower Broadway of night.
+
+Larry the Bat? Jimmie Dale shook his head impatiently over the steering
+wheel. No; that would not do. It would be well enough for this young
+Burton, perhaps, but not for old Isaac, the East Side fence--for Isaac
+knew him in the character of Larry the Bat. His quick, keen brain,
+weaving, eliminating, devising, scheming, discarded that idea. The final
+coup of the night, as yet but sensed in an indefinite, unshaped way, if
+enacted in the person of Larry the Bat would therefore stamp Larry the
+Bat and the Gray Seal as one--a contretemps but little less fatal, in
+view of old Issac, than to bracket the Gray Seal and Jimmie Dale! Larry
+the Bat was not a character to be assumed with impunity, nor one to
+jeopardize--it was a bulwark of safety, at it were, to which more than
+once he owed escape from capture and discovery.
+
+He lifted his shoulders with a sudden jerk of decision as the car
+swerved to the left and headed for the East Side. There was only
+one alternative then--the black silk mask that folded into such tiny
+compass, and that, together with an automatic and the curious, thin
+metal case that looked so like a cigarette case, was always in his
+pocket for an emergency!
+
+The car turned again, and, approaching its destination, Jimmie Dale
+slowed down the speed perceptibly. It was a strange case, not a pleasant
+one--and the raw edges where they showed were ugly in their nakedness.
+Old Isaac Pelina, young Burton, and Maddon--K. Wilmington Maddon, the
+wall-paper magnate! Curious, that of the three he should already know
+two--old Isaac and Maddon! Everybody in the East Side, every denizen
+of the underworld, and many who posed on a far higher plane knew old
+Isaac--fence to the most select clientele of thieves in New York,
+unscrupulous, hand in glove with any rascality or crime that promised
+profit, a money lender, a Shylock without even a Shylock's humanity as
+a saving grace! Yes; as Larry the Bat he knew old Isaac, and he knew him
+not only personally but by firsthand reputation--he had heard the man
+cursed in blasphemous, whole-souled abandon by more than one crook who
+was in the old fence's toils. They dealt with him, the crooks, while
+they swore to “get” him because he was “safe,” but--Jimmie Dale's lips
+parted in a mirthless smile--some day old Isaac would be found in that
+spiders' den of his back of the dingy loan office with a knife in his
+heart or a bullet through his head! And K. Wilmington Maddon--Jimmie
+Dale's smile grew whimsical--he had known Maddon quite intimately for
+years, had even dined with him at the St. James Club only a few nights
+before. Maddon was a man in his own “set”--and Maddon, interfered with,
+was likely to prove none too tractable a customer to handle. And young
+Burton, the letter had said, was Maddon's private and confidential
+secretary. Jimmie Dale's lips thinned again. Well, Burton's acquaintance
+was still to be made! It was a curious trio--and it was dirty work, more
+raw than cunning, more devilish than ingenious; blackmail in its most
+hellish form; the stake, at the least calculation, a cool half million.
+A heavy price for a single slip in a man's life!
+
+He brought the car abruptly to a halt at the edge of the curb, and
+sprang out to the ground. He was in front of “The Budapest” restaurant,
+a garish establishment, most popular of all resorts for the moment on
+the East Side, where Fifth Avenue, in the fond belief that it was seeing
+the real thing in “seamy” life, engaged its table a week in advance.
+Jimmie Dale pushed a bill into the door attendant's hand, accompanied by
+an injunction to keep an eye on the machine, and entered the cafe.
+
+But for a sort of tinselled ostentation the place might well have been
+the Marlianne's that he had just left--it was crowded and riot was
+at its height; a stringed orchestra in Hungarian costume played what
+purported to be Hungarian airs; shouts, laughter, clatter of dishes,
+and thump of steins added to the din. He made his way between the
+close-packed tables to the stairs, and descended to the lower floor.
+Here, if anything, the confusion was greater than above; but here,
+too, was an exit through to the rear street--and a moment later he was
+sauntering past the front of an unkempt little pawnshop, closed for
+the night, over whose door, in the murk of a distant street lamp, three
+balls hung in sagging disarray, tawny with age, and across whose dirty,
+unwashed windows, letters missing, ran the legend:
+
+
+IS AC PELINA Pawn brok r
+
+
+The pawnshop made the corner of a very dark and narrow lane--and, with a
+quick glance around him to assure himself that he was unobserved, Jimmie
+Dale stepped into the alleyway, and, lost instantly in the blacker
+shadows, stole along by the wall of the pawnshop. Old Isaac's business
+was not all done through the front door.
+
+And then suddenly Jimmie Dale shrank still closer against the wall. Was
+it intuition, premonition--or reality? There seemed an uncanny feeling
+of PRESENCE around him, as though perhaps he were watched, as though
+others beside himself were in the lane. Yes; ahead of him a shadow
+moved--he could just barely distinguish it now that his eyes had grown
+accustomed to the darkness. It, like himself, was close against the
+wall, and now it slunk noiselessly down the length of the lane until he
+lost sight of it. AND WHAT WAS THAT? He strained his ears to listen. It
+seemed like a window being opened or closed, cautiously, stealthily, the
+fraction of an inch at a time. And then he located the sound--it came
+from the other side of the lane and very nearly opposite to where, on
+the second floor, a dull, yellow glow shone out from old Isaac's private
+den in the rear of the pawnshop's office.
+
+Jimmie Dale's brows were gathered in sharp furrows. There was evidently
+something afoot to-night of which the Tocsin had NOT sounded the alarm.
+And then the frown relaxed, and he smiled a little. Miraculous as was
+the means through which she obtained the knowledge that was the basis of
+their strange partnership, it was no more miraculous than her unerring
+accuracy in the minutest details. The Tocsin had never failed him yet.
+It was possible that something was afoot around him, quite probable,
+indeed, since he was in the most vicious part of the city, in the heart
+of gangland; but whatever it might be, it was certainly extraneous to
+his mission or she would have mentioned it.
+
+The lane was empty now, he was quite sure of that--and there was
+no further sound from the window opposite. He started forward once
+more--only to halt again for the second time as abruptly as before,
+squeezing if possible even more closely against the wall. Some one had
+turned into the lane from the sidewalk, and, walking hurriedly, choosing
+with evident precaution the exact centre of the alleyway, came toward
+him.
+
+The man passed, his hurried stride a half run; and, a few feet beyond,
+halted at old Isaac's side door. From somewhere inside the old building
+Jimmie Dale's ears caught the faint ringing of an electric bell; a
+long ring, followed in quick succession by three short ones--then the
+repeated clicking of a latch, as though pulled by a cord from above, and
+the man passed in through the door, closing it behind him.
+
+Jimmie Dale nodded to himself in the darkness. It was a spring lock; the
+signal was one long ring and three short ones--the Tocsin had not missed
+even those small details. Also, Burton was late for his appointment, for
+that must have been Burton--business such as old Isaac had in hand
+that night would have permitted the entrance of no other visitor but K.
+Wilmington Maddon's private secretary.
+
+He moved down the lane to the door, and tried it softly. It was locked,
+of course. The slim, tapering, sensitive fingers, whose tips were eyes
+and ears to Jimmie Dale, felt over the lock--and a slender little steel
+instrument slipped into the keyhole. A moment more and the catch was
+released, and the door, under his hand, began to open. With it ajar,
+he paused, his eyes searching intently up and down the lane. There was
+nothing, no sign of any one, no moving shadows now. His gaze shifted to
+the window opposite. Directly facing it now, with the dull reflection
+upon it from the lighted window of old Isaac's den above his head, he
+could make out that it was open--but that was all.
+
+Once more he smiled--a little tolerantly at himself this time. Some one
+had been in the lane; some one had opened the window of his or her
+room in that tenement house across from him--surely there was nothing
+surprising, unnatural, or even out of the commonplace in that. He had
+been a little bit on edge himself, perhaps, and the sudden movement of
+that shadow, unexpected, had startled him for the moment, as, in all
+probability, the opening of the window had startled the skulking figure
+itself into action.
+
+The door was open now. He stepped noiselessly inside, and closed it
+noiselessly behind him. He was in a narrow hall, where a few yards away,
+a light shone down a stairway at right angles to the hall itself.
+
+“Rear door of pawnshop opens into hall, and exactly opposite very short
+flight of stairs leading directly to doorway of Isaac's den above.
+Ramshackle old place, low ceilings. Isaac, when sitting in his den, can
+look down, and, by means of a transom over the rear door of the shop,
+see the customers as they enter from the street, while he also keeps an
+eye on his assistant. Latter always locks up and leaves promptly at six
+o'clock--” Jimmie Dale was subconsciously repeating to himself snatches
+from the Tocsin's letter, which, as subconsciously in reading, he had
+memorised almost word for word.
+
+And now voices reached him--one, excited, nervous, as though the
+speaker were labouring under mental strain that bordered closely on
+the hysterical; the other, curiously mingling a querulousness with an
+attempt to pacify, but dominantly contemptuous, sneering, cold.
+
+Jimmie Dale moved along the hall--very slowly--without a sound--testing
+each step before he threw his body weight from one leg to the other. He
+reached the foot of the stairs. The Tocsin had been right; it was a very
+short flight. He counted the steps--there were eight. Above, facing him,
+a door was open. The voices were louder now. It was a sordid-looking
+room, what he could see of it, poverty-stricken in its appearance,
+intentionally so probably for effect, with no attempt whatever at
+furnishing. He could see through the doorway to the window that opened
+on the alleyway, or, rather, just glimpse the top of the window at an
+angle across the room--that and a bare stretch of floor. The two men
+were not in the line of vision.
+
+Burton's voice--it was unquestionably Burton speaking--came to Jimmie
+Dale now distinctly.
+
+“No, I didn't! I tell you, I didn't! I--I hadn't the nerve.”
+
+Jimmie Dale slipped his black silk mask over his face; and with extreme
+caution, on hands and knees, began to climb the stairs.
+
+“So!” It was old Isaac now, in a half purr, half sneer. “And I was so
+sure, my young friend, that you had. I was so sure that you were not
+such a fool. Yes; I could even have sworn that they were in your pocket
+now--what? It is too bad--too bad! It is not a pleasant thing to think
+of, that little chair up the river in its horrible little room where--”
+
+“For God's sake, Isaac--not that! Do you hear--not that! My God, I
+didn't mean to--I didn't know what I was doing!”
+
+Jimmie Dale crept up another step, another, and another. There was
+silence for a moment in the room; then Burton again, hoarse-voiced:
+
+“Isaac, I'll make good to you some other way. I swear I will--I swear
+it! If I'm caught at this I'll--I'll get fifteen years for it.”
+
+“And which would you rather have?” Jimmie Dale could picture the oily
+smirk, the shrug of his shoulders, the outthrust hands, palms upward,
+elbows in at the hips, the fingers curved and wide apart--“fifteen
+years, or what you get--for murder? Eh, my friend, you have thought of
+that--eh? It is a very little price I ask--yes?”
+
+“Damn you!” Burton's voice was shrill, then dropped to a half sob. “No,
+no, Isaac, I didn't mean that. Only, for God's sake be merciful! It is
+not only the risk of the penitentiary; it's more than that. I--I tried
+to play white all my life, and until that cursed night there's no man
+living could say I haven't. You know that--you know that, Isaac. I tell
+you I couldn't do it this afternoon--I tell you I couldn't. I tried to
+and--and I couldn't.”
+
+Jimmie Dale was lying flat on the little landing now, peering into the
+room. Back a short distance from the doorway, a repulsive-looking
+little man in unkempt clothes and soiled linen, with yellowish-skinned,
+parchment face, out of which small black eyes shone cunningly and
+shrewdly, sat at a bare deal table in a rickety chair; facing him across
+the table stood a young man of not more than twenty-five, clean cut,
+well dressed, but whose face was unnaturally white now, and whose hand,
+as he extended it in a pleading gesture toward the other, trembled
+visibly. Jimmie Dale's hand made its way quietly to his side pocket and
+extracted his automatic.
+
+Old Isaac humped his shoulders, and leered at his visitor.
+
+“We talk a great deal, my young friend. What is the use? A bargain is
+a bargain. A few rubies in exchange for your life. A few rubies and my
+mouth is shut. Otherwise”--he humped his shoulders again. “Well?”
+
+Burton drew back, swept his hand in a dazed way across his eyes--and
+laughed out suddenly in bitter mirth.
+
+“A few rubies!” he cried. “The most magnificent stones on this side of
+the water--a FEW rubies! It's been Maddon's life hobby. Every child in
+New York knows that! A few--yes, there's only a few--but those few are
+worth a fortune. He trusts me, the man has been like a father to me,
+and--”
+
+“So you are the very last to be suspected,” observed old Isaac suavely.
+“Have I not told you that? There is nothing to fear. Did we not arrange
+everything so nicely--eh, my young friend? See, it was to-night that
+Maddon gives a little reception to his friends, and did you not say that
+the rubies would be taken from the safe-deposit vault this afternoon
+since his friends always clamoured to see them as a very fitting
+conclusion to an evening's entertainment? And did you not say that you
+very naturally had access to the safe in the library where you worked,
+and that he would not notice they were gone until he came to look
+for them some time this evening? I think you said all that. And what
+suspicion let alone proof, would attach itself to you? You were out of
+the room once when he, too, was absent for perhaps half an hour. It
+is very simple. In that half hour, some one, somehow, abstracted them.
+Certainly it was not you. You see how little I ask--and I pay well, do I
+not? And so I gave you until to-night. Three days have gone, and I have
+said nothing, and the body has not been found--eh? But to-night--eh--it
+was understood! The rubies--or the chair.”
+
+Burton's lips moved, but it was a moment before he could speak.
+
+“You wouldn't dare!” he whispered thickly. “You wouldn't dare! I'd tell
+the story of--of what you tried to make me do, and they'd send you up
+for it.”
+
+Old Isaac shrugged with pitying contempt.
+
+“Is it, after all, a fool I am dealing with!” he sneered. “And I--what
+should I say? That you had stolen the stones from your employer and
+offered them as a bribe to silence me, and that I had refused. The very
+act of handing you over to the police would prove the truth of what I
+said and rob you of even a chance of leniency--FOR THAT OTHER THING. Is
+it not so--eh? And why did I not hand you over at once three nights ago?
+Believe me, my young friend, I should have a very good reason ready, a
+dozen, if necessary, if it came to that. But we are borrowing trouble,
+are we not? We shall not come to that--eh?”
+
+For a moment it seemed to Jimmie Dale, as he watched, that Burton would
+hurl himself upon the other. White to the lips, the muscles of his face
+twitching, Burton clenched his fists and leaned over the table--and
+then, with sudden revulsion of emotion, he drew back once more, and once
+more came that choked sob:
+
+“You'll pay for this, Isaac--your turn will come for this!
+
+“I have been threatened very often,” snapped the other contemptuously.
+“Bah, what are threats! I laugh at them--as I always will.” Then, with
+a quick change of front, his voice a sudden snarl: “Well, we have
+talked enough. You have your choice. The stones or--eh? And it is
+to-night--NOW!”
+
+The old pawnbroker sprawled back in his chair, a cunning leer on his
+vicious face, a gleam of triumph, greed, in the beady, ratlike eyes that
+never wavered from the other. Burton, moisture oozing from his forehead,
+stood there, hesitant, staring back at old Isaac, half in a fascinated
+gaze, half as though trying to read some sign of weakness in the bestial
+countenance that confronted him. And then, very slowly, in an automatic,
+machine-like way, his hand groped into the inside pocket of his
+vest--and old Isaac cackled out in derision.
+
+“So! You thought you could bluff me, eh--you thought you could fool old
+Isaac! Bah! I read you like a book! Did I not tell you a while back that
+you had them in your pocket? I know your kind, my young friend; I know
+your kind very well indeed--it is my business. You would not have
+dared to come here to-night without the price. So! You took them this
+afternoon as we agreed. Yes, yes; you did well. You will not regret it.
+And now let me see them”--his voice rose eagerly--“let me see them now,
+my young friend.”
+
+“Yes, I took them.” Burton spoke listlessly. “God help me!”
+
+Old Isaac, quivering, excited, like a different creature now, sprang
+from his chair, and, as Burton drew a long, flat, leather case from
+his pocket, snatched it from the other's hand. His fingers in their
+rapacious haste could not at first manipulate the catch, and then
+finally, with the case open, he bent over the table feverishly. The
+light reflected back as from some living mass of crimson fire, now
+shading darkly, now glowing into wondrous, colourful transparency as he
+moved the case to and fro with jerky motions of his hands--and he was
+babbling, crooning to himself like one possessed.
+
+“Ah, the little beauties! Ah, the pretty little things! Yes, yes; these
+are the ones! This is the great Aracon--see, see, the six-sided prism
+terminated by the six-sided pyramid. But it must be cut--it must be cut
+to sell it, eh? Ah, it is too bad--too bad! And this, this one here, I
+know them all, this is--”
+
+But his sentence was never finished--it was Jimmie Dale, on his feet
+now, leaning against the jamb of the door, his automatic covering the
+two men at the table, who spoke.
+
+“Quite so, Isaac,” he said coolly; “you know them all! Quite so,
+Isaac--but be good enough to DROP them!”
+
+The case fell from Isaac's hand, the flush on his cheeks died to a
+sickly pallor, and, his mouth half open, he stood like a man turned to
+stone, his hands with curved fingers still outstretched over the table,
+over the crimson gems that, spilled from the case, lay scattered now
+on the tabletop. Burton neither spoke nor moved--a little whiter, the
+misery in his face almost apathetic, he moistened his lips with the tip
+of his tongue.
+
+Jimmie Dale walked across the room, halted at the end of the table,
+and surveyed the two men grimly. And then, while one hand with revolver
+extended rested easily on the table, the other gathered up the stones,
+placed them in the case, and, the case in his pocket, Jimmie Dale's lips
+parted in an uninviting smile.
+
+“I guess I'm in luck to-night, eh, Isaac?” he drawled. “Between you and
+your young friend, as I believe you call him, it would appear as though
+I had fallen on my feet. That Aracon's worth--what would you say?--a
+hundred, two hundred thousand alone, eh? A very famous stone, that--had
+your eye on it for quite a time, Isaac, you miserable blood leech, eh?”
+
+Isaac did not answer; but, while he still held back from the table, he
+seemed to be regaining a little of his composure--burglars of whatever
+sort were no novelty to him--and was staring fixedly at Jimmie Dale.
+
+“Can't place me--though there's not many in the profession you don't
+know? Is that it?” inquired Jimmie Dale softly. “Well, don't try, Isaac;
+it's hardly worth your while. I'VE got the stones now, and--”
+
+“Wait! Wait! Listen!” It was Burton, speaking for the first time, his
+words coming in a quick, nervous rush. “Listen! You don't--”
+
+“Hold your tongue!” cried old Isaac, with sudden fierceness. “You are a
+fool!” He leaned toward Jimmie Dale, a crafty smile on his face, quite
+in control of himself once more. “Don't listen to him--listen to me.
+You're right. I can't place you, and it doesn't make any difference”--he
+took a step forward--“but--”
+
+“Not too close, Isaac!” snapped Jimmie Dale sharply. “I know YOU!”
+
+“So!” ejaculated old Isaac, rubbing his hands together. “So! That is
+good! That is what I want. Listen, we will make a bargain. We are birds
+of a feather, eh? All thieves, eh? You've got the drop on us who did all
+the work, but you'll give us our share--eh? Listen! You couldn't get rid
+of those stones alone. You know that; you're not so green at the game,
+eh? You'd have to go to some one. You know me; you know old Isaac, you
+say. Well, then, you know there isn't another man in New York could
+dispose of those rubies and play SAFE doing it except me. I'll make a
+good bargain with you.”
+
+“Isaac,” said Jimmie Dale pensively, “you've made a good many 'good'
+bargains. I wonder when you'll make your last! There's more than one
+looking for 'interest' on those bargains in a pretty grim sort of way.”
+
+“Bah!” ejaculated old Isaac. “It is an old story. They are all alike. I
+am afraid of none of them. I hold them all like--THAT!” His hand opened
+and closed like a taloned claw.
+
+“And you'd add me to the lot, eh?” said Jimmie Dale. He lifted the
+revolver, its muzzle on old Isaac, examined the mechanism thoughtfully,
+and lowered it again. “Very well, I'll make a bargain with
+you--providing it is agreeable to your young friend here.”
+
+“Ah!” exclaimed old Isaac shrilly. “So! That is good! It is done then.”
+ He chuckled hoarsely. “Any bargain I make he will agree to. Is it not
+so?” He fixed his eyes on Burton. “Well, is it not so? Speak up! Say--”
+
+He stopped--the words cut short off on his lips. It came without
+warning--a crash, a pound on the door below--another.
+
+Burton shrank back against the wall.
+
+“My God! The police!” he gasped. “Maddon's found out! We're--we're
+caught!”
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes, on old Isaac, narrowed. The pounding in the alleyway
+grew louder, more insistent. And then his first suspicion passed--it
+was no “game” of Isaac's. Crafty though the old fox was, the other's
+surprise and agitation was too genuine to be questioned.
+
+Still the pounding continued--some one was kicking viciously at the
+door, and banging a tattoo on the panels with his fists.
+
+Old Isaac's clawlike hands doubled suddenly.
+
+“It is some drunken sot,” he snarled out, “that knows no better than to
+come here and rouse the whole neighbourhood! It is true, in a moment we
+will have the police running in from the street. But wait--wait--I'll
+teach the fool a lesson!” He dashed around the table, ran for the
+window, wrenched the catch up, flung the window open, and, snarling
+again, leaned out--and instantly the knocking ceased.
+
+And instantly then, with a sharp cry, as the whole ghastly meaning of it
+swept upon him, Jimmie sprang after the other--too late! Came the
+roar of a revolver shot, a stream of flame cutting the darkness of the
+alleyway from the window in the house opposite--and, without a sound,
+old Isaac crumpled up, hung limply for a moment over the sill, and slid
+in a heap to the floor.
+
+On his hands and knees, protected from the possibility of another bullet
+by the height of the sill, Jimmie Dale, quick in every movement now,
+dragged the inert form toward the table away from the window, and bent
+hurriedly over the other. A minute perhaps he stayed there--and then
+rose slowly.
+
+Burton, horror-stricken, unmanned, beside himself, was hanging,
+clutching with both hands at the table edge.
+
+“He's dead,” said Jimmie Dale laconically.
+
+Burton flung out his hands.
+
+“Dead!” he whispered hoarsely. “I--I think I'm going mad. Three days of
+hell--and now this. We'd--we'd better get out of here quick--they'll get
+us if--”
+
+Jimmie Dale's hand fell with a tight grip on Burton's shoulder.
+
+“There won't be any more shots fired--pull yourself together!”
+
+Burton stared at him in a demented way.
+
+“What's--what's it mean?” he stammered.
+
+“It means that I didn't put two and two together,” said Jimmie Dale a
+little bitterly. “It means that there's a dozen crooks been dancing
+old Isaac's tune for a long time--and that some of them have got him at
+last.”
+
+Burton reached out suddenly and clutched Jimmie Dale's arm.
+
+“Then I'm safe!” He mumbled the words, but there was dawning hope,
+relief in his white face. “Safe! I'm safe--if you'll only give me back
+those stones. Give them back to me, for God's sake give them back to me!
+You don't know--you don't understand. I stole them because--because he
+made me--because I--it was the only chance I had. Oh, my God, you don't
+know what the last three days have been! Give them back to me, won't
+you--won't you? You--you don't know!”
+
+“Don't lose your nerve!” said Jimmie Dale sharply. “Sit down!” He pushed
+the other into the chair. “There's no one will disturb us here for some
+time at least. What is it that I don't know? That three nights ago
+you were in a gambling hell, Sagosto's, to be exact, one of the most
+disreputable in New York--and you went there on the invitation of a
+stray acquaintance, a man named Perley--shall I describe him for you? A
+short, slim-built man, black eyes, red hair, beard, and--”
+
+“YOU know that!” The misery, the hopelessness was back in Burton's face
+again--and suddenly he bent over the table and buried his head in his
+outflung arms.
+
+There was silence for a moment. Tight-lipped, Jimmie Dale's eyes
+travelled from Burton's shaking shoulders to the motionless form on the
+floor. Then he spoke again:
+
+“You're a bit of a rounder, Burton, but I think you've had a lesson that
+will last you all your life. You were half-drunk when you and Perley
+began to hobnob over a downtown bar. He said he'd show you some real
+life, and you went with him to Sagosto's. He gave you a revolver before
+you went in, and told you the place wasn't safe for an unarmed man. He
+introduced you to Sagosto, the proprietor, and you were shown to a
+back room. You drank quite a little there. You and Perley were alone,
+throwing dice. You got into a quarrel. Perley tried to draw his
+revolver. You were quicker. You drew the one he had given you--and
+fired. He fell to the floor--you saw the blood gush from his breast just
+above the heart--he was dead. In a panic you rushed from the place and
+out into the street. I don't think you went home that night.”
+
+Burton raised his head, showing his haggard face.
+
+“I guess it's no use,” he said dully. “If you know, others must. I
+thought only Isaac and Sagosto knew. Why haven't I been arrested? I wish
+to God I had--I wouldn't have had to-day to answer for.”
+
+“I am not through yet,” said Jimmie Dale gravely. “The next day old
+Isaac here sent for you. He said Sagosto had told him of the murder, and
+had offered to dispose of the corpse and keep his mouth shut for fifty
+thousand dollars--that no one in his place knew of it except himself.
+Isaac, for his share, wanted considerably more. You told him you had no
+such sums, that you had no money. He told you how you could get it--you
+had access to Maddon's safe, you were Maddon's confidential
+secretary, fully in your employer's trust, the last man on earth to be
+suspected--and there were Maddon's famous, priceless rubies.”
+
+Jimmie Dale paused. Burton made no answer.
+
+“And so,” said Jimmie Dale presently, “to save yourself from the death
+penalty you took them.”
+
+“Yes,” said Burton, scarcely above his breath. “Are you an officer? If
+you are, take me, have done with it! Only for Heaven's sake end it! If
+you're not--”
+
+Jimmie Dale was not listening. “The cupboard at the rear of the room,”
+ she had said. He walked across to it now, opened it, and, after a little
+search, found a small bundle. He returned with it in his hand, and,
+kneeling beside the dead man on the floor, his back to Burton, untied
+it, took out a red wig and beard, and slipped them on to old Isaac's
+head and face.
+
+“I wonder,” he said grimly, as he stood up, “if you ever saw this man
+before?”
+
+“My God--PERLEY!” With a wild cry, Burton was on his feet, straining
+forward like a man crazed.
+
+“Yes,” said Jimmie Dale, “Perley! Sort of an ironic justice in his end
+as far as you are concerned, isn't there? I think we'll leave him like
+that--as Perley. It will provide the police with an interesting little
+problem--which they will never solve, and--STEADY!”
+
+Burton was rocking on his feet, the tears were streaming down his face.
+He lurched heavily--and Jimmie Dale caught him, and pushed him back into
+the chair again.
+
+“I thought--I thought there was blood on my hands,” said Burton brokenly;
+“that--that I had taken a man's life. It was horrible, horrible! I've
+lived through three days that I thought would drive me mad, while I--I
+tried to do my work, and--and talk to people, just as if nothing had
+happened. And every one that spoke to me seemed so carefree and happy,
+and I would have sold my soul to have changed places with them.” He
+stared at the form on the floor, and shivered suddenly. “It--it was like
+that I saw him last!” he whispered. “But--but I do not understand.”
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled a little wearily.
+
+“It was simple enough,” he said. “Old Isaac had had his eyes on those
+rubies for a long time. The easiest way of getting them was through you.
+The revolver he gave you before you entered Sagosto's was loaded with
+blank cartridges, the blood you saw was the old, old trick--a punctured
+bladder of red pigment concealed under the vest.”
+
+“Let us get out of here!” Burton shuddered again. “Let us get out of
+here--at once--now. If we're found here, we'll be accused of--THAT!”
+
+“There is no hurry,” Jimmie Dale answered quietly. “I have told you that
+no one is liable to come here to-night--and whoever did this certainly
+will not raise an alarm. And besides, there is still the matter of the
+rubies--Burton.”
+
+“Yes,” said Burton, with a quick intake of his breath.
+
+“Yes--the rubies--what are you going to do with them? I--I had forgotten
+them. You'll--” He stopped, stared at Jimmie Dale, and burst into a
+miserable laugh. “I'm a fool, a blind fool!” he moaned. “It does not
+matter what you do with them. I forgot Sagosto. When they find Isaac
+here, Sagosto will either tell his story, which will be enough to
+convict me of this night's work, the REAL murder, even though I'm
+innocent; or else he'll blackmail me just as Isaac did.”
+
+Jimmie Dale shook his head.
+
+“You are doing Isaac's cunning an injustice,” he said grimly. “Sagosto
+was only a tool, one of many that old Isaac had in his power--and, for
+that matter, as likely as any one else to have had a hand in Isaac's
+murder to-night. Sagosto saw you once when Isaac brought you into his
+place--not because Isaac wanted Sagosto to see you, but because he
+wanted YOU to see Sagosto. Do you understand? It would make the story
+that Sagosto came to him with the tale of the murder the next day ring
+true. Sagosto, however, did not go to old Isaac the next day to tell
+about any fake murder--naturally. Sagosto would not know you again
+from Adam--neither does he know anything about the rubies, nor what old
+Isaac's ulterior motives were. He was paid for his share in the game in
+old Isaac's usual manner of payment probably--by a threat of exposure
+for some old-time offence, that Isaac held over him, if he didn't keep
+his mouth shut.”
+
+Burton's hand brushed his eyes.
+
+“Yes,” he muttered. “Yes--I see it now.”
+
+Jimmie Dale stooped down, picked up the paper from the floor in which
+the wig and beard had been wrapped, walked back with it, and replaced
+it in the cupboard. And then, with his back to Burton again, he took
+the case of gems from his pocket, opened it, and laid it on the cupboard
+shelf. Also from his pocket came that thin metal case, and from the
+case, with a pair of tweezers that obviated the possibility of telltale
+finger prints, a gray, diamond-shaped piece of paper, adhesive on
+one side that, cursed by the distracted authorities in every police
+headquarters on both sides of the Atlantic, and raved at by a virulent
+press whose printed reproductions had made it familiar in every
+household in the land--was the insignia of the Gray Seal. He moistened
+the adhesive side, dropped it from the tweezers to his handkerchief, and
+pressed it down firmly on the inside of the cover of the jewel case. He
+put both cases back in his pockets, and returned to Burton.
+
+“Burton,” he said a little sharply, “while I was outside that doorway
+there, I heard you beg old Isaac to let you keep the rubies, and three
+times already you have asked the same of me. What would you do with them
+if I gave them back to you?”
+
+Burton did not reply for a moment--he was gazing at the masked face in a
+half-eager, half-doubtful way.
+
+“You--you mean you will give them back!” he burst out finally.
+
+“Answer my question,” prompted Jimmie Dale.
+
+“Do with them?” Burton repeated slowly. “Why, I've told you. They'd go
+back to Mr. Maddon--I'd take them back.”
+
+“Would you?” Jimmie Dale's voice was quizzical.
+
+A puzzled expression came to Burton's face.
+
+“I don't know what you mean by that,” he said. “Of course, I would!”
+
+“How?” asked Jimmie Dale. “Do you know the combination of Mr. Maddon's
+safe?”
+
+“No,” said Burton
+
+“And the safe would be locked, wouldn't it?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Quite so,” said Jimmie Dale musingly. “Then, granted that Mr. Maddon
+has not already discovered the theft, how would you replace the stones
+before he does discover it? And if he already knows that they are gone,
+how would you get them back into his hands?”
+
+“Yes, I know,” Burton answered a little listlessly. “I've thought of
+that. There's only one way--to take them back to him myself, and make a
+clean breast of it, and--” He hesitated.
+
+“And tell him you stole them,” supplied Jimmie Dale.
+
+Burton nodded his head. “Yes,” he said.
+
+“And then?” prodded Jimmie Dale. “What will Maddon do? From what I've
+heard of him, he's not a man to trifle with, nor a man to take an overly
+complacent view of things--not the man whose philosophy is 'all's well
+that ends well.'”
+
+“What does it matter?” Burton's voice was low. “It isn't that so much.
+I'm ready for that. It's the fact that he trusted me implicitly, and
+I--well, I played the fool, or I'd never have got into a mess like
+this.”
+
+For an instant Jimmie Dale looked at the other searchingly, and then,
+smiling strangely, he shook his head.
+
+“There's a better way than that, Burton,” he said quietly.
+
+“I think, as I said before, you've had a lesson to-night that will last
+you all your life. I'm going to give you another chance--with Maddon.
+Here are the stones.” He reached into his pocket and laid the case on
+the table.
+
+But now Burton made no effort to take the case--his eyes, in that
+puzzled way again, were on Jimmie Dale.
+
+“A better way?” he repeated tensely. “What do you mean? What way?”
+
+“Well, say at the expense of another man's reputation--of mine,”
+ suggested Jimmie Dale, with his whimsical smile. “You need only say that
+a man came to you this evening, told you that he stole these rubies from
+Mr. Maddon during the afternoon, and asked you, as Mr. Maddon's private
+secretary, to restore them with his compliments to their owner.”
+
+A slow flush of disappointment, deepening to one of anger dyed Burton's
+cheeks.
+
+“Are you trying to make a fool of me?” he cried out. “Go to Maddon with
+a childish tale like that! There's no man living would believe such a
+cock-and-bull story!”
+
+“No?” inquired Jimmie Dale softly. “And yet I am inclined to think there
+are a good many--that even Maddon would, hard-headed as he is. You
+might say that when the man handed you the case you thought it was some
+practical joke being foisted on you, until you opened the case”--Jimmie
+Dale pushed it a little farther across the table, and Burton,
+mechanically, his eyes still on Jimme Dale, loosened the catch with his
+thumb nail--“until you opened the case, saw the rubies, and--”
+
+“The Gray Seal!” Burton had snatched the case toward him, and was
+straining his eyes at the inside cover. “You--the Gray Seal!”
+
+“Well?” said Jimmie Dale whimsically.
+
+Motionless, the case held open in his hands, Burton stood there.
+
+“The Gray Seal!” he whispered. Then, with a catch in his voice: “You
+mean this? You mean to let me have these back--you mean--you mean all
+you've said? For God's sake, don't play with me--the Gray Seal, the most
+notorious criminal in the country, to give back a fortune like this!
+You--you--”
+
+“Dog with a bad name,” said Jimmie Dale, with a wry smile; then, a
+little gruffly: “Put it in your pocket!”
+
+Slowly, almost as though he expected the case to be snatched back from
+him the next instant, Burton obeyed.
+
+“I don't understand--I CAN'T understand!” he murmured. “They say that
+you--and yet I believe you now--you've saved me from a ruined life
+to-night. The Gray Seal! If--if every one knew what you had done,
+they--”
+
+“But every one won't,” Jimmie Dale broke in bluntly, “Who is to tell
+them? You? You couldn't very well, when you come to think of it--could
+you? Well, who knows, perhaps there have been others like you!”
+
+“You mean,” said Burton excitedly, “you mean that all these crimes of
+yours that have seemed without motive, that have been so inexplicable,
+have really been like to-night to--”
+
+“I don't mean anything at all,” interposed Jimmie Dale a little
+hurriedly. “Nothing, Burton--except that there is still one little thing
+more to do to bolster up that 'childish' story of mine--and then get
+out of here.” He glanced sharply, critically around the room, his eyes
+resting for a moment at the last on the form on the floor. Then tersely:
+“I am going to turn out the light--we will have to pass the window to
+get to the door, and we will invite no chances. Are you ready?”
+
+“No; not yet,” said Burton eagerly. “I haven't said what I'd like to say
+to you, what I--”
+
+“Walk straight to the door,” said Jimmie Dale curtly. There was the
+click of an electric-light switch, and the room was in darkness. “Now,
+no noise!” he instructed.
+
+And Burton, perforce, made his way across the room--and at the door
+Jimmie Dale joined him and led him down the short flight of stairs. At
+the bottom, he opened the door leading into the rear of the pawnshop
+itself, and, bidding Burton follow, entered.
+
+“We can't risk even a match; it could be seen from the street,” he said
+brusquely, as he fumbled around for a moment in the darkness. “Ah--here
+it is!” He lifted a telephone receiver from its hook, and gave a number.
+
+Burton caught him quickly by the arm.
+
+“Good Lord, man, what are you doing?” he protested anxiously. “That's
+Mr. Maddon's house!”
+
+“So I believe,” said Jimmie Dale complacently. “Hello! Is Mr. Maddon
+there? . . . I beg pardon? . . . Personally, yes, if you please.”
+
+There was a moment's wait. Burton's hand was still nervously clutching
+at Jimmie Dale's sleeve. Then:
+
+“Mr. Maddon?” asked Jimmie Dale pleasantly. “Yes? . . . I am very sorry
+to trouble you, but I called you up to inquire if you were aware that
+your rubies, and among them your Aracon, had been stolen? . . . I beg
+pardon! . . . Rubies--yes. . . . You weren't. . . . Oh, no, I am quite
+in my right mind; if you will take the trouble to open your safe you
+will find they are gone--shall I hold the line while you investigate?
+. . . What? . . . Don't shout, please--and stand a little farther away
+from the mouthpiece.” Jimmie Dale's tone was one of insolent composure
+now. “There is really no use in getting excited. . . . I beg pardon? . . .
+Certainly, this is the Gray Seal speaking. . . . What?” Jimmie Dale's
+voice grew plaintive, “I really can't make out a word when you yell like
+that. . . . Yes. . . . I had occasion to use them this afternoon, and I
+took the liberty of borrowing them temporarily--are you still there, Mr.
+Maddon? . . . Oh, quite so! Yes, I hear you NOW. . . . No, that is
+all, only I am returning them through your private secretary, a very
+estimable young man, though I fear somewhat excitable and shaky, who is
+on his way to you with them now. . . . WHAT'S THAT YOU SAY? You repeat
+that,” snapped Jimmie Dale suddenly, icily, “and I'll take them
+from under your nose again before morning! . . . Ah! That is better!
+Good-night--Mr. Maddon.”
+
+Jimmie Dale hung up the receiver and shoved Burton toward the door.
+
+“Now then, Burton, we'll get out of her--and the sooner you reach Fifth
+Avenue and Mr. Maddon's house the better. No; not that way!” They had
+reached the hall, and Burton had turned toward the side door that opened
+on the alleyway. “Whoever they were who settled their last account with
+Isaac may still be watching. They've nothing against any one else,
+but they know some one was in here at the time, and, if the police
+are clever enough ever to get on their track, they might find it
+very convenient to be able to say WHO was in the room when Isaac was
+murdered--there's nothing to show, since Isaac so obligingly opened the
+window for them, that the shot was fired THROUGH the window and not from
+the inside of the room. And even if they have already taken to their
+heels”--Jimmie Dale was leading Burton up the stairs again as he
+talked--“it might prove exceedingly inconvenient for us if some
+passer-by should happen to recollect that he saw two men of our general
+appearance leaving the premises. Now keep close--and follow me.”
+
+They passed the door of Isaac's den, turned down a narrow corridor that
+led to the rear of the house--Jimmie Dale guiding unerringly, working
+from the mental map of the house that the Tocsin had drawn for
+him--descended another short flight of stairs that gave on the kitchen,
+crossed the kitchen, and Jimmie Dale opened a back door. He paused here
+for a moment to listen; then, cautioning Burton to be silent, moved on
+again across a small back yard and through a gate into a lane that
+ran at right angles to the alleyway by which both had entered the
+house--and, a minute later, they were crouched against a building, a
+half block away, where the lane intersected the cross street.
+
+Here Jimmie Dale peered out cautiously. There was no one in sight. He
+touched Burton's shoulder, and pointed down the street.
+
+“That's your way, Burton--mine's the other. Hurry while you've got the
+chance. Good-night.”
+
+Burton's hand reached out, caught Jimmie Dale's, and wrung it.
+
+“God bless you!” he said huskily. “I--”
+
+And Jimmie Dale pushed him out on to the street.
+
+Burton's steps receded down the sidewalk. Jimmie Dale still crouched
+against the wall. The steps grew fainter in the distance and died
+finally away. Jimmie Dale straightened up, slipped the mask from his
+face to his pocket, stepped out on the street--and five minutes later
+was passing through the noisy bedlam of the Hungarian restaurant on his
+way to the front door and his car.
+
+“SONNEZ LE TOCSIN,” Jimmie Dale was saying softly to himself. “I wonder
+what she'll do when she finds I've got the ring?”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+THE MAN HIGHER UP
+
+
+The Tocsin! By neither act, sign, nor word had she evidenced the
+slightest interest in that ring--and yet she must know, she certainly
+must know that it was now in his possession. Jimmie Dale was
+disappointed. Somehow, he had counted more than he had cared to admit on
+developments from that ring.
+
+He pulled a little viciously at his cigarette, as he stared out of the
+St. James Club window. That was how long ago? Ten days? Yes; this would
+be the eleventh. Eleven days now and no word from her--eleven days since
+that night at old Isaac's, since she had last called him, the Gray Seal,
+to arms. It was a long while--so long a while even that what had come
+to be his prerogative in the newspapers, the front page with three-inch
+type recounting some new exploit of that mysterious criminal the Gray
+Seal, was being usurped. The papers were howling now about what they,
+for the lack of a better term, were pleased to call a wave of crime that
+had inundated New York, and of which, for once, the Gray Seal was not
+the storm centre, but rather, for the moment, forgotten.
+
+He drew back from the window, and, settling himself again in the big
+leather lounging chair, resumed the perusal of the evening paper. His
+eye fell on what was common to every edition now, a crime editorial--and
+the paper crackled suddenly under the long, slim, tapering fingers,
+so carefully nurtured, whose sensitive tips a hundred times had made
+mockery of the human ingenuity squandered on the intricate mechanism
+of safes and vaults. No; he was wrong--the Gray Seal had not been
+forgotten.
+
+“We should not be surprised,” wrote the editor virulently, “to discover
+at the bottom of these abominable atrocities that the guiding spirit,
+in fact, was the Gray Seal--they are quite worthy even of his diabolical
+disregard for the laws of God and man.”
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips straightened ominously, and an angry glint crept into
+his dark, steady eyes. There was nothing then, nothing too vile that,
+in the public's eyes, could not logically be associated with the Gray
+Seal--even this! A series of the most cold-blooded, callous murders
+and robberies, the work, on the face of it, of a well-organized band
+of thugs, brutal, insensate, little better than fiends, though clever
+enough so far to have evaded capture, clever enough, indeed, to have
+kept the police still staggering and gasping after a clew for one
+murder--while another was in the very act of being committed! The Gray
+Seal! What exquisite irony! And yet, after all, the papers were not
+wholly to blame for what they said; he had invited much of it. Seeming
+crimes of the Gray Seal had apparently been genuine beyond any question
+of doubt, as he had intended them to appear, as in the very essence of
+their purpose they had to be.
+
+Yes; he had invited much--he and she together--the Tocsin and himself.
+He, Jimmie Dale, millionaire, clubman, whose name for generations in
+New York had been the family pride, was “wanted” as the Gray Seal for so
+many “crimes” that he had lost track of them himself--but from any one
+of which, let the identity of the Gray Seal be once solved, there was
+and could be no escape! What exquisite irony--yet full, too, of the most
+deadly consequences!
+
+Once more Jimmie Dale's eyes sought the paper, and this time scanned the
+headlines of the first page:
+
+
+BRUTAL MURDER OF MILL PAYMASTER.
+
+THE CRIME WAVE STILL AT ITS HEIGHT.
+
+HERMAN ROESSLE FOUND DEAD NEAR HIS CAR.
+
+ASSASSINS ESCAPE WITH $20,000.
+
+
+Jimmie Dale read on--and as he read there came again that angry set to
+his lips. The details were not pleasant. Herman Roessle, the paymaster
+of the Martindale-Kensington Mills, whose plant was on the Hudson, had
+gone that morning in his runabout to the nearest town, three miles away,
+for the monthly pay roll; had secured the money from the bank, a sum of
+twenty-odd thousand dollars; and had started back with it for the
+mill. At first, it being broad daylight and a well-frequented road, his
+nonappearance caused no apprehension; but as early afternoon came and
+there was still no sign of Roessle the mill management took alarm.
+Discovering that he had left the bank for the return journey at a few
+minutes before eleven, and that nothing had been seen of him at his
+home, the police were notified. Followed then several hours of fruitless
+search, until finally, with the whole countryside aroused and the
+efforts of the police augumented by private search parties, the car was
+found in a thicket at the edge of a crossroad some four miles back from
+the river, and, a little way from the car, the body of Roessle, dead,
+the man's head crushed in where it had been fiendishly battered by some
+blunt, heavy object. There was no clew--no one could be found who had
+seen the car on the crossroad--the murderer, or murderers, and the
+twenty-odd thousand dollars in cash had disappeared leaving no trace
+behind.
+
+There were several columns of this, which Jimmie Dale skimmed through
+quickly; but at the end he stared for a long time at the last paragraph.
+Somehow, strange, to relate, the paper had neglected to turn its “sob”
+ artist loose, and the few words, added almost as though they were
+an afterthought, for once rang true and full of pathos in their very
+simplicity--at the Roessle home, where Mrs. Roessle was prostrated,
+two little tots of five and seven, too young to understand, had gravely
+received the reporter and told him that some bad man had hurt their
+daddy.
+
+“Mr. Dale, sir!”
+
+Jimmie Dale lowered his paper. A club attendant was standing before him,
+respectfully extending a silver card tray. From the man, Jimmie Dale's
+eyes fixed on a white envelope on the tray. One glance was enough--it
+was HERS, that letter. The Tocsin again! His brain seemed suddenly to be
+afire, and he could feel his pulse quicken, the blood begin to pound
+in fierce throbs at his heart. Life and death lay in that white,
+innocent-looking, unaddressed envelope, danger, peril--it was always
+life and death, for those were the stakes for which the Tocsin played.
+But, master of many things, Jimmie Dale was most of all master of
+himself. Not a muscle of his face moved. He reached nonchalantly for the
+letter.
+
+“Thank you,” said Jimmie Dale.
+
+The man bowed and started away. Jimmie Dale laid the envelope on the
+arm of the lounging chair. The man had reached the door when Jimmie Dale
+stopped him.
+
+“Oh, by the way,” said Jimmie Dale languidly, “where did this come
+from?”
+
+“Your chauffeur, sir,” replied the other. “Your chauffeur gave it to the
+hall porter a moment ago, sir.”
+
+“Thank you,” said Jimmie Dale again.
+
+The door closed.
+
+Jimmie Dale glanced around the room. It was the caution of habit, that
+glance; the habit of years in which his life had hung on little things.
+He was alone in one of the club's private library rooms. He picked up
+the envelope, tore it open, took out the folded sheets inside, and began
+to read. At the first words he leaned forward, suddenly tense in his
+chair. He read on, turning the pages hurriedly, incredulity, amazement,
+and, finally, a strange menace mirroring itself in turn upon his face.
+
+He stood up--the letter in his hand.
+
+“My God!” whispered Jimmie Dale.
+
+It was a call to arms such as the Gray Seal had never received
+before--such as the Tocsin had never made before. And if it were true
+it--True! He laughed aloud a little gratingly. True! Had the Tocsin,
+astounding, unbelievable, mystifying as were the means by which she
+acquired her knowledge not only of this, but of countless other affairs,
+ever by so much as the smallest detail been astray. If it were true!
+
+He pulled out his watch. It was half-past nine. Benson, his chauffeur,
+had sent the letter into the club. Benson had been waiting outside
+there ever since dinner. Jimmie Dale, for the first time since the
+first communication that he had ever received from the Tocsin, did not
+immediately destroy her letter now. He slipped it into his pocket--and
+stepped quickly from the room.
+
+In the cloakroom downstairs he secured his hat and overcoat, and,
+though it was a warm evening, put on the latter since he was in evening
+clothes, then walked leisurely out of the club.
+
+At the curb, Benson, the chauffeur, sprang from his seat, and, touching
+his cap, opened the door of a luxurious limousine.
+
+Jimmie Dale shook his head.
+
+“I shall not keep you waiting any longer, Benson,” he said. “You may
+take the car home, and put it up. I shall probably be late to-night.”
+
+“Very good, sir,” replied the chauffeur.
+
+“You sent in a letter a moment or so ago, Benson?” observed Jimmie Dale
+casually, opening his cigarette case.
+
+“Yes, sir,” said Benson. “I hope I didn't do wrong, sir. He said it was
+important, and that you were to have it at once.”
+
+“He?” Jimmie Dale was lighting his cigarette now.
+
+“A boy, sir,” Benson amplified. “I couldn't get anything out of him. He
+just said he'd been told to give it to me, and tell me to see that you
+got it at once. I hope, sir, I haven't--”
+
+“Not at all, Benson,” said Jimmie Dale pleasantly. “It's quite all
+right. Good-night, Benson.”
+
+“Good-night, sir,” Benson answered, climbing back to his seat.
+
+There was a queer little smile on Jimmie Dale's lips, as he watched the
+great car swing around in the street and glide noiselessly away--a queer
+little smile that still held there even after he himself had started
+briskly along the avenue in a downtown direction. It was invariably the
+same, always the same--the letters came unexpectedly, when least
+looked for, now by this means, now by that, but always in a manner that
+precluded the slightest possibility of tracing them to their source. Was
+there anything, in his intimate surroundings, in his intimate life,
+that she did not know about him--who knew absolutely nothing about her!
+Benson, for instance--that the man was absolutely trustworthy--or else
+she would never for an instant have risked the letter in his possession.
+Was there anything that she did not--yes, one thing--she did not know
+him in the role he was going to play to-night. That at least was one
+thing that surely she did not know about him; the role in which, many
+times, for weeks on end, he had devoted himself body and soul in an
+attempt to solve the mystery with which she surrounded herself; the
+role, too, that often enough had been a bulwark of safety to him when
+hard pressed by the police; the role out of which he had so carefully,
+so painstakingly created a now recognised and well-known character of
+the underworld--the role of Larry the Bat.
+
+Jimmie Dale turned from Fifth Avenue into Broadway, continued on down
+Broadway, across to the Bowery, kept along the Bowery for several more
+blocks--and finally headed east into the dimly lighted cross street on
+which the Sanctuary was located.
+
+And now Jimmie Dale became cautious in his movements. As he approached
+the black alleyway that flanked the miserable tenement, he glanced
+sharply behind and about him; and, at the alleyway itself, without
+pause, but with a curious lightning-like side step, no longer Jimmie
+Dale now, but the Gray Seal, he disappeared from the street, and was
+lost in the deep shadows of the building.
+
+In a moment he was at the side door, listening for any sound from
+within--none had ever seen or met the lodger or the first floor either
+ascending or descending, except in the familiar character of Larry
+the Bat. He opened the door, closed it behind him, and in the utter
+blackness went noiselessly up the stairs--stairs so rickety that it
+seemed a mouse's tread alone would have set them creaking. There seemed
+an art in the play of Jimmie Dale's every muscle; in the movements,
+lithe, balanced, quick, absolutely silent. On the first landing he
+stopped before another door, there was the faint click of a key turning
+in the lock; and then this door, too, closed behind him. Sounded the
+faint click of the key as it turned again, and Jimmie Dale drew a long
+breath, stepped across the room to assure himself that the window blind
+was down, and lighted the gas jet.
+
+A yellow, murky flame spurted up, pitifully weak, almost as though it
+were ashamed of its disreputable surroundings. Dirt, disorder, squalour,
+the evidence of low living testified eloquently enough to any one,
+the police, for instance, in times past inquisitive until they were
+fatuously content with the belief that they knew the occupant for what
+he was, that the place was quite in keeping with its tenant, a mute
+prototype, as it were, of Larry the Bat, the dope fiend.
+
+For a little space, Jimmie Dale, immaculate in his evening clothes,
+stood in the centre of the miserable room, his dark eyes, keen, alert,
+critical, sweeping comprehensively over every object about him--the
+position of a chair, of a cracked drinking glass on the broken-legged
+table, of an old coat thrown with apparent carelessness on the floor at
+the foot of the bed, of a broken bottle that had innocently strewn some
+sort of white powder close to the threshold, inviting unwary foot tracks
+across the floor. And then, taking out the Tocsin's letter, he laid it
+upon the table, placed what money he had in his pockets beside it, and
+began rapidly to remove his clothes. The Sanctuary had not been invaded
+since his last visit there.
+
+He turned back the oilcloth in the far corner of the room, took up the
+piece of loose flooring, which, however, strangely enough, fitted
+so closely as to give no sign of its existence even should it
+inadvertently, by some curious visitor again be trod upon; and from the
+aperture beneath lifted out a bundle of clothes and a small box.
+
+Undressed now, he carefully folded the clothes he had taken off, laid
+them under the flooring, and began to dress again, his wardrobe supplied
+by the bundle he had taken out in exchange--an old pair of shoes, the
+laces broken; mismated socks; patched trousers, frayed at the bottoms; a
+soiled shirt, collarless, open at the neck. Attired to his satisfaction,
+he placed the box upon the table, propped up a cracked mirror, sat down
+in front of it, and, with a deft, artist's touch, began to apply stain
+to his hands, wrists, neck, throat, and face--but the hardness, the grim
+menace that now grew into the dominant characteristic of his features
+was not due to the stain alone.
+
+“Dear Philanthropic Crook”--his eyes were on the Tocsin's letter that
+lay before him. He read on--for once, even to Jimmie Dale's keen, facile
+mind, a first reading had failed to convey the full significance of what
+she had written. It was too amazing, almost beyond belief--the series of
+crimes, rampant for the past few weeks, at which the community had
+stood aghast, the brutal murder of Roessle but a few hours old, lay bare
+before his eyes. It was all there, all of it, the details, the hellish
+cleverness, the personnel even of the thugs, all, everything--except the
+proof.
+
+“Get him, Jimmie--the man higher up. Get him, Jimmie--before another
+pays forfeit with his life”--the words seemed to leap out at him from
+the white page in red, dancing lines--“Get him--Jimmie--the man higher
+up.”
+
+Jimmie Dale finished the second reading of the letter, read it again
+for the third time, then tore it into tiny fragments. His fingers delved
+into the box again, and the transformation of Jimmie Dale, member of New
+York's most exclusive social set, into a low, vicious-featured denizen
+of the underworld went on--a little wax applied skilfully behind the
+ears, in the nostrils and under the upper lip.
+
+It was all there--all except the proof. And the proof--he laughed aloud
+suddenly, unpleasantly. There seemed something sardonic in it; ay, more
+than that, all that was grim in irony. The proof, in Stangeist's own
+writing, sworn to before witnesses in the presence of a notary, the
+text of the document, of course, unknown to both witnesses and notary,
+evidence, absolute and final, that would be admitted in any court, for
+Stangeist was a lawyer, and would see to that, was in Stangeist's own
+safe, for Stangeist's own protection--Stangeist, who was himself the
+head and brains of this murder gang--Stangeist, who was the man higher
+up!
+
+It was amazing, without parallel in the history of crime--and yet
+ingenious, clever, full of the craft and cunning that had built up the
+shyster lawyer's reputation below the dead line.
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips were curiously thin now. So it was Stangeist! A
+Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde with a vengeance! He knew Stangeist--not
+personally; not by the reputation Stangeist held, low even as that was,
+among his brother members of the profession; but as the man was known
+for what he really was among the crooks and criminals of the underworld,
+where, in that strange underground exchange, whispered confidences
+passed between those whose common enemy was the law, where Larry the Bat
+himself was trusted in the innermost circles.
+
+Stangeist was a power in the Bad Lands. There were few among that unholy
+community that Stangeist, at one time or another, in one way or another,
+had not rescued from the clutches of the law, resorting to any trick or
+cunning, but with perjury, that he could handle like the master of
+it that he was, employed as the most common weapon of defence for his
+clients--provided he were paid well enough for it. The man had become
+more than the attorney for the crime world--he had become part of
+it. Cunning, shrewd, crafty, conscienceless, cold-blooded--that was
+Stangeist.
+
+The form and features of the man pictured themselves in Jimmie Dale's
+mind--the six-foot muscular frame, that was invariably clothed in attire
+of the most fashionable cut; the thin lips with their oily, plausible
+smile, the straight black hair that straggled into pin point, little
+black eyes, the dark face with its high cheek bones, which, with the
+pronounced aquiline nose and the persistent rumour that he was a
+quarter caste, had led the underworld, prejudiced always in favour of a
+“monaker,” to dub the man the “Indian Chief.”
+
+Jimmie Dale laughed again--still unpleasantly. So Stangeist had taken
+the plunge at last and branched out into a wider field, had he? Well,
+there was nothing surprising in that--except that he had not done it
+before! The irony of it lay in the fact that at last he had been TOO
+clever, overstepped himself in his own cleverness, that was all. It was
+Australian Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane that Stangeist had gathered
+around him, the Tocsin had said--and there were none worse in Larry the
+Bat's wide range of acquaintanceship than those three. Stangeist had
+made himself master of Australian Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane--and
+he had driven them a little too hard on the division of the spoils--and
+laughed at them, and cracked the whip much after the fashion that the
+trainer in the cage handles the growling beasts around him.
+
+A dozen of the crimes that had appalled and staggered New York they had
+committed under his leadership; and then, it seemed, they had quarrelled
+furiously, the three pitted against Stangeist, threatening him,
+demanding a more equitable share of the proceeds. None was better aware
+than Stangeist that threats from men of their calibre were likely to
+result in a grim aftermath--and Stangeist, yesterday, the Tocsin said,
+had answered them as no other man than Stangeist would either have
+thought of or have dared to do. One by one, at separate times, covering
+the other with a revolver, Stangeist had permitted them to read
+a document that was addressed to the district attorney. It was a
+confession, complete in every detail, of every crime the four together
+had committed, implicating Stangeist as fully and unreservedly as it
+did the other three. It required no commentary! If anything happened
+to Stangeist, a stab in the dark, for instance, a bullet from some dark
+alleyway, a blackjack deftly wielded, as only Australian Ike, The Mope
+or Clarie Deane knew how to wield it--the document automatically became
+a DEATH SENTENCE for Australian Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane!
+
+It was very simple--and, evidently, it had been effective, as witness
+the renewal of their operations in the murder of Roessle that afternoon.
+Fear and avarice had both probably played their part; fear of the man
+who would with such consummate nerve fling his life into the balance
+to turn the tables upon them, while he jeered at them; avarice that
+prompted them to get what they could out of Stangeist's brains and
+leadership, and to be satisfied with what they COULD get--since they
+could get no more!
+
+Satisfied? Jimmie Dale shook his head. No; that was hardly the
+word--cowed, perhaps, for the moment, would be better. But afterward,
+with a document like that in existence, when they would never be safe
+for an instant--well, beasts in the cages had been known to get the
+better of the man with the whip, and beasts were gentle things compared
+with Australian Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane! Some day they would
+reverse the tables on the Indian Chief--if they could. And if they
+couldn't it would not be for the lack of trying.
+
+There would be another act in that drama of the House Divided before the
+curtain fell! And there would be a sort of grim, poetic justice in it, a
+temptation almost to let the play work itself out to its own inevitable
+conclusion, only--Jimmie Dale, the final touches given to his features,
+stood up, and his hands clenched suddenly, fiercely--it was not just the
+man higher up alone, there were the other three as well, the whole
+four of them, all of them, crimes without number at their door, brutal,
+fiendish acts, damnable outrages, murder to answer for, with which the
+public now was beginning to connect the name of the Gray Seal! The Gray
+Seal!
+
+Jimmie Dale's hands, whose delicate fingers were artfully grimed and
+blackened now beneath the nails, clenched still tighter--and then, with
+a quick shrug of his shoulders, a thinning of the firmly compressed
+lips, he picked up the coat from where it lay upon the floor, put it on,
+put the money that was on the table in his pocket, and replaced the box
+under the flooring.
+
+In quick succession, from the same hiding place, an automatic, a black
+silk mask, an electric flashlight, that thin metal box like a cigarette
+case, and a half dozen vicious-looking little blued-steel burglar's
+tools were stowed away in his pockets, the flooring carefully replaced,
+the oilcloth spread back again; and then, pulling a slouch hat well down
+over his eyes, he reached up to turn off the gas.
+
+For an instant his hand held there, while his eyes, sweeping around the
+apartment, took in every single detail about him in that same alert,
+comprehensive way as when he had entered--then the room was in darkness,
+and the Gray Seal, as Larry the Bat, a shuffling, unkempt creature
+of the underworld, alias Jimmie Dale, the lionised of clubs, the
+matrimonial target of exclusive drawing-rooms, closed the door of the
+Sanctuary behind him, shuffled down the stairs, shuffled out into the
+lane, and shuffled along the street toward the Bowery.
+
+A policeman on the corner accosted him familiarly.
+
+“Hello, Larry!” grinned the officer.
+
+“'Ello!” returned Jimmie Dale affably through the side of his mouth.
+“Fine night, ain't it?”--and shuffled on along the street.
+
+And now Jimmie Dale began to hurry--still with that shuffling tread, but
+covering the ground nevertheless with amazing celerity. He had lost
+no time since receiving the Tocsin's letter, it was true, but, for all
+that, it was now after ten o'clock. Stangeist's house was “dark” that
+evening, she had said, meaning that the occupants, Stangeist as well
+as whatever servants there might be, for Stangeist had no family, were
+out--the servants in town for a theatre or picture show probably--and
+Stangeist himself as yet not back, presumably from that Roessle affair.
+The stub of an old cigar, unlighted, shifted with a sudden, savage twist
+of the lips from one side of Jimmie Dale's mouth to the other. There was
+need for haste. There was no telling when Stangeist might get back--as
+for the servants, that did not matter so much; servants in suburban
+homes had a marked affinity for “last trains!”
+
+Jimmie Dale boarded a cross-town car, effected a transfer, and in
+a quarter of an hour after leaving the Sanctuary was huddled, an
+inoffensive heap, like a tired-out workingman, in a corner seat of a
+Long Island train. From here, there was only a short run ahead of him,
+and, twenty minutes later, descending from the train at Forest Hills, he
+had passed through the more thickly settled portion of the little place,
+and was walking briskly out along the country road.
+
+Stangeist's house lay, approximately, a mile and a half from the
+station, quite by itself, and set well back from the road. Jimmie Dale
+could have found it with his eyes blindfolded--the Tocsin's directions
+had lacked none of their usual explicit minuteness. The road was quite
+deserted. Jimmie Dale met no one. Even in the houses that he passed the
+lights were in nearly every instance already out.
+
+Something, merciless in its rage, swept suddenly over Jimmie Dale, as,
+unbidden, of its own volition, the last paragraph he had read in that
+evening's paper began to repeat itself over and over again in his mind.
+The two little kiddies--it seemed as though he could see them standing
+there--and from Jimmie Dale's lips, not given to profanity, there came
+a bitter oath. It might possibly be that, even if he were successful in
+what was before him to-night, the authors of the Roessle murder would
+never be known. That confession of Stangeist's was written prior to what
+had happened that afternoon, and there would be no mention, naturally,
+of Roessle. And, for a moment, that seemed to Jimmie Dale the one thing
+paramount to all others, the one thing that was vital; then he shook
+his head, and laughed out shortly. After all, it did not matter--whether
+Stangeist and the blood wolves he had gathered around him paid the
+penalty specifically for one particular crime or for another could make
+little difference--they would PAY, just as surely, just as certainly,
+once that paper was in his possession!
+
+Jimmie Dale was counting the houses as he passed--they were more
+infrequent now, farther apart. Stangeist was no fool--not the fool that
+he would appear to be for keeping a document like that, once he had had
+the temerity to execute it, in his own safe; for, in a day or two, the
+Tocsin had hinted at this, after holding it over the heads of Australian
+Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane again to drive the force of it a little
+deeper home, he would undoubtedly destroy it--and the SUPPOSITION that
+it was still in existence would have equally the same effect on the
+minds of the other three! Stangeist was certainly alive to the peril
+that he ran with such a thing in his possession, only the peril had not
+appealed to him as imminent either from the three thugs with whom he had
+allied himself, or, much less, from any one else, that was all.
+
+Jimmie Dale halted by a low, ornamental stone fence, some three feet
+high, and stood there for a moment, glancing about him. This was
+Stangeist's house--he could just make out the building as it loomed up a
+shadowy, irregular shape, perhaps two hundred yards back from the fence.
+The house was quite dark, not a light showed in any window. Jimmie Dale
+sat down casually on the fence, looked carefully again up and down
+the road--then, swinging his legs over, quick now in every action, he
+dropped to the other side, and stole silently across the grass to the
+rear of the house.
+
+Here he stopped again, reached up to a window that was about on a level
+with his shoulders, and tested its fastenings. The window--it was the
+window of Stangeist's private sanctum, according to the plan in
+her letter--was securely locked. Jimmie Dale's hands went into his
+pocket--and the black silk mask was slipped over his face. He listened
+intently--then a little steel instrument began to gnaw like a rat.
+
+A minute passed--two of them. Again Jimmie Dale listened. There was not
+a sound save the night sounds--the light breeze whispering through
+the branches of the trees; the far-off rumble of a train; the whir of
+insects; the hoarse croaking of a frog from some near-by creek or pond.
+The window sash was raised an inch, another, and gradually to the top.
+Like a shadow, Jimmie Dale pulled himself up to the sill, and, poised
+there, his hand parted the heavy portieres that hung within. It was too
+dark to distinguish even a single object in the room. He lowered himself
+to the floor, and slipped cautiously between the portieres.
+
+From somewhere in the house, a clock began to strike. Jimmie Dale
+counted the strokes. Eleven o'clock. It was getting late--TOO late!
+Stangeist was likely to be back at any moment. The flashlight, in Jimmie
+Dale's hand now, circled the room with its little round white ray,
+lingering an instant in a queer, inquisitive sort of way here and there
+on this object and that--and went out. Jimmie Dale nodded--the flat desk
+in the centre of the floor, the safe in the corner by the rear wall, the
+position of everything in the room, even to the chairs, was photographed
+on his mind.
+
+He stepped from the portieres to the safe, and the flashlight played
+again--this time reflecting back from the glistening nickelled knobs.
+Jimmie Dale's lips tightened. It was a small safe, almost ludicrously
+small; but to such height as the art of safe design had been carried,
+that design was embodied in the one before him.
+
+“Type K-four-two-eight-Colby,” muttered Jimmie Dale. “A nasty little
+beggar--and it's eleven o'clock now! I'd use 'soup' for once, if it
+weren't that it would put Stangeist wise, and give him a chance to make
+his get-away before the district attorney got the nippers on the four of
+them.”
+
+The light went out. Jimmie Dale dropped to his knees; and, while his
+left hand passed swiftly, tentatively over dials and handle, he rubbed
+the fingers of his right hand rapidly to and fro over the carpet.
+Wonderful finger tips were those of Jimmie Dale, sensitive to an
+abnormal degree; and now, tingling with the friction, the nerves
+throbbing at the skin surface, they closed in a light, delicate touch
+upon the knob of the dial--and Jimmie Dale's ear pressed close against
+the face of the safe.
+
+Time passed. The silence grew heavy--seemed to palpitate through the
+room. Then a deep breath, half like a sigh, half like a fluttering sob
+as of a strong man taxed to the uttermost of his endurance, came from
+Jimmie Dale, and his left hand swept away the sweat beads that had
+spurted to his forehead.
+
+“Eight--thirteen--twenty-two,” whispered Jimmie Dale.
+
+There was a click, a low metallic thud as the bolts slid back, and the
+door swung open.
+
+And now the flashlight again, searching the mechanism of the inner
+door--then darkness once more.
+
+Five minutes, ten minutes went by. The clock struck again--and the
+single stroke seemed to boom out through the house in a weird, raucous,
+threatening note, and seemed to linger, throbbing in the air.
+
+The inner door was open--the flashlight's ray was flooding a nest
+of pigeonholes and little drawers. The pigeonholes were crammed with
+papers, as, presumably, too, were the drawers. Jimmie Dale sucked in his
+breath. He had already been there well over half an hour--every minute
+now, every second was counting against him, and to search that mass of
+papers before Stangeist returned was--
+
+“Ah!”--it came in a fierce little ejaculation from Jimmie Dale. From
+the centre pigeonhole, almost the first paper he had touched, he drew
+a long, sealed envelope and at a single swift glance had read the
+inscription upon it, written in longhand:
+
+
+TO THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY, NEW YORK CITY.
+
+IMPORTANT. URGENT.
+
+
+The words in the corners were underscored three times.
+
+Swiftly, deftly, Jimmie Dale's hands rolled the rounded end of one of
+his collection of the legal instruments under the flap of the envelope,
+turned the sheets over and drew out the folded document inside. There
+were eight sheets of legal foolscap, neatly fastened together at the top
+left-hand corner with green tape. He opened them out, read a few words
+here and there, and turned the pages hurriedly over to scrutinise
+the last one--and nodded grimly. Three witnesses had testified to the
+signature of Stangeist, and a notary's seal, accompanied by the usual
+legal formula, was duly affixed.
+
+Jimmie Dale slipped the document into his pocket, and, with the envelope
+in his hand, moved to the desk. He opened first one drawer and then
+another, and finally discovering a pile of blank foolscap, took out four
+sheets, folded them, and placed them in the envelope, sealing the
+flap of the latter again. That it did not seal very well now brought a
+quizzical twitch to Jimmie Dale's lips. Sealed or unsealed, perhaps, it
+made little difference; but, for all that, he was not through with it
+yet. Apart from bringing the four to justice, there was, after all, a
+chance to vindicate the Gray Seal in this matter at least, and repudiate
+the newspaper theory which the public, to whom the Gray Seal was already
+a monster of iniquity, would seize upon with avidity.
+
+There was no further need of light now. Jimmie Dale replaced the
+flashlight in his pocket, took out the thin, metal case, opened it, and
+with the tiny pair of tweezers that likewise nestled there, lifted out
+one of the gray, diamond-shaped paper seals. There was no question but
+that, once under arrest, Stangeist's effects would be immediately
+and thoroughly searched by the authorities! Jimmie Dale's smile from
+quizzical became ironic. It would afford the police another little,
+bewildering reminder of the Gray Seal, and give Carruthers, good old
+Carruthers of the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, so innocently ignorant that the
+Gray Seal was his old college pal, yet the one editor of them all who
+was not forever barking and yelping at the Gray Seal's heels, a chance
+to vindicate himself a little, too! Jimmie Dale moistened the adhesive
+side of the gray seal, and, still mindful of tell-tale finger prints,
+laid it with the tweezers on the flap of the envelope, and pressed it
+firmly into place with his elbow.
+
+And then, suddenly, every faculty instantly on the alert, he snatched up
+the envelope from the desk, and listened. Was it imagination, a trick
+of nerves, or--no, there it was again!--a footfall on the gravel walk at
+the front of the house. The sound became louder, clearer--two footfalls
+instead of one. It was Stangeist, and somebody was with him.
+
+In an instant Jimmie Dale was across the room and kneeling again before
+the safe. His fingers were flying now. The envelope shot back into the
+pigeonhole from which he had taken it--the inner door of the safe closed
+silently and swiftly.
+
+A dry chuckle came from Jimmie Dale's lips. It was just like fiction,
+just precisely time enough to have accomplished what he had come for
+before he was interrupted, not a second more or less, the villain foiled
+at the psychological moment! The key was rattling in the front door
+now--they were in the hall--he could hear Stangeist's voice--there came
+a dull glow from the hallway, following the click of an electric-light
+switch. The outer door of the safe swung shut, the bolts slid into
+place, the dial whirled under Jimmie Dale's fingers. It was only a
+step to the portieres, the open window--and escape. He straightened up,
+stepped back, the portieres closed behind him--and the chuckle died on
+Jimmie Dale's lips.
+
+He was trapped--caught without so much as a corner in which to turn!
+Stangeist was even then coming into the room--and OUTSIDE, darkly
+outlined, two forms stood just beneath the window. Instinctively, quick
+as a flash, Jimmie Dale crouched below the sill. Who were they? What did
+it mean? Questions swept in swift sequence through his brain. Had they
+seen him? It would be very dark against the background of the portieres,
+but yet if they were watching--he drew a breath of relief. He had not
+been seen. Their voices reached him in low, guarded whispers.
+
+“Say, youse, Ike, pipe it! Dere's a window open in the snitch's room.
+Come on, we'll get in dere. It'll make the hair stand up on the back of
+his neck fer a starter.”
+
+“Aw, ferget it!” replied another voice. “Can the tee-ayter stunt!
+Clarie leaves the front door unfastened, don't he? An' dey'll be in dere
+in a minute now. Wotcher want ter do? Crab the game? He might hear us
+an' fix Clarie before we had a chanst, the skinny old fox! An' dere's
+the light now--see! Beat it on yer toes fer the front of the house!”
+
+The room was flooded with light. Through the portieres, that Jimmie Dale
+parted by the barest fraction of an inch, he could see Stangeist and
+another man, a thick-set, ugly-faced-looking customer--Clarie Deane,
+according to that brief, whispered colloquy that he had heard outside.
+He looked again through the window. The two dark forms had disappeared
+now, but they had disappeared just a few seconds too late--with the two
+other men now in the room, and one of them so close that Jimmie Dale
+could almost have reached out and touched him, it was impossible to
+get through the window without being detected, when the slightest sound
+would attract instant attention and equally instant suspicion. It was a
+chance to be taken only as a last resort.
+
+Jimmie Dale's face grew hard, as his fingers closed around his automatic
+and drew the weapon from his pocket. It was all plain enough. That last
+act in the drama which he had speculatively anticipated was being staged
+with little loss of time--and in a grim sort of way the thought flashed
+across his mind that, perilous as his own position was, Stangeist at
+that moment was in even greater peril than himself. Australian Ike, The
+Mope, and Clarie Deane, given the chance, and they seemed to have made
+that chance now, were not likely to deal in half measures--Clarie Deane
+had dropped into a chair beside the desk; and The Mope and Australian
+Ike were creeping around to the front door!
+
+The parting in the portieres widened a little more, a very little more,
+slowly, imperceptibly, until Jimmie Dale, by the simple expedient of
+moving his head, could obtain an unobstructed view of the entire room.
+
+Stangeist tossed a bag he had been carrying on the desk, pulled up a
+chair opposite to Clarie Deane, and sat down. Both men were side face to
+Jimmie Dale.
+
+“You tell the boys,” said Stangeist abruptly, “to fade away after this
+for a while. Things are getting too hot. And you tell The Mope I dock
+him five hundred for that extra crunch on Roessle's skull. That sort
+of thing isn't necessary. That's the kind of stunt that gets the public
+sore--the man was dead enough as it was. See?”
+
+“Sure!” Clarie Deane's ejaculation was a grunt.
+
+Stangeist opened the bag, and dumped the contents on the desk--pile
+after pile of banknotes, the pay roll of the Martindale-Kensington
+Mills.
+
+“Some haul!” observed Clarie Deane, with a hoarse chuckle. “The papers
+said over twenty thousand.”
+
+“You can't always believe what the papers say,” returned Stangeist
+curtly; and, taking a scribbling pad from the desk, began to check up
+the packages.
+
+Clarie Deane's cigar had gone out. He rolled the short stub in his
+mouth, and leaned forward.
+
+The bills were evidently just as they had been delivered to the murdered
+paymaster at the bank, done up with little narrow paper bands in
+packages of one hundred notes each, save for a small bundle of loose
+bills which latter, with the rolls of silver, Stangeist swept to one
+side of the desk.
+
+Package by package, Stangeist went on jotting the amounts down on the
+pad.
+
+“Nix!” growled Clarie Deane suddenly. “Cut that out! Them's fivers in
+that wad. Make that five hundred instead of one--I'm onter yer!”
+
+“Mistake,” said Stangeist suavely, changing the figures with his pencil.
+“You're pretty wide awake for this time of night, aren't you, Clarie?”
+
+“Oh, I dunno!” responded Clarie Deane gruffly. “Not so very!”
+
+Stangeist, finished with the packages, picked up the loose bills, and,
+with a short laugh, tossed them into the bag and followed them with the
+rolls of silver. He pushed the bag toward Clarie Deane.
+
+“That's a little extra for you,” he said. “The trouble with you fellows
+is that you don't know when you're well off--but the sooner you find it
+out the better, unless you want another lesson like yesterday.” He made
+the addition on the pad. “Fifteen thousand, eight hundred dollars,” he
+announced softly. “That's seven thousand, nine hundred for the three of
+you to divide, less five hundred from The Mope.”
+
+Clarie Deane's eyes narrowed. His hands were on his knees, hidden by the
+desk.
+
+“There's more'n twenty there,” he said sullenly--and drew a match across
+the under edge of the desk with a long, crackling noise.
+
+Stangeist's face lost its suavity, a snarl curled his lips; but, about
+to reply, he sprang suddenly to his feet instead, his head turned
+sharply toward the door.
+
+“What's that!” he said hoarsely. “It's not the servants, they wouldn't
+dare to--”
+
+Stangeist's words ended in a gulp. He was staring into the muzzle of a
+heavy-calibered revolver that Clarie Deane had jerked up from under the
+desk.
+
+“You sit down, or I'll blow your block off!” said Clarie Deane, with a
+sudden leer.
+
+It happened then almost before Jimmie Dale could grasp the details;
+before even Clarie Deane himself could interfere. The door burst open,
+two men rushed in--and one, with a bound, flung himself at Stangeist.
+The man's hand, grasping a clubbed revolver, rose in the air, descended
+on Stangeist's head--and Stangeist went down in a limp heap, crashed
+into the chair, and slid from the chair with a thud to the floor.
+
+There was an oath from Clarie Deane. He jumped from his seat, and with a
+violent shove sent the man reeling half across the room.
+
+“Blast you, Mope!” he snarled. “You're too blamed fly! D'ye wanter queer
+the whole biz?”
+
+“Aw, wot's the matter wid youse!” The Mope, purple-faced with rage,
+little black eyes glittering, mouth working under a flattened nose that
+some previous encounter had broken and bent over the side of his face,
+advanced belligerently.
+
+Australian Ike, who had entered the room with him, pulled him back.
+
+“Ferget it!” he flung out. “Clarie's dealin' the deck. Ferget it!”
+
+The Mope glared from one to the other; then shook his fist at Stangeist
+on the floor.
+
+“Youse two make me sick!” he sneered. “Wot's the use of waitin' all
+night? We was to bump him off, anyway, wasn't we? Dat's wot youse said
+yerselves, 'cause wot was ter stop him writin' out another paper if we
+didn't fix him fer keeps?”
+
+“That's all right,” rejoined Clarie Deane; “but that's the second act,
+you bonehead, see! We ain't got the paper yet, have we? Say, take a look
+at that safe! It's easier ter scare him inter openin' it than ter crack
+it, ain't it?”
+
+Jimmie Dale, from his crouched position, began to rise to his feet
+slowly, making but the slightest movement at a time, cautious of the
+least sound. His lips were like a thin line, his fingers tightly pressed
+over the automatic in his hand. There was not room for him between the
+portieres and the window; and, do what he could, the hangings bulged a
+little. Let one of the three notice that, or inadvertently brush against
+the portieres, and his life would not be worth an instant's purchase.
+
+They were lifting Stangeist up now, propping him up in the chair.
+Stangeist moaned, opened his eyes, stared in a dazed way at the three
+faces that leered into his, then dawning intelligence came, and his
+face, that had been white before, took on a pasty, grayish pallor.
+
+“You--the three of you!” he mumbled. “What's this mean?”
+
+And then Clarie Deane laughed in a low, brutal way.
+
+“Wot d'ye think it means? We want that paper, an' we want it damn
+quick--see! D'ye think we was goin' ter stand fer havin' a trip ter Sing
+Sing an' the wire chair danglin' over our heads!”
+
+Stangeist closed his eyes. When he opened them again, something of the
+old-time craftiness was in his face.
+
+“Well, what are you going to do about it?” he inquired, almost sharply.
+“You know what will happen to you, if anything happens to me.”
+
+“Don't youse kid yerself!” retorted Clarie Deane. “D'ye think we're
+fools? This ain't like it was yesterday--see! We GETS the paper this
+time--so there won't nothin' happen to us. You come across with it
+blasted quick now, or The Mope'll give you another on the bean that'll
+put you to sleep fer keeps!”
+
+The blood was running down Stangeist's face. He wiped it away from his
+eyes.
+
+“It's not here,” he said innocently. “It's in my box in the
+safety-deposit vaults.”
+
+“Aw,” blurted out Australian Ike, pushing suddenly forward, “youse can't
+work dat crawl on--”
+
+“Cut it out, Ike!” snapped Clarie Dane. “I'm runnin' this! So it's in
+the vaults, eh?” He shoved his face toward Stangeist's.
+
+“Yes,” said Stangeist easily. “You see--I was looking for something like
+this.”
+
+Clarie Deane's fist clenched.
+
+“You lie!” he choked. “The Mope, here, was the last of us you showed
+the paper to yesterday afternoon, an' the vaults was closed then--an' you
+ain't been there to-day, 'cause you've been watched. That's why we fixed
+it fer to-night after the divvy that you've just tried ter do us on
+again, 'cause we knew you had it here.”
+
+“I tell you, it's not here,” said Stangeist evenly.
+
+“You lie!” said Clarie Deane again. “It's in that safe. The Mope heard
+you tell the girl in yer office that if anything happened to you she was
+ter wise up the district attorney that there was a paper in your safe
+at home fer him that was important. Now then, you beat it over ter that
+safe, an' open it up--we'll give you a minute ter do it in.”
+
+“The paper's not there, I tell you,” said Stangeist once more.
+
+“That's all right,” submitted Clarle Deane grimly. “There's a quarter of
+that minute gone.”
+
+“I won't!” Stangeist flashed out violently.
+
+“That's all right,” repeated Clarie Deane. “There's half of that minute
+gone.”
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes, in a fascinated sort of way, were on Stangeist. The
+man's face was twitching now, moisture began to ooze from his forehead,
+as the callous brutality of the scowling faces seemed to get him--and
+then he lurched suddenly forward in his chair.
+
+“My God!” he cried out, a ring of terror in his voice “What do you mean
+to do? You'll pay for it! They'll get you! The servants will be back in
+a minute.”
+
+“Two skirts!” jeered Clarie Deane. “We ain't goin' ter run away from
+them. If they comes before we goes, we'll fix 'em. That minute's up!”
+
+Stangeist licked his lips with his tongue.
+
+“Suppose--suppose I refuse?” he said hoarsely.
+
+“You can suit yerself,” said Clarie Deane, with a vicious grin. “We know
+the paper's there, an' we gets it before we leaves here--see? You can
+take yer choice. Either you goes over ter the safe an' opens it yerself,
+or else”--he paused and produced a small bottle from his pocket--“this
+is nitro-glycerin', an' we opens it fer you with this. Only if we does
+the job we does it proper. We ties you up and sets you against the door
+of the safe before we touches off the 'soup,' an' mabbe if yer a good
+guesser you can guess the rest.”
+
+There was a short, raucous guffaw from The Mope.
+
+Stangeist turned a drawn face toward the man, stared at him, and
+stared in a miserable way at the other two in turn. He licked his lips
+again--none was in a better position than himself to know that there
+would be neither scruples nor hesitancy to interfere with carrying out
+the threat.
+
+“Suppose,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “suppose I open the
+safe--what then--afterward?”
+
+“We ain't got the safe open yet,” countered Clarie Deane
+uncompromisingly. “An' we ain't got no more time ter fool over it,
+either. You get a move on before I counts five, or The Mope an' Ike ties
+you up! One--”
+
+Stangeist staggered to his feet, wiped the blood out of his eyes for the
+second time, and, with lips working, went unsteadily across the room to
+the safe.
+
+He knelt before it, and began to manipulate the dial; while the others
+crowded around behind him. The Mope was fingering his revolver again
+club fashion. Australian Ike's elbow just grazed the portieres, and
+Jimmie Dale flattened himself against the window, holding his breath--a
+smile on his lips that was mirthless, deadly, cold. The end was not far
+off now; and then--WHAT?
+
+Stangeist had the outer door of the safe open now--and now the inner
+door swung back. He reached in his hand to the pigeonhole, drew out the
+envelope--and with a sudden, wild cry, reeled to his feet.
+
+“My God!” he screamed out. “What's--what's this!”
+
+Clarie Deane snatched the envelope from him.
+
+“THE GRAY SEAL!”--the words came with a jerk from his lips. He ripped
+the envelope open frantically--and like a man stunned gazed at the four
+blank sheets, while the colour left his face. “IT'S GONE!” he cried out
+hoarsely.
+
+“Gone!” There was a burst of oaths from Australian Ike. “Gone! Den we're
+nipped--de lot of us!”
+
+The Mope's face was like a maniac's as he whirled on Stangeist.
+
+“Sure!” he croaked. “But youse gets yers first, youse--”
+
+With a cry, Stangeist, to elude the blow, ducked blindly backward--into
+the portieres--and with a rip and tear the hangings were wrenched apart.
+
+It came instantaneously--a yell of mingled surprise and fury from the
+three--the crash and spit of Jimmie Dale's revolver as he fired one shot
+at the floor to stop their rush--then he flung himself at the window,
+through it, and dropped sprawling to the ground.
+
+A stream of flame cut the darkness above him, a bullet whistled by his
+head--another--and another. He was on his feet, quick as a cat, and
+running close alongside of the wall of the house. He heard a thud behind
+him, still another, and yet a third--they were dropping through the
+window after him. Came another shot, an angry hum of the bullet closer
+than before--then the pound of racing feet.
+
+Jimmie Dale swung around the corner of the house, running at top speed.
+Something that was like a hot iron suddenly burned and seared along the
+side of his head just above the ear. He reeled, staggered, recovered
+himself, and dashed on. It nauseated him, that stinging in his head,
+and all at once seemed to be draining his strength away. The shouts, the
+shots, the running feet became like a curious buzzing in his ears. It
+seemed strange that they should have hit him, that he should be wounded!
+If he could only reach the low stone wall by the road, he could at least
+make a fight for his life on the other side!
+
+Red streaks swam before Jimmie Dale's eyes. The wall was such a long way
+off--a yard or two was a very long way more to go--the weakness
+seemed to be creeping up now even to numb his brain. No, here was the
+wall--they hadn't hit him again--he laughed in a demented way--and
+rolled his body over, and fell to the other side.
+
+“JIMMIE!”
+
+The cry seemed to reach some inner consciousness, revive him, send the
+blood whipping through his veins. That voice! It was her--HERS! The
+Tocsin! There was an automobile, engine racing, standing there in the
+road. He won to his feet--dark, rushing forms were almost at the wall.
+He fired--once--twice--fired again--and turned, staggering for the car.
+
+“Jimmie! Jimmie--QUICK!”
+
+Panting, gasping, he half fell into the tonneau. The car leaped forward,
+yells filled the air--but only one thing was dominant in Jimmie Dale's
+reeling brain now. He pulled himself up to his feet, and leaned over the
+back of the seat, reaching for the slim figure that was bent over the
+wheel.
+
+“It's you--you at last!” he cried. “Your face--let me lee your face!”
+
+A bullet split the back panel of the car--little spurting flames were
+dancing out from the roadway behind.
+
+“Are you mad!” she shouted back at him. “Let me steer--do you want them
+to hit me!”
+
+“No-o,” said Jimmie Dale, in a queer singsong sort of way, and his
+head seemed to spin dizzily around. “No--I guess--” He choked. “The
+paper--it's in--my pocket”--and he went down unconscious on the floor of
+the car.
+
+When he recovered his senses he was lying on a couch in a plainly
+furnished room, and a man, a stranger, red, jovial-faced, farmerish
+looking, was bending over him.
+
+“Where am I?” he demanded finally, propping himself up on his elbow.
+
+“You're all right,” replied the man. “She said you'd come around in a
+little while.”
+
+“Who said so?” inquired Jimmie Dale.
+
+“She did. The woman who brought you here about five minutes ago. She
+said she ran you down with her car.”
+
+“Oh!” said Jimmie Dale. He felt his head--it was bandaged, and it was
+bandaged, he was quite sure, with a piece of torn underskirt. He looked
+at the man again. “You haven't told me yet where I am.”
+
+“Long Island,” the other answered. “My name's Hanson. I keep a bit of a
+truck garden here.”
+
+“Oh,” said Jimmie Dale again.
+
+The man crossed the room, picked up an envelope from the table, and came
+back to Jimmie Dale.
+
+“She said to give you this as soon as you got your senses, and asked us
+to put you up for a while, as long as you wanted to stay, and paid
+us for it, too. She's all right, she is. You don't want to hold the
+accident up against her, she was mighty sorry about it. And now I'll go
+and see if the old lady's got your room ready while you're readin' your
+letter.”
+
+The man left the room.
+
+Jimmie Dale sat up on the couch, and tore the envelope open. The note,
+scrawled in pencil, began abruptly:
+
+
+“You were quite a problem. I couldn't take you HOME--could I? I couldn't
+take you to what you call the Sanctuary could I? I couldn't take you to
+a hospital, nor call in a doctor--the stain you use wouldn't stand it.
+But, thank God! I know it's only a flesh wound, and you are all right
+where you are for the day or two that you must keep quiet and take care
+of yourself. By the time you read this the paper will be on the way to
+the proper hands, and by morning the four where they should be. There
+were a few articles in your clothes I thought it better to take charge
+of in case--well, in case of ACCIDENT.”
+
+
+Jimmie Dale tore the note up, and smiled wryly at the door. He felt
+in his pockets. Mask, revolver, burglar's tools, and the thin metal
+insignia case were gone.
+
+“And I had the sublime optimism,” murmured Jimmie Dale, “to spend months
+trying to find her as Larry the Bat!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+TWO CROOKS AND A KNAVE
+
+
+The bullet wound along the side of his head and just above his ear would
+have been a very awkward thing indeed, in more ways than one, for Jimmie
+Dale, the millionaire, to have explained at his club, in his social set,
+or even to his servants, and of these latter to Jason the Solicitous
+in particular; but for Jimmie Dale as Larry the Bat it was a matter of
+little moment. There was none to question Larry the Bat, save in a most
+casual and indifferent way; and a bandage of any description, primarily
+and above all one that he could arrange himself, with only himself to
+take note of the incongruous hues of skin where the stain, the grease
+paint, and the make-up was washed off, would excite little attention
+in that world where daily affrays were common-place happenings, and a
+wound, for whatever reason, had long since lost the tang of novelty. Why
+then should it arouse even a passing interest if Larry the Bat, credited
+as the most confirmed of dope fiends, should have fallen down the
+dark, rickety stairs of the tenement in one of his orgies, and, in the
+expressive language of the Bad Lands, cracked his bean!
+
+And so Jimmie Dale had been forced to maintain the role of Larry the Bat
+for a far longer period than he had anticipated when, ten days before,
+he had assumed it for the night's work that had so nearly resulted
+fatally for himself, though it had placed Roessle's murderers behind
+the bars. For, the next day, unwilling to court the risk of remaining
+in that neighbourhood, he had left Hanson's, the farmer's, house on
+Long Island where the Tocsin had carried him in an unconscious state,
+telephoned Jason that he had been unexpectedly called out of town for
+a few days, and returned to the Sanctuary in New York. And here, to his
+grim dismay, he had found the underworld in a state of furious, angry
+unrest, like a nest of hornets, stirred up, seeking to wreak vengeance
+on an unseen assailant.
+
+For years, as the Gray Seal, Jimmie Dale had lived with the slogan of
+the police, “The Gray Seal dead or alive--but the Gray Seal!” sounding
+in his ears; with the newspapers screaming their diatribes, arousing
+the people against him, nagging the authorities into sleepless, frenzied
+efforts to trap him; with a price upon his head that was large enough to
+make a man, not too pretentious, rich for life--but in the underworld,
+until then, the name of the Gray Seal had been one to conjure with, for
+the underworld had sworn by the unknown master criminal, and had
+spoken his name with a reverence that was none the less genuine even if
+pungently tainted with unholiness. But now it was different. Up and down
+through the Bad Lands, in gambling hells, in vicious resorts, in the
+hiding places where thugs and crooks burrowed themselves away from
+the daylight, through the heart and the outskirts of the underworld
+travelled the fiat, whispered out of mouths crooked to one side--DEATH
+TO THE GRAY SEAL!
+
+Gangland differences were forgotten in the larger issue of the common
+weal. The gang spirit became the spirit of a united whole, and the crime
+fraternity buzzed and hummed poisonously, spurred on by hatred, thirst
+for revenge, fear, and, perhaps most potent of all, a hideous suspicion
+now of each other.
+
+The underworld had received a shock at which it stood aghast, and which,
+with its terrifying possibilities, struck consternation into the soul
+of every individual of that brotherhood whose bond was crime, who was
+already “wanted” for some offence or other, whether it ranged from
+murder in the first degree to some petty piece of sneak thievery.
+Stangeist, the Indian chief, the lawyer whose cunning brain had stood as
+a rampart between the underworld and a prison cell, was himself now in
+the Tombs with the certainty of the electric chair before him; and with
+him, the same fate equally assured, were Australian Ike, The Mope, and
+Clarie Deane! Aristocrats of the Bad Lands, peers of that inglorious
+realm were those four--and the blow had fallen with stunning force,
+a blow that in itself would have been enough to have stirred the
+underworld to its depths. But that was not all--from the cells in the
+Tombs, from the four came the word, and passed from mouth to mouth in
+that strange underground exchange until all had heard it, that the Gray
+Seal had “SQUEALED.” The Gray Seal who, though unknown, they had counted
+the most eminent among themselves, had squealed! Who was the Gray Seal?
+It he had held the secrets of Stangeist and his band, what else might
+he not know? Who else might not fall next? The Gray Seal had become
+a snitch, a menace, a source of danger that stalked among them like a
+ghastly spectre. Who was the Gray Seal? None knew.
+
+“Death to the Gray Seal! Run him to earth!” went the whisper from lip
+to lip; and with the whisper men stared uncertainly into each other's
+faces, fearful that the one to whom they spoke might even be--the Gray
+Seal!
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips twisted queerly as he looked around him at the
+squalid appointments of the Sanctuary. The police were bad enough, the
+papers were worse; but this was a still graver peril. With every denizen
+of the underworld below the dead line suspicious of each other, their
+lives, the penitentiary, or a prison sentence the stakes against which
+each one played, the role of Larry the Bat, clever as was the make-up
+and disguise, was fraught now more than ever before with danger and
+peril. It seemed as though slowly the net was beginning at last to
+tighten around him.
+
+The murky, yellow flame of the gas jet flickered suddenly, as though
+in acquiescence with the quick, impulsive shrug of Jimmie Dale's
+shoulders--and Jimmie Dale, bending to peer into the cracked mirror that
+was propped up on the broken-legged table, knotted his dress tie almost
+fastidiously. The hair, if just a trifle too long, covered the scar on
+his head now, the wound no longer required a bandage, and Larry the Bat,
+for the time being at least, had disappeared. Across the foot of the
+bed, neatly folded, lay his dress coat and overcoat, but little creased
+for all that they had lain in that hiding-place under the flooring since
+the night when, hurrying from the club, he had placed them there to
+assume instead the tatters of Larry the Bat. It was Jimmie Dale in his
+own person again who stood there now in Larry the Bat's disreputable
+den, an incongruous figure enough against the background of his
+miserable surroundings, in perfect-fitting shoes and trousers, the
+broad expanse of spotless white shirt bosom glistening even in the
+poverty-stricken flare from the single, sputtering gas jet.
+
+Jimmie Dale took the watch from his pocket that had not been wound for
+many days, wound it mechanically, set it by guesswork--it was not far
+from eight o'clock--and replaced it in his pocket. Carefully then, one
+at a time, he examined his fingers, long, slim, sensitive, tapering
+fingers, magical masters of safes and locks and vaults of the most
+intricate and modern mechanism--no single trace of grime remained,
+they were metamorphosed hands from the filthy paws of Larry the Bat. He
+nodded in satisfaction; and picked up the mirror for a final inspection
+of himself, that, this time, did not miss a single line in his face or
+neck. Again Jimmie Dale nodded. As though he had vanished into thin
+air, as though he had never existed, not a trace of Larry the Bat
+remained--except the heap of rags upon the floor, the battered slouch
+hat, the frayed trousers, the patched boots with their broken laces, the
+mismated socks, the grimy flannel shirt, and the old coat that he had
+just discarded.
+
+The mirror was replaced on the table; and, pushing the heap of clothes
+before him with his foot, Jimmie Dale knelt down in the corner of the
+room where the oilcloth had been turned up and the loose planking of the
+floor removed, and began to pack the articles away in the hole. Jimmie
+Dale rolled the trousers of Larry the Bat into a compact little bundle,
+and stuffed them under the flooring. The gas jet seemed to blink again
+in a sort of confidential approval, as though the secret lay inviolate
+between itself and Jimmie Dale. Through the closed window, shade tightly
+drawn, came, low and muffled, the sound of distant life from the Bowery,
+a few blocks away. The gas jet, suffering from air somewhere within the
+pipes, hissed angrily, the yellow flame died to a little blue, forked
+spurt--and Jimmie Dale was on his feet, his face suddenly hard and white
+as marble.
+
+SOME ONE WAS KNOCKING AT THE DOOR!
+
+For the fraction of a second Jimmie Dale stood motionless. Found as
+Jimmie Dale in the den of Larry the Bat, and the consequences required
+no effort of the imagination to picture them; police or denizen of the
+underworld who was knocking there, it was all the same, the method of
+death would be a little different, that was all--one legalised, the
+other not. Jimmie Dale, Larry the Bat, the Gray Seal, once uncovered,
+could expect as much quarter as would be given to a cornered rat. His
+eyes swept the room with a swift, critical glance--evidences of Larry
+the Bat, the clothes, were still about, even if he in the person of
+Jimmie Dale, alone damning enough, were not standing there himself.
+And he was even weaponless--the Tocsin had taken the revolver from
+his pocket, together with those other telltale articles, the mask, the
+flashlight, the little blued-steel tools, before she had intrusted him
+that night, wounded and unconscious, to Hanson's care.
+
+Jimmie Dale slipped his feet out of his low evening pumps, snatched up
+the old coat and hat from the pile, put them on, and, without a
+sound, reached the gas jet and turned it off. A second had gone by--no
+more--the knocking still sounded insistently on the door. It was dark
+now, perfectly black. He started across the room, his tread absolutely
+silent as the trained muscles, relaxing, threw the body weight gradually
+upon one foot before the next step was taken. It was like a shadow,
+a little blacker in outline than the surrounding blackness, stealing
+across the floor.
+
+Halfway to the door he paused. The knocking had ceased. He listened
+intently. It was not repeated. Instead, his ear caught a guarded step
+retreating outside in the hall. Jimmie Dale drew a breath of relief.
+He went on again to the door, still listening. Was it a trap--that step
+outside?
+
+At the door now, tense, alert, he lowered his ear to the keyhole. There
+came the faintest creak from the stairs. Jimmie Dale's brows gathered.
+It was strange! The knocking had not lasted long. Whoever it was was
+going away--but it required the utmost caution to descend those stairs,
+rickety and tumble-down as they were, with no more sound than that!
+Why such caution? Why not a more determined and prolonged effort at his
+door--the visitor had been easily satisfied that Larry the Bat was not
+within. TOO easily satisfied! Jimmie Dale turned the key noiselessly in
+the lock. He opened the door cautiously--half inch--an inch, there was
+no sound of footsteps now. Occasionally a lodger moved about on the
+floor above; occasionally from somewhere in the tenement came the murmur
+of voices as from behind closed door--that was all. All else was silence
+and darkness now.
+
+The door, on its well-oiled hinges, swung wide open. Jimmie Dale thrust
+out his head into the hall--and something fell upon the threshold with
+a little thud--but for a moment Jimmie Dale did not move. Listening,
+trying to pierce the darkness, he was as still as the silence around
+him; then he stooped and groped along the threshold. His hand closed
+upon what seemed like a small box wrapped in paper. He picked it up,
+closed and locked the door again, and retreated back across the room. It
+was strange--unpleasantly strange--a box propped stealthily against the
+door so that it would fall to the threshold when the door was opened!
+And why the stealth? What did it mean? Had the underworld with its
+thousand eyes and ears already succeeded in a few days where the police
+had failed signally for years--had they sent him this, whatever it was,
+as some grim token that they had run Larry the Bat to earth? He shook
+his head. No; gangland struck more swiftly, with less finesse than
+that--the “cat-and-mouse” act was never one it favoured, for the mouse
+had been known to get away.
+
+Jimmie Dale lighted the gas again, and turned the package over in his
+hands. It was, as he had surmised, a small cardboard box; and it was
+wrapped in plain paper and tied with a string. He untied the string,
+and still suspicious, as a man is suspicious in the knowledge that he is
+stalked by peril at every turn, removed the wrapper a little gingerly.
+It was still without sign or marking upon it, just an ordinary cardboard
+box. He lifted off the cover, and, with a short, sudden laugh, stared, a
+little out of countenance, at the contents.
+
+On the top lay a white, unaddressed envelope. HERS! Beneath--he emptied
+the box on the table--his black silk mask, his automatic revolver, the
+kit of fine, small blued-steel burglar's tools, his pocket flashlight,
+and the thin metal insignia case. The Tocsin! Impulsively Jimmie Dale
+turned toward the door--and stopped. His shoulders lifted in a shrug
+that, meant to be philosophical, was far from philosophical. He could
+not, dared not venture far through the tenement dressed as he was; and
+even if he could there were three exits to the Sanctuary, a fact that
+now for the first time was not wholly a source of unmixed satisfaction
+to him; and besides--she was gone!
+
+Jimmie Dale opened the letter, a grim smile playing on his lips. He had
+forgotten for the moment that the illusion he had cherished for years
+in the belief that she did not know Larry the Bat as an alias of
+Jimmie Dale was no more than--an illusion. Well, it had been a piece of
+consummate egotism on his part, that was all. But, after all, what did
+it matter? He had had his innings, tried in the role of Larry the Bat
+to solve her identity, devoted weeks on end to the attempt--and failed.
+Some day, perhaps, his turn would come; some day, perhaps, she would no
+longer be able to elude him, unless--the letter crackled suddenly in
+his fingers--unless the house that they had built on such strange
+and perilous foundations crashed at some moment, without an instant's
+warning, in disaster and ruin to the ground. Who knew but that this
+letter now, another call to the Gray Seal to act, another peril invited,
+would be the LAST? There must be an end some day; luck and nerve had
+their limitations--it had almost ended last week!
+
+
+“Dear Philanthropic Crook”--it was the same inevitable beginning. “You
+are well enough again, aren'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. He had not
+been far wrong. From what the night promised now, this might well be the
+last letter. Who knew? There would be need of all the wit and luck and
+nerve to-night that the Gray Seal had ever had before.
+
+With a jerk, Jimmie Dale roused himself from the momentary reverie into
+which he had fallen; and, all action now, stuffed the torn pieces of the
+letter into his trousers pocket to be disposed of later in the street;
+took off the old coat and slouch hat again, and resumed the disposal of
+Larry the Bat's effects under the flooring.
+
+This accomplished, he replaced the planking and oilcloth, stood up, put
+on his dress coat and light overcoat, and, from the table, stowed the
+black silk mask, the automatic, the little kit of tools, the flashlight,
+and the thin metal case away in his pockets.
+
+Jimmie Dale raised his hand to the gas fixture, circled the room with a
+glance that missed no single detail--then the light went out, the door
+closed behind him, locked, a dark shadow crept silently down the stairs,
+out through the side door into the alleyway, along the alleyway close to
+the wall of the tenement where it was blackest, and, satisfied that
+for the moment there were no passers-by, emerged on the street, walking
+leisurely toward the Bowery.
+
+Once well away from the Sanctuary, however, Jimmie Dale quickened his
+steps; and twenty minutes later, having stopped but once to telephone to
+his home on Riverside Drive for his touring car, he was briskly mounting
+the steps of the St. James Club on Fifth Avenue. Another twenty minutes
+after that, and he had dismissed Benson, his chauffeur, and, at
+the wheel of his big, powerful machine, was speeding uptown for the
+Palais-Metropole Hotel.
+
+It was twelve minutes after nine when he drew up at the curb in front of
+the side entrance of the hotel--his watch, set by guesswork, had been a
+little slow, and he had corrected it at the club. He was replacing the
+watch in his pocket as he sauntered around the corner, and passed in
+through the main entrance to the big lobby.
+
+Jimmie Dale avoided the elevators--it was only one flight up, and
+elevator boys on occasions had been known to be observant. At the top
+of the first landing, a long, wide, heavily carpeted corridor was before
+him. “Number one hundred and forty-eight, the corner room on the right,”
+ the Tocsin had said. Jimmie Dale walked nonchalantly along--past No.
+148. At the lower end of the hall a group of people were gathered around
+the elevator doors; halfway down the corridor a bell boy came out of a
+room and went ahead of Jimmie Dale.
+
+And then Jimmie Dale stopped suddenly, and began to retrace his steps.
+The group had entered the elevator, the bell boy had disappeared around
+the farther end of the hall into the wing of the hotel--the corridor
+was empty. In a moment he was standing before the door of No. 148;
+in another, under the persuasion of a little steel instrument, deftly
+manipulated by Jimmie Dale's slim, tapering fingers, the lock clicked
+back, the door opened, and he stepped inside, closing and locking the
+door again behind him.
+
+It was already a quarter past nine, but no one was as yet in the
+connecting room--the fanlight next door had been dark as he passed. His
+flashlight swept about him, located the connecting door--and went out.
+He moved to the door, tried it, and found it locked. Again the little
+steel instrument came into play, released the lock, and Jimmie Dale
+opened the door. Again the flashlight winked. The door opened into a
+bathroom that, obviously, at will, was either common to the two rooms or
+could, by the simple expedient of locking one door or the other, be used
+by one of the rooms alone. In the present instance, the occupant of the
+adjoining apartment had taken “a room with a bath.”
+
+Jimmie Dale passed through the bathroom to the opposite door. This was
+already three-quarters open, and swung outward into the bedroom, near
+the lower end of the room by the window. Through the crack of the door
+by the hinges, Jimmie Dale flashed his light, testing the radius of
+vision, pushed the door a few inches wider open, tested it again with
+the flashlight--and retreated back into No. 148, closing the door on his
+side until it was just ajar.
+
+He stood there then silently waiting. It was Hamvert's room next door,
+and Hamvert and the Weasel were already late. A step sounded outside in
+the corridor. Jimmie Dale straightened intently. The step passed on
+down the hallway and died away. A false alarm! Jimmie Dale smiled
+whimsically. It was a strange adventure this that confronted him, quite
+the strangest in a way that the Tocsin had ever planned--and the night
+lay before him full of peril in its extraordinary complications. To win
+the hand he must block Hamvert and the Weasel without allowing them an
+inkling that his interference was anything more than, say, the luck of
+a hotel sneak thief at most. The Weasel was a dangerous man, one of the
+slickest second-story workers in the country, with safe cracking as one
+of his favourite pursuits, a man most earnestly desired by the police,
+provided the latter could catch him “with the goods.” As for Hamvert,
+he did not know Hamvert, who was a stranger in New York, except that
+Hamvert had fleeced a man named Michael Breen out of his share in a
+claim they had had together when Breen had first gone to Alaska to try
+his luck, and now, having discovered that Breen, when prospecting alone
+somewhere in the interior a month or so ago, had found a rich vein and
+had made a map or diagram of its location, he, Hamvert, had followed
+the other to New York for the purpose of getting it by hook or crook.
+Breen's “find” had been too late; taken sick, he had never worked his
+claim, had barely got back home before he died, and only in time to hand
+his wife the strange legacy of a roughly scrawled little piece of paper,
+and--Jimmie Dale straightened up alertly once more. Steps again--and
+this time coming from the direction of the elevator; then voices; then
+the opening of the door of the next room; then a voice, distinctly
+audible:
+
+“Pull up a chair, and we'll get down to business. You're late, as it is.
+We haven't any time to waste, if we're going to wash pay-dirt to-night.”
+
+“Aw, dat's all right!” responded another voice--quite evidently the
+Weasel's. “Don't youse worry--de game's cinched to a fadeaway.”
+
+There was the sound of chairs being moved across the floor. Jimmie Dale
+slipped the black silk mask over his face, opened the door on his side
+of the bathroom cautiously, and, without a sound, stepped into the
+bathroom that was lighted now, of course, by the light streaming in
+through the partially opened door of Hamvert's room. The two were
+talking earnestly now in lower tones. Jimmie Dale only caught a word
+here and there--his faculties for the moment were concentrated on
+traversing the bathroom silently. He reached the farther door, crouched
+there, peered through the crack--and the old whimsical smile flickered
+across his lips again.
+
+The Palais-Metropole was high class and exclusive, and the Weasel for
+once looked quite the gentleman, and, for all his sharp, ferret face,
+not entirely out of keeping with his surroundings--else he would never
+have got farther than the lobby. The other was a short, thickset,
+heavy-jowled man, with a great shock of sandy hair, and small black eyes
+that looked furtively out from overhanging, bushy eyebrows.
+
+“Well,” Hamvert was saying, “the details are your concern. What I
+want is results. We won't waste time. You're to be back here by
+daylight--only see that there's no come-back.”
+
+“Leave it to me!” returned the Weasel, with assurance. “How's dere
+goin' ter be any come-back? Mittel keeps it in his safe, don't he? Well,
+gentlemen's houses has been robbed before--an' dis job'll be a good one.
+De geographfy stunt youse wants gets pinched wid de rest, dat's all. It
+disappears--see? Who's ter know youse gets yer claws on it? It's just
+lost in de shuffle.”
+
+“Right!” agreed Hamvert briskly--and from his inside pocket produced
+a package of crisp new bills, yellow-backs, and evidently of large
+denominations. “Half down and half on delivery--that's our deal.”
+
+“Dat's wot!” assented the Weasel curtly.
+
+Hamvert began to count the bills.
+
+Jimmie Dale's hand stole into his pocket, and came out with his
+handkerchief and the thin metal insignia case. From the latter, with its
+little pair of tweezers, he took out one of the adhesive gray seals.
+His eyes warily on the two men, he dropped the seal on his handkerchief,
+restored the thin metal case to his pocket--and in its stead the
+blue-black ugly muzzle of his automatic peeped from between his fingers.
+
+“Five thousand down,” said Hamvert, pushing a pile of notes across the
+table, and tucking the remainder back into his pocket; “and the other
+five's here for you when you get back with the map. Ordinarily, I
+wouldn't pay a penny in advance, but since you want it that way and
+the map's no good to you while the rest of the long green is, I--” He
+swallowed his words with a startled gulp, clutched hastily at the money
+on the table, and began to struggle up from his chair to his feet.
+
+With a swift, noiseless side-step through the open door, Jimmie Dale was
+standing in the room.
+
+Jimmie Dale's tones were conversational. “Don't get up,” said Jimmie
+Dale coolly. “And take your hand off that money!”
+
+The Weasel, whose back had been to the door, squirmed around in his
+chair--and in his turn stared into the muzzle of Jimmie Dale's revolver,
+while his jaw dropped and sagged.
+
+“Good-evening, Weasel,” observed Jimmie Dale casually. “I seem to be in
+luck to-night. I got into that room next door, but an empty room is slim
+picking. And then it seemed to me I heard some one in here mention five
+thousand dollars twice, which makes ten thousand, and which happens to
+be just exactly the sum I need at the present moment--if I can't get any
+more! I haven't the honour of your wealthy friend's acquaintance, but
+I am really charmed to meet him. You--er--understand, both of you, that
+the slightest sound might prove extremely embarrassing.”
+
+Hamvert's face was white, and he stirred uneasily in his chair; but
+into the Weasel's face, the first shock of surprised dismay past, came
+a dull, angry red, and into the eyes a vicious gleam--and suddenly he
+laughed shortly.
+
+“Why, youse damned fool,” jeered the Weasel, “d'youse t'ink youse can
+get away wid dat! Say, take it from me, youse are a piker! Say, youse
+make me tired. Wot d'youse t'ink youse are? D'youse t'ink dis is a
+tee-ayter, an' dat youse are a cheap-skate actor strollin' acrost de
+stage? Aw, beat it, youse make me sick! Why, say, youse pinch dat money,
+an' youse have got de same chanst of gettin' outer dis hotel as a guy
+has of breakin' outer Sing Sing! By de time youse gets five feet from de
+door of dis room we has de whole works on yer neck.”
+
+“Do you think so, Weasel?” inquired Jimmie Dale politely. He carried his
+handkerchief to his mouth to cloak a cough--and his tongue touched
+the adhesive side of the little diamond-shaped gray seal. Hand and
+handkerchief came back to the table, and Jimmie Dale leaned his weight
+carelessly upon it, while the automatic in his right hand still covered
+the two men. “Do you think so, Weasel?” he repeated softly. “Well,
+perhaps you are right; and yet; somehow, I am inclined to disagree with
+you. Let me see, Weasel--it was Tuesday night, two nights ago; wasn't
+it, that a trifling break in Maiden Lane at Thorold and Sons disturbed
+the police? It was a three-year job for even a first offender, ten
+for one already on nodding terms with the police and fifteen to twenty
+for--well, say, for a man like you, Weasel--IF HE WERE CAUGHT! Am I
+making myself quite plain?”
+
+The colour in the Weasel's cheeks faded a little--his eyes were holding
+in sudden fascination upon Jimmie Dale.
+
+“I see that I am,” observed Jimmie Dale pleasantly. “I said, 'if he were
+caught,' you will remember. I am going to leave this room in a moment,
+Weasel, and leave it entirely to your discretion as to whether you will
+think it wise or not to stir from that chair for ten minutes after
+I shut the door. And now”--Jimmie Dale nonchalantly replaced his
+handkerchief in his pocket, nonchalantly followed it with the banknotes
+which he picked up from the table--and smiled.
+
+With a gasp, both men had strained forward, and were staring, wild-eyed,
+at the gray seal stuck between them on the tabletop.
+
+“The Gray Seal!” whispered the Weasel, and his tongue circled his lips.
+
+Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“That WAS a bit theatrical, Weasel,” he said apologetically; “and yet
+not wholly unnecessary. You will recall Stangeist, The Mope, Australian
+Ike, and Clarie Deane, and can draw your own inference as to what might
+happen in the Thorold affair if you should be so ill-advised as to force
+my hand. Permit me”--the slim, deft fingers, like a streak of lightning,
+were inside Hamvert's coat pocket and out again with the remainder of
+the banknotes--and Jimmie Dale was backing for the door--not the door
+of the bathroom by which he had entered, but the door of the room itself
+that opened on the corridor. There he stopped, and his hand swept around
+behind his back and turned the key in the locked door. He nodded at the
+two men, whose faces were working with incongruously mingled expressions
+of impotent rage, bewilderment, fear, and fury--and opened the door a
+little. “Ten minutes, Weasel,” he said gently. “I trust you will not
+have to use heroic measures to restrain your friend for that length of
+time, though if it is necessary I should advise you for your own sake to
+resort almost--to murder. I wish you good evening, gentlemen.”
+
+The door opened farther; Jimmie Dale, still facing inward, slipped
+between it and the jamb, whipped the mask from his face, closed the door
+softly, stepped briskly but without any appearance of haste along the
+corridor to the stairs, descended the stairs, mingled with a crowd in
+the lobby for an instant, walked, seemingly a part of it, with a group
+of ladies and gentlemen down the hall to the side entrance, passed
+out--and a moment later, after drawing on a linen dust coat which he
+took from under the seat, and exchanging his hat for a tweed cap, the
+car glided from the curb and was lost in a press of traffic around the
+corner.
+
+Jimmie Dale laughed a little harshly to himself. So far, so good--but
+the game was not ended yet for all the crackle of the crisp notes in
+his pocket. There was still the map, still the robbery at Mittel's
+house--the ten-thousand-dollar “theft” would not in any way change that,
+and it was a question of time now to forestall any move the Weasel might
+make.
+
+Through the city Jimmie Dale alternately dodged, spurted, and dragged
+his way, fuming with impatience; but once out on the country roads and
+headed toward New Rochelle, the big machine, speed limits thrown to the
+winds, roared through the night--a gray streak of road jumping under the
+powerful lamps; a village, a town, a cluster of lights flashing by him,
+the steady purr of his sixty-horse-power engines; the gray thread of
+open road again.
+
+It was just eleven o'clock when Jimmie Dale, the road to himself for the
+moment at a spot a little beyond New Rochelle, extinguished his lights,
+and very carefully ran his car off the road, backing it in behind a
+small clump of trees. He tossed the linen dust coat back into the car,
+and set off toward where, a little distance away, the slap of waves from
+the stiff breeze that was blowing indicated the shore line of the Sound.
+There was no moon, and, while it was not particularly dark, objects and
+surroundings at best were blurred and indistinct; but that, after all,
+was a matter of little concern to Jimmie Dale--the first house beyond
+was Mittel's. He reached the water's edge and kept along the shore.
+There should be a little wharf, she had said. Yes; there it was--and
+there, too, was a gleam of light from the house itself.
+
+Jimmie Dale began to make an accurate mental note of his surroundings.
+From the little wharf on which he now stood, a path led straight to the
+house, bisecting what appeared to be a lawn, trees to the right, the
+house to the left. At the wharf, beside him, two motor boats were
+moored, one on each side. Jimmie Dale glanced at them, and, suddenly
+attracted by the familiar appearance of one, inspected it a little more
+closely. His momentarily awakened interest passed as he nodded his head.
+It had caught his attention, that was all--it was the same type and
+design, quite a popular make, of which there were hundreds around New
+York, as the one he had bought that year as a tender for his yacht.
+
+He moved forward now toward the house, the rear of which faced him--the
+light that flooded the lawn came from a side window. Jimmie Dale was
+figuring the time and distance from New York as he crept cautiously
+along. How quickly could the Weasel make the journey? The Weasel would
+undoubtedly come, and if there was a convenient train it might prove a
+close race--but in his own favour was the fact that it would probably
+take the Weasel quite some little time to recover his equilibrium from
+his encounter with the Gray Seal in the Palais-Metropole, also the
+further fact that, from the Weasel's viewpoint, there was no desperate
+need of haste. Jimmie Dale crossed the lawn, and edged along in the
+shadows of the house to where the light streamed out from what now
+proved to be open French windows. It was a fair presumption that he
+would have an hour to the good on the Weasel.
+
+The sill was little more than a couple of feet from the ground, and,
+from a crouched position on his knees below the window, Jimmie Dale
+raised himself slowly and peered guardedly inside. The room was empty.
+He listened a moment--the black silk mask was on his face again--and
+with a quick, agile, silent spring he was in the room.
+
+And then, in the centre of the room, Jimmie Dale stood motionless,
+staring around him, an expression, ironical, sardonic, creeping into his
+face. THE ROBBERY HAD ALREADY BEEN COMMITTED! At the lower end of the
+room everything was in confusion; the door of a safe swung wide, the
+drawers of a desk had been wrenched out, even a liqueur stand, on which
+were well-filled decanters, had been broken open, and the contents of
+safe and desk, the thief's discards as it were, littered the floor in
+all directions.
+
+For an instant Jimmie Dale, his eyes narrowed ominously, surveyed the
+scene; then, with a sort of professional instinct aroused, he stepped
+forward to examine the safe--and suddenly darted behind the desk
+instead. Steps sounded in the hall. The door opened--a voice reached
+him:
+
+“The master said I was to shut the windows, and I haven't dast to go in.
+And he'll be back with the police in a minute now. Come on in with me,
+Minnie.”
+
+“Lord!” exclaimed another voice. “Ain't it a good thing the missus is
+away. She'd have highsteericks!”
+
+Steps came somewhat hesitantly across the floor--from behind the desk,
+Jimmie Dale could see that it was a maid, accompanied by a big, rawboned
+woman, sleeves rolled to the elbows over brawny arms, presumably the
+Mittels' cook.
+
+The maid closed the French windows, there were no others in the room,
+and bolted them; and, having gained a little confidence, gazed about
+her.
+
+“My, but wasn't he cute!” she ejaculated. “Cut the telephone wires, he
+did. And ain't he made an awful mess! But the master said we wasn't to
+touch nothing till the police saw it.”
+
+“And to think of it happening in OUR house!” observed the cook heavily,
+her hands on her hips, her arms akimbo. “It'll all be in the papers, and
+mabbe they'll put our pictures in, too.”
+
+“I won't get over it as long as I live!” declared the maid. “The yell
+Mr. Mittel gave when he came downstairs and put his head in here,
+and then him shouting and using the most terrible language into
+the telephone, and then finding the wires cut. And me following him
+downstairs half dead with fright. And he shouts at me. 'Bella,' he
+shouts, 'shut those windows, but don't you touch a thing in that room.
+I'm going for the police.' And then he rushes out of the house.”
+
+“I was going to bed,” said the cook, picking up her cue for what was
+probably the twentieth rehearsal of the scene, “when I heard Mr. Mittel
+yell, and--Lord, Bella, there he is now!”
+
+Jimmie Dale's hands clenched. He, too, had caught the scuffle of
+footsteps, those of three or four men at least, on the front porch.
+There was one way, only one, of escape--through the French windows!
+It was a matter of seconds only before Mittel, with the police at his
+heels, would be in the room--and Jimmie Dale sprang to his feet. There
+was a wild scream of terror from the maid, echoed by another from the
+cook--and, still screaming, both women fled for the door.
+
+“Mr. Mittel! Mr. Mittel!” shrieked the maid--she had flung herself out
+into the hall. “He's--he's back again!”
+
+Jimmie Dale was at the French windows, tearing at the bolts. They
+stuck. Shouts came from the front entryway. He wrenched viciously at the
+fastenings. They gave now. The windows flew open. He glanced over his
+shoulder. A man, Mittel presumably, since he was the only one not in
+uniform, was springing into the room. There was a blur of forms and
+brass buttons behind Mittel--and Jimmie Dale leaped to the lawn,
+speeding across it like a deer.
+
+But quick as he ran, Jimmie Dale's brain was quicker, pointing the
+single chance that seemed open to him. The motor boat! It seemed like a
+God-given piece of luck that he had noticed it was like his own; there
+would be no blind, and that meant fatal, blunders in the dark over its
+mechanism, and he could start it up in a moment--just the time to cast
+her off, that was all he needed.
+
+The shouts swelled behind him. Jimmie Dale was running for his life. He
+flung a glance backward. One form--Mittel, he was certain--was perhaps a
+hundred yards in the rear. The others were just emerging from the
+French windows--grotesque, leaping things they looked, in the light that
+streamed out behind them from the room.
+
+Jimmie Dale's feet pounded the planking of the wharf. He stooped and
+snatched at the mooring line. Mittel was almost at the wharf. It seemed
+an age, a year to Jimmie Dale before the line was clear. Shouts rang
+still louder across the lawn--the police, racing in a pack, were more
+than halfway from the house. He flung the line into the boat, sprang in
+after it--and Mittel, looming over him, grasped at the boat's gunwhale.
+
+Both men were panting from their exertions.
+
+“Let go!” snarled Jimmie Dale between clenched teeth.
+
+Mittel's answer was a hoarse, gasping shout to the police to hurry--and
+then Mittel reeled back, measuring his length upon the wharf from a blow
+with a boat hook full across the face, driven with a sudden, untamed
+savagery that seemed for the moment to have mastered Jimmie Dale.
+
+There was no time--not a second--not the fraction of a second.
+Desperately, frantically he shoved the boat clear of the wharf.
+Once--twice--three times he turned the engine over without success--and
+then the boat leaped forward. Jimmie Dale snatched the mask from his
+face, and jumped for the steering wheel. The police were rushing out
+along the wharf. He could just faintly discern Mittel now--the man was
+staggering about, his hands clapped to his face. A peremptory order to
+halt, coupled with a threat to fire, rang out sharply--and Jimmie Dale
+flung himself flat in the bottom of the boat. The wharf edge seemed to
+open in little, crackling jets of flame, came the roar of reports like a
+miniature battery in action, then the FLOP, FLOP, FLOP, as the lead tore
+up the water around him, the duller thud as a bullet buried its nose in
+the boat's side, and the curious rip and squeak as a splinter flew. Then
+Mittel's voice, high-pitched, as though in pain:
+
+“Can't any of you run a motor boat? He's got me bad, I'm afraid. That
+other one there is twice as fast.”
+
+“Sure!” another voice responded promptly. “And if that's right, he's run
+his head into a trap. Cast loose, there, MacVeay, and pile in, all of
+you! You go back to the house, Mr. Mittel, and fix yourself up. We'll
+get him!”
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips thinned. It was true! If the other boat had any speed
+at all, it was only a question of time before he would be overtaken.
+The only point at issue was how much time. It was dark--that was in his
+favour--but it was not so dark but that a boat could be distinguished on
+the water for quite a distance, for a longer distance than he could hope
+to put between them. There was no chance of eluding the police that
+way! The keen, facile brain that had saved the Gray Seal a hundred times
+before was weaving, planning, discarding, eliminating, scheming a way
+out--with death, ruin, disaster the price of failure. His eyes swept
+the dim, irregular outline of the shore. To his right, in the opposite
+direction from where he had left his car, and perhaps a mile ahead, as
+well as he could judge, the land seemed to run out into a point. Jimmie
+Dale headed for it instantly. If he could reach it with a little lead to
+the good, there was a chance! It would take, say, six minutes, granting
+the boat a speed of ten miles an hour--and she could do that. The others
+could hardly overtake him in that time--they hadn't got started yet. He
+could hear them still shouting and talking at the wharf. And Mittel's
+“twice as fast” was undoubtedly an exaggeration, anyhow.
+
+A minute more passed, another--and then, astern, Jimmie Dale caught the
+racket from the exhaust of a high-powered engine, and a white streak
+seemed to shoot out upon the surface of the water from where, obscured
+now, he placed the wharf. A quarter-mile lead, roughly four hundred
+yards; yes, he had as much as that--but that, too, was very little.
+
+He bent over his engine, coaxing it, nursing it to its highest
+efficiency; his eyes strained now upon the point ahead, now upon his
+pursuers behind. He was running with the wind, thank Heaven! or the
+small boat would have had a further handicap--it was rolling up quite a
+sea.
+
+The steering gear, he found, was corded along the side of the boat,
+permitting its manipulation from almost any position, and, abruptly now,
+Jimmie Dale left the engine to rummage through the little locker in the
+stern of the boat. But as he rummaged, his eyes held speculatively on
+the boat astern. She was gaining unquestionably, steadily, but not as
+fast as he had feared. He would still have a hundred yards' lead, at
+least, abreast the point--and, he was smiling grimly now, a hundred
+yards there meant life to the Gray Seal! The locker was full of a
+heterogeneous collection of odds and ends--a suit of oilskins, tools,
+tins, and cans of various sizes and descriptions. Jimmie Dale emptied
+the contents, some sort of powder, of a small, round tin box overboard,
+and from his pocket took out the banknotes, crammed them into the box,
+crammed his watch in on top of them, and screwed the cover on tightly.
+His fingers were flying now. A long strip torn from the trousers' leg of
+the oilskins was wrapped again and again around the box--and the box was
+stuffed into his pocket.
+
+The flash of a revolver shot cut the blackness behind him, then another,
+and another. They were firing in a continuous stream again. It was
+fairly long range, but there was always the chance of a stray bullet
+finding its mark. Jimmie Dale, crouching low, made his way to the bow of
+the boat again.
+
+The point was looming almost abreast now. He edged in nearer, to hug
+it as closely as he dared risk the depth of the water. Behind,
+remorselessly, the other boat was steadily closing the gap; and the
+shots were not all wild--one struck, with a curious singing sound, on
+some piece of metal a foot from his elbow. Closer to the shore, running
+now parallel with the head of the point, Jimmie Dale again edged in the
+boat, his jaws, clamped, working in little twitches.
+
+And then suddenly, with a swift, appraising glance behind him, he
+swerved the boat from her course and headed for the shore--not directly,
+but diagonally across the little bay that, on the farther side of the
+point, had now opened out before him. He was close in with the edge of
+the point, ten yards from it, sweeping past it--the point itself came
+between the two boats, hiding them from each other--and Jimmie Dale,
+with a long spring, dove from the boat's side to the water.
+
+The momentum from the boat as he sank robbed him for an instant of all
+control over himself, and he twisted, doubled up, and rolled over and
+over beneath the water--but the next moment his head was above the
+surface again, and he was striking out swiftly for the shore. It was
+only a few yards--but in a few SECONDS the pursuing boat, too, would
+have rounded the point. His feet touched bottom. It was haste now,
+nothing else, that counted. The drum of the racing engines, the
+crackling roar of the exhaust from the oncoming boat was in his ears. He
+flung himself upon the shore and down behind a rock. Around the point,
+past him, tore the police boat, dark forms standing clustered in the
+bow--and then a sudden shout:
+
+“There she is! See her? She's heading into the bay for the shore!”
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips relaxed. There was no doubt that they had sighted
+their quarry again--a perfect fusillade of revolver shots directed at
+the now empty boat was quite sufficient proof of that! With something
+that was almost a chuckle, Jimmie Dale straightened up from behind the
+rock and began to run back along the shore. The little motor boat would
+have grounded long before they overtook her, and, thinking naturally
+enough, that he had leaped ashore from her, they would go thrashing
+through the woods and fields searching for him!
+
+It was a longer way back by the shore, a good deal longer; now over
+rough, rocky stretches where he stumbled in the darkness, now through
+marshy, sodden ground where he sank as in a quagmire time and again over
+his ankles. It was even longer than he had counted on, and time, with
+the Weasel on one hand and the return of the police on the other, was
+a factor to be reckoned with again, as, a half hour later, Jimmie Dale
+stole across the lawn of Mittel's house for the second time that night,
+and for the second time crouched beneath the open French windows.
+
+Masked again, the water still dripping from what were once immaculate
+evening clothes but which now sagged limply about him, his collar a
+pasty string around his neck, the mud and dirt splashed to his knees,
+Jimmie Dale was a disreputable and incongruous-looking object as he
+crouched there, shivering uncomfortably from his immersion in spite of
+his exertions. Inside the room, Mittel passed the windows, pacing the
+floor, one side of his face badly cut and bruised from the blow with the
+boat hook--and as he passed, his back turned for an instant, Jimmie Dale
+stepped into the room.
+
+Mittel whirled at the sound, and, with a suppressed cry, instinctively
+drew back--Jimmie Dale's automatic was dangling carelessly in his right
+hand.
+
+“I am afraid I am a trifle melodramatic,” observed Jimmie Dale
+apologetically, surveying his own bedraggled person; “but I assure you
+it is neither intentional nor for effect. As it is, I was afraid I would
+be late. Pardon me if I take the liberty of helping myself; one gets a
+chill in wet clothes so easily”--he passed to the liqueur stand, poured
+out a generous portion from one of the decanters, and tossed it off.
+
+Mittel neither spoke nor moved. Stupefaction, surprise, and a very
+obvious regard for Jimmie Dale's revolver mingled themselves in a
+helpless expression on his face.
+
+Jimmie Dale set down his glass and pointed to a chair in front of the
+desk.
+
+“Sit down, Mr. Mittel,” he invited pleasantly. “It will be quite
+apparent to you that I have not time to prolong our interview
+unnecessarily, in view of the possible return of the police at any
+moment, but you might as well be comfortable. You will pardon me again
+if I take another liberty”--he crossed the room, turned the key in the
+lock of the door leading into the hall, and returned to the desk. “Sit
+down, Mr. Mittel!” he repeated, a sudden rasp in his voice.
+
+Mittel, none too graciously, now seated himself.
+
+“Look here, my fine fellow,” he burst out, “you're carrying things with
+a pretty high hand, aren't you? You seem to have eluded the police for
+the moment, somehow, but let me tell you I--”
+
+“No,” interrupted Jimmie Dale softly, “let ME tell you--all there is
+to be told.” He leaned over the desk and stared rudely at the bruise on
+Mittel's face. “Rather a nasty crack, that,” he remarked.
+
+Mittel's fists clenched, and an angry flush swept his cheeks.
+
+“I'd have made it a good deal harder,” said Jimmie Dale, with sudden
+insolence, “if I hadn't been afraid of putting you out of business and
+so precluding the possibility of this little meeting. Now then”--the
+revolver swung upward and held steadily on a line with Mittel's eyes--
+“I'll trouble you for the diagram of that Alaskan claim that belongs to
+Mrs. Michael Breen!”
+
+Mittel, staring fascinated into the little, round, black muzzle of the
+automatic, edged back in his chair.
+
+“So--so that's what you're after, is it?” he jerked out. “Well”--he
+laughed unnaturally and waved his hand at the disarray of the
+room--“it's been stolen already.”
+
+“I know that,” said Jimmie Dale grimly. “By--YOU!”
+
+“Me!” Mittel started up in his chair, a whiteness creeping into his
+face. “Me! I--I--”
+
+“Sit down!” Jimmie Dale's voice rang out ominously cold. “I haven't any
+time to spare. You can appreciate that. But even if the police return
+before that map is in my possession, they will still be TOO LATE as
+far as you are concerned. Do you understand? Furthermore, if I am
+caught--you are ruined. Let me make it quite plain that I know
+the details of your little game. You are a curb broker, Mr.
+Mittel--ostensibly. In reality, you run what is nothing better than an
+exceedingly profitable bucket shop. The Weasel has been a customer
+and also a stool for you for years. How Hamvert met the Weasel is
+unimportant--he came East with the intention of getting in touch with a
+slick crook to help him--the Weasel is the coincidence, that is all. I
+quite understand that you have never met Hamvert, nor Hamvert you, nor
+that Hamvert was aware that you and the Weasel had anything to do
+with one another and were playing in together--but that equally is
+unimportant. When Hamvert engaged the Weasel for ten thousand dollars
+to get the map from you for him, the Weasel chose the line of least
+resistance. He KNEW you, and approached you with an offer to split the
+money in return for the map. It was not a question of your accepting his
+offer--it was simply a matter of how you could do it and still protect
+yourself. The Weasel was well qualified to point the way--a fake robbery
+of your house would answer the purpose admirably--you could not be held
+either legally or morally responsible for a document that was placed,
+unsolicited by you, in your possession, if it were stolen from you.”
+
+Mittel's face was ashen, colourless. His hands were opening and shutting
+with nervous twitches on the top of the desk.
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips curled.
+
+“But”--Jimmie Dale was clipping off his words now viciously--“neither
+you nor the Weasel were willing to trust the other implicitly--perhaps
+you know each other too well. You were unwilling to turn over the map
+until you had received your share of the money, and you were equally
+unwilling to turn it over until you were SAFE; that is, until you had
+engineered your fake robbery even to the point of notifying the police
+that it had been committed; the Weasel, on the other hand, had some
+scruples about parting with any of the money without getting the map in
+one hand before he let go of the banknotes with the other. It was very
+simply arranged, however, and to your mutual satisfaction. While you
+robbed your own house this evening, he was to get half the money in
+advance from Hamvert, giving Hamvert to understand that HE had planned
+to commit the robbery himself to-night. He was to come out here then,
+receive the map from you in exchange for your share of the money, return
+to Hamvert with the map, and receive in turn his own share. I might
+say that Hamvert actually paid down the advance--and it was perhaps
+unfortunate for you that you paid such scrupulous attention to details
+as to cut your own telephone wires! I had not, of course, an exact
+knowledge of the hour or minute in which you proposed to stage your
+little play here. The object of my first visit a little while ago was
+to forestall your turning the diagram over to the Weasel. Circumstances
+favoured you for the moment. I am back again, however, for the same
+purpose--the map!”
+
+Mittel, in a cowed way, was huddled back in his chair. He smiled
+miserably at Jimmie Dale.
+
+“QUICK!” Jimmie Dale flung out the word in a sharp, peremptory bark. “Do
+you need to be told that the CARTRIDGES are dry?”
+
+Mittel's hand, trembling, went into his pocket and produced an envelope.
+
+“Open it!” commanded Jimmie Dale. “And lay it on the desk, so that I can
+read it--I am too wet to touch it.”
+
+Mittel obeyed--like a dog that has been whipped.
+
+A glance at the paper, and Jimmie Dale's eyes lifted again--to sweep the
+floor of the room. He pointed to a pile of books and documents in one
+corner that had been thrown out of the safe.
+
+“Go over there and pick up that check book!” he ordered tersely.
+
+“What for?” Mittel made feeble protest.
+
+“Never mind what for!” snapped Jimmie Dale. “Go and get it--and HURRY!”
+
+Once more Mittel obeyed--and dropped the book hesitantly on the desk.
+
+Jimmie Dale stared silently, insolently, contemptuously at the other.
+
+Mittel stirred uneasily, sat down, shifted his feet, and his fingers
+fumbled aimlessly over the top of the desk.
+
+“Compared with you,” said Jimmie Dale, in a low voice, “the Weasel, ay,
+and Hamvert, too, crooks though they are, are gentlemen! Michael Breen,
+as he died, told his wife to take that paper to some one she could
+trust, who would help her and tell her what to do; and, knowing no one
+to go to, but because she scrubbed your floors and therefore thought
+you were a fine gentleman, she came timidly to you, and trusted you--you
+cur!”
+
+Jimmie Dale laughed suddenly--not pleasantly. Mittel shivered.
+
+“Hamvert and Breen were partners out there in Alaska when Breen first
+went out,” said Jimmie Dale slowly, pulling the tin can wrapped in
+oilskin from his pocket. “Hamvert swindled Breen out of the one strike
+he made, and Mrs. Breen and her little girl back here were reduced to
+poverty. The amount of that swindle was, I understand, fifteen thousand
+dollars. I have ten of it here, contributed by the Weasel and Hamvert;
+and you will, I think, recognise therein a certain element of poetic
+justice--but I am still short five thousand dollars.”
+
+Jimmie Dale removed the cover from the tin can. Mittel gazed at the
+contents numbly.
+
+“You perhaps did not hear me?” prompted Jimmie Dale coldly. “I am still
+short five thousand dollars.”
+
+Mittel circled his lips with the tip of his tongue.
+
+“What do you want?” he whispered hoarsely.
+
+“The balance of the amount.” There was an ominous quiet in Jimmie
+Dale's voice. “A check payable to Mrs. Michael Breen for five thousand
+dollars.”
+
+“I--I haven't got that much in the bank,” Mittel fenced, stammering.
+
+“No? Then I should advise you to see that you have by ten o'clock
+to-morrow morning!” returned Jimmie Dale curtly. “Make out that check!”
+
+Mittel hesitated. The revolver edged insistently a little farther across
+the desk--and Mittel, picking up a pen, wrote feverishly. He tore the
+check from its stub, and, with a snarl, pushed it toward Jimmie Dale.
+
+“Fold it!” instructed Jimmie Dale, in the same curt tones. “And fold
+that diagram with it. Put them both in this box. Thank you!” He wrapped
+the oilskin around the box again, and returned the box to his pocket.
+And again with that insolent, contemptuous stare, he surveyed the man at
+the desk--then he backed to the French windows. “It might be as well to
+remind you, Mittel,” he cautioned sternly, “that if for any reason this
+check is not honoured, whether through lack of funds or an attempt by
+you to stop payment, you'll be in a cell in the Tombs to-morrow for this
+night's work--that is quite understood, isn't it?”
+
+Mittel was on his feet--sweat glistened on his forehead.
+
+“My God!” he cried out shrilly. “Who are you?”
+
+And Jimmie Dale smiled and stepped out on the lawn.
+
+“Ask the Weasel,” said Jimmie Dale--and the next instant, lost in the
+shadows of the house, was running for his car.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+THE ALIBI
+
+
+DEATH TO THE GRAY SEAL!”--through the underworld, in dens and dives that
+sheltered from the law the vultures that preyed upon society, prompted
+by self-fear, by secret dread, by reason of their very inability
+to carry out their purpose, the whispered sentence grew daily more
+venomous, more insistent. THE GRAY SEAL, DEAD OR ALIVE--BUT THE GRAY
+SEAL!” It was the “standing orders” of the police. Railed at by a
+populace who angrily demanded at its hands this criminal of criminals,
+mocked at and threatened by a virulent press, stung to madness by the
+knowledge of its own impotence, flaunted impudently to its face by this
+mysterious Gray Seal to whose door the law laid a hundred crimes, for
+whom the bars of a death cell in Sing Sing was the certain goal could
+he but be caught, the police, to a man, was like an uncaged beast that,
+flicked to the raw by some unseen assailant and murderous in its fury,
+was crouched to strike. Grim paradox--a common bond that linked the
+hands of the law with those that outraged it!
+
+Death to the Gray Seal! Was it, at last, the beginning of the end?
+Jimmie Dale, as Larry the Bat, unkempt, disreputable in appearance,
+supposed dope fiend, a figure familiar to every denizen below the dead
+line, skulked along the narrow, ill-lighted street of the East Side
+that, on the corner ahead, boasted the notorious resort to which Bristol
+Bob had paid the doubtful, if appropriate, compliment of giving his
+name. From under the rim of his battered hat, Jimmie Dale's eyes, veiled
+by half-closed, well-simulated drug-laden lids, missed no detail either
+of his surroundings or pertaining to the passers-by. Though already late
+in the evening, half-naked children played in the gutters; hawkers of
+multitudinous commodities cried their wares under gasoline banjo torches
+affixed to their pushcarts; shawled women of half a dozen races, and men
+equally cosmopolitan, loitered at the curb, or blocked the pavement,
+or brushed by him. Now a man passed him, flinging a greeting from
+the corner of his mouth; now another, always without movement of the
+lips--and Jimmie Dale answered them--from the corner of his mouth.
+
+But while his eyes were alert, his mind was only subconsciously attune
+to his surroundings. Was it indeed the beginning of the end? Some day,
+he had told himself often enough, the end must come. Was it coming
+now, surely, with a sort of grim implacability--when it was too late to
+escape! Slowly, but inexorably, even his personal freedom of action
+was narrowing, being limited, and, ironically enough, through the very
+conditions he had himself created as an avenue of escape.
+
+It was not only the police now; it was, far more to be feared, the
+underworld as well. In the old days, the role of Larry the Bat had been
+assumed at intervals, at his own discretion, when, in a corner, he had
+no other way of escape; now it was forced upon him almost daily. The
+character of Larry the Bat could no longer be discarded at will. He had
+flung down the gauntlet to the underworld when, as the Gray Seal, he had
+closed the prison doors behind Stangeist, The Mope, Australian Ike, and
+Clarie Deane, and the underworld had picked the gauntlet up. Betrayed,
+as they believed, by the one who, though unknown to them; they had
+counted the greatest among themselves, and each one fearful that his own
+betrayal might come next, every crook, every thug in the Bad Lands
+now eyed his oldest pal with suspicion and distrust, and each was a
+self-constituted sleuth, with the prod of self-preservation behind him,
+sworn to the accomplishment of that unhallowed slogan--death to the Gray
+Seal. Almost daily now he must show himself as Larry the Bat in some
+gathering of the underworld--a prolonged absence from his haunts was not
+merely to invite certain suspicion, where all were suspicious of each
+other, it was to invite certain disaster. He had now either to carry
+the role like a little old man of the sea upon his back, or renounce it
+forever. And the latter course he dared not even consider--the Sanctuary
+was still the Sanctuary, and the role of Larry the Bat was still a
+refuge, the trump card in the lone hand he played.
+
+He reached the corner, pushed open the door of Bristol Bob's, and
+shuffled in. The place was a glare of light, a hideous riot of noise. On
+a polished section of the floor in the centre, a turkey trot was in
+full swing; laughter and shouting vied raucously with an impossible
+orchestra.
+
+Jimmie Dale slowly made the circuit of the room past the tables, that,
+ranged around the sides, were packed with occupants who thumped their
+glasses in tempo with the music and clamoured at the rushing waiters
+for replenishment. A dozen, two dozen, men and women greeted him. Jimmie
+Dale indifferently returned their salutes. What a galaxy of crooks--the
+cream of the underworld! His eyes, under half-closed lids, swept the
+faces--lags, dips, gatmen, yeggs, mob stormers, murderers, petty sneak
+thieves, stalls, hangers-on--they were all there. He knew them all; he
+was known to all.
+
+He shuffled on to the far end of the room, his leer a little arrogant,
+a certain arrogance, too, in the tilt of his battered hat. He also
+was quite a celebrity in that gathering--Larry the Bat was of the
+aristocracy and the elite of gangland. Well, the show was over; he had
+stalked across the stage, performed for his audience--and in another
+hour now, free until he must repeat the same performance the next day in
+some other equally notorious dive, he would be sitting in for a rubber
+of bridge at that most exclusive of all clubs, the St. James, where none
+might enter save only those whose names were vouched for in the highest
+and most select circles, and where for partners he would possibly have
+a justice of the supreme court, or mayhap an eminent divine! He looked
+suddenly around him, as though startled. It always startled him, that
+comparison. There was something too stupendous to be simply ironical in
+the incongruity of it. If--if he were ever run to earth!
+
+His eyes met those of a heavy-built, coarse-featured man, the chewed end
+of a cigar in his mouth, who stepped from behind the bar, carrying a tin
+tray with two full glasses upon it. It was Bristol Bob, ex-pugilist, the
+proprietor.
+
+“How're you, Larry?” grunted the man, with what he meant to be a smile.
+
+Jimmie Dale was standing in the doorway of a passage that prefaced a
+rear exit to the lane. He moved aside to allow the other to pass.
+
+“'Ello, Bristol,” he returned dispassionately.
+
+Bristol Bob went on along down the passage, and Jimmie Dale shuffled
+slowly after him. He had intended to leave the place by the rear
+door--it obviated the possibility of an undesirable acquaintance joining
+company with him if he went out by the main entrance. But now his
+eyes were fixed on the proprietor's back with a sort of speculative
+curiosity. There was a private room off the passage, with a window on
+the lane; but they must be favoured customers indeed that Bristol Bob
+would condescend to serve personally--any one who knew Bristol Bob knew
+that.
+
+Jimmie Dale slowed his shuffling gait, then quickened it again. Bristol
+Bob opened the door and passed into the private room--the door was just
+closing as Jimmie Dale shuffled by. He had had only a glance inside--but
+it was enough. They were favoured customers indeed! It was no wonder
+that Bristol Bob himself was on the job! Two men were in the room:
+Lannigan of headquarters, rated the smartest plain-clothes man in the
+country--and, across the table from Lannigan, Whitey Mack, as clever,
+finished and daring a crook as was to be found in the Bad Lands, whose
+particular “line” was diamonds, or, in the vernacular of his ilk, “white
+stones,” that had earned him the sobriquet of “Whitey.” Lannigan of
+headquarters, Whitey Mack of the underworld, sworn enemies those two--in
+secret session! Bristol Bob might well play the part of outer guard. If
+a choice few of those outside in the dance hall could get a glimpse into
+that private room it would be “good-night” to Whitey Mack.
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes were narrowed a little as he shuffled on down the
+passage. Lannigan and Whitey Mack with their heads together! What was
+the game? There was nothing in common between the two men. Lannigan, it
+was well known, could not be “reached.” Whitey Mack, with his ingenious
+cleverness, coupled with a cold-blooded fearlessness that had made him
+an object of unholy awe and respect in the eyes of the underworld, was a
+thorn that was sore beyond measure in the side of the police.
+Certainly, it was no ordinary thing that had brought these two together;
+especially, since, with the unrest and suspicion that was bubbling
+and seething below the dead line, and with which there was none more
+intimate than Whitey Mack, Whitey Mack was inviting a risk in “making
+up” with the police that could only be accounted for by some urgent and
+vital incentive.
+
+Jimmie Dale pushed open the door that gave on the lane. Behind him,
+Bristol Bob closed the door of the private room and retreated back along
+the passage. Jimmie Dale stepped out into the lane--and instinctively
+his eyes sought the window of the private room. The shade was drawn,
+only a yellow murk filtered out into the black, unlighted lane, but
+suddenly he started noiselessly toward it. The window was open a bare
+inch or so at the bottom!
+
+The sill was just shoulder high, and, placing his ear to the opening,
+he flattened himself against the wall. He could not see inside, for the
+shade was drawn well to the bottom; but he could hear as distinctly as
+though he were at the table beside the two men--and at the first words,
+the loose, disjointed frame of Larry the Bat seemed to tauten curiously
+and strain forward lithe and tense.
+
+“This Gray Seal dope listens good, Whitey; but, coming from you, I'm
+leery. You've got to show me.”
+
+“Don't you want him?” There was a nasty laugh from Whitey Mack.
+
+“You BET I want him!” returned the headquarters man with a suppressed
+savagery that left no doubt as to his earnestness. “I want him fast
+enough, but--”
+
+“Then, blast him, so do I!” Whitey Mack rapped out with a vicious snarl.
+“So does every guy in the fleet down here. We got it in for him. You
+get that, don't you? He's got Stangeist and his gang steered for the
+electric chair now; he put a crimp in the Weasel the other night--get
+that? He's like a blasted wizard with what he knows. And who'll he deal
+the icy mitt to next? Me--damn him--me, for all I know!”
+
+“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--”
+
+“Can that!” snapped Whitey Mack threateningly. “Can that sort of spiel
+right now--or quit! I ain't telling you his name--yet. BUT I'LL TAKE
+YOU TO HIM TO-NIGHT--and you and me nabs him together. Is that straight
+enough goods for you?”
+
+“Don't get sore,” said Lannigan, more pacifically. “Yes, if you'll do
+that it's good enough for any man. But lay your cards on the table face
+up, Whitey--I want to see what you opened the pot on.”
+
+“You've seen 'em,” Whitey Mack answered ungraciously. “I've told you
+already. The Gray Seal goes out for keeps--curse him for a snitch! If
+I bumped him off, or wised up any of the guys to it, and we was caught,
+we'd get the juice for it even if it was the Gray Seal, wouldn't we?
+Well, what's the use! If one of you dicks get him, he gets bumped off
+just the same, only regular, up in the wire parlour at Sing Sing. I
+ain't looking for that kind of trouble when I can duck it. See?”
+
+“Sure,” said Lannigan.
+
+“Besides, and moreover,” continued Whitey Mack, “there's SOME reward
+hung out for him that I'm figuring to born in on. I'd swipe it all
+myself, don't you make any mistake about that, and you'd never get a
+look-in, only, sore as the mob is on the Gray Seal, it ain't healthy for
+any guy around these parts to get the reputation of being a snitch, no
+matter who he snitches on. Bump him off--sure! Snitching--well, you get
+the idea, eh? I'm ducking that too. Get me?”
+
+“I get you,” said Lannigan, with a short, pleased laugh.
+
+“Well, then,” announced Whitey Mack, “here's my proposition, and it's my
+turn to hand out the 'look-out-for-your-self' dope. I'm busting the game
+wide open for you to play, but you throw me down, and”--his voice sank
+into a sullen snarl again--“you can take it from me, I'll get you for
+it!”
+
+“All right,” responded Lannigan soberly. “Let's hear it. If I agree to
+it, I'll stick to it.”
+
+“I believe you,” said Whitey Mack curtly. “That's why I picked you out
+for the medal they'll pin on you for this. And here's getting down to
+tacks! I'll lead you to the Gray Seal to-night and help you nab him and
+stay with you to the finish, but there's to be nobody but you and me on
+the job. When it's done I fade away, and nobody's to know I snitched,
+and no questions asked as to how I found out about the Gray Seal.
+I ain't looking for any of the glory--you can fix that up to suit
+yourself. The cash is different--you come across with half the reward
+the day they pay it.”
+
+“You'll get it!” There was savage elation in Lannigan's voice, the
+emphatic smash of a fist on the table. “You're on, Whitey. And if we get
+the Gray Seal to-night, I'll do better by you than that.”
+
+“We'll get him!” said Whitey Mack, with a vicious oath. “And--”
+
+Jimmie Dale crouched suddenly low down, close against the wall. The
+crunch of a footstep sounded from the end of the lane. Some one had
+turned in from the cross street, some fifty yards away, and was heading
+evidently for the back entrance to Bristol Bob's. Jimmie Dale edged
+noiselessly, cautiously back past the doorway, kept on, pressed close
+against the wall, and finally paused. He had not been seen. The back
+door of Bristol Bob's opened and closed. The man had gone in.
+
+For a moment Jimmie Dale stood hesitant. There was a wild surging in his
+brain, something like a myriad batteries of trip hammers seemed to be
+pounding at his temples. Then, almost blindly, he kept on down the lane
+in the same direction in which he had started to retreat--as well one
+cross street as another.
+
+He turned into the cross street, went along it--and presently emerged
+into the full tide of the Bowery. It was garishly lighted; people
+swarmed about him. Subconsciously, there were crowded sidewalks;
+subconsciously, he was on the Bowery--that was all.
+
+Ruin, disaster, peril faced him--faced him, and staggered him with the
+suddenness of the shock. Was it true? No; it could not be true! It was
+a bluff--Whitey Mack was bluffing. Jimmie Dale's lips grew thin in a
+mirthless smile as he shook his head. Neither Whitey Mack nor any other
+man would dare to bluff like that. It was too straight, too open-handed,
+Whitey Mack had laid his cards too plainly on the table. Whitey Mack's
+words rang in his ears: “I'll LEAD you to the Gray Seal to-night and
+help you nab him and stay with you to the finish.” The man meant what he
+said, meant what he said, too, about the “finish” of the Gray Seal; not
+a man in the Bad Lands but meant--death to the Gray Seal! But how, by
+what means, when, where had Whitey Mack got his information? “I'm the
+only one that's wise,” Whitey Mack had said. It seemed impossible. It
+WAS impossible! Whitey Mack was sincere enough probably in what he had
+said, but the man simply could not know. Whitey Mack could only have
+spotted some one that, for some reason or other, he IMAGINED was the
+Gray Seal. That was it--must be it! Whitey Mack had made a mistake. What
+clew could he have obtained to--
+
+Over the unwashed face of Larry the Bat a gray pallor spread slowly. His
+fingers were plucking at the frayed edge of his inside vest pocket.
+The dark eyes seemed to turn coal-black. A laugh, like the laugh of one
+damned, rose to his lips, and was choked back. It was gone! GONE! That
+thin metal case, like a cigarette case, that, between the little sheets
+of oil paper, held those diamond-shaped, gray-coloured, adhesive seals,
+the insignia of the Gray Seal--was gone! Clew! It seemed as though there
+were an overpowering nausea upon him. CLEW! That little case was not a
+clew--it was a death warrant!
+
+His hands clenched fiercely. If he could only think for a moment! The
+lining of his pocket had given away. The case had dropped out. But there
+was nothing about the case to identify any one as the Gray Seal unless
+it were found in one's actual possession. Therefore Whitey Mack, to have
+solved his identity, must have seen him drop the case. There could be no
+question about that. It was equally obvious then that Whitey Mack would
+know the Gray Seal as Larry the Bat. Did he also know him as Jimmie
+Dale? Yes, or no? It was a vital question. His life hung on it.
+
+That keen, facile brain, numbed for the moment, was beginning to work
+with lightning speed. It was four o'clock that afternoon when he had
+assumed the character of Larry the Bat--some time between four o'clock
+and the present, it was now well after eleven, the case had dropped from
+his pocket. There had been ample time then for Whitey Mack to have
+made that appointment with Lannigan--and ample time to have made a
+surreptitious visit to the Sanctuary. Had Whitey Mack gone there? Had
+Whitey Mack found that hiding place in the flooring under the oilcloth?
+Had Whitey Mack discovered that the Gray Seal was not only Larry the
+Bat--but Jimmie Dale?
+
+Jimmie Dale swept his hand across his forehead. It was damp from
+little clinging beads of moisture. Should he go to the Sanctuary and
+change--become Jimmie Dale again? Was it the safest thing to do--or the
+most dangerous? Even if Whitey Mack had been there and discovered the
+dual personality of Larry the Bat, how would he, Jimmie Dale, know it?
+The man would have been crafty enough to have left no sign behind him.
+Was it to the Sanctuary that Whitey Mack meant to lead Lannigan that
+evening--or did Whitey Mack know him as Jimmie Dale, and to make it
+the more sensational, plan to carry out the coup, say, at the St. James
+Club? Whitey Mack and Lannigan were still at Bristol Bob's; he had
+probably time, if he so elected, to reach the Sanctuary, change, and get
+away again. But every minute was priceless now. What should he do? Run
+from the city as he was for cover--or take the gambler's chance? Whitey
+Mack knew him as Larry the Bat--it was not certain that Whitey Mack knew
+him as Jimmie Dale.
+
+He had halted, absorbed, in front of a moving-picture theatre. Great
+placards, at first but a blur of colour, suddenly forced themselves in
+concrete form upon his consciousness. Letters a foot high leaped out at
+him: “THE DOUBLE LIFE.” There was the picture of a banker in his private
+office hastily secreting a forged paper as the hero in the guise of a
+clerk entered; the companion picture was the banker in convict stripes
+staring out from behind the barred doors of a cell. There seemed a
+ghastly augury in the coincidence. Why should a thing like that be
+thrust upon him to shake his nerve when he needed nerve now more than he
+had ever needed it in his life before?
+
+He raised his hand to jerk aimlessly at the brim of his hat, dropped
+his hand abruptly to his side again, and started quickly, hurriedly away
+through the throng around him. A sort of savagery had swept upon him.
+In a flash he had made his decision. He would take the gambler's chance!
+And afterward--Jimmie Dale's lips were like a thin, straight line--it
+was Whitey Mack's life or his own! Whitey Mack had said he was the only
+one that was wise--and Whitey Mack had not told Lannigan yet, wouldn't
+tell Lannigan until the show-down. If he, Jimmie Dale, got to the
+Sanctuary, became Jimmie Dale and got away again, even if Whitey Mack
+knew him as Jimmie Dale, there was still a chance. It was his life or
+Whitey Mack's--Whitey Mack, with his lean-jawed, clean-shaven wolf's
+face! If he could get Whitey Mack before the other was ready to tell
+Lannigan! Surely he had the right of self-preservation! Surely his life
+was as valuable as Whitey Mack's, as valuable as a man's who, as those
+in the secrets of the underworld knew well enough, had blood upon his
+hands, who lived by crime, who was a menace to the community! Had he not
+the right to preserve his own life at the expense of one such as that?
+He had never taken life--the thought was abhorrent! But was there any
+other way in event of Whitey Mack knowing him as Jimmie Dale? His
+back was against the wall; he was trapped; certain death, and, worse,
+dishonour stared him in the face. Lannigan and Whitey Mack would be
+together--the odds would be two to one against him--and he had no
+quarrel with Lannigan--somehow he must let Lannigan out of it.
+
+The other side of the street was less crowded. He crossed over, and,
+still with the shuffling tread that dozens around him knew as the
+characteristic gait of Larry the Bat, but covering the ground with
+amazing celerity, he hurried along. It was only at the end of the block,
+that cross street from the Bowery that led to the Sanctuary. How much
+time had he? He turned the corner into the darker cross street. Whitey
+Mack would have learned from Bristol Bob that Larry the Bat had just
+been there; that is, that Larry the Bat was not at the Sanctuary. Whitey
+Mack would probably be in no hurry--he and Lannigan might wait until
+later, until Whitey Mack should be satisfied that Larry the Bat had gone
+home. It was the line of least resistance; they would not attempt to
+scour the city for him. They might even wait in that private room at
+Bristol Bob's until they decided that it was time to sally out. He might
+perhaps still find them there when he got back; at any rate, from there
+he must pick up their trail again. On the other hand--all this was but
+supposition--they might make at once for the Sanctuary to lie in wait
+for him. In any case there was need, desperate need, for haste.
+
+He glanced sharply around him; and, by the side of the tenement house
+now that bordered on the alleyway, with a curious, swift, gliding
+motion, he seemed to blend into the shadow and darkness. It was the
+Sanctuary, that room on the first floor of the tenement, the tenement
+that had three entrances, three exits--a passageway through to the
+saloon on the next street that abutted on the rear, the usual front
+door, and the side door in the alleyway. Gone was the shuffling gait.
+Quick, alert, he ran, crouching, bent down, along the alleyway, reached
+the side door, opened it stealthily, closed it behind him with equal
+caution, and, in the dark entry, stood motionless, listening intently.
+
+There was no sound. He began to mount the rickety, dilapidated stairs;
+and, where it seemed that the lightest tread must make them creak out in
+blatant protest, his trained muscles, delicately compensating his body
+weight, carried him upward with a silence that was almost uncanny. There
+was need of silence, as there was need of haste. He was not so sure
+now of the time at his disposal--that he had even reached the Sanctuary
+FIRST. How long had he loitered in that half-dazed way on the Bowery?
+He did not know--perhaps longer than he had imagined. There was the
+possibility that Whitey Mack and Lannigan were already above, waiting
+for him; but, even if they were not already there and he got away before
+they came, it was imperative that no one should know that Larry the Bat
+had come and gone.
+
+He reached the landing, and paused again, his right hand, with a vicious
+muzzle of his automatic peeping now from between his fingers, thrown
+a little forward. It was black, utterly black, around him. Again that
+stealthy, catlike tread--and his ear was at the keyhole of the Sanctuary
+door. A full minute, priceless though it was, passed; then, satisfied
+that the room was empty, he drew his head back from the keyhole, and
+those slim, tapering fingers, that in their tips seemed to embody
+all the human senses, felt over the lock. Apparently it had been
+undisturbed; but that was no proof that Whitey Mack had not been there
+after finding the metal case. Whitey Mack was known to be clever with a
+lock--clever enough for that, anyhow.
+
+He slipped in the key, turned it, and, on hinges that were always oiled,
+silently pushed the door open and stepped across the threshold. He
+closed the door until it was just ajar, that any sound might reach him
+from without--and, whipping off his coat, began to undress swiftly.
+
+There was no light. He dared not use the gas; it might be seen from the
+alleyway. He was moving now quickly, surely, silently here and there.
+It was like some weird spectre figure, a little blacker than the
+surrounding darkness, flitting about the room. The oilcloth in the
+corner was turned back, the loose flooring lifted, the clothes of Jimmie
+Dale taken out, the rags of Larry the Bat put in. The minutes flew by.
+It was not the change of clothing that took long--it was the eradication
+of Larry the Bat's make-up from his face, throat, neck, wrists, and
+hands. Occasionally his head was turned in a tense, listening attitude;
+but always the fingers were busy, working with swift deftness.
+
+It was done at last. Larry the Bat had vanished, and in his place
+stood Jimmie Dale, the young millionaire, the social lion of New York,
+immaculate in well-tailored tweeds. He stooped to the hole in the
+flooring, and, his fingers going unerringly to their hiding place, took
+out a black silk mask and an electric flashlight--his automatic was
+already in his possession. His lips parted grimly. Who knew what part
+a flashlight might not play--and he would need the mask for Lannigan's
+benefit, even if it did not disguise him from Whitey Mack. Had he left
+any telltale evidence of his visit? It was almost worth the risk of a
+light to make sure. He hesitated, then shook his head, and, stooping
+again, carefully replaced the flooring and laid the oilcloth over it--he
+dared not show a light at any cost.
+
+But now even more caution than before was necessary. At times, the
+lodgers had naturally enough seen their fellow lodger, Larry the Bat,
+enter and leave the tenement--none had ever seen Jimmie Dale either
+leave or enter. He stole across the room to the door, halted to assure
+himself that the hall was empty, slipped out into the hall, and locked
+the door behind him. Again that trained, long-practiced, silent tread
+upon the stairs. It seemed as though an hour passed before he reached
+the bottom, and his brain was shrieking at him to hurry, hurry,
+HURRY! The entryway at last, the door, the alleyway, a long breath of
+relief--and he was on the cross street.
+
+A step, two, he took in the direction of the Bowery--and he was bending
+down as though to tie his shoe, his automatic, from his side pocket,
+concealed in his hand. WAS THAT SOME ONE THERE? He could have sworn he
+saw a shadow-like form start out from behind the steps of the house on
+the opposite side of the street as he had emerged from the alleyway.
+In his bent posture, without seemingly turning his head, his eyes swept
+sharply up and down the other side of the ill-lighted street. Nothing!
+There was not even a pedestrian in sight on the block from there to the
+Bowery.
+
+Jimmie Dale straightened up nonchalantly, and stooped almost instantly
+again, as though the lace were still proving refractory. Again that
+sharp, searching glance. Again--nothing! He went forward now in apparent
+unconcern; but his right hand, instead of being buried in his coat
+pocket, swung easily at his side.
+
+It was strange! His ineffective ruse to the contrary, he was certain
+that he had not been mistaken. Was it Whitey Mack? Was the question
+answered? Was the Gray Seal known, too, as Jimmie Dale? Were they
+trailing him now, with the climax to come at the club, at his own
+palatial home, wherever the surroundings would best lend themselves
+to assuaging that inordinate thirst for the sensational that was so
+essentially a characteristic of the confirmed criminal? What a headline
+in the morning's papers it would make!
+
+At the corner he loitered by the curb to light a cigarette--still not a
+soul in sight on either side of the street behind him, except a couple
+of Italians who had just passed by. Strange again! The intuition, if it
+were only intuition, was still strong. He swung abruptly on his heel,
+mingled with the passers-by on the Bowery, walked a rapid half dozen
+steps until the building hid the cross street, then ran across the road
+to the opposite side of the Bowery, and, in a crowd now, came back to
+the corner. He crossed from curb to curb slowly, sheltered by a fringe
+of people that, however, in no way obstructed his view down the side
+street. And then Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders. He had evidently
+been mistaken, after all. He was overexcited; his nerves were raw--that,
+perhaps, was the solution. Meanwhile, every minute was counting, if
+Whitey Mack and Lannigan should still be at Bristol Bob's.
+
+He kept on down the Bowery, hurrying with growing impatience through the
+crowds that massed in front of various places of amusement. He had not
+intended to come along the Bowery, and, except for what had occurred,
+would have taken a less frequented street. He would turn off at the next
+block.
+
+He was in front of that moving-picture theatre again. “THE DOUBLE
+LIFE”--his eyes were attracted involuntarily to the lurid, overdone
+display. It seemed to threaten him; it seemed to dangle before him a
+premonition as it were, of what the morning held in store; but now, too,
+it seemed to feed into flame that smouldering fury that possessed him.
+His life--or Whitey Mack's! Men, women, and the children who turned
+night into day in that quarter of the city were clustered thick around
+the signs, hiving like bees to the bald sensationalism. Almost savagely
+he began to force his way through the crowd--and the next instant, like
+a man stunned, had stopped in his tracks. His fingers had closed in a
+fierce, spasmodic clutch over an envelope that had been thrust suddenly
+into his hand.
+
+“JIMMIE!” from somewhere came a low, quick voice. “Jimmie, it is
+half-past eleven now--HURRY.”
+
+He whirled, scanning wildly this face, then that. It was her voice--HER
+voice! The Tocsin! The sensitive fingers were telegraphing to his brain,
+as they always did, that the texture of the envelope, too, was hers.
+Her voice; yes, anywhere, out of a thousand voices, he would distinguish
+hers--but her face, he had never seen that. Which, out of all the crowd
+around him, was hers? Surely he could tell her by her dress; she would
+be different; her personality alone must single her out. She--
+
+“Say, have youse got de pip, or do youse t'ink youse owns de earth!” a
+man flung at him, heaving and pushing to get by.
+
+With a start, though he scarcely heard the man, Jimmie Dale moved on.
+His brain was afire. All the irony of the world seemed massed in a
+sudden, overwhelming attack upon him. It was useless--intuitively he
+had known it was useless from the instant he had heard her voice. It was
+always the same--always! For years she had eluded him like that, come
+upon him without warning and disappeared, but leaving always that
+tangible proof of her existence--a letter, the call of the Gray Seal to
+arms. But to-night it was as it had never been before. It was not alone
+baffled chagrin now, not alone the longing, the wild desire to see her
+face, to look into her eyes--it was life and death. She had come at the
+very moment when she, perhaps alone of all the world, could have pointed
+the way out, when life, liberty, everything that was common to them both
+was at stake, in deadly peril--and she had gone, ignorant of it all,
+leaving him staggered by the very possibility of the succour that was
+held up before his eyes only to be snatched away without power of his to
+grasp it. His intuition had not been at fault--he had made no mistake
+in that shadow across the street from the Sanctuary. It had been the
+Tocsin. He had been followed; and it was she who had followed him,
+until, in a crowd, she had seized the opportunity of a moment ago.
+Though ultimately, perhaps, it changed nothing, it was a relief in a way
+to know that it was she, not Whitey Mack, who had been lurking there;
+but her persistent, incomprehensible determination to preserve the
+mystery with which she surrounded herself was like now to cost them both
+a ghastly price. If he could only have had one word with her--just one
+word!
+
+The letter in his hand crackled under his clenched fist. He stared at
+it in a half-blind, half-bitter way. The call of the Gray Seal to arms!
+Another coup, with its incident danger and peril, that she had planned
+for him to execute! He could have laughed aloud at the inhuman mockery
+of it. The call of the Gray Seal to arms--NOW! When with every faculty
+drained to its last resource, cornered, trapped, he was fighting for his
+very existence!
+
+“Jimmie, it is half-past eleven now--HURRY!” The words were jangling
+discordantly in his brain.
+
+And now he laughed outright, mirthlessly. A young girl hanging on her
+escort's arm, passing, glanced at him and giggled. It was a different
+Jimmie Dale for the moment. For once his immobility had forsaken him. He
+laughed again--a sort of unnatural, desperate indifference to everything
+falling upon him. What did it matter, the moment or two it would take to
+read the letter? He looked around him. He was on the corner in front
+of the Palace Saloon, and, turning abruptly, he stepped in through the
+swinging doors. As Larry the Bat, he knew the place well. At the rear of
+the barroom and along the side of the wall were some half dozen
+little stalls, partitioned off from each other. Several of these were
+unoccupied, and he chose the one farthest from the entrance. It was
+private enough; no one would disturb him.
+
+From the aproned individual who presented himself he ordered a drink.
+The man returned in a moment, and Jimmie Dale tossed a coin on the
+table, bidding the other keep the change. He wanted no drink; the
+transaction was wholly perfunctory. The waiter was gone; he pushed the
+glass away from him, and tore the envelope open.
+
+A single sheet, closely written on both sides of the paper, was in his
+hand. It was her writing; there was no mistaking that, but every word,
+every line bore evidence of frantic haste. Even that customary formula,
+“dear philanthropic crook,” that had prefaced every line she had ever
+written him before, had been omitted. His eyes traversed the first few
+lines with that strange indifference that had settled upon him. What,
+after all, did it matter what it was; he could do nothing--not even save
+himself probably. And then, with a little start, he read the lines over
+again, muttering snatches from them.
+
+
+“. . . Max Diestricht--diamonds--the Ross-Logan stones--wedding--sliding
+panel in wall of workshop--end of the room near window--ten boards to
+the right from side wall--press small knot in the wood in the centre of
+the tenth board--to-night . . .”
+
+
+It brought a sudden thrill of excitement to Jimmie Dale that, impossible
+as he would have believed it an instant ago, for the moment overshadowed
+the realisation of his own peril. A robbery such as that, if it were
+ever accomplished, would stir the country from end to end; it would set
+New York by the ears; it would loose the police in full cry like a pack
+of bloodhounds with their leashes slipped. The society columns of the
+newspapers had been busy for months featuring the coming marriage of the
+Ross-Logans' daughter to one of the country's young merchant princes.
+The combined fortunes of the two families would make the young couple
+the richest in America. The prospective groom's wedding gift was to be
+a diamond necklace of perfectly matched, large stones that would eclipse
+anything of the kind in the country. Europe, the foreign markets, had
+been literally combed and ransacked to supply the gems. The stones had
+arrived in New York the day before, the duty on them alone amounting to
+over fifty thousand dollars. All this had appeared in the papers.
+
+Jimmie Dale's brows drew together in a frown. On just exactly what
+percentage the duty was figured he did not know; but it was high
+enough on the basis of fifty thousand dollars to assume safely that the
+assessed value of the stones was not less than four times that amount.
+Two hundred thousand dollars--laid down, a quarter of a million! Well,
+why not? In more than one quarter diamonds were ranked as the soundest
+kind of an investment. Furthermore, through personal acquaintance with
+the “high contracting parties,” who were in his own set, he knew it to
+be true.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders. The papers, too, had thrown the limelight on
+Max Diestricht, who, though for quite a time the fashion in the social
+world, had, up to the present, been comparatively unknown to the average
+New Yorker. His own knowledge of Max Diestricht went deeper than the
+superficial biography furnished by the newspapers--the old Hollander
+had done more than one piece of exquisite jewelry work for him. The old
+fellow was a character that beggared description, eccentric to the point
+of extravagance, and deaf as a post; but, in craftmanship, a modern
+Cellini. He employed no workmen, lived alone over his shop on one of
+the lower streets between Fifth and Sixth Avenues near Washington
+Square--and possessed a splendid contempt for such protective
+contrivances as safes and vaults. If his prospective patrons
+expostulated on this score before intrusting him with their valuables,
+they were at liberty to take their work elsewhere. It was Max Diestricht
+who honoured you by accepting the commission; not you who honoured Max
+Diestricht by intrusting him with it. “Of what use is it to me, a safe!”
+ he would exclaim. “It hides nothing; it only says, 'I am inside; do
+not look farther; come and get me!' Yes? It is to explode with the
+nitro-glycerin--POUF!--and I am deaf and I hear nothing. It is a
+foolishness, that”--he had a habit of prodding at one with a levelled
+fore-finger--“every night somewhere they are robbed, and have I been
+robbed? HEIN, tell me that; have I been robbed?”
+
+It was true. In ten years, though at times having stones and precious
+metal aggregating large amounts deposited with him by his customers, Max
+Diestricht had never lost so much as the gold filings. There was a
+queer smile on Jimmie Dale's lips now. The knot in the tenth board
+was significant! Max Diestricht was scrupulously honest, a genius in
+originality and conception of design, a master in the perfection and
+delicacy of his finished work--he had been commissioned to design and
+set the Ross-Logan necklace.
+
+The brain works quickly. All this and more had flashed almost
+instantaneously through Jimmie Dale's mind. His eyes fell to the letter
+again, and he read on. Halfway through, a sudden whiteness blanched
+his face, and, following it, a surging tide of red that mounted to his
+temples. It dazed him; it seemed to rob him for the moment of the
+power of coherent thought. He was wrong; he had not read aright. It was
+incredible, dare-devil beyond belief--and yet in its very audacity lay
+success. He finished the letter, read it once more--and his fingers
+mechanically began to tear it into little shreds. His brain was in a
+whirl, a vortex of conflicting emotions. Had Whitey Mack and Lannigan
+left Bristol Bob's yet? Where were they now? Was there time for--this?
+He was staring at the little torn scraps of paper in his hand. He thrust
+them suddenly into his pocket, and jerked out his watch. It was nearly
+midnight. The broad, muscular shoulders seemed to square back curiously,
+the jaws to clamp a little, the face to harden and grow cold until it
+was like stone. With a swift movement he emptied his glass into the
+cuspidor, set the glass back on the table, and stepped out from the
+stall. His destination was Max Diestricht's.
+
+The Palace Saloon was near the upper end of the Bowery, and, failing a
+taxicab, of which none was in sight, his quickest method was to walk,
+and he started briskly forward. It was not far; and it was barely
+ten minutes from the time he had left the Palace Saloon when he swung
+through Washington Square to Fifth Avenue, and, a moment later, turned
+from that thoroughfare, heading west toward Sixth Avenue, along one of
+those streets which, with the city's northward trend, had quite lost
+any distinctive identity, and from being once a modestly fashionable
+residential section had now become a conglomerate potpourri of small
+tradesmen's stores, shops and apartments of the poorer class. He knew
+Max Diestricht's--he could well have done without the aid of the arc
+lamp which, even if dimly, indicated that low, almost tumble-down,
+two-story structure tucked away between the taller buildings on either
+side that almost engulfed it. It was late. The street was quiet. The
+shops and stores had long since been closed, Max Diestricht's among
+them--the old Hollanders' name in painted white letters stood out
+against the background of a darkened workshop window. In the story
+above, the lights, too, were out; Max Diestricht was probably fast
+asleep--and he was stone deaf!
+
+A glance up and down the street, and Jimmie Dale was standing, or,
+rather, leaning against Max Diestricht's door. There was no one to see,
+and if there were, what was there to attract attention to a man standing
+nonchalantly for a moment in a doorway? It was only for a moment. Those
+master fingers of Jimmie Dale were working surely, swiftly, silently. A
+little steel instrument that was never out of his possession was in the
+lock and out again. The door opened, closed; he drew the black silk mask
+from his pocket and slipped it over his face. Immediately in front of
+him the stairs led upward; immediately to his right was the door into
+the shop--the modest street entrance was common to both.
+
+The door into the workshop was not locked. He opened it, stepped inside,
+and closed it quietly behind him. The place was in blackness. He stood
+for a moment silent, straining his ears to catch the slightest sound,
+reconstructing the plan of his surroundings in his mind as he remembered
+it. It was a narrow, oblong room, running the entire depth of the
+building, a very long room, blank walls on either side, a window in the
+middle of the rear wall that gave on a back yard, and from the back yard
+there was access to the lane; also, as he remembered the place, it was
+a riot of disorder, with workbenches and odds and ends strewn without
+system or reason in every direction--one had need of care to negotiate
+it in the dark. He took his flashlight from his pocket, and, preliminary
+to a more intimate acquaintance with the interior, glanced out through
+the front window near which he stood--and, with a suppressed cry, shrank
+back instinctively against the wall.
+
+Two men were crossing the street, heading directly for the shop door.
+The arc lamp lighted up their faces. IT WAS INSPECTOR LANNIGAN OF
+HEADQUARTERS AND WHITEY MACK! The quick intake of Jimmie Dale breath was
+sucked through clenched teeth. They were close on his heels then--far
+closer than he had imagined. It would take Whitey Mack scarcely any
+longer to open that front door than it had taken him. Close on his
+heels! His face was rigid. He could hear them now at the door. The
+flashlight in his hand winked down the length of the room. If was a
+dangerous thing to do, but it was still more dangerous to stumble into
+some object and make a noise. He darted forward, circuiting a workbench,
+a stool, a small hand forge. Again the flashlight gleamed. Against the
+side wall, near the rear, was another workbench, with a sort of coarse
+canvas curtain hanging part way down in front of it, evidently to
+protect such things as might be stored away beneath it from dust,
+and Jimmie Dale sprang for it, whipped back the canvas, and crawled
+underneath. He was not an instant too soon. As the canvas fell back into
+place, the shop door opened, closed, and the two men had stepped inside.
+
+Whitey Mack's voice, in a low whisper though it was, seemed to echo
+raucously through the shop.
+
+“Mabbe we'll have a sweet wait, but I got the straight dope on this.
+He's going to make a try for Dutchy's sparklers to-night. We'll let him
+go the limit, and we don't either of us make a move till he's pinched
+them, and then we get him with the goods on him. He can't get away;
+he hasn't a hope! There's only two ways of getting in here or getting
+out--this door and window here, and a window that's down there at the
+back. You guard this, and I'll take care of the other end. Savvy?”
+
+“Right!” Lannigan answered grimly. “Go ahead!”
+
+There was the sound of footsteps moving forward, then a vicious bump,
+the scraping of some object along the floor, and a muffled curse from
+Whitey Mack.
+
+“Use your flashlight!” advised the inspector, in a guarded voice.
+
+“I haven't got one, damn it!”, growled Whitey Mack. “It's all right.
+I'll get along.”
+
+Again the steps, but more warily now, as though the man were cautiously
+feeling ahead of him for possible obstacles. Jimmie Dale for a moment
+held his breath. He could have reached out and touched the man as the
+other passed. Whitey Mack went on until he had taken up a position
+against the rear wall. Jimmie Dale heard him as he brushed against it.
+
+Then silence fell. He was between them now. Stretched full length on the
+floor, Jimmie Dale raised the lower portion of the canvas away from
+in front of his face. He could see nothing; the place was in Stygian
+blackness; but it had been close and stifling, and, at least, it gave
+him more air.
+
+The minutes dragged by--each more interminable than the one that
+had gone before. Not a movement, not a sound, and then, through the
+stillness, very faint at first, came the regular, repressed breathing
+of Whitey Mack, who was much the nearer of the two men. And, once
+noticeable, almost imperceptible as it was it seemed to pervade the room
+and fill it with a strange, ominous resonance that rose and fell until
+the blackness palpitated with it.
+
+Slowly, very slowly, Jimmie Dale's hand crept into his pocket--and crept
+out again with his automatic. He lay motionless once more. Time in any
+concrete sense ceased to exist. Fancied shapes began to assume form
+in the darkness. By the door, Lannigan stirred uneasily, shifting his
+position slightly.
+
+Was it hours--was it only minutes? It seemed to ring through the
+nerve-racking stillness like the shriek of a hurtling shell--and it was
+only a whisper.
+
+“Watch yourself, Lannigan,” whispered Whitey Mack. “He's coming now
+through the yard! Don't move till I start something. Let him get his
+paws on the sparklers.”
+
+Silence again. And then a low rasping at the window, like the gnawing of
+a rat; then, inch by inch, the sash was lifted. There was the sound as
+of a body forcing its way over the sill cautiously, then a step upon the
+floor inside, another, and still another. The figure of a man loomed up
+suddenly against the glow of a flashlight as he threw the round, white
+ray inquisitively here and there over the rear wall. And now he appeared
+to be counting the boards. One, two, three--ten. His hand ran up and
+down the tenth board. Again and again he repeated the operation, and
+something like the snarl of a baited beast echoed through the room. He
+half turned to snatch at something in his pocket, and the light for
+a moment showed a black-bearded, lowering face, partially hidden by a
+peaked cap that was pulled far down over his eyes.
+
+There was the rip and tear of rending wood, as a steel jimmy, in lieu of
+the spring the man evidently could not find, bit in between the boards,
+a muttered oath of satisfaction, and a portion of the wall slid back,
+disclosing what looked like a metal-lined cupboard. He reached in,
+seized one of a dozen little boxes, and wrenched off the cover. A blue,
+scintillating gleam seemed to leap out to meet the white ray of the
+flashlight. The man chuckled hoarsely, and began to cram the rest of the
+boxes into his pockets.
+
+Jimmie Dale stirred. On hands and knees he was creeping now from beneath
+the workbench. Something caught and tore behind him--the canvas curtain.
+And at the sound, with a sharp cry, the man at the wall whirled, the
+light went out, and he sprang toward the window. Jimmie Dale gained his
+feet and leaped forward. A revolver shot cut a lane of fire through the
+blackness; and, above the roar of the report, Whitey Mack's voice in a
+fierce yell:
+
+“It's all right, Lannigan! I got him! No--HELL!” There was a terrific
+crash of breaking glass. “He's got away!”
+
+“Not yet, he hasn't!” gritted Jimmie Dale between his teeth, and his
+clubbed revolver swung crashing to the head of a dark form in front of
+him.
+
+There was a half sigh, half moan. The form slid limply to the floor.
+Lannigan was floundering down the shop, leaping obstacles in a mad rush,
+his flashlight picking out the way.
+
+Jimmie Dale stepped swiftly backward, and his hand groped out for the
+droplight, over the end of the bench, that he had knocked against in
+his own rush. His fingers clutched it--and the lower end of the shop was
+flooded with light. Except for his felt hat that lay a little distance
+away, there was no sign of Whitey Mack; the huddled form of the man,
+who but a moment since had chuckled as he pocketed old Max Diestricht's
+gems, lay sprawled, inert, upon the floor, and Lannigan was staring into
+the muzzle of Jimmie Dale's automatic.
+
+“Drop that gun, Lannigan!” said Jimmie Dale coolly. “And I'll trouble
+you not to make a noise; it might attract attention from the street;
+there's been too much already. DROP THAT GUN!”
+
+The revolver clattered from Lannigan's hand to the floor. A step
+forward, and Jimmie Dale's toe sent it spinning under a bench. Another
+step, and, his revolver still covering the other, he had whipped a pair
+of handcuffs from the officer's side pocket.
+
+Lannigan, as though the thought had never occurred to him, offered no
+resistance. He was staring in a dazed sort of way back and forth from
+Jimmie Dale to the man on the floor.
+
+“What's this mean?” he burst out suddenly, “Where's--”
+
+“Your wrist, please!” requested Jimmie Dale pleasantly. “No--the left
+one. Thank you”--as the handcuff snapped shut. “Now go over there and
+sit down on the floor beside that fellow. QUICK!” Jimmie Dale's voice
+rasped suddenly, imperatively.
+
+Still bewildered, but a little sullen now, Lannigan obeyed. Jimmie Dale
+stooped quickly, and snapped the other link of the handcuff over the
+unconscious man's right wrist.
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled.
+
+“That's the approved way of taking your man, isn't it? Left wrist to the
+prisoner's right. He's only stunned; he'll be around in a moment. Know
+him?”
+
+Lannigan shook his head.
+
+“Take a good look at him,” invited Jimmie Dale. “You ought to know most
+of them in the business.”
+
+Lannigan bent over a little closer, and then, with an amazed cry, his
+free hand shot forward and tore away the other's beard.
+
+IT WAS WHITEY MACK!
+
+“My God!” gasped Lannigan.
+
+“Quite so!” said Jimmie Dale evenly. “You'll find the diamonds in his
+pockets, and, excuse me”--his fingers were running through Whitey Mack's
+clothes--“ah, here it is”--the thin metal case was in his hand--“a
+little article that belongs to me, and whose loss, I am free to admit,
+caused me considerable concern until I was informed that he had only
+found it without having the slightest idea as to whom it belonged.
+It made quite a difference!” He had opened the case carelessly before
+Lannigan's eyes. “'The Gray Seal!' I'll say it for you,” said Jimmie
+Dale whimsically. “This is what probably put the idea into his head,
+after first, in some way, having discovered old Max Diestricht's hiding
+place; and, if I had given him time enough, he would probably have stuck
+one of these seals, in clumsy imitation of that little eccentricity of
+mine, on the wall over there to stamp the job as genuine. You begin to
+get it, don't you Lannigan? Pretty sure-fire as an alibi, eh? And he'd
+have got away with it, too, as far as you were concerned. He had only
+to fire that shot, smash the window, tuck his false beard, mustache, and
+peaked cap into his pocket, put on his own hat that you see there on the
+floor--and yell that the man had escaped. He'd help you chase the thief,
+too! Rather neat, don't you think, Lannigan? And worth the risk, too,
+considering the howl that would go up at the theft of those stones, and
+that, known as the slickest diamond thief in the country, he would be
+the first to be suspected--except that the police themselves, in the
+person of Inspector Lannigan of headquarters, would be prepared to prove
+a perfectly good alibi for him.”
+
+Lannigan's head was thrust forward; his eyes, hard, were riveted on
+Whitey Mack.
+
+“My God!” he said again under his breath. Then fiercely: “He'll get his
+for this!”
+
+It was a moment before Jimmie Dale spoke; he was musingly examining the
+automatic in his hand.
+
+“I am going now, Lannigan,” he observed quietly. “I require, say,
+fifteen minutes in which to effect my escape. It is, of course, obvious
+that an alarm raised by you might prove extremely awkward, but a piece
+of canvas from that bench there, together with a bit of string, would
+make a most effective gag. I prefer, however, not to submit you to that
+indignity. Instead, I offer you the alternative of giving me your word
+to remain quietly where you are for--fifteen minutes.”
+
+Lannigan hesitated.
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled.
+
+“I agree,” said Lannigan shortly.
+
+Jimmie Dale stepped back. The electric-light switch clicked. The place
+was in darkness. There was a moment, two, of utter stillness; then
+softly, from the front end of the shop, a whisper:
+
+“If I were you, Lannigan, I'd take that gun from Whitey's pocket before
+he comes round and beats you to it.”
+
+And the door had closed silently behind Jimmie Dale.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+THE STOOL-PIGEON
+
+
+In the subway, ten minutes before, a freckled-faced messenger boy had
+squeezed himself into a seat beside Jimmie Dale, yanked a dime novel
+from a refractory pocket, and, blissfully lost to all the world, had
+buried his head in its pages. Jimmie Dale's glance at the youngster had
+equally, perforce, embraced the lurid title of the thriller, “Dicing
+with Death,” so imperturbably thrust under his nose. At the time, he had
+smiled indulgently; but now, as he left the subway and headed for his
+home on Riverside Drive, the words not only refused to be ignored, but
+had resolved themselves into a curiously persistent refrain in his
+mind. They were exactly what they purported to be, dime-novelish, of
+the deepest hue of yellow, melodramatic in the extreme; but also, to him
+now, they were grimly apt and premonitorily appropriate. “Dicing with
+Death”--there was not an hour, not a moment in the day, when he was not
+literally dicing with death; when, with the underworld and the police
+allied against him, a single false move would lose him the throw that
+left death the winner!
+
+The risk of the dual life enforced upon him grew daily greater, and in
+the end there must be the reckoning. He would have been a madman to have
+shut his eyes in the face of what was obvious--but it was worth it all,
+and in his soul he knew that he would not have had it otherwise even
+now. To-night, to-morrow, the day after, would come another letter
+from the Tocsin, and there would be another “crime” of the Gray Seal's
+blazoned in the press--would that be the last affair, or would there
+be another--or to-night, to-morrow, the day after, would he be trapped
+before even one more letter came!
+
+He shrugged his shoulders, as he ran up the steps of his house. Those
+were the stakes that he himself had laid on the table to wager upon the
+game, he had no quarrel there; but if only, before the end came, or even
+with the end itself, he could find--HER!
+
+With his latchkey he let himself into the spacious, richly furnished,
+well-lighted reception hall, and, crossing this, went up the broad
+staircase, his steps noiseless on the heavy carpet. Below, faintly, he
+could hear some of the servants--they evidently had not heard him close
+the door behind him. Discipline was relaxed somewhat, it was quite
+apparent, with Jason, that peer of butlers, away. Jason, poor chap, was
+in the hospital. Typhoid, they had thought it at first, though it had
+turned out to be some milder form of infection. He would be back in a
+few days now; but meanwhile he missed the old man sorely from the house.
+
+He reached the landing, and, turning, went along the hall to the door of
+his own particular den, opened the door, closed it behind him--and in an
+instant the keen, agile brain, trained to the little things that never
+escaped it, that daily held his life in the balance, was alert. The room
+was unusually dark, even for night-time. It was as though the window
+shades had been closely drawn--a thing Jason never did. But then Jason
+wasn't there! Jimmie Dale, smiling then a little quizzically at himself,
+reached up for the electric-light switch beside the door, pressed
+it--and, his finger still on the button, whipped his automatic from his
+pocket with his other hand. THE ROOM WAS STILL IN DARKNESS.
+
+The smile on Jimmie Dale's lips was gone, for his lips now had closed
+together in a tight, drawn line. The lights in the rest of the house, as
+witness the reception hall, were in order. This was no ACCIDENT! Silent,
+motionless, he stood there, listening. Was he trapped at last--in his
+own house! By whom? The police? The thugs of the underworld? It made
+little difference--the end would differ only in the method by which it
+was attained! What was that! Was there a slight stir, a movement at the
+lower end of the room--or was it his imagination? His hand fell from the
+electric-light switch to the doorknob behind his back. Slowly, without
+a sound, it began to turn under his slim, tapering fingers, whose deft,
+sensitive touch had made him known and feared as the master cracksman of
+them all; and, as noiselessly, the door began to open.
+
+It was like a duel--a duel of silence. What was the intruder, whoever he
+might be, waiting for? The abortive click of the electric-light switch,
+to say nothing of the opening of the door when he had entered, was
+evidence enough that he was there. Was the other trying to place him
+exactly through the darkness to make sure of his attack! The door was
+open now. And suddenly Jimmie Dale laughed easily aloud--and on the
+instant shifted his position.
+
+“Well?” inquired Jimmie Dale coolly from the other side of the
+threshold.
+
+It seemed like a long-drawn sigh fluttering through the room, a gasp of
+relief--and then the blood was pounding madly at his temples, and he was
+back in the room again, the door closed once more behind him.
+
+“Oh, Jimmie--why didn't you speak? I had to be sure that it was you.”
+
+It was her voice! HERS! The Tocsin! HERE! She was here--here in his
+house!
+
+“You!” he cried. “You--here!” He was pressing the electric-light switch
+frantically, again and again.
+
+Her voice came out of the darkness from across the room:
+
+“Why are you doing that, Jimmie? You know already that I have turned off
+the lights.”
+
+“At the sockets--of course!” He laughed out the words almost
+hysterically. “Your face--I have never seen your face, you know.” He was
+moving quickly toward the reading lamp on his desk.
+
+There was a quick, hurried swish of garments, and she was blocking his
+way.
+
+“No,” she said, in a low voice; “you must not light that lamp.”
+
+He laughed again, shortly, fiercely now. She was close to him, his hands
+reached out for her, touched her, and thrilling at the touch, swept her
+toward him.
+
+“Jimmie--Jimmie--are you mad!” she breathed.
+
+Mad! Yes--he was mad with the wildest, most passionate exhilaration he
+had ever known. He found his voice with an effort.
+
+“These months and years that I have tried until my soul was sick to find
+you!” he cried out. “And you are here now! Your face--I must see your
+face!”
+
+She had wrenched herself away from him. He could hear her breath coming
+sharply in little gasps. He groped his way onward toward the desk.
+
+“WAIT!”--her tones seemed to ring suddenly vibrant through the room.
+“Wait, before you touch that lamp! I--I put you on your honour not to
+light it.”
+
+He stopped abruptly.
+
+“My--honour?” he repeated mechanically.
+
+“Yes! I came here to-night because there was no other way. No other
+way--do you understand? I came, trusting to your honour not to take
+advantage of the conditions that forced me to do this. I had no fear
+that I was wrong--I have no fear now. You will not light that lamp,
+and you will not make any attempt to prevent my going away as I
+came--unknown. Is there any question about it, Jimmie? I am in YOUR
+house.”
+
+“You don't know what you are saying!” he burst out wildly. “I've risked
+my life for a chance like this again and again; I've gone through hell,
+living in squalour for a month on end as Larry the Bat in the hope that
+I might discover who you are--and do you think I'll let anything stop me
+now! I tell you, no--a thousand times no!”
+
+She made no answer. There was only her low, quick breathing coming from
+somewhere near him. He made another step toward the lamp--and stopped.
+
+“I tell you, no!” he said again, and took another step forward--and
+stopped once more.
+
+Still she made no answer. A minute passed--another. His hand lifted and
+swept across his forehead in an agitated way. Still silence. She neither
+moved nor spoke. His hand dropped slowly to his side. There was a queer,
+twisted smile upon his lips.
+
+“You win!” he said hoarsely.
+
+“Thank you, Jimmie,” she said simply.
+
+“And your name, who you are”--he was speaking, but he did not seem to
+recognise his own voice--“the hundred other things I've sworn I'd make
+you explain when I found you, are all taboo as well, I suppose!”
+
+“Yes,” she said.
+
+He laughed bitterly.
+
+“Don't you know,” he cried out, “that between the police and the
+underworld, our house of cards is likely to collapse at any minute--that
+they are hunting the Gray Seal day and night! Is it to be always like
+this--that I am never to know--until it is too late!”
+
+She came toward him out of the darkness impulsively.
+
+“They will never get you, Jimmie,” she said, in a suppressed voice. “And
+some day, I promise you now, you shall have your reward for to-night.
+You shall know--everything.”
+
+“When?” The word came from him with fierce eagerness.
+
+“I do not know,” she answered gently. “Soon, perhaps--perhaps sooner
+than either of us imagine.”
+
+“And by that you mean--what?” he asked, and his hand reached out for her
+again through the blackness.
+
+This time she did not draw away. There was an instant's hesitation; then
+she spoke again hurriedly, a note of anxiety in her voice.
+
+“You are beginning all over again, aren't you, Jimmie? And I have told
+you that to-night I can explain nothing. And, besides, it is what has
+brought me here that counts now, and every moment is of--”
+
+“Yes. I know,” he interposed; “but, then, at least you will tell me one
+thing: Why did you come to-night, instead of sending me a letter as you
+always have before?”
+
+“Because it is different to-night than it ever was before,” she replied
+earnestly. “Because there is something in what has happened that I
+cannot explain myself; because there is danger, and where I could not
+see clearly I feared a trap, and so I dared not send what, in a letter,
+could at best be only vague and incomplete details. Do you see?”
+
+“Yes,” said Jimmie Dale--but he was only listening in an abstracted way.
+If he could only see that face, so close to his! He had yearned for that
+with all his soul for years now! And she was here, standing beside him,
+and his hand was upon her arm; and here, in his own den, in his own
+house, he was listening to another call to arms for the Gray Seal from
+her own lips! Honour! Was he but a poor, quixotic fool! He had only
+to step to the desk and switch on the light! Why should--he steadied
+himself with a jerk, and drew away his hand. She was in HIS house. “Go
+on,” he said tersely.
+
+“Do you know, or did you ever hear of old Luther Doyle?” she asked.
+
+“No,” said Jimmie Dale.
+
+“Do you know a man, then, named Connie Myers?”
+
+Connie Myers! Who in the Bad Lands did not know Connie Myers, who
+boasted of the half dozen prison sentences already to his credit? Yes;
+he knew Connie Myers! But, strangely enough, it was not in the Bad Lands
+or as Larry the Bat that he knew the man, or that the other knew him--it
+was as Jimmie Dale. Connie Myers had introduced himself one night
+several years ago with a blackjack that had just missed its mark as the
+man had jumped out from a dark alleyway on the East Side, and he, Jimmie
+Dale, had thrashed the other to within an inch of his life. He had
+reason to know Connie Myers--and Connie Myers had reason to remember
+him!
+
+“Yes,” he said, with a grim smile; “I know Connie Myers.”
+
+“And the tenement across the street from where you live as Larry the
+Bat--that, of course, you know.” He leaned toward her wonderingly now.
+
+“Of course!” he ejaculated. “Naturally!”
+
+“Listen, then, Jimmie!” She was speaking quickly now. “It is a strange
+story. This Luther Doyle was already over fifty, when, some eight or
+nine years ago, his parents died within a few months of each other,
+and he inherited somewhere in the neighbourhood of a hundred thousand
+dollars; but the man, though harmless enough, was mildly insane,
+half-witted, queer, and the old couple, on account of their son's mental
+defects, took care to leave the money securely invested, and so that he
+could only touch the interest. During these eight or nine years he has
+lived by himself in the same old family house where he had lived with
+his parents, in a lonely spot near Pelham. And he has lived in a most
+frugal, even miserly, manner. His income could not have been less than
+six thousand dollars a year, and his expenditures could not have been
+more than six hundred. His dementia, ironically enough from the day that
+he came into his fortune, took the form of a most pitiable and abject
+fear that he would die in poverty, misery, and want; and so, year after
+year, cashing his checks as fast as he got them, never trusting the bank
+with a penny, he kept hiding away somewhere in his house every cent he
+could scrape and save from his income--which to-day must amount, at a
+minimum calculation, to fifty thousand dollars.”
+
+“And,” observed Jimmie Dale quietly. “Connie Myers robbed him of it,
+and--”
+
+“No!” Her voice was quivering with passion, as she caught up his words.
+“Twice in the last month Connie Myers TRIED to rob him, but the money
+was too securely hidden. Twice he broke into Doyle's house when the old
+man was out, but on both occasions was unsuccessful in his search, and
+was interrupted and forced to make his escape on account of Doyle's
+return. To-night, an hour ago, in an empty room on the second floor
+of that tenement, in the room facing the landing, old Luther Doyle was
+MURDERED!”
+
+There was silence for an instant. Her hand had closed in a tight
+pressure on his arm. The darkness seemed to add a sort of ghastly
+significance to her words.
+
+“In God's name, how do you know all this?” he demanded wildly. “How do
+you know all these things?
+
+“Does that matter now?” she answered tensely. “You will know that when
+you know the rest. Oh, don't you understand, Jimmie, there is not a
+moment to lose now? It was easy to lure a half-witted creature like that
+anywhere; it was Connie Myers who lured him to the tenement and murdered
+him there--but from that point, Jimmie, I am not sure of our ground. I
+do not know whether Connie Myers is alone in this or not; but I do know
+that he is going to Doyle's house again to-night to make another search
+for the money. There is no question but that old Doyle was murdered to
+give Connie Myers and his accomplices, if there are any, a chance to
+tear the house inside out to find the money, to give them the whole
+night to work in without interruption if necessary--but Doyle dead in
+his own house could have interfered no more with them than Doyle dead in
+that tenement! Why was he lured to the tenement by Connie Myers when he
+could much more easily have been put out of the way in his own house?
+Jimmie, there is something behind this, something more that you must
+find out. There may be others in this besides Connie Myers, I do not
+know; but there is something here that I am afraid of. Jimmie, you must
+get that man, you must get the others if there are others, and you
+must stop them from getting the money in that house to-night! Do you
+understand now why I have come here? I could not explain in a letter;
+I do not quite seem to be explaining now. It would seem as though
+there were no need for the Gray Seal--that simply the police should be
+notified. But I KNOW, Jimmie, call it intuition, what you will, I know
+that there is need for us, for you to-night--that behind all this is a
+tragedy, deeper, blacker, than even the brutal, cold-blooded murder that
+is already done.”
+
+Her voice, in its passionate earnestness, died away; and an anger,
+cold, grim, remorseless, settled upon Jimmie Dale--settled as it always
+settled upon him at her call to arms. His brain was already at work in
+its quick, instant way, probing, sifting, planning. She was right! It
+was strange, it was more than strange that, with the added risk, the
+danger, the difficulty, the man should have been brought miles to be
+done away with in that tenement! Why? Connie Myers took form before
+him--the coarse features, the tawny hair that straggled across the low
+forehead, the shifty eyes that were an indeterminate colour between
+brown and gray, the thin lips that seemed to draw in and give the jaw
+a protruding, belligerent effect. And Connie Myers knew him as Jimmie
+Dale--it would have to be then as Larry the Bat that the Gray Seal must
+work. That meant time--to go to the Sanctuary and change.
+
+“The police,” he asked suddenly, aloud, “they have not yet discovered
+the body?”
+
+“Not yet,” she replied hurriedly. “And that is still another reason
+for haste--there is no telling when they will. See--here!” She thrust
+a paper into his hand. “Here is a plan of old Doyle's house, and
+directions for finding it. You must get Connie Myers red-handed, you
+must make him convict himself, for the evidence through which I know him
+to be guilty can never be used against him. And, Jimmie, be careful--I
+know I am not wrong, that there is still something more behind all this.
+And now go, Jimmie, go! There is no time to lose!” She was pushing him
+across the room toward the door.
+
+Go! The word seemed suddenly to bring dismay. It was she again who was
+dominant now in his mind. Who knew if to-night, when he was taking his
+life in his hands again, would not be the last! And she was here now,
+here beside him--where she might never be again!
+
+She seemed to divine his thoughts, for she spoke again, a strange new
+note of tenderness in her voice that thrilled him.
+
+“You must never let them get you, Jimmie--for my sake. It will not last
+much longer--it is near the end--and I shall keep my promise. But go,
+now, Jimmie--go!”
+
+“Go?” he repeated numbly. “Go? But--but you?”
+
+“I?” She slipped suddenly away from him, retreating back down the room.
+“I will go--as I came.”
+
+“Wait! Listen!” he pleaded.
+
+There was no answer.
+
+She was there--somewhere back there in the darkness still. He stood
+hesitant at the door. It seemed that every faculty he possessed urged
+him back there again--to her. Could he let her escape him now when she
+was so utterly in his power, she who meant everything in his life! And
+then, like a cold shock, came that other thought--she who had trusted to
+his honour! With a jerk, his hand swept out, felt for the doorknob, and
+closed upon it.
+
+“Good-night!” he said heavily, and stepped out into the hall.
+
+It seemed for a while, even after he had gained the street and made his
+way again to the subway, that nothing was concrete around him, that
+he was living through some fantastical dream. His head whirled, and he
+could not think rationally--and then slowly, little by little, his grip
+upon himself came back. She had come--and gone! With the roar of the
+subway in his ears, its raucous note seeming to strike so perfectly in
+consonance with the turmoil within him, he smiled mirthlessly. After
+all, it was as it always was! She was gone--and ahead of him lay the
+chances of the night!
+
+“Dicing with death!” The words, unbidden, came back once more. If they
+were true before, they were doubly applicable now. It was different
+to-night from what it had ever been before, as she had said. Usually, to
+the smallest detail, everything was laid open, clear before him in
+those astounding letters. To-night, it was vague at best. A man had been
+murdered. Connie Myers had committed the murder under circumstances that
+pointed strongly to some hidden motive behind and beyond the mere chance
+it afforded him to search his victim's house for the hidden cash. What
+was it?
+
+Jimmie Dale stared out at the black subway walls. The answer would not
+come. Station after station passed. At Fourteenth Street he changed from
+the express to a local, got out at Astor Place, and a few minutes later
+was walking rapidly down the upper end of the Bowery.
+
+The answer would not come--only the fact itself grew more and more
+deeply significant. The ghastly, callous fiendishness that lured an
+old, half-witted man to his death had Jimmie Dale in that grip of cold,
+merciless anger again, and there was a dull flush now upon his cheeks.
+Whatever it meant, whatever was behind it, one thing at least was
+certain--HE WOULD GET CONNIE MYERS!
+
+He was close to the Sanctuary now--it was down the next cross street. He
+reached the corner and turned it, heading east; but his brisk walk had
+changed to a nonchalant saunter--there were some people coming toward
+him. It was the Gray Seal now, alert and cautious. The little group
+passed by. Ahead, the tenement bordering on the black alleyway loomed
+up--the Sanctuary, with its three entrances and exits; the home of Larry
+the Bat. And across from it was that other tenement, that held a new
+interest for him now, where, in an empty room on the second floor,
+she had said, old Doyle still lay. Should he go there? He was thinking
+quickly now, and shook his head. It would take what he did not have to
+spare--time. It was already ten o'clock; and, granted that Connie Myers
+had committed the crime only a little over an hour ago, the man by this
+time would certainly be on his way to Doyle's house near Pelham, if,
+indeed, he were not already there. No, there was no time to spare--the
+question resolved itself simply into how long, since he had already
+searched twice and failed on both occasions, it would take Connie Myers
+to unearth old Doyle's hiding place for the money.
+
+Jimmie Dale glanced sharply around him, slipped into the alleyway, and,
+crouching against the tenement wall, moved noiselessly along to the side
+entrance. A moment more, and he had negotiated the rickety stairs with
+practiced, soundless tread, was inside the squalid quarters of Larry the
+Bat, and the door of the Sanctuary was locked and bolted behind him.
+
+Perhaps five minutes passed--and then, where Jimmie Dale, the
+millionaire, had entered, there emerged Larry the Bat, of the
+aristocracy and the elite of the Bad Lands. But instead of leaving by
+the side door and the alleyway, as he had entered, he went along the
+lower hallway to the front entrance. And here, instinctively, he paused
+a moment at the top of the steps, as his eyes rested upon the tenement
+on the opposite side of the street.
+
+It was strange that the crime should have been committed there!
+Something again seemed to draw him toward that empty room on the second
+story. He had decided once that he would not go, that there was not
+time; but, after all, it would not take long, and there was at least the
+possibility of gaining something more valuable even than time from the
+scene of the crime itself--there might even be the evidence he wanted
+there that would disclose the whole of Connie Myers' game.
+
+He went down the steps, and started across the street; but halfway over,
+he hesitated uncertainly, as a child's cry came petulantly from the
+doorway. It was dark in the street; and, likewise, it was one of those
+hot, suffocating evenings when, in the crowded tenements of the poorer
+class, miserable enough in any case, misery was added to a hundredfold
+for lack of a single God-given breath of air. These two facts,
+apparently irrelevant, caused Jimmie Dale to change his mind again.
+He had not noticed the woman with the baby in her arms, sitting on
+the doorstep; but now, as he reached the curb, he not only saw, but
+recognised her--and he swung on down the street toward the Bowery. He
+could not very well go in without passing her, without being recognised
+himself--and that was a needless risk.
+
+He smiled a little wanly. Once the crime was discovered, she would not
+have hesitated long before informing the police that she had seen him
+enter there! Mrs. Hagan was no friend of his! One could not live as he
+had lived, as Larry the Bat, and not see something in an intimate way
+of the pitiful little tragedies of the poor around him; for, bad, tough,
+and dissolute as the quarter was, all were not degraded there, some were
+simply--poor. Mrs. Hagan was poor. Her husband was a day labourer, often
+out of a job--and sometimes he drank. That was how he, Jimmie Dale,
+or rather, Larry the Bat, had come to earn Mrs. Hagan's enmity. He had
+found Mike Hagan drunk one night, and in the act of being arrested, and
+had wheedled the man away from the officer on the promise that he would
+take Hagan home. And he was Larry the Bat, a dope fiend, a character
+known to all the neighbourhood, and Mrs. Hagan had laid her husband's
+condition to HIS influence and companionship! He had taken Mike Hagan
+home--and Mrs. Hagan had driven Larry the Bat from the door of her
+miserable one-room lodging in that tenement with the bitter words on
+her tongue that only a woman can use when shame and grief and anger are
+breaking her heart.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders, as, back along the Bowery, he retraced his
+steps, but now, with the hurried shuffle of Larry the Bat where before
+had been the brisk, athletic stride of Jimmie Dale.
+
+At Astor Place again, he took the subway, this time to the Grand
+Central Station--and, well within an hour from the time he had left the
+Sanctuary, including the train journey to Pelham, he was standing in a
+clump of trees that fringed a deserted roadway. He had passed but few
+houses, once he was away from Pelham, and, as well as he could judge,
+there was none now within a quarter of a mile of him--except this one
+of old Luther Doyle's that showed up black and shadowy just beyond the
+trees.
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the place. It was little
+wonder that, known to have money, an attempt to rob old Doyle should
+have been made in a place like this! It was even more grimly significant
+than ever of some deeper meaning that, in its loneliness an ideal place
+for a murder, the man should have been lured from there for that purpose
+to a crowded tenement in the city instead! What did it mean? Why had
+it been done? He shook his head. The answer would not come now any more
+than it had come before in the subway, or in the train on the way out,
+when he had set his brain so futilely to solve the problem.
+
+From a survey of the house, Jimmie Dale gave attention to the details of
+his surroundings: the trees on either side; the open space in front, a
+distance of fifty yards to the road; the absence of any fence. And then,
+abruptly, he stole forward. There was no light to be seen anywhere about
+the house. Was it possible that Connie Myers was not yet there? He
+shook his head again impatiently. Connie Myers would not have wasted any
+time--as the Tocsin had said, there was always present the possibility
+that the crime in that tenement might be discovered at ANY moment.
+Connie Myers would have lost no time; for, let the discovery be made,
+let the police identify the body, as they most certainly would, and they
+would be out here hotfoot. Jimmie Dale stood suddenly still. What did it
+mean! He had not thought of that before! If old Doyle had been murdered
+HERE, there would not have been even the possibility of discovery until
+the morning at the earliest, and Connie Myers would have had all the
+time he wanted!
+
+WHAT WAS THAT SOUND! A low, muffled tapping, like a succession of hammer
+blows, came from within the house. Jimmie Dale darted forward, reached
+the side of the house, and dropped on hands and knees. One question at
+least was answered--Connie Myers was inside.
+
+The plan that she had given him showed an old-fashioned cellarway,
+closed by folding trapdoors, that was located a little toward the rear
+and, in a moment, creeping along, he came upon it. His hands felt over
+it. It was shut, fastened by a padlock on the outside. Jimmie Dale's
+lips thinned a little, as he took a small steel instrument from his
+pocket. Either through inadvertence or by intention, Connie Myers had
+passed up an almost childishly simple means of entrance into the house!
+One side of the trapdoor was lifted up silently--and silently closed.
+Jimmie Dale was in the cellar. The hammering, much more distinct now,
+heavy, thudding blows, came from a room in the front--the connection
+between the cellar and the house, as shown on the Tocsin's plan, was
+through another trapdoor in the floor of the kitchen.
+
+Jimmie Dale's flashlight played on a short, ladderlike stairway, and
+in an instant he was climbing upward. The sounds from the front of the
+house continued now without interruption; there was little fear that
+Connie Myers would hear anything else--even the protesting squeak of
+the hinges as Jimmie Dale cautiously pushed back the trapdoor in the
+flooring above his head. An inch, two inches he lifted it; and, his eyes
+on a level with the opening now, he peered into the room. The kitchen
+itself was intensely dark; but through an open doorway, well to one
+side so that he could not see into the room beyond, there struggled
+a curiously faint, dim glimmer of light. And then Jimmie Dale's form
+straightened rigidly on the stairs. The blows stopped, and a voice, in a
+low growl, presumably Connie Myers', reached him.
+
+“Here, take a drive at it from the lower edge!”
+
+There was no answer--save that the blows were resumed again. Jimmie
+Dale's face had set hard. Connie Myers was not alone in this, then!
+Well, the odds were a little heavier, DOUBLED--that was all! He pushed
+the trapdoor wide open, swung himself up through the opening to the
+floor; and the next instant, back a little from the connecting doorway,
+his body pressed closely against the kitchen wall, he was staring,
+bewildered and amazed, into the next room.
+
+On the floor, presumably to lessen the chance of any light rays stealing
+through the tightly drawn window shades, burned a small oil lamp. The
+place was in utter confusion. The right-hand side of a large fireplace,
+made of rough, untrimmed stone and cement, and which occupied almost
+the entire end of the room, was already practically demolished, and
+the wreckage was littered everywhere; part of the furniture was piled
+unceremoniously into one corner out of the way; and at the fireplace
+itself, working with sledge and bar, were two men. One was Connie Myers.
+An ironical glint crept into Jimmie Dale's eyes. The false beard and
+mustache the man wore would deceive no one who knew Connie Myers! And
+that he should be wearing them now, as he knelt holding the bar while
+the other struck at it, seemed both uncalled for and absurd. The other
+man, heavily built, roughly dressed, had his back turned, and Jimmie
+Dale could not see his face.
+
+The puzzled frown on Jimmie Dale's forehead deepened. Somewhere in the
+masonry of the fireplace, of course, was where old Luther Doyle had
+hidden his money. That was quite plain enough; and that Connie Myers, in
+some way or other, had made sure of that fact was equally obvious. But
+how did old Luther Doyle get his money IN there from time to time, as he
+received the interest and dividends whose accumulation, according to the
+Tocsin, comprised his hoard! And how did he get it OUT again?
+
+“All right, that'll do!” grunted Connie Myers suddenly. “We can pry this
+one out now. Lend a hand on the bar!”
+
+The other dropped his sledge, turned sideways as he stooped to help
+Connie Myers, his face came into view--and, with an involuntary start,
+Jimmie Dale crouched farther back against the wall, as he stared at the
+other. It was Hagan! Mrs. Hagan's husband! Mike Hagan!
+
+“My God!” whispered Jimmie Dale, under his breath.
+
+So that was it! That the murder had been committed in the tenement was
+not so strange now! A surge of anger swept Jimmie Dale--and was engulfed
+in a wave of pity. Somehow, the thin, tired face of Mrs. Hagan had risen
+before him, and she seemed to be pleading with him to go away, to leave
+the house, to forget that he had ever been there, to forget what he
+had seen, what he was seeing now. His hands clenched fiercely. How
+realistically, how importunately, how pitifully she took form before
+him! She was on her knees, clasping his knees, imploring him, terrified.
+
+From Jimmie Dale's pocket came the black silk mask. Slowly, almost
+hesitantly, he fitted it over his face--Mike Hagan knew Larry the Bat.
+Why should he have pity for Mike Hagan? Had he any for Connie Myers?
+What right had he to let pity sway him! The man had gone the limit;
+he was Connie Myers' accomplice--a murderer! But the man was not a
+hardened, confirmed criminal like Connie Myers. Mike Hagan--a murderer!
+It would have been unbelievable but for the evidence before his own
+eyes now. The man had faults, brawled enough, and drank enough to have
+brought him several times to the notice of the police--but this!
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes had never left the scene before him. Both men were
+throwing their weight upon the bar, and the stone that they were trying
+to dislodge--they were into the heart of the masonry now--seemed to
+move a little. Connie Myers stood up, and, leaning forward, examined the
+stone critically at top and bottom, prodding it with the bar. He turned
+from his examination abruptly, and thrust the bar into Hagan's hands.
+
+“Hold it!” he said tersely. “I'll strike for a turn.”
+
+Crouched, on his hands and knees, Hagan inserted the point of the bar
+into the crevice. Connie Myers picked up the sledge.
+
+“Lower! Bend lower!” he snapped--and swung the sledge.
+
+It seemed to go black for a moment before Jimmie Dale's eyes, seemed to
+paralyse all action of mind and body. There was a low cry that was more
+a moan, the clang of the iron bar clattering on the floor, and Mike
+Hagan had pitched forward on his face, an inert and huddled heap. A half
+laugh, half snarl purled from Connie Myers' lips, as he snatched a stout
+piece of cord from his pocket and swiftly knotted the unconscious man's
+wrists together. Another instant, and, picking up the bar, prying with
+it again, the loosened stone toppled with a crash into the grate.
+
+It had come sudden as the crack of doom, that blow--too quick, too
+unexpected for Jimmie Dale to have lifted a finger to prevent it. And
+now that the first numbed shock of mingled horror and amazement was
+past, he fought back the quick, fierce impulse to spring out on Connie
+Myers. Whether the man was killed or only stunned, he could do no good
+to Mike Hagan now, and there was Connie Myers--he was staring in a
+fascinated way at Connie Myers. Behind the stone that the other had just
+dislodged was a large hollow space that had been left in the masonry,
+and from this now Connie Myers was eagerly collecting handfuls of
+banknotes that were rolled up into the shape of little cylinders, each
+one grotesquely tied with a string. The man was feverishly excited,
+muttering to himself, running from the fireplace to where the table had
+been pushed aside with the rest of the furniture, dropping the curious
+little rolls of money on the table, and running back for more. And then,
+having apparently emptied the receptacle, he wriggled his body over
+the dismantled fireplace, stuck his head into the opening, and peered
+upward.
+
+“Kinks in his nut, kinks in his nut!” Connie Myers was muttering. “I'll
+drop the bar through from the top, mabbe there's some got stuck in the
+pipe.”
+
+He regained his feet, picked up the bar, and ran with it into what was
+evidently the front hall--then his steps sounded running upstairs.
+
+Like a flash, Jimmie Dale was across the room and at the fireplace. Like
+Connie Myers, he, too, put his head into the opening; and then, a queer,
+unpleasant smile on his lips, he bent quickly over the man on the floor.
+Hagan was no more than stunned, and was even then beginning to show
+signs of returning consciousness. There was a rattle, a clang, a
+thud--and the bar, too long to come all the way through, dropped into
+the opening and stood upright. Connie Myers' footsteps sounded again,
+returning on the run--and Jimmie Dale was back once more on the other
+side of the kitchen doorway.
+
+It was all simple enough--once one understood! The same queer smile
+was still flickering on Jimmie Dale's lips. There was no way to get the
+money out, except the way Connie Myers had got it out--by digging it
+out! With the irrational cunning of his mad brain, that had put the
+money even beyond his own reach, old Doyle had built his fireplace with
+a hollow some eighteen inches square in a great wall of solid stonework,
+and from it had run a two-inch pipe up somewhere to the story above;
+and down this pipe he had dropped his little string-tied cylinders of
+banknotes, satisfied that his hoard was safe! There seemed something
+pitifully ironic in the elaborate, insane craftiness of the old man's
+fear-twisted, demented mind.
+
+And now Connie Myers was back in the room again--and again a puzzled
+expression settled upon Jimmie Dale's face as he watched the other. For
+perhaps a minute the man stood by the table sifting the little rolls of
+money through his fingers gloatingly--then, impulsively, he pushed these
+to one side, produced a revolver, laid it on the table, and from another
+pocket took out a little case which, as he opened it, Jimmie Dale could
+see contained a hypodermic syringe. One more article followed the other
+two--a letter, which Connie Myers took out of an unsealed envelope. He
+dropped this suddenly on the table, as Mike Hagan, three feet away on
+the floor, groaned and sat up.
+
+Hagan's eyes swept, bewildered, confused, around him, questioningly
+at Connie Myers--and then, resting suddenly on his bound wrists, they
+narrowed menacingly.
+
+“Damn you, you smashed me with that sledge on PURPOSE!” he burst
+out--and began to struggle to his feet.
+
+With a brutal chuckle, Connie Myers pushed Hagan back and shoved his
+revolver under the other's nose.
+
+“Sure!” he admitted evenly. “And you keep quiet, or I'll finish you
+now--instead of letting the police do it!” He laughed out jarringly.
+“You're under arrest, you know, for the murder of Luther Doyle, and for
+robbing the poor old nut of his savings in his house here.”
+
+Hagan wrenched himself up on his elbow.
+
+“What--what do you mean?” he stammered.
+
+“Oh, don't worry!” said Connie Myers maliciously. “I'M not making the
+arrest, I'd rather the police did that. I'm not mixing up in it, and
+by and by”--he lifted up the hypodermic for Hagan to see--“I'm going
+to shoot a little dope into you that'll keep you quiet while I get away
+myself.”
+
+Hagan's face had gone a grayish white--he had caught sight of the money
+on the table, and his eyes kept shifting back and forth from it to
+Myers' face.
+
+“Murder!” he said huskily. “There is no murder. I don't know who Doyle
+is. You said this house was yours--you hired me to come here. You said
+you were going to tear down the fireplace and build another. You said I
+could work evenings and earn some extra money.”
+
+“Sure, I did!” There was a vicious leer now on Connie Myers' lips. “But
+you don't think I picked you out by ACCIDENT, do you? Your reputation,
+my bucko, was just shady enough to satisfy anybody that it wouldn't be
+beyond you to go the limit. Sure, you murdered Doyle! Listen to this.”
+ He took up the letter:
+
+
+“TO THE POLICE: Luther Doyle was murdered this evening in the tenement
+at 67 ---- Street. You'll find his body in a room on the second floor.
+If you want to know who did it, look in Mike Hagan's room on the floor
+above. There's a paper stuck under the edge of Hagan's table with a
+piece of chewing gum, where he hid it. You'll know what it is when
+you go out and take a look at Doyle's house in Pelham. Yours truly, A
+FRIEND.”
+
+
+Mike Hagan did not speak--his lips were twitching, and there was horror
+creeping into his eyes.
+
+“D'ye get me!” sneered Connie Myers. “Tell your story--who'd believe it!
+I got you cinched. Twice I tried to get this old dub's coin out here,
+and couldn't find it. But the second time I found something else--a
+piece of paper with a drawing of the fireplace on it, and a place in the
+drawing marked with an X. That was good enough, wasn't it? That's
+the paper I stuck under your table this afternoon when your wife was
+out--see? Somebody's got to stand for the job, and if it's somebody else
+it won't be me--get me! When I had a look at that fireplace I knew I
+couldn't do the job alone in a week, and I didn't dare blast it with
+'soup' for fear of spoiling what was inside. And since I had to have
+somebody to help me, I thought I might as well let him help me all the
+way through--and stand for it. I picked you, Mike--that's why I croaked
+old Doyle in your tenement to-night. I wrote this letter while I was
+waiting for you to show up at the station to come out here with me, and
+I'm going to see that the police get it in the next hour. When they
+find Doyle in the room below yours, and that paper in your room, and the
+busted fireplace here--I guess they won't look any farther for who did
+it. And say”--he leaned forward with an ugly grin--“mabbe you think I'm
+soft to be telling you all this? But don't you fool yourself. You don't
+know me--you don't know who I am. So tell 'em the TRUTH! They won't
+believe you anyway with evidence like that against you--and the neater
+the story the more they'll think it shows brains enough on your part to
+have pulled a job like this!”
+
+“My God!” Hagan was rocking on his knees, beads of sweat were starting
+out on his forehead. “You wouldn't plant a man like that!” he cried
+brokenly. “You wouldn't do it, would you? My God--you wouldn't do that!”
+
+Jimmie Dale's face under his mask was white and rigid. There was
+something primal, elemental in the savagery that was sweeping upon him.
+He had it all now--ALL! She had been right--there was need to-night for
+the Gray Seal. So that was the game, inhuman, hellish, the whole of
+it, to the last filthy dregs--Connie Myers, to protect himself, was
+railroading an innocent man to death for the crime that he himself had
+committed! There was a cold smile on Jimmie Dale's lips now, as he took
+his automatic from his pocket. No, it wasn't quite all the game--there
+was still HIS hand to play! He edged forward a little nearer to the
+door--and halted abruptly, listening. An automobile had stopped outside
+on the road. Hagan was still pleading in a frenzied way; Connie
+Myers was callously folding his letter, while he watched the other
+warily--neither of the men had heard the sound.
+
+And then, quick, almost on the instant, came a rush of feet, a crash
+upon the front door--an imperative command to open in the name of the
+law. THE POLICE! Jimmie Dale's brain was working now with lightning
+speed. Somehow the police had stumbled upon the crime in that tenement;
+and, as he had foreseen in such an event, had identified Doyle. But they
+could not be sure that any one was present here in the house now--they
+could not see a light any more than he had. He must get Mike Hagan
+away--must see that Connie Myers did NOT get away. Myers was on his
+feet now, fear struck in his turn, the letter clutched in a tight-closed
+fist, his revolver swung out, poised, in the other hand. Hagan, too, was
+on his feet, and, unheeded now by Connie Myers, was wrenching his wrists
+apart.
+
+Another crash upon the door--another. Another demand in a harsh voice to
+open it. Then some one running around to the window at the side of the
+house--and Jimmie Dale sprang forward.
+
+There was the roar of a report, a blinding flash almost in Jimmie Dale's
+eyes, as Connie Myers, whirling instantly at his entrance, fired--and
+missed. It happened quick then, in the space of the ticking of a
+watch--before Jimmie Dale, flinging himself forward, had reached the
+man. Like a defiant challenge to their demand it must have seemed to the
+officers outside, that shot of Connie Myers at Jimmie Dale, for it was
+answered on the instant by another through the side window. And the
+shot, fired at random, the interior of the room hidden from the officers
+outside by the drawn shades, found its mark--and Connie Myers, a bullet
+in his brain, pitched forward, dead, upon the floor.
+
+“QUICK!” Jimmie Dale flung at Hagan. “Get that letter out of his hand!”
+ He jumped for the lamp on the floor, extinguished it, and turned again
+toward Hagan. “Have you got it?” he whispered tensely.
+
+“Yes,” said Hagan, in a numbed way.
+
+“This way, then!” Jimmie Dale caught Hagan's arm, and pulled the other
+across the room and into the kitchen to the trapdoor. “Quick!” he
+breathed again. “Get down there--quick! And no noise! They don't know
+how many are in the house. When they find HIM they'll probably be
+satisfied.”
+
+Hagan, stupefied, dazed, obeyed mechanically--and, in an instant, the
+trapdoor closed behind them, Jimmie Dale was standing beside the other
+in the cellar.
+
+“Not a sound now!” he cautioned once more.
+
+His flashlight winked, went out, winked again; then held steadily, in
+curious fascination it seemed, as, in its circuit, the ray fell upon
+Hagan--FELL UPON THE TORN, RAGGED EDGE OF A PAPER IN HAGAN'S HAND! With
+a suppressed cry, Jimmie Dale snatched it away from the other. It
+was but a torn HALF of the letter! “The other half! The other half,
+Hagan--where is it?” he demanded hoarsely.
+
+Hagan, almost in a state of collapse, muttered inaudibly. The crash of a
+toppling door sounded from above. Jimmie Dale shook the man desperately.
+
+“Where is it?” he repeated fiercely.
+
+“He--he was holding it tight, it--it tore in his hand,” Hagan stammered.
+“Does it make any difference? Oh, let's get out of here, whoever you
+are--for God's sake let's get out of here!”
+
+Any difference! Jimmie Dale's jaws were clamped like a steel vise. Any
+difference! The difference between life and death for the man beside
+him--that was all! He was reading the portion in his hand. It was the
+last part of the letter, beginning with: “There's a paper stuck under
+the edge of Hagan's table--” From above, from the floor of the front
+room now, came the rush and trample of feet. He could not go back for
+the other half. And any attempt to conceal the fact that Connie Myers
+had been alone in the house was futile now. They would find the torn
+letter in the dead man's hand, proof enough that some one else had been
+there. What was in that part of the letter that was still clutched in
+that death grip upstairs? A sentence from it, that he had heard Connie
+Myers read, seemed to burn itself into his brain. “IF YOU WANT TO KNOW
+WHO DID IT, LOOK IN MIKE HAGAN'S ROOM ON THE FLOOR ABOVE.” And then,
+suddenly, like light through the darkness, came a ray of hope. He pulled
+Hagan to the cellarway, and stealthily lifted one side of the double
+trapdoor. There was a chance, desperate enough, one in a thousand--but
+still a chance!
+
+Voices from the house came plainly now, but there was no one in sight.
+The police, to a man, were evidently all inside. From the road in front
+showed the lamp glare of their automobile.
+
+“Run for the car!” Jimmie Dale jerked out from between set teeth--and
+with Hagan beside him, steadying the man by the arm, dashed across the
+intervening fifty yards.
+
+They had not been seen. A minute more, and the car, evidently belonging
+to the local police, for it was headed in the direction of New York, and
+as though it had come from Pelham, swept down the road, swept around a
+turn, and Jimmie Dale, with a gasp of relief, straightened up a little
+from the wheel.
+
+How much time had he? The police must have heard the car; but, equally,
+occupied as they were, they might well give it no thought other than
+that it was but another car passing by. There was no telephone in the
+house; the nearest house was a quarter of a mile away, and that might or
+might not have a telephone. Could he count on half an hour? He glanced
+anxiously at the crouched figure beside him. He would have to! It was
+the only chance. They would telephone the contents of the dead man's
+half of the letter to the New York police. Could he get to Hagan's room
+FIRST! “Look in Hagan's room,” their part of the letter read--but it
+did not say for WHAT, or exactly WHERE! If they found nothing, Hagan was
+safe. Connie Myers' reputation, the fact that he was found in disguise
+at Doyle's house, was, barring any incriminating evidence, quite enough
+to let Hagan out. There would only remain in the minds of the police the
+question of who, beside Connie Myers, had been in old Doyle's house that
+night? And now Jimmie Dale smiled a little whimsically. Well, perhaps he
+could answer that--and, if not quite to the satisfaction of the police,
+at least to the complete vindication of Mike Hagan.
+
+But he could not drive through towns and villages with a mask on his
+face; and there, ahead now, lights were beginning to show. And more than
+ever now, with what was before him, it was imperative that Mike Hagan
+should not recognise Larry the Bat. Jimmie Dale glanced again at
+Hagan--and slowed down the car. They were on the outskirts of a town,
+and off to the right he caught the twinkling lights of a street car.
+
+“Hagan,” he said sharply, “pull yourself together, and listen to me! If
+you keep your mouth shut, you've nothing to fear; if you let out a word
+of what's happened to-night, you'll probably go to the chair for a crime
+you know nothing about. Do you understand?--keep your mouth shut!”
+
+The car had stopped. Hagan nodded his head.
+
+“All right, then. You get out here, and take a street car into New
+York,” continued Jimmie Dale crisply. “But when you get there, keep away
+from your home for the next two or three hours. Hang around with some of
+the boys you know, and if you're asked anything afterward, say you were
+batting around town all evening. Don't worry--you'll find you're out of
+this when you read the morning papers. Now get out--hurry!” He pushed
+Hagan from the car. “I've got to make my own get-away.”
+
+Hagan, standing in the road, brushed his hand bewilderingly across his
+eyes.
+
+“Yes--but you--I--”
+
+“Never mind about that!” Jimmie Dale leaned out, and gripped Hagan's
+arm impressively. “There's only one thing you've got to think of, or
+remember. Keep your mouth shut! No matter what happens, keep your mouth
+shut--if you want to save your neck! Good-night, Hagan!”
+
+The car was racing forward again. It shot streaking through the streets
+of the town ahead, and, dully, over its own inferno, echoed shouts,
+cries, and execrations of an outraged populace--then out into the night
+again, roaring its way toward New York.
+
+He had half an hour--perhaps! It was a good thing Hagan did not know, or
+had not grasped the significance of that torn letter--the man would have
+been unmanageable with fear and excitement. It would puzzle Hagan to
+find no paper stuck under his table when he came to look for it! But
+that was a minor consideration, that mattered not at all.
+
+Half an hour! On roared the car--towns, black roads, villages, wooded
+lands were kaleidoscopic in their passing. Half an hour! Had he done it?
+Had he come anywhere near doing it? He did not know. He was in the city
+at last--and now he had to moderate his speed; but, by keeping to the
+less frequented streets, he could still drive at a fast pace. One piece
+of good fortune had been his--the long motor coat he had found in the
+car with which to cover the rags of Larry the Bat, and without which he
+would have been obliged to leave the car somewhere on the outskirts of
+the city, and to trust, like Mike Hagan, to other and slower means of
+transportation.
+
+Blocks away from Hagan's tenement, he ran the car into a lane, slipped
+off the motor coat, and from his pocket whipped out the little metal
+insignia case--and in another moment a diamond-shaped gray seal was
+neatly affixed to the black ebony rim of the steering wheel. He smiled
+ironically. It was necessary, quite necessary that the police should
+have no doubt as to who had been in Doyle's house with Connie Myers that
+night, or to whom they had so considerately loaned their automobile!
+
+He was running now--through lanes, dodging down side streets, taking
+every short cut he knew. Had he beaten the police to Mike Hagan's room?
+It would be easy then. If they were ahead of him, then, by some means or
+other, he must still get that paper first.
+
+He was at the tenement now--shuffling leisurely up the steps. The front
+door was open. He entered, and went up the first flight of stairs, then
+along the hall, and up the next flight. He had half expected the place
+to be bustling with excitement over the crime; but the police evidently
+had kept the affair quiet, for he had seen no one since he had
+entered. But now, as he began to mount the third flight, he went more
+slowly--some one was ahead of him. It was very dark--he could not see.
+The steps above died away. He reached the landing, started along for
+Hagan's room--and a light blazed suddenly in his face, and a hard,
+quick grip on his shoulder forced him back against the wall. Then the
+flashlight wavered, glistened on brass buttons went out, and a voice
+laughed roughly:
+
+“It's only Larry the Bat!”
+
+“Larry the Bat, eh?” It was another voice, harsh and curt. “What are you
+doing here?”
+
+He was not first, after all! The telephone message from Pelham--it was
+almost certainly that--had beaten him! They were ahead of him, just
+ahead of him, they had only been a few steps ahead of him going up the
+stairs, just a second ahead of him on their way to Hagan's room! Jimmie
+Dale was thinking fast now. He must go, too--to Hagan's room with
+them--somehow--there was no other way--there was Hagan's life at stake.
+
+“Aw, I ain't done nothin'!” he whined. “I was just goin' ter borrow the
+price of a feed from Mike Hagan--lemme go!”
+
+“Hagan, eh!” snapped the questioner. “Are you a friend of his?”
+
+“Sure, I am!”
+
+The officers whispered for a moment together.
+
+“We'll try it,” decided the one who appeared to be in command. “We're
+in the dark, anyhow, and the thing may be only a steer. Mabbe it'll
+work--anyway, it won't do any harm.” His hand fell heavily on Jimmie
+Dale's shoulder. “Mrs. Hagan know you?” brusquely.
+
+“Sure she does!” sniffled Larry the Bat.
+
+“Good!” rasped the officer. “Well, we'll make the visit with you. And
+you do what you're told, or we'll put the screws on you--see? We're
+after something here, and you've blown the whole game--savvy? You've
+spilled the gravy--understand?”
+
+In the darkness, Jimmie Dale smiled grimly. It was far more than he had
+dared to hope for--they were playing into his hands!
+
+“But I don't know 'bout any game,” grovelled Larry the Bat piteously.
+
+“Who in hell said you did!” growled the officer. “You're supposed to
+have snitched the lay to us, that's all--and mind you play your part!
+Come on!”
+
+It was two doors down the hall to Mike Hagan's room, and there one of
+the officers, putting his shoulder to the door, burst it open and sprang
+in. The other shoved Jimmie Dale forward. It was quickly done. The three
+were in the room. The door was closed again.
+
+Came a cry of terror out of the darkness, a movement as of some one
+rising up hurriedly in bed; and then Mrs. Hagan's voice:
+
+“What is it! Who is it! Mike!”
+
+The table--it was against the right-hand wall, Jimmie Date remembered.
+He sidled quickly toward it.
+
+“Strike a light!” ordered the officer in charge.
+
+Jimmie Dale's fingers were feeling under the edge of the table--a quick
+sweep along it--NOTHING! He stooped, reaching farther in--another sweep
+of his arm--and his fingers closed on a sheet of paper and a piece of
+hard gum. In an instant they were in his pocket.
+
+A match crackled and flared up. A lamp was lighted. Larry the Bat sulked
+sullenly against the wall.
+
+Terror-stricken, wide-eyed, Mrs. Hagan had clutched the child lying
+beside her to her arms, and was sitting bolt upright in bed.
+
+“Now then, no fuss about it!” said the officer in charge, with brutal
+directness. “You might as well make a clean breast of Mike's share in
+that murder downstairs--Larry the Bat, here, has already told us the
+whole story. Come on, now--out with it!”
+
+“Murder!”--her face went white. “My Mike--MURDER!” She seemed for an
+instant stunned--and then down the worn, thin, haggard face gushed the
+tears. “I don't believe it!” she cried. “I don't believe it!”
+
+“Come on now, cut that out!” prodded the officer roughly. “I tell you
+Larry the Bat, here, has opened everything up wide. You're only making
+it worse for yourself.”
+
+“Him!” She was staring now at Jimmie Dale. “Oh, God!” she cried.
+“So that's what you are, are you--a stool-pigeon for the cops? Well,
+whatever you told them, you lie! You're the curse of this neighbourhood,
+you are, and if my Mike is bad at all, it's you that's helped to make
+him bad. But murder--you LIE!”
+
+She had risen slowly from the bed--a gaunt, pitiful figure, pitifully
+clothed, the black hair, gray-streaked, streaming thinly over her
+shoulders, still clutching the baby that, too, was crying now.
+
+The officers looked at one another and nodded.
+
+“Guess she's handing it straight--we'll have a look on our own hook,”
+ the leader muttered.
+
+She paid no attention to them--she was walking straight to Jimmie Dale.
+
+“It's you, is it,” she whispered fiercely through her sobs “that would
+bring more shame and ruin here--you that's selling my man's life away
+with your filthy lies for what they're paying you--it's you, is it,
+that--” Her voice broke.
+
+There was a frightened, uneasy look in Larry the Bat's eyes, his lips
+were twitching weakly, he drew far back against the wall--and then,
+glancing miserably at the officers, as though entreating their
+permission, began to edge toward the door.
+
+For a moment she watched him, her face white with outrage, her hand
+clenched at her side--and then she found her voice again.
+
+“Get out of here!” she said, in a choked, strained way pointing to the
+door. “Get out of here--you dirty skate!”
+
+“Sure!” mumbled Larry the Bat, his eyes on the floor. “Sure!” he
+mumbled--and the door closed behind him.
+
+
+
+PART TWO: THE WOMAN IN THE CASE
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+BELOW THE DEAD LINE
+
+
+Whisperings! Always whisperings, low, sibilant, floating errantly
+from all sides, until they seemed a component part of the drug-laden
+atmosphere itself. And occasionally another sound: the soft SLAP-SLAP
+of loose-slippered feet, the faint rustle of equally loose-fitting
+garments. And everywhere the sweet, sickish smell of opium. It was Chang
+Foo's, simply a cellar or two deeper in Chang Foo's than that in which
+Dago Jim had quarrelled once--and died!
+
+Larry the Bat, vicious-faced, unkempt, disreputable, lay sprawled out on
+one of the dive's bunks, an opium pipe beside him. But Larry the Bat was
+not smoking; instead, his ear was pressed closely against the boarding
+that formed the rather flimsy partition at the side of the bunk. One
+heard many things in Chang Foo's if one cared to listen--if one could
+first win one's way through the carefully guarded gateway, that to the
+uninitiated offered nothing more interesting than the entrance to a
+Chinese tea-shop, and an uninviting one at that!
+
+HAD HE BEEN FOLLOWED IN HERE? He had been shadowed for the last hour; of
+that, at least, he was certain. Why? By whom? For an hour he had dodged
+in and out through the dens of the underworld, as only one who was at
+home there and known to all could do--and at last he had taken refuge in
+Chang Foo's like a fox burrowing deep into its hole.
+
+Few could find their way into the most infamous opium den in all New
+York, where not only the poppy ruled as master, but where crime was
+hatched, ay, and carried to its ghastly consummation, sometimes, as
+well; and of those few, not one but was of the underworld itself. And
+it was that fact which held his muscles strained and rigid now under the
+miserable rags that covered them, and it was that which kept the keen,
+quick brain alert and active, every faculty keyed up and tense. If it
+were the police, he had little to fear, for they could not force
+their way in without warning; but if it were the underworld, he was in
+imminent peril, and had done little better than run himself into a trap
+from which there was no escape.
+
+“DEATH TO THE GRAY SEAL!”--he had heard that whispered more than once in
+this very place. Who knew at what moment the role of Larry the Bat would
+be uncovered, and the underworld, where now he held so high a place,
+would be at his throat like a pack of snarling wolves! Who had been
+shadowing him during the last hour?
+
+Whisperings! Nothing tangible! He could catch no words. Only the
+never-ending whisperings of gathered groups here and there--and
+sometimes the clink of coin where some game was in progress.
+
+The curtain before his bunk was drawn suddenly aside--and Larry
+the Bat's fingers, where his hand was carelessly hidden by his body
+tightened upon his automatic.
+
+“Smokee some more?”
+
+The fingers relaxed. It was only Sam Wah, one of the attendants.
+
+“Nix!” said Larry the Bat, in a slightly muddled tone. “Got enough.”
+
+The curtain fell into place again. Larry the Bat's lips set in a thin
+smile. Ultimately it made little difference whether it was the police or
+the underworld! The smile grew thinner. It was the flip of a coin, that
+was all! With one there was the death house at Sing Sing for the Gray
+Seal; with the other--well, there were many ways, from a shot or a knife
+thrust in the open street, to his murder in some hidden dive like
+this of Chang Foo's, for instance, where he now was--the Gray Seal was
+responsible for the occupancy of too many penitentiary cells by those of
+the underworld to look for any other fate!
+
+He raised himself up sharply on his elbow. A shrill, high note, like
+the scream of a parrakeet, rang out a second time. He tore the curtain
+aside, and jumped to his feet. All around him, in the twinkling of an
+eye, Chinamen in fluttering blouses, chattering like magpies, mingled
+with snarling, cursing whites, were running madly. A voice, prefaced
+with an oath, bawled out behind him, as he sprang forward and joined the
+rush:
+
+“Beat it! De cops! Beat it!”
+
+The police! A raid! Was it for HIM? From rooms, an amazing number of
+them, more forms rushed out, joined, divided, separated, and dashed,
+some this way, some that, along branching passageways. There had been
+raids before, the police had begun to change their minds about Chang
+Foo's, but Chang Foo's was not an easy place to raid. House after house
+in that quarter of Chinese laundries, of tea shops, of chop-suey joints,
+opened one into the other through secret passages in the cellars.
+Larry the Bat plunged down a staircase, and halted in the darkness of
+a cellar, drawing back against the wall while the flying feet of his
+fellow fugitives scurried by him.
+
+Was it for HIM, this raid? If not, the police had not a hope of getting
+him if he kept his head; for back in Chang Foo's proper, which would be
+quite closed off now, Chang Foo would be blandly submitting to arrest,
+offering himself as a sort of glorified sacrifice while the police
+confiscated opium and fan-tan layouts. If the police had no other
+purpose than that in mind, Chang Foo would simply pay a fine; the next
+night the place would be in full blast again; and Chang Foo, higher than
+ever in the confidence of the underworld's aristocracy, would reap his
+reward--and that would be all there was to it.
+
+But was that all? The raid had followed significantly close upon the
+heels of his entry into Chang Foo's. Larry the Bat began to move forward
+again. He dared not follow the others, and, later on, when quiet was
+restored, issue out into the street from any one of the various houses
+in which he might temporarily have taken refuge. There was a chance in
+that, a chance that the police might be more zealous than usual, even if
+he particularly was not their game--and he could take no chance. Arrest
+for Larry the Bat, even on suspicion, could have but one conclusion--not
+a pleasant one--the disclosure that Larry the Bat was not Larry the Bat
+at all, but Jimmie Dale, the millionaire club-man, and, to complete a
+fatal triplication, that Larry the Bat and Jimmie Dale was the Gray Seal
+upon whose head was fixed a price!
+
+All was silence around him now, except that from overhead came
+occasionally the muffled tread of feet. He felt his way along into a
+black, narrow passage, emerged into a second cellar, swept the place
+with a single, circling gleam from a pocket flashlight, passed a
+stairway that led upward, reached the opposite wall, and, dropping on
+hands and knees, crawled into what, innocently enough, appeared to be
+the opening of a coal bin.
+
+He knew Chang Foo's well--as he knew the ins and outs of every den and
+place he frequented, knew them as a man knows such things when his life
+at any moment might hang upon his knowledge.
+
+He was in another passage now, and this, in a few steps, brought him to
+a door. Here he halted, and stood for a full five minutes, absolutely
+motionless, absolutely still, listening. There was nothing--not a
+sound. He tried the door cautiously. It was locked. The slim, sensitive,
+tapering fingers of Jimmie Dale, unrecognisable now in the grimy digits
+of Larry the Bat, felt tentatively over the lock. To fingers that seemed
+in their tips to possess all the human senses, that time and again
+in their delicate touch upon the dial of a safe had mocked at human
+ingenuity and driven the police into impotent frenzy, this was a pitiful
+thing. From his pocket came a small steel instrument that was quickly
+and deftly inserted in the keyhole. There was a click, the door swung
+open, and Jimmie Dale, alias Larry the Bat, stepped outside into a back
+yard half a block away from the entrance to Chang Foo's.
+
+Again he listened. There did not appear to be any unusual excitement in
+the neighbourhood. From open windows above him and from adjoining houses
+came the ordinary, commonplace sounds of voices talking and laughing,
+even the queer, weird notes of a Chinese chant. He stole noiselessly
+across the yard, out into the lane, and made his way rapidly along to
+the cross street.
+
+In a measure, now, he was safe; but one thing, a very vital thing,
+remained to be done. It was absolutely necessary that he should know
+whether he was the quarry that the police had been after in the raid, if
+it was the police who had been shadowing him all evening. If it was the
+police, there was but one meaning to it--Larry the Bat was known to be
+the Gray Seal, and a problem perilous enough in any aspect confronted
+him. Dare he risk the Sanctuary--for the clothes of Jimmie Dale? Or was
+it safer to burglarise, as he had once done before, his own mansion on
+Riverside Drive?
+
+His thoughts were running riot, and he frowned, angry with himself.
+There was time enough to think of that when he knew that it was the
+police against whom he had to match his wits.
+
+Well in the shadow of the buildings, he moved swiftly along the side
+street until he came to the corner of the street on which, halfway down
+the block, fronted Chang Foo's tea-shop. A glance in that direction, and
+Jimmie Dale drew a breath of relief. A patrol wagon was backed up to
+the curb, and a half dozen officers were busy loading it with what was
+evidently Chang Foo's far from meagre stock of gambling appurtenances;
+while Chang Foo himself, together with Sam Wah and another attendant,
+were in the grip of two other officers, waiting possibly for another
+patrol wagon. There was a crowd, too, but the crowd was at a respectful
+distance--on the opposite side of the street.
+
+Jimmie Dale still hugged the corner. A man swaggered out from a doorway,
+quite close to Chang Foo's, and came on along the street. As the other
+reached the corner, Jimmie Dale sidled forward.
+
+“'Ello, Chick!” he said, out of the corner of his mouth. “Wot's de lay?”
+
+“'Ello, Larry!” returned the other. “Aw, nuthin'! De nutcracker on
+Chang, dat's all.”
+
+“I t'ought mabbe dey was lookin' for some guy dat was in dere,” observed
+Jimmie Dale.
+
+“Nuthin' doin'!” the other answered. “I was in dere meself. De whole mob
+beat it clean, an' de bulls never batted an eye. Didn't youse pipe me
+make me get-away outer Shanghai's a minute ago? De bulls never went
+nowhere except into Chang's. Dere's a new lootenant in de precinct
+inaugeratin' himself, dat's all. S'long, Larry--I gotta date.”
+
+“S'long, Chick!” responded Jimmie Dale--and started slowly back along
+the cross street.
+
+It was not the police, then, who were interested in his movements! Then
+who? He shook his head with a little, savage, impotent gesture. One
+thing was clear: it was too early to risk a return to the Sanctuary and
+attempt the rehabilitation of Jimmie Dale. If any one was on the
+hunt for Larry the Bat, the Sanctuary would be the last place to be
+overlooked.
+
+He turned the next corner, hesitated a moment in front of a garishly
+lighted dance hall, and finally shuffled in through the door, made his
+way across the floor, nodding here and there to the elite of gangland,
+and, with a somewhat arrogant air of proprietorship, sat down at a table
+in the corner. Little better than a tramp in appearance, certainly
+the most disreputable-looking object in the place, even the waiter who
+approached him accorded him a certain curious deference--was not Larry
+the Bat the most celebrated dope fiend below the dead line?
+
+“Gimme a mug o' suds!” ordered Jimmie Dale, and sprawled royally back in
+his chair.
+
+Under the rim of his slouch hat, pulled now far over his eyes, he
+searched the faces around him. If he had been asked to pick the actors
+for a revel from the scum of the underworld, he could not have improved
+upon the gathering. There were perhaps a hundred men and women in
+the room, the majority dancing, and, with the exception of a few
+sight-seeing slummers, they were men and women whose acquaintance with
+the police was intimate but not cordial--far from cordial.
+
+Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders, and sipped at the glass that had
+been set before him. It was grimly ironic that he should be, not only
+there, but actually a factor and a part of the underworld's intimate
+life! He, Jimmie Dale, a wealthy man, a member of New York's
+exclusive clubs, a member of New York's most exclusive society! It was
+inconceivable. He smiled sardonically. Was it? Well, then, it was none
+the less true. His life unquestionably was one unique, apart from any
+other man's, but it was, for all that, actual and real.
+
+There had been three years of it now--since SHE had come into his life.
+Jimmie Dale slouched down a little in his chair. The ice was thin,
+perilously thin, that he was skating on now. Each letter, with its
+demand upon him to match his wits against police or underworld, or
+against both combined, perhaps, made that peril a little greater, a
+little more imminent--if that were possible, when already his life
+was almost literally carried, daily, hourly, in his hand. Not that he
+rebelled against it; it was worth the price that some day he expected
+he must pay--the price of honour, wealth, a name disgraced, ruin, death.
+Was he quixotic? Immoderately so? He smiled gravely. Perhaps. But he
+would do it all over again if the choice were his. There were those who
+blessed the name of the Gray Seal, as well as those who cursed it. And
+there was the Tocsin!
+
+Who was she? He did not know, but he knew that he had come to love her,
+come to care for her, and that she had come to mean everything in life
+to him. He had never seen her, to know her face. He had never seen her
+face, but he knew her voice--ay, he had even held her for a moment, the
+moment of wildest happiness he had ever known, in his arms. That night
+when he had entered his library, his own particular den in his own
+house, and in the darkness had found her there--found her finally
+through no effort of his own, when he had searched so fruitlessly for
+years to find her, using every resource at his command to find her! And
+she, because she had come of her own volition, relying upon him, had
+held him in honour to let her go as she had come--without looking upon
+her face! Exquisite irony! But she had made him a promise then--that the
+work of the Gray Seal was nearly over--that soon there would be an end
+to the mystery that surrounded her--that he should know all--that he
+should know HER.
+
+He smiled again, but it was a twisted smile on the mechanically
+misshapen lips of Larry the Bat. NEARLY over! Who knew? That “nearly”
+ might be too late! Even tonight he had been shadowed, was skulking even
+now in this place as a refuge. Who knew? Another hour, and the newsboys
+might be shrieking their “Uxtra! Uxtra! De Gray Seal caught! De
+millionaire Jimmie Dale de Jekyll an' Hyde of real life!”
+
+Jimmie Dale straightened up suddenly in his seat. There was a shout,
+an oath bawled out high above the riot of noise, a chorus of feminine
+shrieks from across the room. What was the matter with the
+underworld to-night? He seemed fated to find nothing but centres of
+disturbance--first a raid at Chang Foo's, and now this. What was the
+matter here? They were stampeding toward him from the other side of
+the room. There was the roar of a revolver shot--another. Black Ike! He
+caught an instant's glimpse of the gunman's distorted face through the
+crowd. That was it probably--a row over some moll.
+
+And then, as Jimmie Dale lunged up from his chair to his feet to escape
+the rush, pandemonium itself seemed to break loose. Yells, shots,
+screams, and oaths filled the air. The crowd surged this way and that.
+Tables were overturned and sent crashing to the floor. And then came
+sudden darkness, as some one of the attendants in misguided excitability
+switched off the lights.
+
+The darkness but served to increase the panic, not allay it. With a
+savage snap of his jaws, Jimmie Dale swung from his table in the corner
+with the intention of making his way out by a side door behind him--it
+was a case of the police again, and the patrolman outside would probably
+be pulling a riot call by now. And the police--He stopped suddenly,
+as though he had been struck. An envelope, thrust there out of the
+darkness, was in his hand; and her voice, HERS, the Tocsin's, was
+sounding in his ears:
+
+“Jimmie! Jimmie! I've been trying all evening to catch you! Quick! Get
+to the Sanctuary and change your clothes. There's not an instant to
+lose! It's for my sake to-night!”
+
+And then a surging mob was around him on every side, and, pushing,
+jostling, half lifting him at times from his feet, carried him forward
+with its rush, and with him in its midst burst through the door and out
+into the street.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE CALL TO ARMS
+
+
+Not a sound as the key turned in the lock; not a sound as the door swung
+back on its carefully oiled hinges; not a sound as Larry the Bat slipped
+like a shadow into the blackness of the room, closing the door behind
+him again. With a tread as noiseless as a cat's, he was across the room
+to satisfy himself that the shutters were tightly closed; and then the
+single gas jet flared up, murky, yellow, illuminating the miserable,
+squalid room--the Sanctuary--the home of Larry the Bat. There was need
+for silence, need for caution. In five minutes, ten at the outside, he
+must emerge again--as Jimmie Dale.
+
+With a smile on his lips that mingled curiously chagrin and
+self-commiseration, he took the letter from his pocket and tore it open.
+It was she, then, who had been following him all evening, and, like a
+blundering idiot, he had wasted precious, perhaps irreparable, hours!
+What had she meant by “It's for my sake to-night”? The words had been
+ringing in his ears since the moment she had whispered them in that
+panic-stricken crowd. Was it not always for her sake that he answered
+these calls to arms? Was it not always for her sake that he, as the
+Gray Seal, was--The mental soliloquy came to an abrupt end. He had
+subconsciously read the first sentence of the letter, and now, with
+sudden feverish eagerness and excitement, he was reading it to the last
+word.
+
+
+“DEAR PHILANTHROPIC CROOK: In an hour after you receive this, if all
+goes well, you shall know everything--everything. Who I am--yes, and
+my name. It has been more than three years now, hasn't it? It has been
+incomprehensible to you, but there has been no other way. I dared not
+take the chance of discovery by any one; I dared not expose you to
+the risk of being known by me. Your life would not have been worth
+a moment's purchase. Oh, Jimmie, am I only making the mystery more
+mystifying? But to-night, I think, I hope, I pray that it is all at an
+end: though against me, and against you to-night when you go to help
+me, is the most powerful and pitiless organisation of criminals that the
+world has ever known; and the stake we are playing for is a fortune of
+millions--and my life. And yet somehow I am afraid now, just because the
+end is so near, and the victory seems so surely won. And so, Jimmie, be
+careful; use all that wonderful cleverness of yours as you have never
+used it before, and--But there should be no need for that, it is so
+simple a thing that I am going to ask you to do. Why am I writing so
+illogically! Nothing, surely, can possibly happen. This is not like
+one of my usual letters, is it? I am beside myself to-night with hope,
+anxiety, fear, and excitement.
+
+“Listen, then, Jimmie: Be at the northeast corner of Sixth Avenue and
+Waverly Place at exactly half-past ten. A taxicab will drive up, as
+though you had signalled it in passing, and the chauffeur will say:
+'I've another fare, in half an hour, sir, but I can get you most
+anywhere in that time.' You will be smoking a cigarette. Toss it out
+into the street, make any reply you like, and get into the cab. Give the
+chauffeur that little ring of mine with the crest of the bell and belfry
+and the motto, 'Sonnez le Tocsin,' that you found the night old Isaac
+Pelina was murdered, and the chauffeur will give you in exchange a
+sealed packet of papers. He will drive you to your home, and I will
+telephone to you there.
+
+“I need not tell you to destroy this. Keep the appointment in your
+proper person--as Jimmie Dale. Carry nothing that might identify you
+as the Gray Seal if any accident should happen. And, lastly, trust the
+pseudo chauffeur absolutely.”
+
+
+There was no signature. Her letters were never signed. He stood for a
+moment staring at the closely written sheets in his hand, a heightened
+colour in his cheeks, his lips pressed tightly together--and then his
+fingers automatically began to tear the letter into pieces, and the
+pieces again into little shreds. To-night! It was to be to-night, the
+end of all this mystery. To-night was to see the end of this dual life
+of his, with its constant peril! To-night the Gray Seal was to exit from
+the stage forever! To-night, a wonderful climax of the years, he was to
+see HER!
+
+His blood was quickened now, his heart pounding in a faster beat; a mad
+elation, a fierce uplift was upon him. He thrust the torn bits of paper
+into his pocket hurriedly, stepped across the room to the corner, rolled
+back the oilcloth, and lifted up the loose plank in the flooring, so
+innocently dustladen, as, more than once, to have eluded the eyes of
+inquisitive visitors in the shape of police and plain clothes men from
+headquarters.
+
+From the space beneath he removed a neatly folded pile of clothes, laid
+these on the bed, and began to undress. He was working rapidly now. Tiny
+pieces of wax were removed from his nostrils, from under his lips, from
+behind his ears; water from a cracked pitcher poured into a battered tin
+basin, and mixed with a few drops of some liquid from a bottle which he
+procured from its hiding place under the flooring, banished the make-up
+stain from his face, his neck, his wrists, and hands as if by magic.
+It was a strange metamorphosis that had taken place--the coarse,
+brutal-featured, blear-eyed, leering countenance of Larry the Bat was
+gone, and in its place, clean-cut, square-jawed, clear-eyed, was the
+face of Jimmie Dale. And where before had slouched a slope-shouldered,
+misshapen, flabby creature, a broad-shouldered form well over six feet
+in height now stood erect, and under the clean white skin the muscles
+of an athlete, like knobs of steel played back and forth with every
+movement of his body.
+
+In the streaked and broken mirror Jimmie Dale surveyed himself
+critically, methodically, and, with a nod of satisfaction, hastily
+donned the fashionably cut suit of tweeds upon the bed. He rummaged then
+through the ragged garments he had just discarded, transferred to
+his pockets a roll of bills and his automatic, and paused hesitantly,
+staring at the thin metal case, like a cigarette case, that he held in
+the palm of his hand. He shrugged his shoulders a little whimsically; it
+seemed strange indeed that he was through with that! He snapped it
+open. Within, between sheets of oil paper, lay the scores of little
+diamond-shaped, gray-coloured, adhesive paper seals--the insignia of the
+Gray Seal. Yes, it seemed strange that he was never to use another! He
+closed the case, gathered up the clothes of Larry the Bat, tucked
+the case in among them, and shoved the bundle into the hole under the
+flooring. All these things would have to be destroyed, but there was not
+time to-night; to-morrow, or the next day, would do for that. What would
+it be like to live a normal life again, without the menace of danger
+lurking on every hand, without that grim slogan of the underworld,
+“Death to the Gray Seal!” or that savage fiat of the police, “The Gray
+Seal, dead or alive--but the Gray Seal!” forever ringing in his ears?
+What would it be like, this new life--with her?
+
+The thought was thrilling him again, bringing again that eager, exultant
+uplift. In an hour, ONE hour, and the barriers of years would be swept
+away, and she would be in his arms!
+
+“It's for my sake to-night!” His face grew suddenly tense, as the words
+came back to him. That “hour” wasn't over yet! It was no hysterical
+exaggeration that had prompted her to call her enemies the most powerful
+and pitiless organisation of criminals that the world had ever known.
+It was not the Tocsin's way to exaggerate. The words would be literally
+true. The very life she had led for the three years that had gone stood
+out now as a grim proof of her assertion.
+
+Jimmie Dale replaced the flooring, carefully brushed the dust back into
+the cracks, spread the oilcloth into place, and stood up. Who and what
+was this organisation? What was between it and the Tocsin? What was this
+immense fortune that was at stake? And what was this priceless packet
+that was so crucial, that meant victory now, ay, and her life, too, she
+had said?
+
+The questions swept upon him in a sort of breathless succession. Why had
+she not let him play a part in this? True, she had told him why--that
+she dared not expose him to the risk. Risk! Was there any risk that the
+Gray Seal had not taken, and at her instance! He did not understand, he
+smiled a little uncertainly, as he reached up to turn out the gas. There
+were a good many things that he did not understand about the Tocsin!
+
+The room was in darkness, and with the darkness Jimmie Dale's mind
+centred on the work immediately before him. To enter the tenement where
+he was known and had an acknowledged right as Larry the Bat was one
+thing; for Jimmie Dale to be discovered there was quite another.
+
+He crossed the room, opened the door silently, stood for a moment
+listening, then stepped out into the black, musty, ill-smelling hallway,
+closing the door behind him. He stooped and locked it. The querulous cry
+of a child reached him from somewhere above--a murmur of voices, muffled
+by closed doors, from everywhere. How many families were housed beneath
+that sordid roof he had never known, only that there was miserable
+poverty there as well as vice and crime, only that Larry the Bat, who
+possessed a room all to himself, was as some lordly and super-being to
+these fellow tenants who shared theirs with so many that there was not
+air enough for all to breathe.
+
+He had no doors to pass--his was next to the staircase. He began to
+descend. They could scream and shriek, those stairs, like aged humans,
+twisted and rheumatic, at the least ungentle touch. But there was no
+sound from them now. There seemed something almost uncanny in the
+silent tread. Stair after stair he descended, his entire weight thrown
+gradually upon one foot before the other was lifted. The strain upon the
+muscles, trained and hardened as they were, told. As he moved from the
+bottom step, he wiped little beads of perspiration from his forehead.
+
+The door, now, that gave on the alleyway! He opened it, slipped outside,
+darted across the narrow lane, stole along where the shadows of the
+fence were blackest, paused, listening, as he reached the end of the
+alleyway, to assure himself that there was no near-by pedestrian--and
+stepped out into the street.
+
+He kept on along the block, turned into the Bowery, and, under the first
+lamp, consulted his watch. It was a quarter past ten. He could make
+it easily in a leisurely walk. He continued on up the Bowery, finally
+crossed to Broadway, and shortly afterward turned into Waverly Place.
+At the corner of Fifth Avenue he consulted his watch again--and now he
+lighted a cigarette. Sixth Avenue was only a block away. At precisely
+half-past ten, to the second, he halted on the designated corner,
+smoking nonchalantly.
+
+A taxicab, coincidentally coming from an uptown direction, swung in to
+the curb.
+
+“Taxi, sir? Yes, sir?” Then, with an admirable mingling of eagerness to
+secure the fare and a fear that his confession might cause him the loss
+of it: “I've another fare in half an hour, sir, but I can get you most
+anywhere in that time.”
+
+Jimmie Dale's cigarette was tossed carelessly into the street.
+
+“St. James Club!” he said curtly, and stepped into the cab.
+
+The cab started forward, turned the corner, and headed along Waverly
+Place toward Broadway. The chauffeur twisted around in his seat in a
+matter-of-fact way, as though to ask further directions.
+
+“Have you anything for me?” he inquired casually.
+
+It lay where it always lay, that ring, between the folds of that little
+white glove in his pocketbook. Jimmie Dale took it out now, and handed
+it silently to the chauffeur.
+
+The other's face changed instantly--composure was gone, and a quick,
+strained look was in its place.
+
+“I'm afraid I've been watched,” he said tersely. “Look behind you, will
+you, and tell me if you see anything?”
+
+Jimmie Dale glanced backward through the little window in the hood.
+
+“There's another taxi just turned in from Sixth Avenue,” he reported the
+next instant.
+
+“Keep your eye on it!” instructed the chauffeur shortly.
+
+The speed of the cab increased sensibly.
+
+With a curious tightening of his lips, Jimmie Dale settled himself
+in his seat so that he could watch the cab behind. There was trouble
+coming, intuitively he sensed that; and, he reflected bitterly, he might
+have known! It was too marvellous, too wonderful ever to come to pass
+that this one hour, the thought of which had fired his blood and made
+him glad beyond any gladness life had ever held for him before, should
+bring its promised happiness.
+
+“Where's the cab now?” the chauffeur flung back over his shoulder.
+
+They had passed Fifth Avenue, and were nearing Broadway.
+
+“About the same distance behind,” Jimmie Dale answered.
+
+“That looks bad!” the chauffeur gritted between his teeth. “We'll have
+to make sure. I'll run down Lower Broadway.”
+
+“If you think we're followed,” suggested Jimmie Dale quietly, “why not
+run uptown and give them the slip somewhere where the traffic is thick?
+Lower Broadway at this time of night is as empty and deserted as a
+country road.”
+
+The chauffeur's sudden laugh was mirthless.
+
+“My God, you don't know what you are talking about!” he burst out. “If
+they're following, all hell couldn't throw them off the track. And I've
+got to know, I've got to be SURE before I dare make a move to-night. I
+couldn't tell up in the crowded districts if I was followed, could I?
+They won't come out into the open until their hands are forced.”
+
+The car swerved sharply, rounded the corner, and, speeding up faster and
+faster, began to tear down Lower Broadway.
+
+“Watch! WATCH!” cried the chauffeur.
+
+There was no word between them for a moment; then Jimmie Dale spoke
+crisply:
+
+“It's turned the corner! It's coming this way!”
+
+The taxicab was rocking violently with the speed; silent, empty, Lower
+Broadway stretched away ahead. Apart from an occasional street car,
+probably there would be nothing between them and the Battery. Jimmie
+Dale glanced at his companion's face as a light, flashing by, threw
+it into relief. It was set and stern, even a little haggard; but, too,
+there was something else there, something that appealed instantly to
+Jimmie Dale--a sort of bulldog grit that dominated it.
+
+“If he holds our speed, we'll know!” the chauffeur was shouting now to
+make himself heard over the roar of the car. “Look again! Where is it
+now?”
+
+Once more Jimmie Dale looked through the little rear window. The cab had
+been a block behind them when it had turned the corner, and he watched
+it now in a sort of grim fascination. There was no possible doubt of it!
+The two bobbing, bouncing headlights were creeping steadily nearer. And
+then a sort of unnatural calm settled upon Jimmie Dale, and his hand
+went mechanically to his pocket to feel his automatic there, as he
+turned again to the chauffeur.
+
+“If you've got any more speed, you'd better use it!” he said
+significantly.
+
+The man shot a quick look at him.
+
+“They are following us? You are SURE?”
+
+“Yes,” said Jimmie Dale.
+
+The chauffeur laughed again in that mirthless, savage way.
+
+“Lean over here, where I can talk to you!” he rasped out. “The game's
+up, as far as I am concerned, I guess! But there's a chance for you.
+They don't know you in this.”
+
+“Give her more speed--or dodge into a cross street!” suggested Jimmie
+Dale coolly. “They haven't got us yet, by a long way!”
+
+The other shook his head.
+
+“It's not only that cab behind,” he answered, through set lips. “You
+don't know what we're up against. If they're really after us, there's
+a trap laid in every section of this city--the devils! It's the package
+they want. Thank God for the presentiment that made me leave it behind!
+I was going back for it, you understand, if I was satisfied that we
+weren't followed. Listen! There's a chance for you--there's none for me.
+That package--remember this!--no one else knows where it is, and it's
+life and death to the one who sent you here. It's in Box 428 at--My God,
+LOOK! Look there!” he yelled, and, with a wrench at the wheel, sent the
+taxi lurching and staggering for the car tracks in the centre of the
+street.
+
+The scene, fast as thought itself, was photographing itself in every
+detail upon Jimmie Dale's brain. From the cross street ahead, one from
+each corner, two motor cars had nosed out into Broadway, blocking the
+road on both sides. And now the car on the left-hand side was
+moving forward across the tracks to counteract the chauffeur's move,
+deliberately insuring a collision. There was no chance, no further
+room to turn, no time to stop--the man driving the other car jumped for
+safety--they would be into it in an instant.
+
+“Box 428!” Jimmie pleaded fiercely. “Go on, man! Go on! FINISH!”
+
+“Yes!” cried the chauffeur. “John Johansson, at--”
+
+But Jimmie Dale heard no more. There was the crash of impact as the
+taxicab plowed into the car that had been so craftily manoeuvered in
+front of it, and Jimmie Dale, lifted from his feet, was hurled violently
+forward with the shock, and all went black before his eyes.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE CRIME CLUB
+
+
+For what length of time he had remained unconscious, Jimmie Dale had not
+the slightest idea. He regained his senses to find himself lying on a
+couch in a strange room that had a most exquisitely brass-wrought dome
+light in the ceiling. That was what attracted his attention, because
+the light hurt his eyes, and his head was already throbbing as though a
+thousand devils were beating a diabolical tattoo upon it.
+
+He closed his eyes against the light. Where was he? What had happened?
+Oh, yes, he remembered now! That smash on Lower Broadway! He had been
+hurt. He moved first one limb and then another tentatively, and was
+relieved to find that, though his body ached as if it had been severely
+shaken, and his head was bad, he had apparently escaped without serious
+injury.
+
+Where was he? In a hospital? His fingers, resting at his side upon the
+couch, supplied him with the information that it was a very expensive
+couch, upholstered in finest leather. If he were in a hospital, he would
+be in a cot.
+
+He opened his eyes again to glance curiously around him. The room was
+quite in keeping with the artistic lighting fixture and the refined, if
+expensive, taste that was responsible for the couch. A heavy velvet
+rug of rich, dark green was bordered by a polished hardwood floor;
+panellings of dark-green frieze and beautifully grained woodwork made
+the lower walls; while above, on a background of some soft-toned paper,
+hung a few, and evidently choice, oil paintings. There was a big,
+inviting lounging chair; a massive writing table, or more properly, a
+desk of walnut; and behind the desk, his back half turned, apparently
+intent upon a book, sat a man in immaculate evening dress.
+
+Jimmie Dale closed his eyes again. There was something reassuring about
+it all, comfortably reassuring. Though why there should be any occasion
+for a feeling of reassurance at all, he could not for the moment make
+out. And then, in a sudden flash, the details of the night came back to
+him. The Tocsin's letter--the package he was to get--the taxicab--the
+chauffeur, who was not a chauffeur--the chase--the trap. He lay
+perfectly still. It was the professional Jimmie Dale now whose brain, in
+spite of the throbbing, brutally aching head, was at work, keen, alert.
+
+The chauffeur! What had happened to him? Had the man been killed in the
+auto smash; or, less fortunate than himself, fallen into the hands of
+those whose power he seemed both to fear and rate so highly? And that
+package! Box--what was the number?--yes, 428. What did that mean? What
+box? Where was it? Who was John Johansson? He hadn't heard any more than
+that; the smash had come then. And lastly, he was back again to the
+same question he had begun with: Where was he now himself? It looked as
+though some good Samaritan had picked him up. Who was this gentleman so
+quietly reading there at the desk?
+
+Jimmie Dale opened his eyes for the third time. How still, how
+absolutely silent the room was! He studied the man's back speculatively
+for a moment, then his gaze travelled on past the man to the wall,
+riveted there, and his fingers, without movement of his arm, pressed
+against the outside of his coat pocket. He thought as much! His
+automatic was gone!
+
+Not a muscle of Jimmie Dale's face moved. His eyes shifted to a picture
+on the wall. THE MAN WAS WATCHING HIM--NOT READING! Just above the level
+of the desk, a small mirror held the couch in focus--but, equally,
+it held the man in focus, and Jimmie Dale had seen the other's eyes,
+through a black mask that covered the face to the top of the upper lip,
+fixed intently upon him.
+
+There was a chill now where before there had been reassurance, something
+ominous in the very quiet and refinement of the room; and Jimmie Dale
+smiled inwardly in bitter irony--his good Samaritan wore a mask! His
+self-congratulations had come too soon. Whatever had happened to the
+chauffeur, it was evident enough that he himself was caught! What was it
+the chauffeur had said? Something about a chance through being unknown.
+Was it to be a battle of wits, then? God, if his head did not ache so
+frightfully! It was hard to think with the brain half sick with pain.
+
+Those two eyes shining in that mirror! There seemed something horribly
+spectre-like about it. He did not look again, but he knew they were
+there. It was like a cat watching a mouse. Why did not the man speak,
+or move, or do something, and--He turned his head slowly; the man was
+laughing in a low, amused way.
+
+“You appear to be taken with that picture,” observed a pleasant voice.
+“Perhaps you recognise it from there? It is a Corot.”
+
+Jimmie Dale, with a well-simulated start, sat up--and, with another
+quite as well simulated, stared at the masked man. The other had laid
+down his book, and swung around in his chair to face the couch. Jimmie
+Dale stood up a little shakily.
+
+“Look here!” he said awkwardly. “I--I don't quite understand. I remember
+that my taxi got into a smash-up, and I suppose I have to thank you for
+the assistance you must have rendered me; only, as I say”--he looked in
+a puzzled way around the room, and in an even more perplexed way at the
+mask on the other's face--“I must confess I am at a loss to understand
+quite the meaning of this.”
+
+“Suppose that instead of trying to understand you simply accept things
+as you find them.” The voice was soft, but there was a finality in it
+that its blandness only served to make the more suggestive.
+
+Jimmie Dale drew himself up, and bowed coldly.
+
+“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I did not mean to intrude. I have only to
+thank you again, then, and bid you good-night.”
+
+The lips beneath the mask parted slightly in a politely deprecating
+smile.
+
+“There is no hurry,” said the man, a sudden sharpness creeping into his
+tones. “I am sorry that the rule I apply to you does not work both ways.
+For instance, I might be quite at a loss to account for your presence in
+that taxicab.”
+
+Jimmie Dale's smile was equally polite, equally deprecating.
+
+“I fail to see how it could be of the slightest possible interest to
+you,” he replied. “However, I have no objection to telling you. I hailed
+the taxi at the corner of Sixth Avenue and Waverly Place, told the
+chauffeur to drive me to the St. James Club, and--”
+
+“The St. James Club,” broke in the other coldly, “is, I believe, north,
+not SOUTH of Waverly Place--and on Broadway not at all.”
+
+Jimmie Dale stared at the other for an instant in patient annoyance.
+
+“I am quite well aware of that,” he said stiffly. “Nevertheless I told
+the man to drive me to the St. James Club. We came across Waverly Place,
+but on reaching Broadway, instead of turning uptown, he suddenly whirled
+in the other direction and sent the car flying at full speed down Lower
+Broadway. I shouted at the man. I don't know yet whether he was drunk
+or crazy or”--Jimmie Dale's eyes fixed disdainfully on the other's
+mask--“whether there might not, after all, have been method in his
+madness. I can only say that before we had gone more than two or three
+blocks, a wild effort on his part to avoid a collision with an auto
+swinging out from a side street resulted in an even more disastrous
+smash with another on the other side, and I was knocked senseless.”
+
+“'Victim,' I presume, is the idea you desire to convey,” observed the
+other evenly. “You were quite the victim of circumstances, as it were!”
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyebrows lifted slightly.
+
+“It would appear to be fairly obvious, I should say.”
+
+“Very clever!” commented the man. “But now suppose we remove the buttons
+from the foils!” His voice rasped suddenly. “You are quite as well aware
+as I am that what has happened to-night was not an accident. Nor--in
+case the possibility may have occurred to you--are the police any the
+wiser, save for the existence of two wrecked cars on Lower Broadway, and
+another which escaped, and for which doubtless they are still searching
+assiduously. The ownership of the taxicab you so inadvertently entered
+they will have no difficulty in establishing--you, perhaps, however,
+are in a better position than I am to appreciate the fact that the
+establishment of its ownership will lead them nowhere. As I understand
+it, the man who drove you to-night obtained the loan of the cab from one
+of the company's chauffeur's in return for a hundred-dollar bill. Am I
+right?”
+
+“In view of what has happened,” admitted Jimmie Dale simply, “I should
+not be surprised.”
+
+There was a sort of sardonic admiration in the other's laugh.
+
+“As for the other car,” he went on, “I can assure you that its ownership
+will never be known. When the nearest patrolman rushed up, there were
+no survivors of the disaster, save those in the third car which he was
+powerless to stop--which accounts for your presence here. You will admit
+that I have been quite frank.”
+
+“Oh, quite!” said Jimmie Dale, a little wearily. “But would you mind
+telling me what all this is leading to?”
+
+The man had been leaning forward in his chair, one hand, palm downward,
+resting lightly on the desk. He shifted his hand now suddenly to the arm
+of his chair.
+
+“THIS!” he said, and on the desk where his hand had been lay the
+Tocsin's gold signet ring.
+
+Jimmie Dale's face expressed mild curiosity. He could feel the other's
+eyes boring into him.
+
+“We were speaking of ownership,” said the man, in a low, menacing
+tone. “I want to know where the woman who owns this ring can be found
+to-night.”
+
+There was no play, no trifling here; the man was in deadly earnest. But
+it seemed to Jimmie Dale, even with the sense of peril more imminent
+with every instant, that he could have laughed outright in savage
+mockery at the irony of the question. Where was she? Even WHO was she?
+And this was the hour in which he was to have known!
+
+“May I look at it?” he requested calmly.
+
+The other nodded, but his eyes never left Jimmie Dale.
+
+“It will give you an extra moment or so to frame your answer,” he said
+sarcastically.
+
+Jimmie Dale ignored the thrust, picked up the ring, examined it
+deliberately, and set it back again on the table.
+
+“Since I do not know who owns it,” he said, “I cannot answer your
+question.”
+
+“No! Well, then, there is still another matter--a little package that
+was in the taxicab with you. Where is that?”
+
+“See here!” said Jimmie Dale irritably. “This has gone far enough! I
+have seen no package, large or small, or of any description whatever.
+You are evidently mistaking me for some one else. You have only to
+telephone to the St. James Club.” He reached toward his pocket for his
+cardcase. “My name is--”
+
+“Dale,” supplied the other curtly. “Don't bother about the card, Mr.
+Dale. We have already taken the liberty of searching you.” He rose
+abruptly from his chair. “I am afraid you do not quite realise your
+position, Mr. Dale,” he said, with an ominous smile. “Let me make
+it clear. I do not wish to be theatrical about this, but we do not
+temporise here. You will either answer both of those questions to my
+satisfaction, OR YOU WILL NEVER LEAVE THIS PLACE ALIVE.”
+
+Jimmie Dale's face hardened. His eyes met the other's steadily.
+
+“Ah, I think I begin to see!” he said caustically. “When I have been
+thoroughly frightened I shall be offered my freedom at a price. A sort
+of up-to-date game of holdup! The penalty of being a wealthy man! If you
+had named your figure to begin with, we would have saved a lot of idle
+talk, and you would have had my answer the sooner: NOTHING!”
+
+“Do you know,” said the other, in a grimly musing way, “there has always
+been one man, but only one until now, that I have wished I might add
+to my present associates. I refer to the so-called Gray Seal. To-night
+there are two. I pay you the compliment of being the other. But”--he was
+smiling ominously again--“we are wasting time, Mr. Dale. I am willing to
+expose my hand to the extent of admitting that the information you are
+withholding is infinitely more valuable to me than the mere wreaking of
+reprisal upon you for a refusal to talk. Therefore, if you will answer,
+I pledge you my word you will be free to leave here within five minutes.
+If you refuse, you are already aware of the alternative. Well, Mr.
+Dale?”
+
+Who was this man? Jimmie Dale was studying the other's chin, the lips,
+the white, even teeth, the jet-black hair. Some day the tables might be
+turned. Could he recognise again this cool, imperturbable ruffian who so
+callously threatened him with murder?
+
+“Well, Mr. Dale? I am waiting!”
+
+“I am not a magician,” said Jimmie Dale contemptuously. “I could not
+answer your questions if I wanted to.”
+
+The other's hand slid instantly to a row of electric buttons on the
+desk.
+
+“Very well, Mr. Dale!” he said quietly. “You do not believe, I see, that
+I would dare to carry my threat into execution; you perhaps even doubt
+my power. I shall take the trouble to convince you--I imagine it will
+stimulate your memory.”
+
+The door opened. Two men were standing on the threshold, both in evening
+dress, both masked. The man behind the desk came forward, took Jimmie
+Dale's arm almost courteously, and led him from the room out into a
+corridor, where he halted abruptly.
+
+“I want to call your attention first, Mr. Dale, to the fact that as far
+as you are concerned you neither have now, nor ever will have, any idea
+whether you are in the heart of New York or fifty miles away from it.
+Now, listen! Do you hear anything?”
+
+There was nothing. Only the strange silence of that other room was
+intensified now. There was not a sound; stillness such as it seemed to
+Jimmie Dale he had never experienced before was around him.
+
+“You may possibly infer from the silence that you are NOT in the city,”
+ suggested the other, after a moment's pause. “I leave you to your own
+conclusions in that respect. The cause, however, of the silence is
+internal, not external; we had sound-proof principles in mind to a
+perhaps exaggerated degree when this building was constructed. If you
+care to do so, you have my permission to shout, say, for help, to your
+heart's content. We shall make no effort to stop you.”
+
+Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders. He was staring down a brilliantly
+lighted, richly carpeted corridor. There were doors on one side, windows
+on the other, the windows all hung with heavy, closely drawn portieres.
+The corridor was certainly not on the ground floor, but whether it was
+on the second or third, or even above that again, he had no means of
+knowing. From appearances, though, the place seemed more like a large,
+private mansion than anything else.
+
+“Just one word more before we proceed,” continued the other. “I do not
+wish you to labour under any illusion. Here we are frankly criminals.
+This is our home. It should have some effect in impressing you with the
+power and resource at our command, and also with the class of men with
+whom you are dealing. There is not one among us whose education is not
+fully equal to your own; not one, indeed, but who is chosen, granting
+first his criminal tendencies, because he is a specialist in his own
+particular field--in commerce, in the government diplomatic service, in
+the professions of law and medicine, in the ranks of pure science.
+We are bordering on the fantastical, are we not? Dreaming, you will
+probably say, of the Utopian in crime organisation. Quite so, Mr. Dale.
+I only ask you to consider the POSSIBILITIES if what I say is true. Now
+let us proceed. I am going to take you into three rooms--the three whose
+doors you see ahead of you. You will notice that, including the one you
+have just left, there are four on this corridor. I do not wish to strain
+your credulity, or play tricks upon you; so I am going to ask you to fix
+an approximate idea of the length of the corridor in your mind, as it
+will perhaps enable you to account more readily for what may appear to
+be a discrepancy in the corresponding size of the rooms.”
+
+One of the men opened the door ahead. Jimmie Dale, at a sign from his
+conductor, moved forward and entered. Just what he had expected to find
+he could not have told; his brain was whirling, partly from his aching
+head, partly from his desperate effort to conceive some way of escape
+from the peril which, for all his nonchalance, he knew only too well
+was the gravest he had ever faced; but what he saw was simply a cozily
+furnished bedroom. There was nothing peculiar about it; nothing out of
+the way, except perhaps that it was rather narrow.
+
+And then suddenly, rubbing his eyes involuntarily, he was staring in a
+dazed way before him. The whole right-hand side of the wall was sinking
+without a sound into the floor, increasing the width of the room by some
+five or six feet--and in this space was disclosed what appeared to be a
+sort of chemical laboratory, elaborately equipped, extending the entire
+length of the room.
+
+“The wall is purely a matter of mechanical construction, operated
+hydraulically.” The man was speaking softly at Jimmie Dale's side.
+“The room beneath is built to correspond; the base, ceiling, and wall
+mouldings here do not have to be very ingenious to effect a disguise.
+I might say, however, that few visitors, other than yourself, have ever
+seen anything here but a bedroom.” He waved his hand toward the retorts,
+the racks of test tubes, the hundred and one articles that strewed the
+laboratory bench. “As for this, its purpose is twofold. We, as well,
+as the police, have often need of analysis. We make it. If we require a
+drug, a poison, say, we compound it from its various ingredients, or,
+as the case may be, distil it, perhaps--it is, you will agree, somewhat
+more difficult to trace to its source if procured that way. And speaking
+of poisons”--he stepped forward, and lifted a glass-stoppered bottle
+containing a colourless liquid from a shelf--“in a modest way we have
+even done some original research work here. This, for instance, is
+as Utopian from our standpoint as the formation, and personnel of the
+organisation I have briefly outlined to you. It possesses very essential
+qualities. It is almost instantaneous in its action, requires a very
+small quantity, and defies detection even by autopsy.” He uncorked the
+bottle, and dipped in a long glass rod. “Will you watch the experiment?”
+ he invited, with a sort of ghastly pleasantry. “I do not want you to
+accept anything on trust.”
+
+With a start, Jimmie Dale swung around. He had heard no sound, but
+another man was at his elbow now--and, struggling in the man's hand, was
+a little white rabbit.
+
+It was over in an instant. A single drop in the rabbit's mouth, and the
+animal had stiffened out, a lifeless thing.
+
+“It is quite as effective on the human organism,” continued the other,
+“only, instead of one drop, three are required. If I make it ten”--he
+was carefully measuring the liquid into two wineglasses--“it is only
+that even you may be satisfied that the quantity is fatal.” He filled up
+the glasses with what was apparently wine of some description, which he
+poured from a decanter, and held out the glasses in front of him.
+
+And again Jimmie Dale started, again he had heard no one enter, and yet
+two men had stepped forward from behind him and had taken the glasses
+from their leader's hands. He glanced around him, counting quickly--they
+were surely the two who had entered with him from the corridor. No!
+Including the leader, there were now six men, all in evening dress, all
+masked, in the room with him.
+
+A wave of the leader's hand, and the two men holding the glasses left
+the room. The man turned to Jimmie Dale again.
+
+“Shall we proceed to the second room, Mr. Dale?” he asked politely.
+“I think it is now prepared for us--I do not wish to bore you with a
+repetition of magical sliding walls.”
+
+There was something now that numbed the ache in Jimmie Dale's brain--a
+sense of some deadly, remorseless thing that seemed to be constantly
+creeping closer to him, clutching at him--to smother him, to choke him.
+There was something absolutely fiendish, terrifying, in the veneer of
+culture around him.
+
+They had entered the second room. This, like the other, was a
+pseudo-bedroom; but here the movable wall was already down. Ranged along
+the right-hand side were a great number of cabinets that slid in and
+out, much after the style and fashion used by clothing dealers to stock
+and display their wares. These cabinets were now all open, displaying
+hundreds of costumes of all kinds and descriptions, and evidently
+complete to the minutest detail. The cabinets were flanked by
+full-length mirrors at each end of the room, and on little tables before
+the mirrors was an assortment, that none better than Jimmie Dale himself
+could appreciate, of make-up accessories.
+
+The man smiled apologetically.
+
+“I am afraid this is rather uninteresting,” he said. “I have shown it to
+you simply that you may understand that we are alive to the importance
+of detail. Disguise, that is daily vital to us, is an art that depends
+essentially on detail. I venture to say we could impersonate any
+character or type or nationality or class in the United States at a
+moment's notice. But”--he took Jimmie Dale's arm again and conducted him
+out into the corridor, while the two men who were evidently acting
+the role of guards followed closely behind--“there is still the third
+room--here.” He halted Jimmie Dale before the door. “I have asked you
+to answer two questions, Mr. Dale,” he said softly. “I ask you now to
+remember the alternative.”
+
+They still stood before the door. There was that uncanny silence
+again--it seemed to Jimmie Dale to last interminably. Neither of the
+three men surrounding him moved nor spoke. Then the door before him was
+opened on an unlighted room, and he was led across the threshold. He
+heard the door close behind him. The lights came on. And then it seemed
+as though he could not move, as though he were rooted to the spot---and
+the colour ebbed from his face. Three figures were before him: the two
+men who had carried the glasses from the first room, and the chauffeur
+who had driven him in the taxicab. The two men still held the
+glasses--the chauffeur was bound hand and foot in a chair. One of the
+glasses was EMPTY; the other was still significantly full.
+
+Jimmie Dale, with a violent effort at self-control, leaned forward.
+
+The man in the chair was dead.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE INNOCENT BYSTANDER
+
+
+There was not a sound. That stillness, weird, unnerving, that permeated,
+as it were, everywhere through that mysterious house, was, if that were
+possible, accentuated now. The four masked men in evening dress, five
+including their leader, for the man who had appeared in that other room
+with the rabbit was not here, were as silent, as motionless, as the dead
+man who was lashed there in the chair. And to Jimmie Dale it seemed at
+first as though his brain, stunned and stupefied at the shock, refused
+its functions, and left him groping blindly, vaguely, with only a
+sort of dull, subconscious realisation of menace and a deadly peril,
+imminent, hanging over him.
+
+He tried to rouse himself mentally, to prod his brain to action, to
+pit it in a fight for life against these self-confessed criminals and
+murderers with their mask of culture, who surrounded him now. Was there
+a way out? What was it the Tocsin had said--“the most powerful and
+pitiless organisation of criminals the world has ever known--the stake a
+fortune of millions--her life!” There had, indeed, been no overemphasis
+in the words she had used! They had taken pains themselves to make that
+ominously clear, these men! Every detail of the strange house, with its
+luxurious furnishings, its cleverly contrived appointments, breathed
+a horribly suggestive degree of power, a deadly purpose, and an
+organisation swayed by a master mind; and, grim evidence of the
+merciless, inexorable length to which they would go, was the ghastly
+white face of the dead chauffeur, bound hand and foot, in the chair
+before him!
+
+That EMPTY glass in the hand of one of the men! He could not take his
+eyes from it--except as his eyes were drawn magnetically to that FULL
+glass in the hand of one of the others. What height of sardonic irony!
+He was to drink that other glass, to die because he refused to answer
+questions that for years, with every resource at his command, risking
+his liberty, his wealth, his name, his life, with everything that he
+cared for thrown into the scales, he had struggled to solve--and failed!
+
+And then the leader spoke.
+
+“Mr. Dale,” he said, with cold significance, “I regret to admit that
+your pseudo taxicab driver was so ill-advised as to refuse to answer the
+SAME questions that I have put to you.”
+
+Five to one! That was the only way out--and it was hopeless. It was the
+only way out, because, convinced that he could answer those questions if
+he wanted to, these men were in deadly earnest; it was hopeless, because
+they were--five to one! And probably there were as many more, twice or
+three times as many more within call. But what did it matter how many
+more there were! He could fight until he was overpowered, that was all
+he could do, and the five could accomplish that. Still, if he could
+knock the full glass out of that man's hand, and gain the door, then
+perhaps--he turned quickly, as the door opened. It was as though they
+had read his thoughts. A number of men were grouped outside in the
+corridor, then the door closed again with a cordon ranged against it
+inside the room; and at the same instant his arms and wrists were caught
+in a powerful grasp by the two men immediately behind him, who all along
+had enacted the role of guards.
+
+Again the leader spoke.
+
+“I will repeat the questions,” he said sharply. “Where is the woman
+whose ring was found on that man there in the chair? And where is the
+package that you two men had with you in the taxicab to-night?”
+
+Jimmie Dale glanced from the tall, straight, immaculately clothed figure
+of the speaker, from the threatening smile on the set lips that just
+showed under the edge of the mask, to the dead man in the chair. He had
+faced the prospect of death before many times, but it had come with the
+heat of passion accompanying it, it had come quickly, abruptly, with
+every faculty called into action to combat it, without time to dwell
+upon it, to sift, weigh, or measure its meaning, and if there had been
+fear it had been subordinate to other emotions. But it was different
+now. He could not, of course, answer those questions; nor, he was
+doggedly conscious, would he have answered them if he could--and there
+was no middle course.
+
+Death, within the next few moments, stared him in the face; and it
+seemed curiously irrelevant that, in a sort of unnatural calmness, he
+should be attempting to analyse his feelings and emotions concerning it.
+All his life it had seemed to him that the acme of human mental
+torture was the cell of a condemned criminal, with the horror of its
+hopelessness, with the time to dwell upon it; and that the acme of
+that torture itself must be that awful moment immediately preceding
+execution, when anticipation at last was to merge into soul-sickening
+reality.
+
+Strange that thought should come! Strange that he should be framing a
+brain picture of such a scene, vivid, minute in detail! No--not strange.
+He was picturing himself. The analogy was not perfect, it was true, he
+had not had the months, weeks, days and hours of suspense; but it was
+perfect enough to bring home to him with appalling force the realisation
+of his position. He was standing as a condemned man might stand in those
+last, final moments, those moments which he had imagined must be the
+most terrible that could exist in life; but that dismay of soul, the
+horror, the terror were not his--there was, instead, a smouldering fury,
+a passionate amazement that it was his own life that was threatened. It
+seemed impossible that it could be his voice that was speaking now in
+such quiet, measured tones.
+
+“Is it worth while, will it convince you now, any more than before, to
+repeat that there is some mistake here? I am no more able to answer your
+questions than you are yourselves. I never saw that man in the chair
+there in my life until the moment that I hailed him in his cab to-night.
+I do not know who the woman is to whom that ring belongs, much less do
+I know where she is. And if there was a package of any sort in the
+taxicab, as you state, I never saw it.”
+
+The lips under the mask curved into a lupine smile.
+
+“Think well, Mr. Dale!” The man's voice was low, menacing. “Ethically,
+if you so choose to consider it, your refusal may be the act of a brave
+man; practically, it is the act of--a fool. Now--your answer!”
+
+“I have answered you,” said Jimmie Dale--and, relaxing the muscles in
+his arms, let them hang limply for an instant in the grip of the two men
+behind him. “I have no other answer.”
+
+It was only a sign, a motion of the leader's hand--but with it, quick
+as a lightning flash, Jimmie Dale was in action. The limp arms tautened
+into steel as he wrenched them loose, and, whirling around, he whipped
+his fist to the chin of one of the two guards.
+
+In an instant, with the blow, as the man staggered backward, the room
+was in pandemonium. There was a rush from the door, and two, three, four
+leaping forms hurled themselves upon Jimmie Dale. He shook them off--and
+they came again. There was no chance ultimately, he knew that; it was
+only the elemental within him that rose in fierce revolt at the thought
+of tame submission, that bade him sell his life as dearly as he could.
+Panting, gasping for breath, dragging them by sheer strength as they
+clung to him, he got his back to the wall, fighting with the savage fury
+and abandon of a wild cat.
+
+But it could not last. Where one man went down before him, two
+remorselessly appeared--the room seemed filled with men--they poured in
+through the door--he laughed at them in a half-demented way--more
+and more of them came--there was no play for his arms, no room to
+fight--they seemed so close around him, so many of them upon him, that
+he could not breathe--and he was bending, being crushed down as by an
+intolerable weight. And then his feet were jerked from beneath him, he
+crashed to the floor, and, in another moment, bound hand and foot, he
+was tied into a chair beside that other chair whose grim occupant sat in
+such ghastly apathy of the scene.
+
+The room cleared instantly of all but the original five. His head was
+drawn suddenly, violently backward, and clamped in that position; and
+a metal instrument, forced into his mouth, while his lips bled in their
+resistance, pried jaws apart and held them open.
+
+“One drop!” the leader ordered curtly.
+
+The man with the full glass bent over him, and dipped a glass rod into
+the liquid. The drop glistened a ruby red on the end of the rod--and
+fell with a sharp, acrid, burning sensation upon Jimmie Dale's tongue.
+
+For a moment Jimmie Dale's animation, mental and physical, seemed swept
+away from him in, as it were, a hiatus of hideous suspense. What was it
+to be like this passing? Why did it not act at once, as it had acted on
+the rabbit they had showed him in the other room? Yes, he remembered!
+It took more than one drop for a man; and besides, this was diluted.
+One drop had no effect on a man; it required--Good God, ONE DROP EVEN
+OF THIS WAS ENOUGH? He strained forward in the chair until the sweat in
+great beads sprang from his forehead, strained and fought and tore at
+his bonds in a paroxysm of madness to free himself while there still
+remained a little strength. There was something filming before his eyes,
+a numbed feeling was creeping through his limbs, robbing them, sapping
+them of their vitality and power. He felt himself slipping away into a
+state of utter weakness, and his brain began to grow confused.
+
+A voice seemed to float in the air near him: “For the last time--will
+you answer?”
+
+With a supreme effort, Jimmie Dale strove to rally his tottering senses.
+Did they not understand the stupendous mockery of their questions? Did
+they not understand that he did not know? He had told them so--perhaps
+he had better tell them so again.
+
+“I--” He tried to speak, and found the words thick upon his tongue.
+“I--do not--know.”
+
+The glass itself was thrust abruptly between his lips. Some of the
+contents spilled and trickled upon his chin, and then a flood of it,
+burning, fiery, poured down his throat. A flood of it--and it needed but
+THREE drops and there had been TEN in the glass!
+
+So this was death--a hazy, nebulous thing! There was no pain. It was
+like--like--nothingness. And out of the nothingness SHE came. Strange
+that she should come! Alone she had fought these fiends and outwitted
+them for--how long was it? Three years! She would be more than ever
+alone now. Pray God she did not finally fall into their clutches!
+
+How it burned now, that fatal draught they had forced down his throat,
+and how it gripped at him and seemed to eat and bore its way into the
+very tissues! It was the end, and--no! It was STIMULATING him! Strength
+seemed to be returning to his limbs; it seemed as though he were being
+carried, as though the bonds about him were being loosened; and now his
+brain seemed to be growing clearer.
+
+He roused up with a startled exclamation. He was back in the same room
+in which he had first returned to consciousness after the accident. He
+was on the same couch. The same masked figure was at the same desk. Had
+he been dreaming? Was this then only some horrible, ghastly nightmare
+through which he had passed?
+
+No, it had been real enough; his clothes, rent and torn, and the blood
+upon his hands, where the skin had been scraped from his knuckles in the
+fight, bore evidence to that. He must then have lost consciousness for
+a while, though it seemed to him that at no moment, hazy, irrational
+though his brain might have been, had he become entirely oblivious to
+what was taking place around him. And yet it must have been so!
+
+The eyes from behind the mask were fixed steadily upon him, and below
+the mask there was the hard, unpleasant set to the lips that Jimmie Dale
+had grown accustomed to expect.
+
+The man spoke abruptly.
+
+“That you find yourself alive, Mr. Dale,” he said grimly, “is no
+confession of weakness upon the part of those with whom you have had to
+deal here. To bear witness to that there is one who is not alive, as you
+have seen. That man we knew. With you it was somewhat different. Your
+presence in the taxicab was only suspicious. There was always the
+possibility that you might be one of those ubiquitous 'innocent
+bystanders.' Your name, your position, the improbability that you could
+have anything in common with--shall we say, the matter that so deeply
+interests us?--was all in your favour. However, presumption and
+probability are the tools of fools. We do not depend upon them--we apply
+the test. And having applied the test, we are convinced that you have
+told the truth--that is all.”
+
+He rose from his chair brusquely. “I shall not apologise to you for what
+has happened. I doubt very much if you are in a frame of mind to accept
+anything of the sort. I imagine, rather, that you are promising yourself
+that we shall pay, and pay dearly, for this--that, among other things,
+we shall answer for the murder of that man in the other room. All this
+will be quite within your province, Mr. Dale--and quite fruitless.
+To-morrow morning the story that you are preparing to tell now would
+sound incredible even in your own ears; furthermore, as we shall take
+pains to see that you leave this place with as little knowledge of its
+location as you obtained when you arrived, your story, even if believed,
+would do little service to you and less harm to us. I think of nothing
+more, Mr. Dale, except--” There was a whimsical smile on the lips now.
+“Ah, yes, the matter of your clothes. We can, and shall be glad to make
+reparation to you to the slight extent of offering you a new suit before
+you go.”
+
+Jimmie Dale scowled. Sick, shaken, and weak as he was, the cool,
+imperturbable impudence of the man was fast growing unbearable.
+
+The man laughed. “I am sure you will not refuse, Mr. Dale--since we
+insist. The condition of the clothes you have on at present might--I say
+'might'--in a measure support your story with some degree of tangible
+evidence. It is not at all likely, of course; but we prefer to discount
+even so remote a possibility. When you have changed, you will be motored
+back to your home. I bid you good-night, Mr. Dale.”
+
+Jimmie Dale rubbed his eyes. The man was gone--through a door at the
+rear of the desk, a door that he had not noticed before, that was not
+even in evidence now, that was simply a movable section of the wall
+panelling--and for an instant Jimmie Dale experienced a sense of
+sickening impotence. It was as though he stood defenceless, unarmed,
+and utterly at the mercy of some venomous power that could crush what it
+would remorselessly and at will in its might.
+
+The place was a veritable maze, a lair of hellish cleverness. He had
+no illusions now, he laboured under no false estimate of either the
+ingenuity or the resources of this inhuman nest of vultures to whom
+murder was no more than a matter of detail. And it was against these men
+that henceforth he was to match his wits! There could be no truce, no
+armistice. It was their lives, or hers, or his! Well, he was alive now,
+the first round was over, and so far he had won. His brows furrowed
+suddenly. Had he? He was not so sure, after all. He was conscious of a
+disquieting, premonitory intuition that, in some way which he could not
+explain, the honours were not entirely his.
+
+He was apparently--the “apparently” was a mental reservation--quite
+alone in the room. He got up from the couch and walked shakily across
+the floor to the desk. A revolver lay invitingly upon the blotting pad.
+It was his own, the one they had taken from him after the accident.
+Jimmie Dale picked it up, examined it--and smiled a little sarcastically
+at himself for his trouble. It was unloaded, of course. He was twirling
+it in his hand, as a man, masked as every one in the house was masked,
+and carrying a neatly folded suit over his arm, entered from the
+corridor.
+
+“The car is ready as soon as you are dressed,” announced the other
+briefly. He laid the clothes upon the couch--and settled himself
+significantly in a chair.
+
+Jimmie Dale hesitated. Then, with a shrug of his shoulders, recrossed
+the room, and began to remove his torn garments. What was the use! They
+would certainly have their own way in the end. It wasn't worth another
+fight, and there was nothing to be gained by a refusal except to offer a
+sop to his own exasperation.
+
+He dressed quickly, in what proved to be an exceedingly well-fitting
+suit; and finally turned tentatively to the man in the chair.
+
+The other stood up, and produced a heavy black silk scarf.
+
+“If you have no objections,” he said curtly, “I'll tie this over your
+eyes.”
+
+Again Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“I am glad enough to get out on any conditions,” he answered
+caustically.
+
+“'Fortunate' would be the better word,” rejoined the other
+meaningly--and, deftly knotting the scarf, led Jimmie Dale blindfolded
+from the room.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+ON GUARD
+
+
+Was he in the city? In a suburban town? On a country road? It seemed
+childishly absurd that he could not at least differentiate to that
+extent; and yet, from the moment he had been placed in the automobile
+in which he now found himself, he was forced to admit that he could not
+tell. He had started out with the belief that, knowing New York and its
+surroundings as minutely as he knew them, it would be impossible, do
+what they would to prevent it, that at the end of the journey he should
+be without a clew, and a very good clew at that, to the location of what
+he now called, appropriately enough it seemed, the Crime Club.
+
+But he had never ridden blindfolded in a car before! He could see
+absolutely nothing. And if that increased or accentuated his sense of
+hearing, it helped little--the roar of the racing car beat upon his
+eardrums the more heavily, that was all. He could tell, of course, the
+nature of the roadbed. They were running on an asphalt road, that was
+obvious enough; but city streets and suburban streets and hundreds of
+miles of country road around New York were of asphalt!
+
+Traffic? He was quite sure, for he had strained his ears in an effort to
+detect it, that there was little or no traffic; but then, it must be
+one or two o'clock in the morning, and at that hour the city streets,
+certainly those that would be chosen by these men, would be quite as
+deserted as any country road! And as for a sense of direction, he had
+none whatever--even if the car had not been persistently swerving and
+changing its course every little while. If he had been able to form even
+an approximate idea of the compass direction in which they had started,
+he might possibly have been able in a general way to counteract this
+further effort of theirs to confuse him; but without the initial
+direction he was essentially befogged.
+
+With these conclusions finally thrust home upon him, Jimmie Dale
+philosophically subordinated the matter in his mind, and, leaning back,
+composed himself as comfortably as he could upon his seat. There was a
+man beside him, and he could feel the legs of two men on the seat facing
+him. These, with the driver, would make four. He was still well guarded!
+The car itself was a closed car--not hooded, the sense of touch told
+him--therefore a limousine of some description. These facts, in a sense
+inconsequential, were absorbed subconsciously; and then Jimmie Dale's
+brain, remorselessly active, in spite of the pain from his throbbing
+head, was at work again.
+
+It seemed as though a year had passed since, in the early evening, as
+Larry the Bat, he had burrowed so ironically for refuge in Chang Foo's
+den--from her! It seemed like some mocking unreality, some visionary
+dream that, so short a while before, he had read those words of hers
+that had sent the blood coursing and leaping through his veins in mad
+exultation at the thought that the culmination of the years had come,
+that all he longed for, hoped for, that all his soul cried out for was
+to be his--“in an hour.” An HOUR--and he was to have seen her, the woman
+whose face he had never seen, the woman whom he loved! And the hour
+instead, the hours since then, had brought a nightmare of events so
+incredible as to seem but phantoms of the imagination.
+
+Phantoms! He sat up suddenly with a jerk. The face of the dead
+chauffeur, the limp form lashed in that chair, the horrible picture in
+its entirety, every detail standing out in ghastly relief, took form
+before him. God knew there was no phantom there!
+
+The man beside him, at the sudden start, lifted a hand and felt
+hurriedly over the bandage across Jimmie Dale's eyes.
+
+Jimmie Dale was scarcely conscious of the act. With that face before
+him, with the scene re-enacting itself in his mind again, had come
+another thought, staggering him for a moment with the new menace that it
+brought. He had had neither time nor opportunity to think before; it had
+been all horror, all shock when he had entered that room. But now, like
+an inspiration, he saw it all from another angle. There was a glaring
+fallacy in the game these men had played for his benefit to-night--a
+fallacy which they had counted on glossing over, as it had, indeed, been
+glossed over, by the sudden shock with which they had forced that scene
+upon him; or, failing in that, they had counted on the fact that his,
+or any other man's nerve would have failed when it came to open defiance
+based on a supposition which might, after all, be wrong, and, being
+wrong, meant death.
+
+But it was not supposition. Either he was right now, or these men were
+childish, immature fools--and, whatever else they might be, they were
+not that! NOT A SINGLE DROP OF POISON HAD PASSED THE CHAUFFEUR'S LIPS.
+The man had not been murdered in that room. He had not, in a sense, been
+murdered at all. The man, absolutely, unquestionably, without a loophole
+for doubt, had either been killed outright in the automobile accident,
+or had died immediately afterward, probably without regaining
+consciousness, certainly without supplying any of the information that
+was so determinedly sought.
+
+Yes, he saw it now! Their backs were against the wall, they were at
+their wits' end, these men! The knowledge that the chauffeur possessed,
+that they KNEW he possessed, was evidently life and death to them. To
+kill the man before they had wormed out of him what they wanted to know,
+or, at least, until, by holding him a prisoner, they had exhausted every
+means at their command to make him speak, was the last thing they would
+do!
+
+Jimmie Dale sat for a long time quite motionless. The car was speeding
+at a terrific rate along a straight stretch of road. He could almost
+have sworn, guided by some intuitive sense, that they were in the
+country. Well, even if it were so, what did that prove! They might
+have started FROM New York itself--only to return to it when they had
+satisfied themselves that he was sufficiently duped. Or they might have
+started legitimately from outside New York, and be going toward the city
+now. Since the ultimate destination was New York, and they had made no
+attempt to hide that from him, it was useless to speculate--for at best
+it could be only speculation. He had decided that once before! The man
+at his side felt again over the scarf to see that it was in place.
+
+Curiously now Jimmie Dale recalled the inward monitor that had warned
+him the honours had not all been his in this first round with the Crime
+Club to-night. If they had deliberately murdered the chauffeur because
+of a refusal to answer, they would equally have done the same to him.
+Fool that he had been not to have seen that before! And yet would it
+have made any difference? He shook his head. He could not have acted to
+any better advantage than he had done. He could not--his lips curled in
+grim derision--have been any more convincing.
+
+Convincing! It was all clear enough now! If the chauffeur had suffered
+death rather than talk, even admitting the fact that they had more
+grounds for suspecting the chauffeur's complicity, would his, Jimmie
+Dale's, mere denial, his choice, too, of death, have been any the more
+convincing, or have saved his life where it had not saved the other's?
+A certain added respect for these men, against whom, until the end now,
+his victory or theirs, he realised he was fighting for his life, came
+over him as he recognised the touch of a master hand. They did not know
+where to find the Tocsin; the package that she had said was vital to
+them was still beyond their reach; the chauffeur was dead; and he,
+Jimmie Dale, alone remained--a clew that they had still to prove valid
+or invalid it was true, but the only clew in their possession. And,
+gaining nothing from him by a show of force, to throw him off his guard,
+they had let him go--meaning him to believe they were convinced he knew
+nothing, and that the episode, the adventure of the night, was, as far
+as they were concerned, ended, finished, and done with!
+
+Time passed, a very long time, as he sat there. It might have been an
+hour--he could only hazard a guess. Not one of the men in the car
+had spoken a word. But to Jimmie Dale, the car itself, the ride, its
+duration, these three strange companions, were for the time being
+extraneous. Even that sick giddiness in his head had, at least
+temporarily, gone from him.
+
+And so, all unsuspectingly, he was to lead them to the Tocsin and fall
+into the trap himself! His hands, thrust deep in his pockets, were
+tightly clenched. They were clever enough, ingenious enough, powerful
+enough to watch him henceforth at every turn--and from now on, day and
+night, they were to be reckoned with. Suppose that in some way, as it
+might well have happened, for it was now vitally necessary that she
+should communicate with him and he with her, he had played blindly into
+their hands, and through him she should have fallen into their power! It
+brought a sickening chill, a sort of hideous panic to Jimmie Dale--and
+then fury, anger, in a torrent, surged upon him, and there came a
+merciless desire to crush, to strangle, to stamp out this inhuman band
+of criminals that, with intolerable effrontery to the laws of God and
+man, were so elaborately and scientifically equipped for their monstrous
+purposes!
+
+And then Jimmie Dale, in the darkness, smiled again grimly as the
+leader's reference to the Gray Seal recurred to him. Well, perhaps, who
+knew, they would have reason more than they dreamed of to wish the
+Gray Seal enrolled in their own ranks! It was strange, curious! He had
+thought all that was ended. Only a few short hours before he had hidden
+away all, everything that was incident to the life of the Gray Seal, the
+clothes of Larry the Bat, that little metal case with the gray-coloured,
+adhesive seals, a dozen other things, believing that it only remained
+for him to return and destroy them at his leisure as a finishing touch
+to the Gray Seal's career--and now, instead, he was face to face with
+the gravest and most dangerous problem that she had ever called upon him
+to undertake!
+
+Well, at least, the odds were not all in the Crime Club's favour. Where
+they now certainly believed him to be entirely off his guard, he was
+thoroughly on his guard; and where they might suspect him, watch him,
+they would suspect and watch only the character, the person of Jimmie
+Dale, and count not at all upon either Larry the Bat or--the Gray Seal.
+
+A sort of savage elation fell upon Jimmie Dale. His brain, that had been
+stagnant, confused, physically sick with pain and suffering, was working
+now with its old-time vigour and ease, mapping, planning, scheming the
+way ahead. To strike, and strike quickly--to strike FIRST! It must be
+his move next--not theirs! And he must act to-night at once, the moment
+he was given this pretence to liberty that they had in store for him,
+before they had an opportunity of closing down around him with a network
+of spies that he could not elude. By morning, Jimmie Dale would be Larry
+the Bat, and inhabiting the Sanctuary again. And a tip to Jason, his
+old butler, to the effect, say, that he had gone away for a trip,
+would account for his disappearance satisfactorily enough; it would not
+necessarily arouse their suspicions when they eventually discovered he
+was gone, for against that was always the possible, and quite likely
+presumption that, where they had succeeded in nothing else, they had
+at least succeeded in frightening him thoroughly and to the extent of
+imbuing him with a hasty desire to put a safe distance between himself
+and them.
+
+And now, with his mind made up to his course of action, an intense
+impatience to put his plan into effect, an irritation at the useless
+twistings and turnings of the car that had latterly become more
+frequent, took hold upon him. How much longer was this to last! They
+must have been fully an hour and a half on the road already, and--ah,
+the car was stopping now!
+
+He straightened up in his seat as the machine came to a halt--but the
+man at his side laid a restraining hand upon him. The car door opened,
+and one of the men got out. Jimmie Dale caught an indistinct murmur of
+voices from without, then the man returned to his seat, and the car went
+on again.
+
+Another half hour passed, that, curbing his irritation and impatience,
+was filled with the conjectures and questions that anew came crowding in
+upon his mind. Why had the car made that stop? It was rather curious. It
+was certainly a prearranged meeting place. Why? And these clothes that
+he now wore--why had they made him change? His own had not been very
+badly torn. The reason given him was, on the face of it now, in view
+of what he now knew, mere pretence. What was the ulterior motive behind
+that pretence? What did this package, that had already cost a man his
+life to-night, contain? Who was the chauffeur? What was this death feud
+between the Tocsin and these men? Did she know where the Crime Club was?
+Who and where was John Johansson? What was this box that was numbered
+428? Could she supply the links that would forge the chain into an
+unbroken whole?
+
+And then for the second time the car slowed down--and this time the man
+on the seat beside Jimmie Dale reached up and untied the scarf.
+
+“You get out here,” said the man tersely.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE TRAP
+
+
+Had it not been for the stop the car had previously made, for the
+possibility that he might have obtained a glimpse outside when the door
+had been opened, the scarf over his eyes would have been superfluous;
+for now, with it removed, he could scarcely distinguish the forms of the
+three men around him, since the window curtains of the car were tightly
+drawn. Nor was he given the opportunity to do more, even had it been
+possible. The car stopped, the door was opened, he was pushed toward
+it--and even as he reached the ground, the door was closed behind him,
+and the car was speeding on again. But where he could not see before,
+it took now but a glance to obtain his bearings--he was standing on a
+corner on Riverside Drive, within a few doors of his own house.
+
+Jimmie Dale stood still for a moment, watching the car as it disappeared
+rapidly up the Drive. And with a sort of grim facetiousness his brain
+began to correlate time and distance. Where had he come from? Where
+was this Crime Club? They had been, as nearly as he could estimate, two
+hours in making the journey; and, as nearly as he could estimate, in
+their turnings and twistings had covered at least twice the distance
+that would be represented by a direct route. Granting, then, an average
+speed of forty miles an hour, which was overgenerous to be on the safe
+side, and the fact that they certainly had not crossed the Hudson, which
+now lay before him, flanking the Drive, the Crime Club was somewhere
+within the area of a semicircle, whose centre was the corner on which he
+now stood, and whose radius was forty miles--OR FORTY YARDS! He forced
+a laugh. It was just that, no more, no less--he was as likely to have
+started on his ride from within a biscuit throw of where he now stood,
+as to have started on it from miles away!
+
+But--he aroused himself with a start--he was wasting time! It must be
+very late, near morning, and he would have need for every moment that
+was left between now and daylight. He turned, walked quickly to his
+house, mounted the steps, and with his latch-key--they had at least
+permitted him to retain the contents of his pockets when they had forced
+him to change his clothes--opened the front door softly, and, stepping
+inside, closed the door as silently as he had opened it.
+
+He paused for an instant to listen. There was not a sound. The servants,
+naturally, would have been in bed hours ago. Even old Jason--Jimmie Dale
+smiled, half whimsically, half affectionately--whose paternal custom it
+was to sit up for his Master Jim, who, as he was fond of saying, he had
+dandled as a baby on his knee, had evidently given it up as a bad job
+on this occasion and had turned in himself. Jason, however, had left the
+light burning here in the big reception hall.
+
+Jimmie Dale stepped to the switch and turned off the light; then stood
+hesitant in the darkness. Was there anything to be gained by rousing
+Jason now and telling him what he intended to do--to instruct him to
+answer any inquiries by the statement that “Mr. Dale had gone away for
+a trip”? He could trust Jason; Jason already knew much--more than one
+of those mysterious letters of the Tocsin's had passed through Jason's
+hands.
+
+Jimmie Dale shook his head. No; he could communicate with Jason from
+downtown in the morning. He had half expected to find Jason up, and,
+in that case, would have taken the other, as far as necessary, into
+his confidence; but it was not a matter that pressed for the moment. He
+could get into touch with Jason at any time readily enough. Was there
+anything else before he went? He would not be able to get back as easily
+as he got out! Money! He shook his head again--a little grimly this
+time. He had been caught once before as Larry the Bat without funds!
+There was plenty of money now hidden in the Sanctuary, enough for any
+emergency, enough to last him indefinitely.
+
+He stepped forward along the hall, his tread noiseless on the rich,
+heavy rug, passed into the rear of the house, descended the back stairs,
+and reached the cellar. It was below the level of the ground, of course;
+but a narrow window here, though quite large enough to permit of egress,
+gave on the driveway at the side of the house that led to the garage in
+the rear.
+
+Cautiously now, for the cement flooring was, in the stillness, little
+less than a sounding board, Jimmie Dale reached the wall and felt along
+it to the window, the lower edge of whose sill was just slightly below
+the level of his shoulder. It opened inward, if he remembered correctly.
+His fingers were feeling for the fastenings. It was too dark to see
+a thing. He muttered in annoyance. Where were the fastenings! At
+the sides, or at the bottom? His hand began to make a circuit of the
+sill--and then suddenly, with a low, sharp cry, he leaned forward!
+
+WHAT DID THIS MEAN? Wires! No wires had ever been there before! His
+fingers were working now with feverish haste, telegraphing their message
+to his brain. The wires ran through the sill close to the corner of
+the wall--tiny fragments of wood, as from an auger, were still on the
+sill--and here was a small particle of wire insulation that, those
+sensitive finger tips proclaimed, was FRESH.
+
+A cold thrill ran through Jimmie Dale; and there came again that
+sickening sense of impotency in the face of the malignant, devilish
+cunning arrayed against him, that once before he had experienced, that
+night. He had thought to forestall them--and he had been forestalled
+himself! This could only have been done--they had had no interest in
+him before then--while they held him at the Crime Club, while he was
+spending that two hours in the car! Was that why they had taken so long
+in coming? Was that why the car had stopped that time--that those with
+him might be told that the work here had been completed, and he need no
+longer be kept away?
+
+He edged away from the window, and, as cautiously as he had come,
+retraced his steps across the cellar and up the stairs--and then, the
+possibility of being heard from without gone, he broke into a run. There
+was no need to wonder long what those wires meant. They could mean only
+one of two things--and the Crime Club would have little concern in his
+electric light! THEY HAD TAPPED HIS TELEPHONE. The mains, he knew,
+ran into the cellar from the underground service in the street. He was
+racing like a madman now. How long ago, how many hours ago, had they
+done that! Great Scott, SHE was to have telephoned! Had she done so? Was
+the game, all, everything, she herself, at their mercy already? If she
+had telephoned, Jason would have left a message on his desk--he would
+look there first--afterward he would waken Jason.
+
+He gained the door of his den on the first landing, a room that ran the
+entire length of one side of the house from front to rear, burst in,
+switched on the light---and stood stock-still in amazement.
+
+“Jason!” he cried out.
+
+The old butler, fully dressed, rubbing and blinking his eyes at the
+light, and with a startled cry, rose up from the depths of a lounging
+chair.
+
+“Jason!” exclaimed Jimmie Dale again.
+
+“I beg pardon, sir, Master Jim,” stammered the man. “I--I must have
+fallen asleep, sir.”
+
+“Jason, what are you doing here?” Jimmie Dale demanded sharply.
+
+“Well, sir,” said Jason, still fumbling for his words, “it--it was the
+telephone, sir.”
+
+“The--TELEPHONE!”
+
+“Yes, sir. A woman, begging your pardon, Master Jim, a lady, sir, has
+been telephoning every hour or so, and she--”
+
+“YES!” Jimmie Dale had jumped across the room and had caught the other
+fiercely by the shoulder. “Yes--yes! What did she say? QUICK, man!”
+
+“Good Lord, Master Jim!” faltered Jason. “I--she--”
+
+“Jason,” said Jimmie Dale, suddenly as cold as ice, “what did she say?
+Think, man! Every word!”
+
+“She didn't say anything, Master Jim. Nothing at all, sir--except to
+keep asking each time if she could speak to you.”
+
+“Nothing else, Jason?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“You are SURE?”
+
+“I'm sure, Master Jim. Not another thing but that, sir, just as I've
+told you.”
+
+“Thank God!” said Jimmie Dale, in a low voice.
+
+“Yes, sir,” said Jason mechanically.
+
+“How long ago was it since she telephoned last?” asked Jimmie Dale
+quickly.
+
+“Well, sir, I couldn't rightly say. You see, as I said, Master Jim, I
+must have gone to sleep, but--”
+
+They were staring tensely into each other's face. The telephone on the
+desk was ringing vibrantly, clamourously, through the stillness of the
+room.
+
+Jason, white, frightened, bewildered, touched his lips with the tip of
+his tongue.
+
+“That'll be her again, sir,” he said hoarsely.
+
+“Wait!” said Jimmie Dale tersely.
+
+He was trying to think, to think faster than he had ever thought before.
+He could not tell Jason to say that he had not yet come in--THEY knew he
+was in, it would be but showing his hand to that “some one” who would
+be listening now on the wire. He dared not speak to her, or, above all,
+allow her to expose herself by a single inadvertent word. He dared not
+speak to her--and she was here now, calling him! He could not speak
+to her--and it was life and death almost that she should know what had
+happened; life and death almost for both of them that he should know all
+and everything she could tell him. True, it would take but a minute
+to run to the cellar and cut those wires, while Jason held her on the
+pretence of calling him, Jimmie Dale, to the 'phone; only a minute to
+cut those wires--and in so doing advertise to these fiends the fact that
+he had discovered their trick; admit, as though in so many words, that
+their suspicions of him were justified; lay himself open to some new
+move that he could not hope to foresee; and, paramount to all else, rob
+her and himself of this master trump the Crime Club had placed in his
+hands, by means of which there was a chance that he could hoist them
+with their own petard!
+
+The telephone rang again--imperatively, persistently.
+
+“Listen, Jason.” Jimmie Dale was speaking rapidly, earnestly. “Say that
+I've come in and have gone to bed--in a vile humour. That you told me a
+lady had been calling, but that I said if she called again I wasn't
+to be disturbed if it was the Queen of Sheba herself--that I wouldn't
+answer any 'phone to-night for anybody. Do you understand? No argument
+with her--just that. Now, answer!”
+
+Jason lifted the receiver from the hook.
+
+“Yes--hello!” he said. “Yes, ma'am, Mr. Dale has come in, but he has
+retired. . . . Yes, I told him; but, begging your pardon, ma'am, he
+was in what I might say was a bit of a temper, and said he wasn't to be
+disturbed by any one.”
+
+Jimmie Dale snatched the receiver from Jason, and put it to his own ear.
+
+“Kindly tell Mr. Dale that unless he comes to the 'phone now,” a
+feminine voice, her voice, in well-simulated indignation, was saying,
+“it will be a very long day before I shall trouble myself to--”
+
+Jimmie Dale clapped his hand firmly over the mouthpiece of the
+instrument. Thank God for that clever brain of hers! She understood!
+
+“Repeat what you said before, Jason,” he instructed hurriedly. “Then say
+'Good-night.'”
+
+He removed his hand from the mouthpiece.
+
+“It's quite useless, ma'am,” said Jason apologetically. “In the rare
+temper he was in, he wouldn't come, to use his own words, ma'am, not for
+the Queen of Sheba herself, ma'am. Good-night, ma'am.”
+
+Jimmie Dale hung the receiver back on the hook--and with his hand
+flirted away a bead of moisture that had sprung to his forehead.
+
+“Good Lord, Master Jim, what's wrong, sir? What's happened, sir?
+And--and those clothes, Master Jim, sir! They aren't the ones you went
+out in, sir--they aren't yours at all, sir!” Jason ventured anxiously.
+
+“Jason,” said Jimmie Dale, “switch off the light, and go to the front
+window and look out. Keep well behind the curtains. Don't show yourself.
+Tell me if you see anything.”
+
+“Yes, sir,” said Jason obediently.
+
+The light went out. Jimmie Dale moved to the rear of the room--to the
+window overlooking the garage and yard.
+
+“I don't see anything, sir,” Jason called.
+
+“Watch!” Jimmie Dale answered.
+
+A minute passed--two--three. Jimmie Dale was staring down into the black
+of the yard. She understood! She knew, of course, before she 'phoned
+that something had gone wrong to-night. She knew that only peril of the
+gravest moment would have kept him from the 'phone--and her. She knew
+now, as a logical conclusion, that it was dangerous to attempt to
+communicate with him at his home. Those wires! Where did they lead to?
+Not far away--that would be almost a mechanical impossibility. Was it
+into the Crime Club itself--near at hand? Or the basement, say, of that
+apartment house across the driveway? Or--where?
+
+And then Jimmie Dale spoke again:
+
+“Do you see anything, Jason?”
+
+“I'm not sure, sir,” Jason answered hesitantly. “I thought I saw a man
+move behind a tree out there across the road a minute ago, sir. Yes,
+sir--there he is again!”
+
+There was a thin, mirthless smile on Jimmie Dale's lips.
+
+Below, in the shadow of the garage, a dark form, like a deeper shadow,
+stirred--and was still again.
+
+“What time is it, Jason?” Jimmie Dale asked presently.
+
+“It'll be about half-past four, sir.”
+
+“Go to bed, Jason.”
+
+“Yes, sir; but”--Jason's voice, low, troubled, came through the darkness
+from the upper end of the room--“Master Jim, sir, I--”
+
+“Go to bed, Jason--and not a word of this.”
+
+“Yes, sir. Good-night, Master Jim.”
+
+“Good-night, Jason.”
+
+Jimmie Dale groped his way to the big lounging chair in which he had
+found Jason asleep, and flung himself into it. They had struck quickly,
+these ingenious, dress-suited murderers of the Crime Club! The house
+was already watched, would be watched now untiringly, unceasingly; not a
+movement of his henceforth but would be under their eyes!
+
+His hands, resting on the arms of the chair, closed slowly until they
+became tight-clenched, knotted fists. What was he to do? It was not only
+the Crime Club, it was not only the Tocsin and her peril--there was the
+underworld snapping and snarling at his heels, there was the police,
+dogged and sullen, ever on the trail of the Gray Seal! His life, even
+before this, in his fight against the underworld and the police, had
+depended upon his freedom of action--and now, at one and the same time,
+that freedom was cut away from beneath his feet, as it were, and a third
+foe, equally as deadly as the others, was added to the list!
+
+For months, to preserve and sustain the character of Larry the Bat, he
+had been forced to assume the role almost daily; for, in that sordid
+empire below the dead line, whose one common bond and aim was the
+Gray Seal's death, where suspicion, one of the other, was rampant and
+extravagant, where each might be the one against whom all swore their
+vengeance, Larry the Bat could not mysteriously disappear from his
+accustomed haunts without inviting suspicion in an active and practical
+form--an inquisitorial visit to his squalid lodgings, the Sanctuary--and
+the end of Larry the Bat!
+
+If, as he had thought only a few hours before, he was through forever
+with his dual life, that would not have mattered, the underworld would
+have been welcome to make what it chose of it--but now the preservation
+of the character of Larry the Bat was more vital and necessary to him
+than it had ever been before. It was a means of defense and offense
+against these men who lurked now outside his doors. It was the sole
+means now of communication with her; for, warned both by Jason's
+words, and what must be an obvious fact to her, that their plans had
+miscarried, that it was dangerous to communicate with him as Jimmie
+Dale, she would expect him, count on him to make that move. There
+would be no longer either reason or attempt on her part to maintain the
+mystery with which she had heretofore surrounded herself, the crisis
+had come, she would be watching, waiting, hoping, seeking for him
+more anxiously and with far more at stake than he had ever sought for
+her--until now!
+
+He got up impulsively from his chair, and, in the blackness, began to
+pace the room. The next move was clear, pitifully clear; it had been
+clear from the first, it had been clear even in that ride in the car--it
+was so clear that it seemed veritably to mock him as he prodded his
+brains for some means of putting it into execution. He must get to the
+Sanctuary, become Larry the Bat--but how? HOW! The question seemed at
+last to become resonant, to ring through the room with the weight of
+doom upon it.
+
+Schemes, plans, ideas came, bringing a momentary uplift--only to be
+discarded the next instant with a sort of bitter, desperate regret.
+These men were not men of mere ordinary intelligence; their cleverness,
+their power, the amazing scope of their organisation, all bore grim
+witness to the fact that they would be blinded not at all by any paltry
+ruse.
+
+He could walk out of the house in the morning as Jimmie Dale without
+apparent hindrance--that was obvious enough. And so long as he pursued
+the usual avocations of Jimmie Dale, he would not be interfered
+with--only WATCHED. It was useless to consider that plan for a moment.
+It would not help him to reach the Sanctuary--without leading them there
+behind him! True, there was always the chance that he might shake them
+off his trail, but he could hardly hope to accomplish anything like that
+without their knowing that it was done DELIBERATELY--and that he dared
+not risk. The strongest weapon in his hands now was his secret knowledge
+that he was being watched.
+
+That telephone there, for instance, that most curiously kept on
+insisting in his mind that it, and it alone was the way out, was the
+last thing he could place in jeopardy. Besides, there was another reason
+why such a plan would not do; for, granting even that he succeeded in
+eluding them on the way, and managed to reach the Sanctuary, his freedom
+of action would be so restricted and limited as to be practically
+worthless--he would have to return to his home here again within a
+reasonable time as Jimmie Dale, within a few hours at most--or again
+they would be in possession of the fact that he had discovered their
+surveillance.
+
+That, it was true, had been his original plan when he had entered the
+house half an hour previously, but it was an entirely different matter
+now. Then, he had counted on GETTING AWAY without their knowing it,
+before they, as he had fondly thought, would have had a chance to
+establish their espionage, and when they would have had no reason to
+suspect, for a time at least, that he was not still within the house,
+when they would have been watching, as it were, an empty cage.
+
+He stopped in his walk, and, after a moment, dropped down into the
+lounging chair again. That was it, of course. An empty cage! If he could
+escape from the house! Not so much without their seeing him; that
+was more or less a mechanical detail. But escape--and leave them in
+possession of a sort of guarantee or assurance that he was still there!
+That would give him the freedom of action that he must have. He smiled
+with bitter irony. That solved the problem! That was all there was
+to it--just that! It was very simple, exceedingly simple; it was
+only--impossible!
+
+The smile left his lips, and once more his hands, clenched fiercely. No;
+it was not impossible! It MUST be done--if he was to win through, if
+he was even to save himself! It must be done--or FAIL her! It COULD be
+done; there was a way--if he could only see it!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE “HOUR”
+
+
+As the minutes passed, many of them, Jimmie Dale sat there motionless,
+staring before him at the desk that was faintly outlined in the
+unlighted room. Then somewhere in the house a clock struck the hour.
+Five o'clock! He raised his head. YES! It could be done! There was a
+way! He had the germ of it now. And now the plan began to grow, to take
+form and shape in his mind, to dovetail, to knit the integral parts into
+a comprehensive whole. There was a way--but he must have assistance.
+Jason--yes, assuredly. Benson, his chauffeur--yes, equally as
+trustworthy as Jason. Benson was devoted to him; and moreover Benson was
+young, alert, daring, cool. He had had more than one occasion to test
+Benson's resourcefulness and nerve!
+
+Jimmie Dale rose abruptly, went to the rear window, and, parting the
+curtains cautiously, stood peering down into the courtyard. Yes, it
+was feasible; even a little more than feasible. The garage fronted the
+driveway, of course, to give free entrance and egress to the cars, but
+where the wall of the garage and the rear wall of the house overlapped,
+as it were, the space between them was not much more than ten yards;
+and here the shadows of the two walls, mingling, lay like a black,
+impenetrable pathway--not like that other shadow he had seen moving at
+the side of the garage, and that, if not for the moment discernible, was
+none the less surely still lurking there!
+
+Satisfied, Jimmie Dale swung briskly from the window, and, going now
+to his bedroom across the hall, undressed and went to bed--but not to
+sleep. There would be time enough to sleep, all day, if he wished; now,
+there were still the little details to be thought out that, more than
+anything else, could make or wreck his plans. A point overdone, the
+faintest suggestion of a false note where men of the calibre of those
+against whom he was now fighting for his life were concerned, would
+not only make his scheme abortive, but would place him utterly at their
+mercy.
+
+It was nine o'clock when he rang for Jason.
+
+“Jason,” he said abruptly, as the other entered, “I want you to
+telephone for Doctor Merlin.”
+
+“The doctor, sir!” exclaimed the old man anxiously. “You're--you're not
+ill, Master Jim, sir?”
+
+“Do I look ill, Jason?” inquired Jimmie Dale gravely.
+
+“Well, sir,” admitted Jason, in concern; “a bit done up, sir, perhaps. A
+little pale, sir; though I'm sure--”
+
+“I'm glad to hear it,” said Jimmie Dale, sitting up in bed. “The worse I
+look, the better!”
+
+“I--I beg pardon, sir?” stammered Jason.
+
+“Jason,” said Jimmie Dale, gravely again, “you have had reason to know
+that on several occasions my life has been threatened. It is threatened
+now. You know from last night that this house is now watched. You
+may, or you may not have surmised--that our telephone wires have been
+tapped.”
+
+“Tapped, sir!”--Jason's face had gone a little gray.
+
+“Yes; a party line, so to speak,” said Jimmie Dale grimly. “Do you
+understand? You must be careful to say no more, no less than exactly
+what I tell you to say. Now go and telephone! Ask the doctor to come
+over and see me this morning. Simply say that I am not feeling well; but
+that, apart from being apparently in a very nervous condition, you do
+not know what is the matter.”
+
+“Yes, sir--good Lord, sir!” gasped Jason--and left the room to carry out
+his orders.
+
+An hour later, Doctor Merlin had been and gone--and had left two
+prescriptions; one written, the other verbal. With the written one,
+Benson, in his chauffeur's livery, was dispatched to the drug store; the
+verbal one was precisely what Jimmie Dale had expected from the fussy
+old family physician: “Two or three days of quiet in the house James;
+and if you need me again, let me know.”
+
+“Now, Jason,” said Jimmie Dale, when the old man had returned from
+ushering Doctor Merlin from the house, “our friends out there will be
+anxious to learn the verdict. I was to dine with the Ross-Hendersons
+to-morrow night, was I not?”
+
+“Yes, sir; I think so, sir.”
+
+“Make sure!” said Jimmie Dale. “Look in my engagement book there on the
+table.”
+
+Jason looked.
+
+“Yes, sir, that's right,” he announced.
+
+“Very good,” said Jimmie Dale softly. “Now go and telephone again,
+Jason. Present my regrets and excuses to the Ross-Hendersons, and say
+that under the doctor's orders I am confined to the house for the next
+few days--and, Jason!”
+
+“Yes, sir?”
+
+“When Benson returns with the medicine let him bring it here
+himself--and I shall want you as well.”
+
+Jimmie Dale propped himself up a little wearily on the pillows, as Jason
+went out of the room. After all, his condition was not entirely feigned.
+He was, as a matter of fact, pretty well played out, both mentally and
+physically. Certainly, that he should require a doctor and be confined
+to the house could not arouse suspicion even in the minds of those
+alert, aristocratic thugs of the Crime Club, prone as they would be
+to suspect anything--a man who had been knocked unconscious in an
+automobile smash the night before, had been in a fight, had been
+subjected to a terrific mental shock, to say nothing of the infernal
+drug that had been administered to him, might well be expected to be
+indisposed the next morning, and for several mornings following that!
+It might, indeed, even cause them to relax their vigilance for the time
+being--though he dared build nothing on that. Well, he had only to coach
+Benson and Jason in the parts they were to play, and the balance of the
+morning and all the afternoon was his in which to rest.
+
+He reached over to the table, picked up a pencil and paper, and began to
+jot down memoranda. He had just tossed the pencil back on the table as
+the two men entered.
+
+Jason, at a sign, closed the door quietly.
+
+Jimmie Dale looked at Benson half musingly, half whimsically, for a
+moment before he spoke.
+
+“Benson,” he said, “the back seat of the large touring car is hinged and
+lifts up, once the cushion is removed, doesn't it?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” Benson answered promptly.
+
+“And there's space enough for, say, a man inside, isn't there?”
+
+“Why, yes, sir; I suppose so--at a squeeze”--Benson stared blankly.
+
+“Quite so!” said Jimmie Dale calmly. “Now, another matter, Benson: I
+believe some chauffeurs have a habit, when occasion lends itself, of
+taking, shall we say, their 'best girl' out riding in their masters'
+machines?”
+
+“SOME might,” Benson replied, a little stiffly. “I hope you don't think,
+sir, that--”
+
+“One moment, Benson. The point is, it's done--quite generally?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“And you have a 'best girl,' or at least could find one for such a
+purpose, if you were so inclined?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” said Benson; “but--”
+
+“Very good!” Jimmie Dale interrupted. “Then to-night, Benson, taking
+advantage of my illness, and to-morrow night, and the nights after
+that until further notice, you will acquire and put into practice that
+reprehensible habit.”
+
+“I--I don't understand, Mr. Dale.”
+
+“No; I dare say not,” said Jimmie Dale--and then the whimsicality
+dropped from him. “Benson,” he said slowly, “do you remember a night,
+nearly four years ago, the first night you ever saw me? You had,
+indiscreetly, I think, displayed more money than was wise in that East
+Side neighbourhood.”
+
+“I remember,” said Benson, with a sudden start; then simply: “I wouldn't
+be here now, sir, if it hadn't been for you.”
+
+“Well,” said Jimmie Dale quietly, “the tables are turned to-day, Benson.
+As Jason already knows, this house is watched. For reasons that I cannot
+explain, I am in great danger. Bluntly, I am putting my life in your
+hands--and Jason's.”
+
+Benson looked for an instant from Jimmie Dale to Jason, caught the
+strained, troubled expression on the old man's face, then back again at
+Jimmie Dale.
+
+“D'ye mean that, sir!” he cried. “Then you can count on me, Mr. Dale, to
+the last ditch!”
+
+“I know that, Benson,” Jimmie Dale said softly. “And now, both of you,
+listen! It is imperative that I should get away from the house; and
+equally imperative that those watching should believe that I am still
+here. Not even the servants are to be permitted a suspicion that I am
+not here in my bed, ill. That, Jason, is your task. You will allow
+no one to wait on me but yourself; you will bring the meal trays up
+regularly--and eat the food yourself. You will answer all inquiries,
+telephone and otherwise, in person--I am not seeing any one. You
+understand perfectly, Jason?”
+
+“I understand, Master Jim. You need have no fear, sir, on that score.”
+
+“Now, you, Benson,” Jimmie Dale went on. “A few minutes ago I sent
+you out in your chauffeur's togs with that prescription. You were
+undoubtedly observed. I wanted you to be. It was quite necessary that
+they should know and be able to recognise you again--to disabuse their
+minds later on of the possibility that I might be masquerading in your
+clothes; and also, of course, that they should know who you were, and
+what your position was in the household. Very well! To-night, at eight
+o'clock exactly, you are to go out from the back door of the house to
+the garage. On the way out--it will be quite dark then--I want you to
+drop something, say, a bunch of keys that you had been jingling in your
+hand. You are to experience some difficulty in finding it again, move
+about a little to force any one that may be lurking by the garage to
+retreat around the corner. Grumble a bit and make a little noise; but
+you are not to overdo it--a couple of minutes at the outside is enough,
+by that time I shall be under the car seat. You will then run the
+machine out to the street and stop at the curb, jump out, and, as though
+you had forgotten something, hurry back to the garage. You must not be
+away long--enough only to permit, say, a passer-by to glance into the
+car and satisfy himself that it is empty. You understand, of course,
+Benson, that the hood must be down--no closed car to invite even the
+suggestion of concealment--that would be a fatal blunder. Drive then
+to the young lady's home by as direct a route as you can--give no
+appearance of being aware that you are followed, as you will be, and
+much less the appearance of attempting to elude pursuit. Act naturally.
+Between here and your destination I will manage readily enough to leave
+the car. You will then take the young lady for her drive--that is what
+they will be interested in--your motive for going out to-night. And, as
+I said, take her driving again on each succeeding night--establish the
+HABIT to their satisfaction.”
+
+Jimmie Dale paused, glanced at the paper which he still held in his
+hand, then handed it to Benson.
+
+“Just one thing more, Benson,” he said: “Listed on that paper you will
+find a different rendezvous for each night for the next five nights,
+excluding to-night, which, after you have returned the young lady to her
+home, you are to pass by on your way back here. See that your drive is
+always over in time for you to pass each night's rendezvous at half
+past eleven sharp. Don't stop unless I signal you. If I am not there,
+go right on home, and be at the next place on the following night. I am
+fairly well satisfied they will not bother about you after to-night,
+or to-morrow night at the most; but, for all that, you must take no
+chances, so, except in the route you take in going to the young lady's,
+always avoid covering the same ground twice, which might give the
+appearance of having some ulterior purpose in view--even in your drives,
+vary your runs. Is this clear, Benson?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” said Benson earnestly.
+
+“Very well, then,” said Jimmie Dale. “Eight o'clock to the dot,
+Benson--compare your time with Jason's. And now, Jason, see that I get a
+chance to sleep until dinner time to-night.”
+
+The hours that followed were hours of sound and much-needed sleep for
+Jimmie Dale, and from which he awoke only on Jason's entrance that
+evening with the dinner tray.
+
+“I've slept like a log, Jason!” he cried briskly, as he leaped out of
+bed. “Anything new--anything happened?”
+
+“No, sir; not a thing,” Jason answered. “Only, Master Jim, sir”--the old
+man twisted his hands nervously--“I--you'll excuse my saying so, sir--I
+do hope you'll be careful to-night, sir. I can't help being afraid that
+something'll happen to you, Master Jim.”
+
+“Nonsense, Jason!” Jimmie Dale laughed cheerfully. “There's nothing
+going to happen--to me! You go ahead now and stay with the servants, and
+get them out of the road at the proper time.”
+
+He bathed, dressed, ate his dinner, and was slipping cartridges into the
+magazine of his automatic when, within a minute or two of eight o'clock,
+Jason's whisper came from the doorway.
+
+“It's all clear now, Master Jim, sir.”
+
+“Right!” Jimmie Dale responded--and followed Jason down the stairway,
+and to the head of the cellar stairs.
+
+Here Jason halted.
+
+“God keep you, Master Jim!” said the old man huskily. “Good-night,
+Jason,” Jimmie Dale answered softly; and, with a reassuring squeeze on
+the other's arm, went on down to the cellar.
+
+Here he moved quickly, noiselessly across to the window--not the
+window of the night before, but another of the same description, almost
+directly beneath the one in his den above, that faced the garage and lay
+in the line of that black shadow path between the two buildings. Deftly,
+cautiously without sound, a half inch, an inch at a time he opened it.
+He stood listening, then. A minute passed. Then he heard Benson open and
+shut the back door; then Benson in the yard; and then Benson's voice in
+a muttered and irritable growl, talking to himself, as he stamped around
+on the ground.
+
+With a lithe, agile movement, Jimmie Dale pulled himself up and through
+the window--and began to creep rapidly on hands and knees toward
+the garage. It was dark, intensely dark. He could barely distinguish
+Benson's form, though, as he passed the other, the slight sounds he made
+drowned out by the chauffeur's angry mumblings, he could have reached
+out and touched Benson easily.
+
+He gained the interior of the garage, and, as Benson, came on again,
+stepped lightly into the car, lifted the seat, and wriggled his way
+inside.
+
+It was close, stuffy, abominably cramped, but Jimmie Dale was smiling
+grimly now. Thanks to Benson, there wasn't a possibility that he had
+been seen. He both felt and heard Benson start the car. Then the car
+moved forward, ran the length of the driveway, bumped slightly as it
+made the street--and stopped. He heard Benson jump out and run back--and
+then he listened intently, and the grim smile flickered on his lips
+again. Came the sound of a footstep on the sidewalk close beside the
+car--then silence--the car shook a little as though some one's weight
+was on the step--then the footsteps receded--Benson returned on the
+run--and the car started forward once more.
+
+Perhaps ten minutes passed. Three times the car had swerved sharply,
+making a corner turn. Then Jimmie Dale pushed up the seat, and,
+protected from observation from behind by the back of the car itself,
+crawled out and crouched down on the floor of the tonneau.
+
+“Don't look around, Benson,” he said calmly. “Are we followed?”
+
+“Yes, sir.” Benson answered. “At least, there's always been a car behind
+us, though not the same one. They're pretty clever. There must be three
+or four, each following the other. Every time I turn a corner it's a
+different car that turns it behind me.”
+
+“How far behind?” Jimmie Dale asked.
+
+“Half a block.”
+
+“Slow down a little,” instructed Jimmie Dale; “and don't turn another
+corner until they've had a chance to accommodate themselves to your new
+speed. You are going too fast for me to jump, and I don't want them to
+notice any change in speed, except what is made in plain sight. Yes;
+that's better. Where are we, Benson?”
+
+“That's Amsterdam Avenue ahead,” replied Benson.
+
+“All right,” said Jimmie Dale quietly. “Turn into it. The more people
+the better. Tell me just as you are about to turn.”
+
+“Yes, sir,” said Benson; then, almost on the instant, “All ready, sir!”
+
+Jimmie Dale's hand reached out for the door catch, edged the door ajar,
+the car swerved, took the corner--and Jimmie Dale stepped out on the
+running board, hung there negligently for a moment as though chatting
+with Benson, and then with an airy “good-night” dropped nonchalantly
+to the ground, and the next instant had mingled with the throng of
+pedestrians on the sidewalk.
+
+A half minute later, a large gray automobile turned the corner and
+followed Benson--and Jimmie Dale, stepping out into the street again,
+swung on a downtown car. The road to the Sanctuary was open!
+
+In his impatience, now, the street car seemed to drag along every foot
+of the way; but a glance at his watch, as he finally reached the Bowery,
+and, walking then, rapidly approached the cross street a few steps ahead
+that led to the Sanctuary, told him that it was still but a quarter to
+nine. But even at that he quickened his steps a little. He was free now!
+There was a sort of savage, elemental uplift upon him. He was free! He
+could strike now in his own defense--and hers! In a few moments he would
+be at the Sanctuary; in a few more he would be Larry the Bat, and by
+to-morrow at the latest he would see--The Tocsin. After all, that “hour”
+ was not to be taken from him! It was not, perhaps, the hour that she had
+meant it should be, thought and prayed, perhaps, that it might be! It
+was not the hour of victory. But it was the hour that meant to him the
+realisation of the years of longing, the hour when he should see her,
+see her for the first time face to face, when there should be no more
+barriers between them, when--
+
+“Fer Gawd's sake, mister, buy a pencil!”
+
+A hand was plucking at his sleeve, the thin voice was whining in his
+ear. He halted mechanically. A woman, old, bedraggled, ragged, was
+thrusting a bunch of cheap pencils imploringly toward him--and then,
+with a stifled cry, Jimmie Dale leaned forward. The eyes that lifted to
+his for an instant were bright and clear with the vigor of youth, great
+eyes of brown they were, and trouble, hope, fear, wistfulness, ay, and
+a glorious shyness were in their depths. And then the voice he knew so
+well, the Tocsin's was whispering hurriedly:
+
+“I will be waiting here, Jimmie--for Larry the Bat.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+THE TOCSIN
+
+
+It was only a little way back along the street from the Sanctuary to
+the corner on the Bowery where as Jimmie Dale he had left her, where as
+Larry the Bat now he was going to meet her again; it would take only
+a moment or so, even at Larry the Bat's habitual, characteristic,
+slouching, gait--but it seemed that was all too slow, that he must throw
+discretion to the winds and run the distance. His blood was tingling;
+there was elation upon him, coupled with an almost childlike dread that
+she might be gone.
+
+“The Tocsin! The Tocsin!” he kept saying to himself.
+
+Yes; she was still there, still whiningly imploring those who passed to
+buy her miserable pencils--and then, with a quick-flung whisper to him
+to follow as he slouched up close to her, she had started slowly down
+the street.
+
+“The Tocsin! The Tocsin! The Tocsin!”--his brain seemed to be ringing
+with the words, ringing with them in a note clear as a silver bell.
+The Tocsin--at last! The woman who so strangely, so wonderfully, so
+mysteriously had entered into his life, and possessed it, and filled it
+with a love and yearning that had come to mold and sway and actuate
+his very existence--the woman for whom he had fought; for whom he had
+risked, and gladly risked, his wealth, his name, his honour--everything;
+the woman for whose sake he, the Gray Seal, was sought and hounded as
+the most notorious criminal of the age; she whose cleverness, whose
+resourcefulness, whose amazing intimacy with the hidden things of the
+underworld had seemed, indeed, to border on the supernatural; she, the
+Tocsin--the woman whose face he had never seen before! The woman whose
+face he had never seen before--and who now was that wretched hag that
+hobbled along the street before him, begging, whining, and importuning
+the passers-by to purchase of her pitiful wares!
+
+He laughed a little--buoyantly. He had never pictured a first meeting
+such as this! A hag? Yes! And one as disreputable in appearance as he
+himself, as Larry the Bat, was disreputable! But he had seen her eyes!
+Inimitable as was her disguise, she could not hide her eyes, or hide the
+pledge they held of the beauty of form and feature beneath the tattered
+rags and the touch of a master in the make-up that brought haggard want
+and age into the face--and dimly he began to divine the source, the
+means by which she had acquired the information that for years had
+enabled her to plan their coups, that had enabled him to execute them
+under the guise of crime, that for years had seemed beyond all human
+reach.
+
+Where was she going? Where was she taking him? But what did it matter!
+The years of waiting were at an end--the years of mystery in a few
+moments now would be mystery no more!
+
+Ah! She had turned from the Bowery, and was heading east. He shuffled on
+after her, guardedly, a half block behind. It was well that Jimmie Dale
+had disappeared, that he was Larry the Bat again--the neighbourhood
+was growing more and more one that Jimmie Dale could not long linger
+in without attracting attention; while, on the other hand, it was the
+natural environment of such as Larry the Bat and such as she, who was
+leading him now to the supreme moment of his life. Yes, it was that--the
+fulfillment of the years! The thought of it alone filled his mind, his
+soul; it brushed aside, it blotted out for the time being the danger,
+the peril, the deadly menace that hung over them both. It was only that
+she, the Tocsin, was here--only that at last they would be together.
+
+On she went, traversing street after street, the direction always
+trending toward the river--until finally she halted before what appeared
+to be, as nearly as he could make out in the almost total darkness of
+the ill-lighted street, a small and tumble-down, self-contained dwelling
+that bordered on what seemed to be an unfenced store yard of some
+description. He drew his breath in sharply. She had halted--waiting for
+him to come up with her. She was waiting for him--WAITING for him!
+It seemed as though he drank of some strange, exhilarating elixir--he
+reached her side eagerly--and then--and then--her hand had caught his,
+and she was leading him into the house, into a black passage where he
+could see nothing, into a room equally black over whose threshold he
+stumbled, and her voice in a low, conscious way, with a little tremour,
+a half sob in it that thrilled him with its promise, was in his ears:
+
+“We are safe here, Jimmie, for a little while--but, oh, Jimmie, what
+have I done! What have I done to bring you into this--only--only--I was
+so sure, so sure, Jimmie, that there was nothing more to fear!”
+
+The blood was beating in hammer blows at his temples. It seemed all
+unreal, untrue that this moment could be his, that it was not a dream--a
+dream which was presently to be snatched from him in a bitter awakening.
+And then he laughed out wildly, passionately. No--it was true, it was
+real! Her breath was on his cheek, it was a living, pulsing hand that
+was still in his--and then soul and mind and body seemed engulfed and
+lost in a mad ecstasy--and she was in his arms, crushed to him, and he
+was raining kisses upon her face.
+
+“I love you! I love you!” he was crying hoarsely; and over and over
+again: “I love you! I love you!”
+
+She did not struggle. The warm, rich lips were yielding to his; he could
+feel the throb, the life in the young, lithe form against his own. She
+was his--his! The years, the past, all were swept away--and she was his
+at last--his for always. And there came a mighty sense of kingship
+upon him, as though all the world were at his feet, and virility, and a
+great, glad strength above all other men's, and a song was in his soul,
+a song triumphant--for she was his!
+
+“You!” he cried out--and strained her to him. “You!” he cried again--and
+kissed her lips and her eyelids and her lips again.
+
+And then her head was buried on his shoulder, and she was crying softly;
+but after a moment she raised her hands and laid them upon his face,
+and held them there, and because it was dark, dared to raise her head as
+well, and her eyes to look into his.
+
+Then for a long time they stood there so, and for a long time neither
+spoke--and then with a little startled, broken cry, as though the peril
+and the menace hanging over them, forgotten for the moment, were thrust
+like a knife stab suddenly upon her, she drew herself away, and ran from
+him, and went and got a lamp, and lighted it, and set it upon the table.
+
+And Jimmie Dale, still standing there, watched her. How gloriously her
+eyes shone, dimmed and misty with the tears that filled them though they
+were! And there was nothing incongruous in the rags that clothed her, in
+the squalour and poverty of the bare room, in the white furrows that the
+tears had plowed through the grime and make-up on her cheeks.
+
+“You wonderful, wonderful woman!” Jimmie Dale whispered.
+
+She shook her head as though almost in self-reproach.
+
+“I am not wonderful, Jimmie,” she said, in a low voice. “I”--and then
+she caught his arm, and her voice broke a little--“I've brought you into
+this--probably to your death. Jimmie, tell me what happened last night,
+and since then. I--I've thought at times to-day I should go mad. Oh,
+Jimmie, there is so much to say to-night, so much to do if--if we
+are ever to be together for--for always. Last night, Jimmie--the
+telephone--I knew there was danger--that all had gone wrong--what was
+it?”
+
+His arms were around her shoulders, drawing her close to him again.
+
+“I found the wires tapped,” he said slowly.
+
+“Yes, and--and the man you met--the chauffeur?”
+
+“He is dead,” Jimmie Dale answered gently.
+
+He felt her hand close with a quick, spasmodic clutch upon his arm; her
+face grew white--and for a moment she turned away her head.
+
+“And--and the package?” she asked presently.
+
+“I do not know,” replied Jimmie Dale. “He did not have it with him;
+he--”
+
+“Wait!” she interrupted quickly. “We are only wasting time like this!
+Tell me everything, everything just as it happened, everything from the
+moment you received my letter.”
+
+And, holding her there in his arms, softening as best he could the more
+brutal details, he told her. And, at the end, for a little while she was
+silent; then in a strained, impulsive way she asked again:
+
+“The chauffeur--you are sure--you are positive that he is dead?”
+
+“Yes,” said Jimmie Dale grimly; “I am sure.” And then the pent-up flood
+of questions burst from his lips. Who was the chauffeur? The package,
+the box numbered 428, and John Johansson? And the Crime Club? And
+the issue at stake? The danger, the peril that surrounded her? And
+she--above all--more than anything else--about herself--her strange
+life, its mystery?
+
+She checked him with a strangely wistful touch of her finger upon his
+lips, with a queer, pathetic shake of her head.
+
+“No, Jimmie; not that way. You would never understand. I cannot--”
+
+“But I am to know--now! Surely I am to know NOW!” he cried, a sudden
+sense of dismay upon him. Three years! Three years--and always the
+“next” time! “I must know now, if I am to help you!”
+
+She smiled a little wanly at him, as she drew herself away, and,
+dropping into a chair, placed her elbows on the rickety table, cupping
+her chin in her hands.
+
+“Yes; you are to know now,” she said, almost as though she were talking
+to herself; then, with a swift intake of her breath, impulsively:
+“Jimmie! Jimmie! I had thought that it would be all so different
+when--when you came. That--that I would have nothing to fear--for
+you--for me--because--it would be all over. And now you are here,
+Jimmie--and, oh, thank God for you!--but I feel to-night almost--almost
+as though it were hopeless, that--that we were beaten.”
+
+“Beaten!” He stepped quickly to the table, and sat down, and took one
+of her hands away from her face to hold it in both his own. “Beaten!”
+ he laughed out defiantly; then, playfully, soothingly, to reassure her:
+“Jimmie Dale and Larry the Bat and the Gray Seal and the Tocsin--BEATEN!
+And after we have just scored the last trick!”
+
+“But we do not hold many trumps, Jimmie,” she answered gravely. “You
+have seen something of this Crime Club's power, its methods, its
+merciless, cruel, inhuman cunning, and you, perhaps, think that you
+understand--but you have not begun to grasp the extent of either that
+power or cunning. This horrible organisation has been in existence for
+many years. I do not know how many. I only know that the men of whom
+it is composed are not ordinary criminals, that they do not work in
+the ordinary way--to-day, they set the machinery of fraud, deception,
+robbery, and murder in motion that ten years from now, and, perhaps,
+only then, will culminate in the final success of their schemes--and
+they play only for enormous stakes. But”--her lips grew set--“you will
+see for yourself. I must not talk any longer than is necessary; we must
+not take too much time. You count on three days before they begin to
+suspect that all is not right with Jimmie Dale--I know them better than
+you, and I give you two days, forty-eight hours at the outside, and
+possibly far less. Jimmie”--abruptly--“did you ever hear of Peter
+LaSalle?”
+
+“The capitalist? Yes!” said Jimmie Dale. “He died a few years ago. I
+know his brother Henry well--at the club, and all that.”
+
+“Do you!” she said evenly. “Well, the man you know is not Peter
+LaSalle's brother; he is an impostor--and one of the Crime Club.”
+
+“Not--Peter LaSalle's brother!”--Jimmie Dale repeated the words
+mechanically. And suddenly his brain was whirling. Vaguely, dimly, in
+little memory snatches, events, not pertinent then, vitally significant
+now, came crowding upon him. Peter LaSalle had come from somewhere in
+the West to live in New York; and very shortly afterward had died. The
+estate had been worth something over eleven millions. And there had
+been--he leaned quickly, tensely forward over the table, staring at her.
+“My God!” he whispered hoarsely. “You are not, you cannot be--the--the
+daughter--Peter LaSalle's daughter, who disappeared strangely!”
+
+“Yes,” she said quietly. “I am Marie LaSalle.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE TOCSIN'S STORY
+
+
+LaSalle! The old French name! That old French inscription on the ring:
+“SONNEZ LE TOCSIN!” Yes; he began to understand now. She was Marie
+LaSalle! He began to remember more clearly.
+
+Marie LaSalle! They had said she was one of the most beautiful girls
+who had ever made her entree into New York society. But he had never met
+her--as Marie LaSalle; never met her--until now, as the Tocsin, in this
+bare, destitute, squalid hovel, here at bay, both of them, for their
+lives.
+
+He had been away when she had come with her father to New York; and
+on his return there had only been the father's brother in the father's
+place--and she was gone. He remembered the furor her disappearance had
+caused; the enormous rewards her uncle had offered in an effort to trace
+her; the thousand and one speculations as to what had become of her;
+and that then, gradually, as even the most startling and mystifying of
+events and happenings always do, the affair had dropped into oblivion
+and had been forgotten by the public at least. He began to count back.
+Yes, it must have been nearly five years ago; two years before she,
+as the Tocsin, and he, as the Gray Seal, had formed their amazing and
+singular partnership, that--he started suddenly, as she spoke.
+
+“I want to tell you in as few words as I can,” she said abruptly,
+breaking the silence. “Listen, then, Jimmie. My mother died ten years
+ago. I was little more than a child then. Shortly after her death,
+father made a business trip to New York, and, on the advice of some
+supposed friends, he had a new will drawn up by a lawyer whom they
+recommended, and to whom they introduced him. I do not know who those
+men were. The lawyer's name was Travers, Hilton Travers.” She glanced
+curiously at Jimmie Dale, and added quickly: “He was the chauffeur--the
+man who was killed last night.”
+
+“You mean,” Jimmie Dale burst out, “you mean that he was--but, first,
+the will! What was in the will?”
+
+“It was a very simple will,” she answered. “And from the nature of it,
+it was not at all strange that my father should have been willing to
+have had it drawn by a comparative stranger, if that is what you are
+thinking. Summarised in a few words, the will left everything to me,
+and appointed my Uncle Henry as my guardian and the sole executor of the
+estate until I should have reached my twenty-fifth birthday. It provided
+for a certain sum each year to be paid to my uncle for his services as
+executor; and at the expiration of the trust period--that is, when I was
+twenty-five--bequeathed to him the sum of one hundred thousand dollars.”
+
+Jimmie Dale nodded. “Go on!” he prompted.
+
+“It is hard to tell it in logical sequence,” she said, hesitating a
+moment. “So many things seem to overlap each other. You must understand
+a little more about Hilton Travers. During the five years following the
+signing of the will father came frequently to New York, and became,
+not only intimate with Travers, but so much impressed with the other's
+cleverness and ability that he kept putting more and more of his
+business into Travers' hands. At the end of that five years, we moved
+to New York, and father, who was then quite an old man, retired from all
+active business, and turned over a great many of his personal affairs
+to Travers to look after for him, giving Travers power of attorney in a
+number of instances. So much for Travers. Now about my uncle. He was my
+father's only brother; in fact, they were the only surviving members of
+their family, apart from very distant connections in France, from where,
+generations back, the family originally came.” Her hand touched
+Jimmie Dale's for an instant. “That ring, Jimmie, with its crest and
+inscription, is the old family coat of arms.”
+
+“Yes,” he said briefly; “I surmised as much.”
+
+“Strange as it may seem, in view of the fact that they had not seen each
+other for twenty years,” she went on hurriedly “my father and my
+uncle were more than ordinarily attached to each other. Letters passed
+regularly between them, and there was constant talk of one paying the
+other a visit--but the visit never materialised. My uncle was somewhere
+in Australia, my father was here, and consequently I never saw my uncle.
+He was quite a different type of man from father--more restless, less
+settled, more rough and ready, preferring the outdoor life of the
+Australian bush to the restrictions of any so-called civilisation, I
+imagine. Financially, I do not think he ever succeeded very well, for
+twice, in one way or another, he lost every sheep on his ranch and
+father set him up again; and I do not think he could ever have had much
+of a ranch, for I remember once, in one of the letters he wrote, that he
+said he had not seen a white man in weeks, so he must have lived a very
+lonely life. Indeed, at about the time father drew the new will, my
+uncle wrote, saying that he had decided to give up sheep running on his
+own account as it did not pay, and to accept a very favourable offer
+that had been made to him to manage a ranch in New Zealand; and his next
+letter was from the latter country, stating that he had carried out
+his intentions, and was well satisfied with the change he had made. The
+long-proposed visit still continued to occupy my father's thoughts, and
+on his retirement from business he definitely made up his mind to go
+out to New Zealand, taking me with him. In fact, the plans were all
+arranged, my uncle expressed unbounded delight in his letters, and we
+were practically on the eve of sailing, when a cable came from my uncle,
+telling us to postpone the visit for a few months, as he was obliged to
+make a buying trip for his new employer that would keep him away that
+length of time--and then”--her fingers, that had been abstractedly
+picking out the lines formed by the grain of the wood in the table top,
+closed suddenly into tight-clenched fists--“and then--my father died.”
+
+Jimmie Dale turned away his head. There were tears in her eyes. The old
+sense of unreality was strong upon him again. He was listening to the
+Tocsin's story. It was strange that he should be doing that--that
+it could be really so! It seemed as though magically he had been
+transported out of the world where for years past he had lived with
+danger lurking at every turn, where men set watch about his house to
+trap him, where the denizens of the underworld yowled like starving
+beasts to sink their fangs in him, where the police were ceaselessly
+upon his trail to wreak an insensate vengeance upon him; it seemed as
+though he had been transported away from all that to something that he
+had dreamed might, perhaps, sometime happen, that he had hoped might
+happen, that he had longed for always, but now that it was his, that it
+also was full of the sense of the unreal. And yet as his mind followed
+the thread of her story, and leaped ahead and vaguely glimpsed what was
+to come, he was conscious in a sort of premonitory way of a vaster peril
+than any he had ever known, as though forces, for the moment masked,
+were arrayed against him whose strength and whose malignity were beyond
+human parallel. In what a strange, almost incoherent way his brain was
+working! He roused himself a little and looked around him--and, with a
+shock, the starkness of the room, the abject, pitiful air of destitution
+brought home to him with terrific, startling force the significance of
+the scene in which he was playing a part. His face set suddenly in
+hard lines. That she should have been brought to assume such a life as
+this--forced out of her environment of wealth and refinement, forced
+in her purity to rub shoulders with the vile, the dissolute, forced to
+exist as such a creature amid the crime and vice, the wretched horror
+of the underworld that swirled around her! There was anger now upon him,
+burning, hot--a merciless craving that was a savage, hungry lust for
+vengeance.
+
+And then she was speaking again:
+
+“Father's death occurred very shortly after my uncle's message advising
+us to postpone our trip was received. On his death, Travers, very
+naturally, as father's lawyer, cabled my uncle to come to New York
+at once; and my uncle replied, saying that he was coming by the first
+steamer.”
+
+She paused again--but only for an instant, as though to frame her
+thoughts in words.
+
+“I have told you that I had never seen my uncle, that even my father had
+not seen him for twenty years; and I have told you that the man you know
+as Henry LaSalle is an impostor--I am using the word 'uncle' now when I
+refer to him simply to avoid confusion. You are, perhaps, expecting
+me to say that I took a distinctive dislike to him from the moment he
+arrived? On the contrary, I had every reason to be predisposed toward
+him; and, indeed, was rather agreeably surprised than otherwise--he was
+not nearly so uncouth and unpolished as, somehow, I had pictured his
+life would have made him. Do you understand, Jimmie? He was kind,
+sympathetic; and, in an apathetic way, I liked him. I say 'apathetic'
+because I think that best describes my own attitude toward every one and
+everything following father's death until--THAT NIGHT.”
+
+She rose abruptly from her chair, as though a passive position of any
+kind had suddenly become intolerable.
+
+“Why tell you what my father and I were to each other!” she cried out
+in a low, passionate voice. “It seemed as though everything that meant
+anything had gone out of my life. I became worn out, nervous; and though
+the days were bad enough, the nights were a source of dread. I began
+to suffer from insomnia--I could not sleep. This was even before my
+supposed uncle came. I used to read for hours and hours in my room
+after I had gone to bed. But”--she flung out her hand with an impatient
+gesture--“there is no need to dwell on that. One night, about a week
+after that man had arrived, and a little over a month after father had
+died, I was in my room and had finished a book I was reading. I remember
+that it was well after midnight. I had not the slightest inclination
+to sleep. I picked up another book--and after that another. There were
+plenty in my room; but, irrationally, of course, none pleased me. I
+decided to go down to the library--not that I think I really expected
+to find anything that I actually wanted, but more because it was an
+impulse, and furnished me for the moment with some definite objective,
+something to do. I got up, slipped on a dressing gown, and went
+downstairs. The lights were all out. I was just on the point of
+switching on those in the reception hall, when suddenly it seemed as
+though I had not strength to lift my hand, and I remember that for an
+instant I grew terribly cold with dread and fear. From the room on my
+right a voice had reached me. The door was closed, but the voice was
+raised in an outburst of profanity. I--I could hear every word.
+
+“'If she's out of the way, there's no come-back,' the voice snarled. 'I
+won't listen to anything else! Do you hear! Why, you fool, what are you
+trying to do--hand me one! Turn everything into cash, and divvy, and
+beat it--eh? And I'm the goat, and I get caught and get twenty years
+for stealing trust funds--and the rest of you get the coin!' He swore
+terribly again. 'Who's taken the risk in this for the last five years!
+There'll be no smart Aleck lawyer tricks--there'll be no halfway
+measures! And who are you to dictate! She goes out--that's safe--I
+inherit as next of kin, with no one to dispute it, and that's all there
+is to it!'
+
+“I stood there and could not move. It was the voice of the man I knew
+as my uncle! My heart seemed to have stopped beating. I tried to tell
+myself that I was dreaming, that it was too horrible, too incredible to
+be real; that they could not really mean to--to MURDER me. And then I
+recognised Hilton Travers' voice.
+
+“'I am not dictating, and you are not serious, of course,' he said,
+with what seemed an uneasy laugh. 'I am only warning you that you are
+forgetting to take the real Henry LaSalle into account. He is bound to
+hear of this eventually, and then--'
+
+“Another voice broke in--one I did not recognise.
+
+“'You're talking too loud, both of you! Travers doesn't understand, but
+he's to be wised up to-night, according to orders, and--'
+
+“The voice became inaudible, muffled--I could not hear any more. I
+suppose I remained there another three or four minutes, too stunned to
+know what to do; and then I ran softly along the hall to the library
+door. The library, you understand, was at the rear of the room they
+were in, and the two rooms were really one; that is, there was only an
+archway between them. I cannot tell you what my emotions were--I do not
+know. I only know that I kept repeating to myself, 'they are going to
+kill me, they are going to kill me!' and that it seemed I must try and
+find out everything, everything I could.”
+
+She turned away from the table, and began to pace nervously up and down
+the miserable room.
+
+Jimmie Dale rose impulsively from his chair--but she waved him back
+again.
+
+“No; wait!” she said. “Let me finish. I crept into the library. It took
+me a long time, because I had to be so careful not to make the slightest
+noise. I suppose it was fully six or seven minutes from the time I
+had first heard my supposed uncle's voice until I had crept far enough
+forward to be able to see into the room beyond. There were three men
+there. The man I knew as my uncle was sitting at one end of the
+table; another had his back toward me; and Travers was facing in my
+direction--and I think I never saw so ghastly a face as was Hilton
+Travers' then. He was standing up, sort of swaying, as he leaned with
+both hands on the table.
+
+“'Now then, Travers,' the man whose back was turned to me was saying
+threateningly, 'you've got the story now--sign those papers!'
+
+“It seemed as though Travers could not speak for a moment. He kept
+looking wildly from one to the other. He was white to the lips.
+
+“'You've let me in for--THIS!' he said hoarsely, at last, 'You
+devils--you devils--you devils! You've let me in for--murder! Both of
+them! Both Peter and his brother--MURDERED!'”
+
+She stopped abruptly before Jimmie Dale, and clutched his arm tightly.
+
+“Jimmie, I don't know why I did not scream out. Everything went black
+for a moment before my eyes. It was the first suspicion I had had that
+my father had met with foul play, and I--”
+
+But now Jimmie Dale swayed up from his chair.
+
+“Murdered!” he exclaimed tensely. “Your father! But--but I remember
+perfectly, there was no hint of any such thing at the time, and never
+has been since. He died from quite natural causes.”
+
+She looked at him strangely.
+
+“He died from--inoculation,” she said. “Did--did you not see something
+of that laboratory in the Crime Club yourself the night before
+last--enough to understand?”
+
+“Good God!” muttered Jimmie Dale, in a startled way then: “Go on! Go on!
+What happened then?”
+
+She passed her hand a little wearily across her eyes--and sank down into
+her chair again.
+
+“Travers,” she continued, picking up the thread of her story, “had
+raised his voice, and the third man at the table leaned suddenly,
+aggressively toward him.
+
+“'Hold your tongue!' he growled furiously. 'All you're asked to do is
+sign the papers--not talk!'
+
+“Travers shook his head.
+
+“'I won't!' he cried out. 'I won't have any hand in another murder--in
+hers! My God, I won't--I won't, I tell you! It's horrible!'
+
+“'Look here, you fool!' the man who was posing as my uncle broke in
+then. 'You're in this too deep to get out now. If you know what's good
+for you, you'll do as you're told!'
+
+“Jimmie, I shall never forget Travers' face. It seemed to have changed
+from white to gray, and there was horror in his eyes: and then he
+seemed to lose all control of himself, shaking his fists in their faces,
+cursing them in utter abandon.
+
+“'I'm bad!' he cried. 'I've gone everything, everything but the
+limit--everything but murder. I stop there! I'll have no more to do
+with this. I'm through! You--you pulled me into this, and--and I didn't
+know!'
+
+“'Well, you know now!' the third man sneered. 'What are you going to do
+about it?'
+
+“'I'm going to see that no harm comes to Marie LaSalle,' Travers
+answered in a dull way.
+
+“The other man now was on his feet--and, I do not know quite how to
+express it, Jimmie, he seemed ominously quiet in both his voice and his
+movements.
+
+“'You'd better think that over again, Travers!' he said. 'Do you mean
+it?'
+
+“'I mean it,' Travers said. 'I mean it--God help me!'
+
+“'You may well add that!' returned the other, with an ugly laugh. He
+reached out his hand toward the telephone on the table. 'Do you know
+what will happen to you if I telephone a certain number and say that you
+have turned--traitor?'
+
+“'I'll have to take my chances,' Travers replied doggedly. 'I'm
+through!'
+
+“'Take them, then!' flung out the other. 'You'll have little time given
+you to do us any harm!'
+
+“Travers did not answer. I think he almost expected an attack upon him
+then from the two men. He hesitated a moment, then backed slowly toward
+the door. What happened in the next few moments in that room, I do not
+know. I stole out of the library. I was obsessed with the thought that
+I must see Travers, see him at all costs, before he got away from the
+house. I reached the end of the hall as the room door opened, and he
+came out. It was dark, as I said, and I could not see distinctly, but
+I could make out his form. He closed the door behind him--and then
+I called his name in a whisper. He took a quick step toward me, then
+turned and hurried toward the front door, and I thought he was going
+away--but the next instant I understood his ruse. He opened the front
+door, shut it again quite loudly, and crept back to me.
+
+“'Take me somewhere where we will be safe--quick!' he whispered.
+
+“There was only one place where I was sure we would be safe. I led
+him to the rear of the house and up the servants' stairs, and to my
+boudoir.”
+
+She broke off abruptly, and once more rose from her chair, and once
+more began to pace the room. Back in his chair, Jimmie Dale, tense and
+motionless now, watched her without a word.
+
+“It would take too long to tell you all that passed between us,” she
+went on hurriedly. “The man was frankly a criminal--but not to the
+extent of murder. And in that respect, at least, he was honest with
+himself. Almost the first words he said to me were: 'Miss LaSalle, I am
+as good as a dead man if I am caught by the devils behind those two men
+downstairs.' And then he began to plead with me to make my own escape.
+He did not know who the man was that was posing as my uncle, had never
+seen him before until he presented himself as Henry LaSalle; the other
+man he knew as Clarke, but knew also that 'Clarke' was merely an assumed
+name. He had fallen in with Clarke almost from the time that he had
+begun to practise his profession, and at Clarke's instigation had gone
+from one crooked deal to another, and had made a great deal of money. He
+knew that behind Clarke was a powerful, daring, and unscrupulous band of
+criminals, organised on a gigantic scale, of which he himself was, in
+a sense--a probationary sense, as he put it--a member; but he had never
+come into direct contact with them--he had received all his orders and
+instructions through Clarke. He had been told by Clarke that he was to
+cultivate father following the introduction, to win father's confidence,
+to get as many of father's affairs into his hands as possible, to reach
+the position, in fact, of becoming father's recognised attorney--and
+all this with the object, as he supposed of embezzling from father on
+a large scale. Then father died, and Travers was instructed to cable my
+uncle. He knew that the man who answered that summons was an impostor;
+but he did not know, until they had admitted it to him that night, that
+both my father and my uncle had been murdered, and that I, too, was to
+be made away with.”
+
+She looked at Jimmie Dale, and suddenly laughed out bitterly.
+
+“No; you don't understand, even yet, the patient, ingenious deviltry
+of those fiends. It was they, at the time the new will was drawn, who
+offered to buy out my real uncle's sheep ranch in that lonely, unsettled
+district in Australia, and offered him that new position in New Zealand.
+My uncle never reached New Zealand. He was murdered on his way there.
+And in his place, assuming his name, appeared the man who has been
+posing as my uncle ever since. Do you begin to see! For five years
+they were patiently working out their plans, for five years before
+my father's death that man lived and became known and accepted, and
+ESTABLISHED himself as Henry LaSalle. Do you see now why he cabled us to
+postpone our visit? He ran very little risk. The chances were one in a
+thousand that any of his few acquaintances in Australia would ever run
+across him in New Zealand; and besides, he was chosen because it
+seems there was a slight resemblance between him and the real Henry
+LaSalle--enough, with his changed mode of living and more elaborate and
+pretentious surroundings, to have enabled him to carry through a bluff
+had it become necessary. He had all of my uncle's papers; and the Crime
+Club furnished him with every detail of our lives here. I forgot to
+say, too, that from the moment my uncle was supposed to have reached New
+Zealand all his letters were typewritten--an evidence in father's eyes
+that his brother had secured a position of some importance; as, indeed,
+from apparently unprejudiced sources, they took pains to assure father
+was a fact. This left them with only my uncle's signature to forge to
+the letters--not a difficult matter for them!
+
+“Believing that they had Travers so deeply implicated that he could do
+nothing, even if he had the inclination, which they had not for a moment
+imagined, and arrogant in the belief in their own power to put him out
+of the way in any case if he proved refractory, they admitted all this
+to him that night when he brought up the issue of the real Henry LaSalle
+putting in an appearance sooner or later, and when they wanted him to
+smooth their path by releasing all documents where his power of attorney
+was involved. Do you see now the part they gave Travers to play? It was
+to put the stamp of genuineness upon the false Henry LaSalle. Not but
+that they were prepared with what would appear to be overwhelmingly
+convincing evidence to prove it if it were necessary; but if the man
+were accepted by the estate's lawyer there was little chance of any one
+else questioning his identity.”
+
+She halted again by the table--and forced a smile, as her eyes met
+Jimmie Dale's.
+
+“I am almost through, Jimmie. That night was a terrible one for both
+of us. Travers' life was not worth a moment's purchase once they found
+him--and mine was only under reprieve until sufficient time to obviate
+suspicion should have elapsed after father's death. We had no proof that
+would stand in any court--even if we should have been given the chance
+to adopt that course. And without absolute, irrefutable proof, it was
+all so cleverly woven, stretched over so many years, that our charge
+must have been held to be too visionary and fantastic to have any basis
+in fact.
+
+“All Travers would have been able to advance was the statement that the
+supposed Henry LaSalle had admitted being an impostor and a murderer
+to him! Who would believe it! On the face of it, it appeared to be an
+absurdity. And even granted that we were given an opportunity to bring
+the charge, they would be able to prove by a hundred influential
+and well-known men in New Zealand that the impostor was really Henry
+LaSalle; and were we able to find any of my uncle's old acquaintances in
+Australia, it would be necessary to get them here--and not one of them
+would have reached America alive.
+
+“But there was not a chance, not a chance, Jimmie, of doing that--they
+would have killed Travers the moment he showed himself in the open. The
+only thing we could do that night was to try and save our own lives; the
+only thing we could look forward to was acquiring in some way, unknown
+to them, the proof, fully established, with which we could crush them in
+a single stroke, and before they would have time to strike back.
+
+“The vital thing was proof of my uncle's death. That, if it could
+be obtained at all, could only be obtained in Australia. Travers was
+obliged to go somewhere, to disappear from that moment if he wanted to
+save his life, and he volunteered to go out there. He left the house
+that night by the back entrance in an old servant's suit, which I found
+for him--and I never heard from him again until a month ago in the
+'personal' column of the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, through which we had agreed
+to communicate.
+
+“As for myself, I left the house the next morning, telling my pseudo
+uncle that I was going to spend a few days with a friend. And this
+I actually did; but in those few days I managed to turn all my own
+securities, that had been left me by my mother and which amounted to a
+considerable sum, into cash. And then, Jimmie, I came to--this, I have
+lived like this and in different disguises, as a settlement worker, as a
+widow of means in a fashionable uptown apartment, but mostly as you see
+me now--for five years. For five years I have watched my supposed
+uncle, hoping, praying that through him I could get to know the others
+associated with him; hoping, praying that Travers would succeed; hoping,
+praying that we would get them all--and watching day after day, and year
+after year the 'personal' column of the paper, until at last I began
+to be afraid that it was all useless. And there was nothing, Jimmie,
+nothing anywhere, and I had no success”--her voice choked a little.
+“Nothing! Even Clarke never went again to the house. You can understand
+now how I came to know the strange things that I wrote to the Gray Seal,
+how the life that I have led, how this life here in the underworld, how
+the constant search for some clew on my own account brought them to my
+knowledge; and you can understand now, too, why I never dared to let
+you meet me, for I knew well enough that, while I worked to undermine my
+father's and my uncle's murderers, they were moving heaven and earth to
+find me.
+
+“That is all, Jimmie. The day before yesterday, a month after Travers'
+first message to let me know that he was coming, there was another
+'personal' giving me an hour and a telephone number. He was back! He
+had everything--everything! We dared not meet; he was afraid, suspicious
+that they had got track of him again. You know the rest. That package
+contained the proof that, with Travers' death, can probably never be
+obtained again. Do you understand why THEY want it--why it is life
+and death to me? Do you understand why my supposed uncle offered huge
+rewards for me, why secretly every resource of that hideous organisation
+has been employed to find me--that it is only by my DEATH the estate can
+pass into their hands, and now--”
+
+She flung out her hands suddenly toward Jimmie Dale. “Oh, Jimmie,
+Jimmie, I've--I've fought so long alone! Jimmie, what are we to do?”
+
+He came slowly to his feet. She had fought so long--alone. But now--now
+it was his turn to fight--for her. But how? She had not told him
+all--surely she had not told him all, for everything depended upon that
+package. There had been so much to tell that she had not thought of all,
+and she had not told him the details about that.
+
+“That box--No. 428!” he cried quickly. “What is that? What does it
+mean?”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“I do not know,” she answered.
+
+“Then who is this John Johansson?”
+
+“I do not know,” she said again.
+
+“Nor where the Crime Club is?”
+
+“No”--dully.
+
+He stared at her for a moment in a dazed way.
+
+“My God!” Jimmie Dale murmured.
+
+And then she turned away her head.
+
+“It's--it's pretty bad, isn't it, Jimmie? I--I told you that we did not
+hold many trumps.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+SILVER MAG
+
+
+There was silence between them. Minute after minute passed. Neither
+spoke.
+
+Jimmie Dale dropped back into his chair again, and stared abstractedly
+before him. “We do not hold many trumps, Jimmie--we do not hold many
+trumps”--her words were repeating themselves over and over in his mind.
+They seemed to challenge him mockingly to deny what was so obviously a
+fact, and because he could not deny it to taunt and jeer at him--to jeer
+at him, when all that was held at stake hung literally upon his next
+move!
+
+He looked up mechanically as the Tocsin walked to a broken mirror at the
+rear of the miserable room; nodded mechanically in approval as she began
+deftly to retouch the make-up on her face where the tears had left their
+traces--and resumed his abstracted gaze before him.
+
+Box number four-two-eight--John Johansson--the Crime Club--the identity
+of the man who was posing as Henry LaSalle! If only he could hit upon a
+clew to the solution of a single one of those things, or a single phase
+of one of them--if only he could glimpse a ray of light that would at
+least prompt action, when every moment of inaction was multiplying the
+odds against them!
+
+There were the men who were watching his house at that moment on
+Riverside Drive--he, as Larry the Bat, might in turn keep watch on them.
+He had though of that. In time, perhaps, he might, by so doing, discover
+the whereabouts of the Crime Club. In time! It was just that--he had no
+time! Forty-eight hours, the Tocsin insisted, was all the time that he
+could count upon before they would become suspicious of Jimmie Dale's
+“illness,” before they would discover that they were watching an empty
+house!
+
+He might--though this was even more hazardous--make an attempt to trace
+the wires that tapped those of his telephone through the basement window
+that gave on the garage driveway. And what then? True, they could not
+lead very far away; but, even if successful, what then? They would not
+lead him to the Crime Club, but simply to some confederate, to some man
+or woman playing the part of a servant, perhaps, in the house next door,
+who, in turn, would have to be shadowed and watched.
+
+Jimmie Dale shook his head. Better, of the two, to start in at once and
+shadow those who were shadowing his house. But that was not the way! He
+knew that intuitively. He hated to eliminate it from consideration,
+for he had no other move to take its place--but such a move was almost
+suicide in itself. Time, and time alone, was the vital factor. They, the
+Tocsin and he, must act quickly--and STRIKE that night if they were to
+win. His fingers, the grimy fingers, dirty-nailed, of Larry the
+Bat, that none now would recognise as the slim tapering, wonderfully
+sensitive fingers of Jimmie Dale, the fingers that had made the name of
+the Gray Seal famous, whose tips mocked at bars and safes and locks,
+and seemed to embody in themselves all the human senses, tightened
+spasmodically on the edge of the table. Time! Time! Time! It seemed to
+din in his ears. And while he sat there powerless, impotent, the
+Crime Club was moving heaven and earth to find what HE must find--that
+package--if he was to save this woman here, the woman whom he loved, she
+who had been forced, through the machinations of these hell fiends,
+to adopt the life of a wretched hag, to exist among the dregs of the
+underworld, whose squalour and vice and wantonness none knew better than
+he!
+
+Jimmie Dale's face set grimly. Somewhere--somewhere in the past five
+years of this life of hers in which she had been fighting the Crime
+Club, pitting that clever brain of hers against it, MUST lie a clew.
+She had told him her story only in baldest outline, with scarcely a
+reference to her own personal acts, with barely a single detail. There
+must be something, something that perhaps she had overlooked, something,
+just the merest hint of something that would supply a starting point,
+give him a glimmer of light.
+
+She came back from across the room, and sank down in her chair again.
+She did not speak--the question, that meant life and death to them both,
+was in her eyes.
+
+Jimmie answered the mute interrogation tersely.
+
+“Not yet!” he said. Then, almost curtly, in a quick, incisive way, as
+the keen, alert brain began to delve and probe: “You say this man Clarke
+never returned to the house after that night?”
+
+She nodded her head quietly.
+
+“You are sure of that?” he insisted.
+
+“Yes,” she said. “I am sure.”
+
+“And you say that all these years you have kept a watch on the man who
+is posing as your uncle, and that he never went anywhere, or associated
+with any one, that would afford you a clew to this Crime Club?”
+
+“Yes,” she said again.
+
+It was a moment before Jimmie Dale spoke.
+
+“It's very strange!” he said musingly, at last. “So strange, in fact,
+that it's impossible. He must have communicated with the others, and
+communicated with them often. The game they were playing was too
+big, too full of details, to admit of any other possibility. And the
+telephone as an explanation isn't good enough.”
+
+“And yet,” she said earnestly, “possible or impossible, it is
+nevertheless true. That he might have succeeded in eluding me on
+occasions was perhaps to be expected; but that in all those years I
+should not catch him once in what, if you are correct, must have been
+many and repeated conferences with the same men is too improbable to be
+thought of seriously.”
+
+Jimmie Dale shook his head again.
+
+“If you had been able to watch him night and day, that might be so,”
+ he said crisply. “But, at best, you could only watch him a very small
+portion of the time.”
+
+She smiled at him a little wanly.
+
+“Do you think, Jimmie, from what you, as the Gray Seal, know of me, that
+I would have watched in any haphazard way like that?”
+
+He glanced at her with a sudden start.
+
+“What do you mean?” he asked quickly.
+
+“Look at me!” she said quietly. “Have you ever seen me before? I mean as
+I am now.”
+
+“No,” he answered, after an instant. “Not that I know of.”
+
+“And yet”--she smiled wanly again--“you have not lived, or made the
+place you hold in the underworld, without having heard of Silver Mag.”
+
+“You!” exclaimed Jimmie Dale. “You--Silver Mag!” He stared at her
+wonderingly, as, crouch-shouldered now, the hair, gray-threaded,
+straggling out from under the hood of a faded, dark-blue, seam-worn
+cloak, she sat before him, a typical creature of the underworld, her
+role an art in its conception, perfect in its execution. Silver Mag!
+Yes, he had heard of Silver Mag--as every one in the Bad Lands had heard
+of her. Silver Mag and her pocketful of coin! Always a pocketful of
+silver, so they said, that was dispensed prodigally to the wives
+and children temporarily deprived of support by husbands and fathers
+unfortunate enough in their clashes with the law to be doing “spaces”
+ up the river--and therefore the underworld swore by Silver Mag.
+Always silver, never a bill; Silver Mag had never been seen with a
+banknote--that was her eccentricity. Much or little, she gave or paid
+out of her pocketful of jangling silver. She was credited with being
+a sworn enemy of the police, and--yes, he remembered, too--with having
+done “time” herself. “I don't quite understand,” he said, in a puzzled
+way. “I haven't run across you personally because you probably took
+care to see that I shouldn't; but--it's no secret--every one says you've
+served a jail sentence yourself.”
+
+“That is simply enough explained,” she answered gravely. “The story is
+of my own making. When I decided to adopt this life, both for my own
+safety and as the best means of keeping a watch on that man, I knew that
+I must win the confidence of the underworld, that I must have help, and
+that in order to obtain that help I must have some excuse for my enmity
+against the man known as Henry LaSalle. To be widely known in the
+underworld was of inestimable value--nothing, I knew, could accomplish
+that as quickly as eccentricity. You see now how and why I became
+known as Silver Mag. I gained the confidence of every crook in New
+York through their wives and children. I told them the story of my jail
+sentence--while I swore vengeance on Henry LaSalle. I told them that he
+had had me arrested for something I never stole while I was working for
+him as a charwoman, and that he had had me railroaded to jail. There
+wasn't one but gave me credit for the theft, perhaps; but equally,
+there wasn't one but understood, and my eccentricity helped this out,
+my wanting to 'get' Henry LaSalle. Well--do you see now, Jimmie? I had
+money, I had the confidence of the underworld, I had an excuse for my
+hatred of Henry LaSalle, and so I had all the help I wanted. Day and
+night that man has been watched. He receives no visitors--what social
+life he has is, as you know, at the club. There is not a house that he
+has ever entered that, sooner or later, I have not entered after him
+in the hope of finding the headquarters of the clique. Even the men
+and women, as far as human possibility could accomplish it, that he
+has talked to on the streets have been shadowed, and their identity
+satisfactorily established--and the net result has been failure; utter,
+absolute, complete failure!”
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes, that had held steadily on her face, shifted,
+troubled and perplexed, to the table top.
+
+“You are wonderful!” he said, under his breath. “Wonderful! And--and
+that makes it all the more amazing, all the more incomprehensible. It is
+still impossible that he has not been in close and constant touch with
+his accomplices. He MUST have been! We would be blind fools to argue
+against it! It could not, on the face of it, have been otherwise!”
+
+“Then how, when, where has he done it?” she asked wearily.
+
+“God knows!” he said bitterly. “And if they have been clever enough to
+escape you all these years, I'm almost inclined to say what you said a
+little while ago--that we're beaten.”
+
+She watched him miserably, as he pushed back his chair impulsively and,
+standing up, stared down at her.
+
+“We're against it--HARD!” he said, with a mirthless laugh. Then, his
+lips tightening: “But we'll try another tack--the chauffeur--Travers.
+Though even here the Crime Club has a day's start of us, even if last
+night they knew no more about the whereabouts of that package than we
+know now. I'm afraid of it! The chances are more than even that they've
+already got it. If they were able to catch Travers as the chauffeur,
+they would have had something tangible to work back from”--Jimmie Dale
+was talking more to himself than to the Tocsin now, as though he were
+muttering his thoughts aloud. “How did they get track of him? When?
+Where? What has it led to? And what in Heaven's name,” he burst out
+suddenly, “is this box number four-two-eight!”
+
+“A safety-deposit vault, perhaps, that he has taken somewhere,” she
+hazarded.
+
+Jimmie Dale laughed mirthlessly again.
+
+“That is the one definite thing I do know--that it isn't!” he said
+positively. “It is nothing of that kind. It was half-past ten o'clock
+at night when I met him, and he said that he had intended going back for
+the package if it had been safe to do so. Deposit vaults are not open
+at that hour. The package is, or was, if they have not already got it,
+readily accessible--and at any hour. Now go over everything again, every
+detail that passed between you and Travers. He let you know that he was
+back in New York by means of a 'personal,' you said. What else was in
+that 'personal' besides the telephone number and the hour you were to
+call him? Anything?”
+
+“Nothing that will help us any,” she replied colourlessly. “There were
+simply the words 'northeast corner of Sixth Avenue and Waverly Place,'
+and the signature that we had agreed upon, the two first and two last
+letters of the alphabet transposed--BAZY.”
+
+“I see,” said Jimmie Dale quickly. “And over the 'phone he completed his
+message. Clever enough!”
+
+“Yes,” she said. “In that way, if any one were listening, or overhead
+the plan, there could be little harm come of it, for the essential
+feature of all, the place of rendezvous, was not mentioned. It has not
+been Travers' fault that this happened--and in spite of every precaution
+it has cost him his life. He wanted nothing to give them a clew to my
+whereabouts; he was trying to guard against the slightest evidence that
+would associate us one with the other. He even warned me over the
+'phone not to tell him how, where, or the mode of life I was living. And
+naturally, he dared give me no particulars about himself. I was simply
+to select a third party whom I could trust, and to follow out his
+instructions, which were those that I sent to you in my letter.”
+
+Jimmie Dale began to pace nervously up and down the room.
+
+“Nothing else?” he queried, a little blankly.
+
+“Nothing else,” she said monotonously.
+
+“But since last night, since you knew that things had gone wrong,” he
+persisted, “surely you traced that telephone number--the one you called
+up?”
+
+“Yes,” she said, and shrugged her shoulders in a tired way. “Naturally
+I did that--but, like everything else, it amounted to nothing. He
+telephoned from Makoff's pawnshop on that alley off Thompson Street,
+and--”
+
+“WHERE!” Jimmie Dale, suddenly stock-still, almost shouted the word. “He
+telephoned from--where! Say that again!”
+
+She looked at him in amazement, half rising from her chair.
+
+“Jimmie, what is it?” she cried. “You don't mean that--”
+
+He was beside her now, his hands pressed upon her shoulders, his face
+flushed.
+
+“Box number four-two-eight!” He laughed out hysterically in his
+excitement. “John Johansson--box number four-two-eight! And like a fool
+I never thought of it! Don't you see? Don't you know now yourself? THE
+UNDERGROUND POST OFFICE!”
+
+She stood up, clinging to him; a wild relief, that was based on her
+confidence in him, in her eyes and face, even while she shook her head.
+
+“No,” she said frantically. “No--I do not know. Tell me, Jimmie! Tell me
+quickly! You mean at Makoff's?”
+
+“No! Not Makoff's--at Spider Jack's, on Thompson Street!”--he was
+clipping off his words, still holding her tightly by the shoulders,
+still staring into her eyes. “You know Spider Jack! Jack's little
+novelty store! Ah, you have not learned all of the underworld yet!
+Spider Jack is the craftiest 'fence' in the Bad Lands--and Makoff is
+his partner. Spider buys the crooks' stuff, and Makoff disposes of it
+through the pawnshop--it's only a step through the connecting back yard
+from one to the other, and--”
+
+“Yes--but,” she interrupted feverishly, “the package--you said--”
+
+“Wait!” Jimmie Dale cried. “I'm coming to that! If Travers stood in with
+Makoff, he stood in with Spider Jack. For years Spider has been a sort
+of clearing house for the underworld--for years he has conducted, and
+profitably, too, his underground post office. Crooks from all over
+the country, let alone those in New York, communicate with each other
+through Spider Jack. These, for a fee, are registered at Spider's, and
+given a number--a box number he calls it, though, of course, there
+are no actual boxes. Letters come by mail addressed to him--the sealed
+envelope within containing the actually intended recipient's name. These
+Spider either forwards, or delivers in person when they are called
+for. Dozens of crooks, too, unwilling, perhaps, to dispose of small
+ill-gotten articles at ruinous 'fence' prices, and finding it unhealthy
+for the moment to keep them in their possession, use this means of
+depositing them temporarily for safe-keeping. You see now, don't you?
+It's certain that's where Travers left the package. He used the name
+of John Johansson, not to hoodwink Spider Jack, I should say, but as
+an added safeguard against the Crime Club. Travers must have known both
+Makoff and Spider Jack in the old days, and probably had reason, and
+good reason, to trust them both--possibly, a crook then himself, as
+he confessed, he may have acted in a legal capacity for them in their
+frequent tangles with the police.”
+
+“Then,” she said--and there was a glad, new note in her voice, “then,
+Jimmie--Jimmie, we are safe! You can get it, Jimmie! It is only a little
+thing for the Gray Seal to do--to get it now that we know where it is.”
+
+“Yes,” he said tersely. “Yes--if it is still there.”
+
+“Still there!”--she repeated the words quickly, nervously. “Still there!
+What do you mean?”
+
+“I mean if they, too, have not discovered that he was at Makoff's--if
+they have not got there first!” he said grimly. “There seems to be no
+limit to their cleverness, or their power. They penetrated his disguise
+as a chauffeur, and who knows what more they have learned since last
+night? We are fighting them in the dark, and--WHAT'S THAT!” he whispered
+tensely, suddenly--and leaning forward like a flash, as he whipped his
+automatic from his pocket, he blew out the lamp.
+
+The room was in darkness. They stood there rigid, silent, listening. Her
+hand found and caught his arm.
+
+And then it came again--a low sound, the sound of a stealthy footstep
+just outside the window that faced on the storage yard.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+THE MAGPIE
+
+
+A minute passed--another. The automatic at Jimmie Dale's hip, the muzzle
+just peeping over the table top, held a steady bead on the window. Came
+the footstep again--and then suddenly, a series of low, quick tappings
+upon the windowpane. The Tocsin's hand slipped away from his arm.
+Jimmie Dale's set face relaxed as he read the underground Morse, and he
+replaced his revolver slowly in his pocket.
+
+“The Magpie!” said Jimmie Dale, in an undertone. “What's he want?”
+
+“I don't know,” she answered, in a whisper. “He never came here before.
+There's a back way out, Jimmie, if you--”
+
+“No,” he said quickly. “We've enemies enough, with out making one of
+the Magpie. He knows some one is here with you--our shadows were on the
+blind. Don't queer yourself. Let him in. I'll light the lamp.”
+
+He struck a match, as she ran from the room, and, lifting the hot lamp
+chimney with the edge of his ragged coat, lighted the lamp. He turned
+the wick down a little, shading and dimming the room--and then, as he
+flirted a bead of moisture from his forehead, whimsically stretched out
+his hand to watch it in the lamplight.
+
+“That's bad, Jimmie,” he muttered gravely to himself, as he noted an
+almost imperceptible tremour. “Got a start, didn't you! Under a bit of a
+strain, eh? Well”--grimly--“never mind! It looks as though the luck had
+turned Makoff and Spider Jack!”
+
+His hand reached up to his hat, jerked the brim at a rakish angle over
+his eyes--and he sprawled himself out on a chair. He heard the Tocsin's
+voice at the front door, and a man's voice, low and guarded, answer her.
+Then the door closed, and their steps approached the room. It was rather
+curious, that--a visit from the Magpie! What could the Magpie want? What
+could there be in common between the Magpie and Silver Mag? The Magpie,
+alias Slimmy Joe, was counted the cleverest safe worker in the United
+States, barring only and always one--a smile flickered across the lips
+of Larry the Bat--one whose pre-eminence the Magpie, much to his own
+chagrin, admitted himself--the Gray Seal!
+
+He looked up, twisting the stub of a cigarette between his grimy fingers
+and fumbling for a match, as the Tocsin and, behind her, the Magpie,
+short, slim, and wiry, shrewd-faced, with sharp, quick-glancing little
+black eyes, entered the room.
+
+“'Ello, Larry!” grinned the Magpie. “Got yer breath back yet? I felt it
+through de windowpane when youse let go at de lamp!”
+
+“'Ello, Slimmy!” returned Jimmie Dale ungraciously, speaking through the
+corner of his mouth. “Ferget it!”
+
+“Sure!” said the Magpie unconcernedly. He stared about him, and finally,
+drawing a chair up to the table, sat down, motioned the Tocsin to do the
+same, and leaned forward amiably. “I didn't mean to throw no scare into
+youse,” he said, in a conciliating tone. “But I had a little business
+wid Mag, an' I was kind of interested in whether she was entertainin'
+company or not--see? I didn't know youse an' Mag was workin' together.”
+
+“Mabbe,” observed Jimmie Dale, as ungraciously as before, “mabbe dere's
+some more t'ings youse don't know!”
+
+“Aw, cough up de grouch!” advised the Magpie, with a hint of impatience
+creeping into his voice. “Youse don't need to be sore all night! I told
+youse I wasn't tryin' to hand youse one, didn't I?”
+
+“Never mind Larry, Slimmy,” put in the Tocsin petulantly. “He's down on
+his luck, dat's all. He ain't had de price of a pinch of coke fer two
+days.”
+
+“Oho!” exclaimed the Magpie, grinning again. “So dat's wot's givin'
+youse de pip, eh, Larry? Well, den, say, youse can take it from me dat
+mabbe youse'll be glad I blew around. I was lookin' fer a guy about
+yer size fer a little job to-night, an' I was t'inkin' of lettin' Young
+Dutchy in on it, but seem' youse are here an' in wid Mag, an' dat I got
+to get Mag in, too, youse are on if youse say de word.”
+
+“Wot's de lay?” inquired Larry the Bat, unbending a little.
+
+The Magpie cocked his eye, and stuck his tongue in his cheek.
+
+“GOOD-night!” he said tersely. “Nothin' like dat! Are youse on, or ain't
+youse?”
+
+“Well, den, wot's in it fer me?” persisted Larrry the Bat.
+
+“More'n de price of a coke sneeze!” returned the Magpie pertinently.
+“Dere's a century note fer youse, an' mabbe two or t'ree of dem fer
+Mag.”
+
+Larry the Bat's eyes gleamed avariciously.
+
+“Aw, quit yer kiddin'!” he said gruffly. “A century note--fer me!”
+
+“Dat's wot I said! Youse heard me!” rejoined the Magpie shortly. “Only
+if it listens good to youse now, I don't want no squealin' after the
+divvy. I'm takin' de chances, youse has de soft end of it. One century
+note fer youse--an' de rest is none of yer business! Dat's puttin' it
+straight, ain't it? Well, wot do youse say, an' say it quick--'cause if
+youse ain't comin' in, youse can beat it out of here so's I can talk to
+Mag.”
+
+“Dere ain't nothin' I wouldn't take a chance on fer a hundred plunks!”
+ declared Larry the Bat, with sudden fervency--and stared, anxiously
+expectant, at the Magpie. “Sure, I'm on Slimmy! Sure, I am! Cut it
+loose! Spill de story!”
+
+“Well, den,” said the Magpie, “I wants--”
+
+“Youse ain't through yet!” interrupted the Tocsin tartly. “I ain't heard
+youse askin' me nothin'! I ain't on me uppers like Larry, an' mabbe de
+price don't cut so much ice--see?”
+
+“Aw,” said the Magpie, with a smirk, “I don't have to ask youse on dis
+lay. Dis is where youse'd come in on it fer marbles. Say, dis is where
+we gets de hook into a guy by de name of Henry LaSalle! Get me?”
+
+HENRY LASALLE! Under the table, Jimmie Dale's hand clenched suddenly;
+but not a muscle of his face moved, save, as with the tip of his tongue,
+he shifted the butt of the cigarette that was hanging royally from his
+lower lip to the other corner of his mouth.
+
+“Sure! She's 'got' youse, Slimmy!” he flung out, with a grin, as the
+Tocsin wrinkled up her face menacingly and began to mumble to herself.
+“He's de guy dat handed her one when she was young, an' she's been
+layin' fer him ever since! Sure! I know! Ain't I worked him fer her till
+I wears me shoes out tryin' to get somet'ing on him! Sure, she's in on
+it! Go on, Slimmy, wot's de lay? Wot do I do fer dat century?”
+
+The Magpie hitched his chair closer to the table and, as his sharp,
+little, ferret eyes glanced around the room, motioned the two to brings
+their heads nearer.
+
+“One of me influential broker friends down on Wall Street put me wise,”
+ he said, with a wink. “Dat's good enough fer youse two, as far as dat
+goes. But take it from me, I got it dead straight.” He lowered his voice
+“Say, he's one of de richest mugs in New York, ain't he? Well, he's been
+sellin' stocks an' bonds all day, t'ousands an' t'ousands of dollars'
+worth--fer cash.”
+
+“All dem t'ings is always sold fer cash,” remarked Larry the Bat
+fatuously.
+
+“Aw, ferget it!” said the Magpie earnestly. “Fer CASH, I said--de coin,
+de long green--understand? He wasn't shovin' no checks fer what he sold
+into de bank except to get dem cashed. Dat's wot he's been doin' all
+day--gettin' de checks cashed, an' gettin' de money in big bills--see! I
+know of one bunch of eighty t'ousand--an' dat's only one!”
+
+“Wot fer?” inquired Larry the Bat. It was the question that was pounding
+at his brain, as he stared innocently at the Magpie. What did it mean?
+Why was Henry LaSalle turning, and, if the Magpie was right, feverishly
+turning every security he could lay his hands on into cash? And then,
+in a flash, the answer came. THEY HAD NOT FOUND THE PACKAGE! Equally
+to them, as to the Tocsin, sitting there before him, it meant life and
+death. If the package were found by the Tocsin instead of themselves,
+the game was up! They were preparing for eventualities. If they were
+forced to run at a moment's notice, they at least were not going to
+run empty-handed! Far from empty-handed, it seemed! It would not be
+difficult for the estate's executor to realise a vast sum in short order
+on instantly marketable, gilt-edged securities--say, half a million
+dollars. Not very bulky, either--in large bills! Five thousand
+hundred-dollar bills would make half a million. It was astonishing
+how small a hand bag, say, might hold a fortune! “Wot fer, Slimmy?” he
+inquired again, wiggling his cigarette butt on his tongue tip. “Wot'd he
+do dat fer?”
+
+“How de hell do youse suppose I knows!” demanded the Magpie, politely
+scornful. “Dat's his business--dat ain't wot's worryin' me!”
+
+“No--sure, it ain't!” admitted Larry the Bat ingratiatingly. “But go on,
+keep movin', Slimmy! Wot's he done wid de stuff?”
+
+“Done wid it!” echoed the Magpie, with a short laugh. “Wot do youse
+t'ink! He's been luggin' it home to his swell joint up dere on de
+avenoo, an' crammin' his safe full of it.”
+
+Larry the Bat sucked in his breath.
+
+“Gee, dat's soft!” he murmured, and then suddenly, as though with
+painful inspiration: “Say, Slimmy--say, are youse sure youse ain't been
+handed a steer?”
+
+The Magpie grinned wickedly.
+
+“I ain't fallin' fer steers!” he said shortly. “Dis is on de level.”
+
+Jimmie Dale lurched up from his chair, and, leaning over the lamp
+chimney, drew wheezily on his cigarette to get a light. His eyes sought
+the Tocsin's face. To all intents and purposes she was entirely absorbed
+in the Magpie. He sat down again to gape, with well-stimulated, doglike
+admiration, at Slimmy Joe. WAS THIS, TOO, A PLANT? Why had the Magpie
+come to THEM with this story of Henry LaSalle? And then, the next
+instant, as the Magpie spoke, his suspicions were allayed.
+
+“Let's get down to cases!” the Magpie invited crisply. “I didn't blow
+in here just by luck. Dis Henry LaSalle is de guy youse worked fer once,
+ain't he, Mag? Dat's de spiel, ain't it?--he sent youse up fer pinchin'
+de tacks out of his carpets!”
+
+“I never pinched nothin'!” snarled Silver Mag truculently. “He's a dirty
+liar! I never did!”
+
+“Cut it out! Cut it out! Can dat!” complained the Magpie patiently. “De
+point is, youse worked in his house, didn't youse?”
+
+“Sure I did!” snapped the Tocsin, sullenly aggressive; “but--”
+
+“Well, den, dat's wot I want, dat's wot I come fer, Mag--a plan of de
+house. See?”
+
+Jimmie Dale could feel the Tocsin's eyes upon him, questioning,
+searching, seeking a cue. A plan of the house--yes or no? And a decision
+on the instant!
+
+“Sure!” said Larry the Bat brightly. “Dat's wot I was t'inkin' youse
+were after all de time. Say, youse are all right, Slimmy! Youse are de
+kind to work wid! Go on, Mag, draw de dope fer Slimmy. Dat's better
+dan tryin' to put one over on de swell guy. Dis'll make him squeal fer
+fair!”
+
+The Magpie produced a pencil and a piece of paper from his pocket, and
+laid them on the table in front of the Tocsin.
+
+“Dere youse are,” he announced. “Help yerself, an' go to it, Mag!”
+
+The Tocsin, evidently not quite certain of her part, wet the pencil
+doubtfully on the end of her tongue.
+
+“I ain't never drawed plans,” she said anxiously. “Mabbe”--she glanced
+at Jimmie Dale--“mabbe I dunno how to do it RIGHT.”
+
+“Aw, go ahead!” nodded Larry the Bat. “Youse can do it right, Mag. Youse
+don't have to make no oil paintin'! All de Magpie wants is de doors an'
+windows, eh, Slimmy?”
+
+“Sure,” agreed the Magpie encouragingly. “Dat's all, Mag. Just mark
+de rooms out on de first floor, an' de basement. Youse can explain wot
+youse 're doin' as youse goes along. I'll get youse.”
+
+The Tocsin cackled maliciously in assent; and then, while the Magpie got
+up from his chair and stood peering over her shoulder, she began to draw
+labouriously, her brows knitted, the pencil hooked awkwardly between
+cramped-up forefinger and thumb.
+
+Larry the Bat, slouched forward over the table, his chin in his hands,
+appeared to watch the proceedings with mild interest--but his eyes, like
+a hawk's, were following every line on the paper, transferring them to
+his brain, photographing every detail of the plan in his mind. And as
+he watched, there seemed something that was near to the acme of all that
+was ironical in the Magpie standing there, his sharp, little, black eyes
+drinking in greedily the Tocsin's work, in the Tocsin herself aiding and
+abetting in the projected theft--OF HER OWN MONEY! How far would he let
+the Magpie go? He did not know. Perhaps--who could tell!--all the way.
+Between now and then there lay that package! If it were at Makoff's, at
+Spider Jack's, if he could find it, get it--the Magpie as a temporary
+custodian of the estate's money would at least preclude its loss by
+flight if the Crime Club took alarm too quickly. Larry the Bat's eyes,
+under half-closed lids, rested musingly on the Magpie's face. The Magpie
+would not get very far away with it! On the other hand, if he failed at
+Spider Jack's, if, after all, he was wrong, and the package had never
+been there, or if they had forestalled him, turned the trick upon
+him, already secured it, then--Larry the Bat's lips, working on his
+cigarette, formed in a twisted smile--then, well then, that was quite
+another matter! Perhaps he and the Magpie might not agree so far! A half
+million dollars was perhaps not much out of eleven millions, but it was
+a salvage not to be despised! Why did he say half a million! Well, why
+not? If the Magpie knew of a single transaction of eighty thousand,
+and there had been many transactions during the day, a half million was
+little likely to prove an exaggeration--and the less likely in view
+of the fact that, if those in the Crime Club were preparing for
+an emergency, they would not stint themselves in the disposal of
+securities.
+
+The Magpie was keeping up a running fire of questions, as the Tocsin
+toiled on with her pencil. Where did the hall lead to? How many windows
+in the library? Did she remember the kind of fastenings? Did the
+servants sleep in the basement, or above? And finally, twice over, as
+she finished the clumsy drawing and pushed it toward him, he demanded
+minute details of the position of the safe.
+
+“Aw, dat's all right, Slimmy!” Larry the Bat cut in airily. “If youse
+ferget anyt'ing when youse get in dere, youse can ask me. I got it
+cinched!”
+
+The Magpie folded the paper and stowed it carefully away in his pocket.
+
+“Ask youse, eh!” he grunted sarcastically. “An' where do youse t'ink
+youse'll be about dat time?”
+
+“In dere wid youse, of course,” replied Larry the Bat promptly. “Dat's
+wot youse said.”
+
+“Yes, youse will--NOT!” announced the Magpie, with cold finality. “Do
+youse t'ink I want to queer myself! A hot one youse'd be on an inside
+job! Youse'll be OUTSIDE, wid yer peepers skinned for de bulls--youse
+an' Mag here, too. See! Get dat straight. While I'm on de job youse
+two plays de game. Now youse listen to me, both of youse. Don't start
+nothin' unless youse has to. If it's a cinch I got to make a get-away,
+youse two start a drunk fight. Get me? Youse know de lay. T'row de talk
+loud--an' I'll fade. Dat's all! We'll crack de crib early--it'll be
+quiet enough up dere by one o'clock.”
+
+One o'clock! Larry the Bat shook his head. What time was it now? It was
+about nine when he had first met the Tocsin, then the Sanctuary, then
+the long walk as he had followed her--say a quarter of ten for that. And
+he had certainly been here with her not less than an hour and a half.
+It must be after eleven, then. One o'clock! And before that must come
+Makoff and Spider Jack! The night that half an hour ago had seemed so
+sterile, was crowding a program of events upon him now--too fast!
+
+“Nothin' doin'!” he said thoughtfully. “Youse are in wrong dere, Slimmy.
+One o'clock don't go! Say, take it from me, I've watched dat guy
+too many nights fer Mag. 'Tain't often he leaves de club before one
+o'clock--an' he ain't never in bed before two.”
+
+“All right,” agreed the Magpie, after a moment's reflection. “Youse
+ought to know. Make it three o'clock.” He pulled a cigar from his
+pocket, lighted it, and, leaning back in his chair, stuck his feet up
+on the table. “If youse don't mind, Mag, I'll stick around a while,” he
+decided calmly. “Mabbe de less I'm seen to-night de better--an' I guess
+dere won't be nobody lookin' fer me here.”
+
+Larry the Bat coughed suddenly, and rose up a little heavily from his
+chair. He had not counted on that! If the Magpie was settling down for
+a prolonged stay, it devolved upon him, Jimmie Dale, to get away, and
+at once--and without exciting the Magpie's suspicions. He coughed again,
+looked nervously from the Tocsin to the Magpie--stammered--swallowed
+hard--and coughed once more.
+
+“Well, wot's bitin' youse?” inquired the Magpie ironically.
+
+“Nothin',” said Larry the Bat--and hesitated. “Nothin', only--” He
+hesitated again; and then, the words in a rush:
+
+“Say, Slimmy, couldn't youse come across wid a piece of dat century
+now?”
+
+“Wot fer?” demanded the Magpie, a little aggressively.
+
+Larry the Bat cleared his throat with a desperate effort.
+
+“Youse knows,” he admitted sheepishly. “Just gimme de price of one,
+Slimmy--just one.”
+
+“Coke!” exploded the Magpie. “An' get soaked to de eyes--not by a damn
+sight!”
+
+“No! Honest to Gawd, no, Slimmy--just one!” pleaded Larry the Bat.
+
+“Nix!” said the Magpie shortly.
+
+Larry the Bat thrust out a hand before the Magpie's eyes that shook
+tremulously.
+
+“I got to have it!” he declared, with sudden fierceness. “I GOT to--see!
+Look at me! I ain't goin' to be no good to-night if I don't. I tell
+youse, I got to! I ain't goin' to t'row youse down, Slimmy--honest, I
+ain't! Just one--an' it'll set me up. If I don't get none I'll be on de
+rocks before mornin'! Dat's straight, Slimmy--ask Mag, she knows.”
+
+“Aw, let him go get it!” broke in the Tocsin wearily. “Dat's de best
+t'ing youse can do, Slimmy--dey're all alike when dey gets in his
+class.”
+
+“Youse cocaine sniffers gives me de pip!” snorted the Magpie, in
+disgust. He dug down into his pocket, produced a bill, and flung it
+across the table to Larry the Bat. “Well, dere youse are; but youse
+can take it from me, Larry, dat if youse gets whiffed”--he swore
+threateningly--“I'll crack every bone in yer face! Get me?”
+
+“Slimmy,” said Larry the Bat fervently, grabbing at the bill with a
+hungry hand, “youse can count on me. I'll be up dere on de job before
+youse are. Three o'clock, eh? Well, so long, Slimmy”--he slouched
+eagerly to the door. “So long, Mag”--he paused on the threshold for
+a single, quick-flung, significant glance. “See youse on de avenoo,
+Mag--I'll be up dere before youse are. So long!”
+
+“Oh, so long!” said the Tocsin contemptuously.
+
+And, an instant later, Jimmie Dale closed the outer door behind him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+JOHN JOHANSSON--FOUR-TWO-EIGHT
+
+
+Nearly midnight already! It was even later than he had thought. Larry
+the Bat pressed his face against a shop's windowpane on the Bowery for
+a glance at a clock that had caught his eye on the wall within. Nearly
+midnight!
+
+He slouched on again hurriedly, still debating in his mind, as he
+had been debating it all the way from the Tocsin's, the question of
+returning again to the Sanctuary. So far, the way both to Spider Jack's
+and the Sanctuary had been in the same direction--but the Sanctuary was
+on the next street.
+
+Jimmie Dale reached the corner--and hesitated. It was strange how strong
+was the intuition upon him to-night that bade him go on and make all
+speed to Spider Jack's--while equally strong was the cold, stubborn
+logic that bade him go first to the Sanctuary. There were things that he
+needed there that would probably be absolutely essential to him before
+the night was out, things without which he might be so badly handicapped
+as to invite failure from the start; and yet--it was already midnight!
+
+Ostensibly both Makoff and Spider Jack closed their places at eleven.
+But that might mean anything--depending upon their own respective
+inclinations, or on what of their own peculiar brand of deviltry might
+be afoot. If they were still about, still in evidence, he was still too
+early, midnight though it was; though, on the other hand, if the coast
+was clear, he could ill afford to lose a moment of the time between
+now and the hour that the Magpie had planned for the robbery of Henry
+LaSalle, for it would not be an easy matter, even once inside Spider
+Jack's, to find that package--since it was Spider's open boast that
+things committed to his care were where the police, or any one else,
+might as well whistle and suck their thumbs as try to find them!
+
+And then, with sudden decision, taking his hesitation, as it were, by
+the throat, Jimmie Dale hurried on again--to the Sanctuary. At most, it
+could delay him but another fifteen minutes, and by half-past twelve, or
+a quarter to one at the latest, he would be at Spider Jack's.
+
+Disdaining the secrecy of the side door on the alley, for who had a
+better right or was better known there than Larry the Bat, a tenant of
+years, he entered the tenement by the front door, scuffled up the stairs
+to the first landing, and let himself into his disreputable room. He
+locked the door behind him, lighted the choked and wheezy gas jet, in a
+single, sharp-flung glance assured himself that the blinds were tightly
+shut, and, kneeling in the far corner, threw back the oilcloth and
+lifted up the loose section of the flooring beneath. He reached inside,
+fumbling under the neatly folded clothes of Jimmie Dale, and in a moment
+laid his leather girdle with its kit of burglar's tools on the floor
+beside him; and beside that again an electric flashlight, a black silk
+mask, and--what he had never expected to use again when, early the night
+before, he had, as he had believed, put it away forever--the thin, metal
+insignia case of the Gray Seal. Another moment, and, with the flooring
+replaced, the oilcloth rolled back into position, he had stripped off
+his coat and was pulling his spotted, greasy shirt off over his head;
+then, stooping quickly, he picked up the girdle, put it on, put on
+his shirt again over it, put on his coat, put the metal case, the
+flashlight, and the mask in his pockets--and once more the Sanctuary was
+in darkness.
+
+It was perhaps fifteen minutes later that Jimmie Dale turned into the
+upper section of Thompson Street. Here he slowed his pace, that had
+been almost a run since he had left the Sanctuary, and began to shuffle
+leisurely along; for the street, that a few hours before would have been
+choked with its pushcarts and venders, its half naked children playing
+where they could find room in the gutters, its sidewalks thronged with
+shawled women and picturesquely dressed, earringed, dark-visaged men,
+a scene, as it were, transported from some foreign land, was still
+far from deserted; the quiet, if quiet it could be called, was but
+comparative, there were many yet about, and he had no desire to attract
+attention by any evidence of undue haste. And, besides, Spider Jack's
+was just ahead, making the corner of the alleyway a few hundred feet
+farther on, and he had very good reasons for desiring to approach
+Spider's little novelty store at a pace that would afford him every
+opportunity for observation.
+
+On he shuffled along the street, until, reaching Spider Jack's, a little
+two-storied, tumble-down brick structure, a muttered exclamation of
+satisfaction escaped him. The shop was closed and dark; and, though
+Spider Jack lived above the store, there were no lights even in the
+upper windows. Spider Jack presumably was either out, or in bed! So far,
+then, he could have asked for nothing more.
+
+Jimmie Dale edged in close to the building as he slouched by, so close
+that his hat brim seemed to touch the windowpane. It was possible that
+from a room at the rear of the store there might be a light with a
+telltale ray perhaps filtering through, say, a door crack. But there was
+nothing--only blackness within.
+
+He paused at the corner of the building by the alleyway. Down here,
+adjoining the high board fence of Spider Jack's back yard, Makoff made
+pretense at pawnbrokering in a small and dingy wooden building, that was
+little more pretentious than a shed--and in Makoff's place, so far as he
+could see, there was no light, either.
+
+Jimmie Dale's fingers were industriously rolling a cigarette, as, under
+the brim of his slouch hat, his eyes were noting every detail around
+him. A yard in against the wall of Spider Jack's, the wall cutting
+off the rays of the street lamp at a sharp angle, it was shadowy and
+black--and beyond that, farther in, the alleyway was like a pit. It
+would take less, far less, than the fraction of a second to gain that
+yard, but some one was approaching behind him, and a little group of
+people loitered, with annoying persistency, directly across the way on
+the other side of the street. Jimmie Dale stuck the cigarette between
+his lips, fumbled in his pockets, and finally produced a box of matches.
+The group opposite was moving on now; the footsteps he had heard behind
+him, those of a man, drew nearer, the man passed by--and the box of
+matches in Jimmie Dale's hand dropped to the ground. He reached to pick
+them up, and in his stooping posture, without seeming to turn his head,
+flung a quick glance behind him up the street. No one, for that fraction
+of a second that he needed, was near enough to see--and in that fraction
+of a second Jimmie Dale disappeared.
+
+A dozen yards down the lane, he sprang for the top of the high fence,
+gripped it, and, lithe and active as a cat, swung himself up and over,
+and dropped noiselessly to the ground on the other side. Here he stood
+motionless for a moment, close against the fence, to get his bearings.
+The rear of Spider Jack's building loomed up before him--the back
+windows as unlighted as those in front. Luck so far, at least, was with
+him! He turned and looked about him, and, his eyes growing accustomed to
+the darkness, he could just make out Makoff's place, bordering the end
+of the yard--nor, from this new vantage point, could he discover,
+any more than before, a single sign of life about the pawnbroker's
+establishment.
+
+Jimmie Dale stole forward across the yard, mounted the three steps of
+the low stoop at Spider Jack's back door, and tried the door cautiously.
+It was locked. From his pocket came the small steel instrument that
+had stood Larry the Bat in good stead a hundred times before in similar
+circumstances. He inserted it in the keyhole, worked deftly with it
+for an instant--and tried the door again. It was still locked. And
+then Jimmie Dale smiled almost apologetically. Spider Jack did not use
+ordinary locks on his back door!
+
+The discountenanced instrument went back into his pocket, and now
+Jimmie Dale's hand slipped inside his shirt, and from one of the little,
+upright pockets of the leather belt, and from still another, and from
+after that a third, came the vicious little blued-steel tools. The
+sensitive fingers travelled slowly up and down the side of the door--and
+then he was at work in earnest. A minute passed--another--there was a
+dull, low, grating sound, a snick as of metal yielding suddenly--and
+Jimmie Dale was coolly stowing away his tools again inside his shirt.
+
+He pushed the door open an inch, listened, then swung it wide, stepped
+inside, and closed it behind him. A round, white beam of light flashed
+in a quick circle--and went out. It was a sort of storeroom, innocent
+enough and orderly enough in appearance, bare-floored, with boxes and
+packing cases piled neatly against the walls. In one corner a staircase
+led to the story above--and from above, quite audibly now, he caught the
+sound of snoring. Spider Jack was in bed, then!
+
+Directly facing him was the open door of another room, and Jimmie Dale,
+moving softly forward, entered it. He had never been in Spider Jack's
+before, and his first concern was to form an intimate acquaintanceship
+with his surroundings. Again the flashlight circled, and again went out.
+
+“No windows!” muttered Jimmie Dale under his breath. “Nothing very fancy
+about the architecture! Three rooms in a row! Store in front of this
+room through that door of course. Wonder if the door's locked, though
+it's a foregone conclusion the package wouldn't be in there.”
+
+Not a sound, his tread silent, he crossed to the closed door that he had
+noticed. It was unlocked, and he opened it tentatively a little way.
+A faint glow of light diffused itself through the opening. Jimmie Dale
+nodded his head and closed the door again. The street lamp, shining
+through the shop windows, accounted for the light.
+
+And now the flashlight played with steady inquisitiveness about him.
+The room in which he stood seemed to combine a sort of office, with
+a lounging room, in which Spider Jack, no doubt, entertained his
+particular cronies. There was table in the centre, cards still upon it,
+chairs about it. Against the wall farthest away from the shop stood
+a huge, old-fashioned cabinet; and a little farther along, anglewise,
+partitioning off the corner, as it were, hung, for some purpose or
+other, a cretonne curtain. Also, against the wall next to the lane,
+bringing a commiserating smile to Jimmie Dale's lips as his eyes fell
+upon it, was a clumsy, lumbering, antique safe.
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes returned to the curtain. What was it doing there?
+What was it for? Instinctively he stepped over to examine it. A single
+glance, however, as he lifted it aside, sufficed. It was nothing but
+a make-shift clothes closet. He turned from it, switched off the
+flashlight, and stood staring meditatively into the darkness. In a
+strange house, with the knowledge to begin with that what he sought was
+carefully hidden, it was no sinecure to find that package. He had never
+for a moment imagined that it would be. But of one thing, however, there
+was no uncertainty in his mind--he would get the package!--by search
+if possible, by other means if search failed. It was now close to one
+o'clock. If by two o'clock his efforts had been fruitless, Spider Jack
+would hand over the package--at the revolver point! It was quite simple!
+Meanwhile--Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders, and, going over to
+the safe, knelt down in front of it--meanwhile, as well begin here as
+anywhere else.
+
+The trained fingers closed on the handle--and on the instant, as though
+in startled amazement, shifted to the dial. They came back to the
+handle--a wrench--then a low, amused chuckle--and the door swung open.
+The great, unwieldy thing was only a monumental bluff! It not only had
+not been locked, but it COULD NOT be locked--the mechanism was out of
+order, the bolts could not be moved by so much as a hair's breadth!
+
+Still chuckling, Jimmie Dale shot the flashlight's ray into the interior
+of the safe--and the chuckle died on his lips, and into his face came a
+look of strained bewilderment. Inside, everything was in chaos,
+books, papers, a miscellany of articles, as though they had first been
+ruthlessly pulled out on the floor, then gathered up in an armful and
+crammed back inside again. For an instant he did not move, and then a
+queer, hard, mirthless smile drew down the corners of his mouth. With a
+sort of bitter, expectant nod of his head, he turned the light upon the
+door of the safe. Yes, there were the scratches that the tools had left;
+and, as though in sardonic jest, the holes, where the steel bit had
+bored, were plugged with putty and rubbed over with some black substance
+that was still wet and came off, smearing his finger, as he touched it.
+It could not have been done long ago, then! How long? A half hour--an
+hour? Not more than that!
+
+Mechanically he closed the door of the safe, rose to his feet and,
+almost heedless of noise now, the flashlight ray dancing before him,
+he jumped across to the old-fashioned cabinet and pulled the door open.
+Here, as within the safe, all inside, plain evidence of thorough, if
+hasty, search, was scattered and tossed about in hopeless confusion.
+
+He shut the cabinet door; the flashlight went out; and he stood like
+a man stunned, the sense of some abysmal disaster upon him. He was too
+late! The game was up! If it had ever been here, the package was gone
+now--GONE! The Crime Club had been here before him!
+
+“The game was up! The game was up!”--his mind seemed to keep on
+repeating that. The Crime Club had beaten him by an hour, at most,
+and had been here, and had searched. It was strange, though, that they
+should have been at such curious pains to cover their tracks by leaving
+the room in order, by such paltry efforts to make the safe appear
+untouched when the first glance that was at all critical would disclose
+immediately what had been done! Why should they need to cover their
+tracks at all; or, if it was necessary, why, above all, in such a
+pitifully inadequate way! His mind barked back to the same ghastly
+refrain--“the game was up!”
+
+NO! Not yet! There was still a chance! There was still Spider Jack!
+Suppose, in spite of their search, they had failed to find the package!
+Jimmie Dale's lips set in a thin line, as he started abruptly toward
+the door. There was still that chance, and one thing was grimly
+certain--Spider Jack would, at least, show him where the package HAD
+BEEN!
+
+And then, halfway to the door, he halted suddenly, and stood
+still--listening. An electric bell was ringing loudly, imperiously,
+somewhere upstairs. Followed almost immediately the sound of some one,
+Spider Jack presumably, moving hurriedly about overhead; and then, a
+moment later, steps coming down the staircase in the adjoining room.
+
+Jimmie Dale drew back, flattening himself against the wall. Spider Jack
+entered the room, stumbled across it, in the darkness, fumbled for the
+door that led into his little shop, opened it, passed through, fumbled
+around in there again, for matches evidently, then lighted a gas jet in
+the store, and, going to the street door, opened it.
+
+Jimmie Dale had edged along the wall a little to a position where he had
+an unobstructed view through the open doorway connecting the shop and
+the room in which he stood. Spider Jack, in trousers and shirt, hastily
+donned, no doubt, as he had got out of bed, was standing in the street
+doorway, and beyond him loomed the forms of several men. Spider Jack
+stepped aside to allow his visitors to enter--and suddenly, a cry barely
+suppressed upon his lips, Jimmie Dale involuntarily strained forward.
+Three men had entered, but his eyes were fixed, fascinated, upon
+only one--the first of the three. Was it an hallucination? Was he
+mad---dreaming? It was Hilton Travers, THE CHAUFFEUR--the man whom he
+could have sworn he had last seen dead, lashed in that chair, in that
+ghastly death chamber of the Crime Club!
+
+“Rather rough on you, Spider, to pull you out of bed at this hour,” the
+chauffeur was saying apologetically.
+
+“Oh, that's all right, seein' it's you, Travers,” Spider Jack answered,
+gruffly amiable. “Only I was kind of lookin' for you last night.”
+
+“I know,” the chauffeur replied; “but I couldn't connect with my friends
+here. Shake hands with them, Spider--Bob Marvin--Harry Stead.”
+
+“Glad to know you, gents,” said Spider Jack, with a handgrip apiece.
+
+The chauffeur lowered his voice a little.
+
+“I suppose we're alone here, eh, Spider? Yes? Well, then, you know what
+I've come for--that package--Marvin and Stead, here, are the ones that
+are in on it with me. Get it for me, will you, Spider?”
+
+“Sure--Mr. Johansson!” Spider grinned. “Sure! Come on into the back room
+and make yourselves comfortable. I'll be mabbe five minutes, or so.”
+
+Jimmie Dale's brain was whirling. What did it mean? He could not seem
+to understand. His mind seemed to refuse its functions. Travers, the
+chauffeur--ALIVE! He drew in his breath sharply. That curtain in the
+corner! He must see this out now! They were coming! Quick, noiseless,
+he stole along the side of the wall, reached the corner, and slipped in
+behind the curtain, as Spider Jack, striking a match, entered the room.
+
+Spider Jack lighted the gas, and, as the others followed behind him,
+waved them toward the chairs around the table.
+
+“I'll just ask you gents not to leave the room,” he said meaningly, over
+his shoulder, as he stepped toward the rear door. “It's kind of a fad of
+mine to keep some things even from my wife!”
+
+“All right, Spider--I understand,” the chauffeur returned readily.
+
+Jimmie Dale's knife cut a tiny slit in the cretonne on a level with his
+eyes. The three men had seated themselves at the table, and appeared to
+be listening intently. Spider Jack's footsteps echoed back as he crossed
+the rear room, sounded dull and muffled descending the stoop outside,
+and died away.
+
+“I told you it wasn't in the house!” the man who had been introduced as
+Stead laughed shortly. “We wasted the hour we had here.”
+
+The third man spoke crisply, incisively, to the chauffeur.
+
+“Turn down that gas jet a little! You've got across with it so far--but
+you can't stand a searchlight, Clarke!”
+
+And at the words, in a flash, the meaning of it, all of it, to the last
+detail that was spelling death, ruin, and disaster for her, the Tocsin,
+for himself as well, burst upon Jimmie Dale. That VOICE! He would have
+known it, recognised it, among a thousand--it was the masked man of the
+night before, the leader, the head of the Crime Club! And it was not
+Travers there at all! He remembered now, too well, that second room they
+had showed him in the Crime Club--its multitude of disguises, though
+in this case they had the dead man's clothes ready to their hands--the
+leader's boast that impersonation was but child's play to them! And now
+he understood why they had covered up the traces of their search in only
+so curiously inadequate a manner. They had failed to find the package,
+and, as a last resort, had adopted the ruse of impersonating Hilton
+Travers, the chauffeur, which made it necessary that when they called
+Spider Jack from his bed, as they had just done, that Spider Jack, at a
+CASUAL glance, should notice nothing amiss--but it would be no more than
+a casual glance, for, who should know better than they, he would not
+have to go for the package to any place that they had disturbed! And he,
+Jimmie Dale, could only stand here and watch them, helpless, powerless
+to move! Three of them! A step out into the room was to invite certain
+death. It would not matter, his death--if he could gain anything
+for her, for the Tocsin, by it. But what could he gain--by dying? He
+clenched his hands until the nails bit into the flesh.
+
+Spider Jack re-entered the room, carrying what looked like a large,
+bulky, manila envelope, heavily sealed, in his hand. He tossed it on the
+table.
+
+“There you are, Travers!” he said.
+
+“I wonder,” suggested the leader pleasantly, “if, now that we're here,
+Travers, your friend would mind letting us have this room for a few
+minutes to ourselves to clean up the business?”
+
+“Sure!” agreed Spider Jack cordially. “You're welcome to it! I'll wait
+out here in the store until you say the word.”
+
+He went out, closing the door after him. The leader picked up the
+package.
+
+“We'll take no chances with this,” he said grimly. “It's been too close
+a call. After we've had a look at it, we'll put it out of harm's way on
+the spot, here, while we've got it--before we leave!”
+
+He ripped the package open, and disclosed perhaps a dozen
+official-looking documents, besides a miscellaneous number of others.
+He took up the first of the papers, glanced through it hurriedly, then
+tossed it to the pseudo chauffeur.
+
+“Tear it up, and tear it up--SMALL!” he ordered tersely. The next,
+after examining it as he had the first, he tossed to the other man. “Go
+ahead!”--curtly. “Work fast! From the looks of these, Travers had us
+cold! There's proof enough here of LaSalle's murder to send us all to
+the chair!”
+
+He went on glancing through the documents; and then suddenly, joining
+the others in their work, began to rip and tear at the papers himself.
+
+A sort of cold horror had settled upon Jimmie Dale, and his forehead
+was clammy wet. The inhuman irony of it! That he should stand there and
+watch, impotent to prevent it, the destruction of what he would have
+given his life to secure! And then slowly, a grim, hard, merciless smile
+came to his lips. He had recognised the leader's voice--now he would
+recognise the leader's FACE. At least, that was left to him--perhaps the
+master trump of all. It would not be very hard to find the Crime Club
+now--with that man to lead the way!
+
+The scraps of paper, tiny shreds, mounted into a heap on the table--and
+with the last of the contents of the package destroyed, the leader stood
+up.
+
+“Put these pieces in your pockets; we don't want to leave them here,” he
+directed quietly. “And then let's get out.”
+
+In scarcely a moment, the last scrap of paper had vanished. The three
+men walked to the door, passed through it, and joined Spider Jack in the
+store--and Jimmie Dale, slipping out from behind the curtain, gained the
+door of the rear room, crept through it, reached the stoop, and then,
+darting like the wind across the yard, was over the fence in a second,
+and in another was out of the alleyway and on the street.
+
+He was in time--in plenty of time. They had just left Spider Jack's,
+and were, perhaps, fifty yards or so ahead of him. He slouched on behind
+them--the cold, grim smile on his lips once more. It was the Crime Club
+now, that hell's cradle where their devil's schemes were hatched,
+that was the one thing left to him; they would lead him to that, and
+then--and then it would be his turn to STRIKE!
+
+They turned the first corner. And suddenly, as the racing engine of an
+automobile caught his ear, he broke into a run, and dashed around the
+corner after them--in time to see them jump into a car, and the car
+speed off along the street! He halted, as though he were suddenly
+dazed--started involuntarily to run forward again--stopped with a hollow
+laugh at the futility of it--and stood still and motionless on the
+sidewalk.
+
+And then he swayed a little, and his face grew gray. Failure, defeat,
+ruin--in that moment he knew them all to their bitterest dregs. How
+could he go to her! How could he face her, and tell her that they were
+beaten, that the last hope was gone, that he had failed!
+
+“God!” he cried aloud, and clenched his hands.
+
+Then deep in his consciousness a thought stirred, and he swept a shaking
+hand across his eyes. Why had it come again, that thought! Did it mean
+that HE must play--the last card! There was a way--there had always been
+a way. The way the Crime Club took--MURDER. It was their own weapon!
+If the man who posed as Henry LaSalle were killed! If that man--were
+killed!
+
+“The Magpie was to be there at three!” he muttered--and started
+mechanically back along the street.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+THE ONLY WAY
+
+
+It was a horrible thing--and it grew upon him. In a blind, mechanical
+way, his brain receptive to nothing else, Jimmie Dale walked on along
+the street. To kill a man! Death he had faced himself a hundred times,
+witnessed it a hundred times in its most violent forms, had seen murder
+done before his eyes, had been in straits where, to save his own life,
+it had seemed the one last desperate chance--and yet his hands were
+still clean! To kill a man in fair fight, in struggle, when the blood
+was hot, was terrible enough, a possibility that was always before him,
+the one thing from which he shrank, the one thing that, as the Gray
+Seal, he had always feared; but to kill a man deliberately, to creep
+upon his victim with hideous, cold-blooded premeditation--he shivered a
+little, and his hand shook as he drew it nervously across his eyes.
+
+But there was no other way! Again and again, insidiously grappling with
+his revulsion, with the horror that the impulse to murder inspired,
+came that other thought--there was no other way. If the man who posed
+as Henry LaSalle were DEAD! If he were dead! If he were dead! See, now,
+what would happen if that man were dead! How clear his brain was on that
+point! The whole plot would tumble like a house of cards about the heads
+of the Crime Club. The courts would require an auditing of the estate
+by a trustee of the courts' own appointing, who would continue to
+administer it until the Tocsin's twenty-fifth birthday, or until there
+was tangible evidence of her death--but the Tocsin, automatically with
+her pseudo uncle's death, could publicly appear again. Her death could
+no longer benefit the Crime Club, since it, the Crime Club, with the
+supposed uncle dead, could not profit through the false Henry LaSalle
+inheriting as next of kin! It was the weak link, the vulnerable point in
+the stupendous scheme of murder and crime with which these hell fiends
+had played for and won, so far, the stake of eleven millions. Not that
+they had overlooked or been blind to this, they were too clever, too
+cunning for that--it was only that they had planned to accomplish the
+Tocsin's death, as they had her father's and uncle's, and ESTABLISH
+the false Henry LaSalle in undisputed possession and ownership of the
+estate--and had failed in that--up to the present. But the material
+results remained the same, so long as the Tocsin, to save her life,
+was forced to remain in hiding, so long as proof that would convict the
+Crime Club was not forthcoming--SO LONG AS THAT MAN LIVED!
+
+Time passed to which Jimmie Dale was oblivious. At times he walked
+slowly, scarcely moving; at times his pace was a nervous, hurried
+stride, that was almost a run. And as he was oblivious to time, so was
+he oblivious to his surroundings, to the direction which he took.
+At times his forehead was damp with moisture that was not there from
+physical exertion; at times his face, deathly white, was full as of
+the vision of some shuddering, abhorrent sight; at times his lips were
+thinned into a straight line, and there was a glitter in the dark eyes
+that was not good to see, while his hands at his sides clenched until
+the skin, tight over the knuckles, was an ivory white. To kill a man!
+
+What other way was there? The proof that it had taken Hilton Travers
+years to obtain, the proof on which the Tocsin's life depended, was
+destroyed utterly, irreparably. It could never be duplicated--Hilton
+Travers was dead--MURDERED. Murder! That thought again! It was their
+own weapon! Murder! Would one kill a venomous reptile in whose fangs
+was death? What right had this man to life, whose life was forfeit even
+under the law--for murder? Was she to drag on an intolerable existence
+among the dregs and the scum of the underworld, she, in her refinement
+and her purity, to exist among the vile and dissolute, in daily, hourly
+peril of her life, because the weapons that these inhuman vultures
+had used to rob her, to destroy those she loved, to make of her life a
+hideous, joyless thing, should not be used against them?
+
+But to kill a man! To steal upon a man with cold intent in the blackness
+of the night--and take his life! To be a murderer! To know the horror
+of blood forever upon one's hands, to rise, cold-sweated, in the night,
+fearful of the very shadows around one, to live with every detail of
+that fearsome act sweeping like some dread spectre at unexpected moments
+upon the consciousness! He put up his hands before his face, as though
+to blot out the thought from him. Mind and soul recoiled before it--to
+kill a man!
+
+He walked on and on, until at last, conscious of a sense of fatigue, he
+stopped. He must have come a long way, been walking a long time. Where
+was he? He looked about him for a moment in a dazed way--and suddenly,
+with a low cry, shrank back. As though he had been drawn to it by
+some ghastly magnet, he found himself standing in front of the LaSalle
+mansion, on Fifth Avenue. No, no; it was not for that he had come--to
+kill a man! It was only--only to get that money. Yes--he remembered
+now--that money from the safe, before the Magpie got it. The Magpie was
+to be there at three o'clock--and the Tocsin was to be there, too. The
+Tocsin! That package! He had failed! It had been her one hope, and--and
+it was gone. What could he say to her? How could he tell her the
+miserable truth? But--but he had not come there in the dead of night to
+kill a man, these other things were what had--
+
+“Jimmie!” It was a quick-breathed whisper. A hand was on his arm.
+
+He turned, startled. It was the Tocsin--Silver Mag.
+
+“Jimmie!” in alarm. “Why are you standing here like this? You may be
+SEEN!”
+
+Seen! Suppose he WERE seen? He shuddered a little.
+
+“Yes; that's so!” he said hoarsely. He glanced numbly up and down the
+wide, deserted, but well-lighted, avenue. It was no place, that most
+aristocratic section of the city, for such as Silver Mag and Larry
+the Bat to be seen at that hour of night, or, rather, morning. And if
+anything HAPPENED inside that house! “I--I didn't think of that,” he
+said mechanically.
+
+“Come across the street--under the stoop of that house there.” She had
+his arm, and was half dragging him as she spoke, the alarm in her voice
+intensified. And then, a moment later, safe from observation: “Jimmie,
+Jimmie, what is the matter? What has happened? What makes you act so
+strangely?”
+
+“Nothing,” he said. “I--”
+
+“TELL me!” she insisted wildly.
+
+And then, with a violent effort, Jimmie Dale forced his mind back to the
+immediate present. He was only inspiring her with terror--and there was
+the Magpie--and that money in the safe!
+
+“Where is the Magpie?” he asked, with quick apprehension. “Am I late? Is
+he in there already?”
+
+“No,” she said. “He hasn't come yet.”
+
+“What time is it?” he demanded anxiously.
+
+“About half-past two,” she replied. “But, Jimmie--”
+
+“Wait!” he broke in. “Where is he now? You were both together! And
+you were both to be here at three. What are you doing here alone at
+half-past two?”
+
+A strange little exclamation, one almost of dismay, it seemed, escaped
+her.
+
+“The Magpie left my place an hour ago--to get his kit, I think. And I
+came here at once because that was what you and I understood I was to
+do, wasn't it? Jimmie, you frighten me! You are not yourself. Don't
+you remember the last words you said, as you nodded to me behind the
+Magpie's back--that you would be here BEFORE us? There was no mistaking
+your meaning--if I could get away from him, I was to come here and meet
+you.”
+
+Jimmie Dale passed his hand nervously across his eyes. Of course, he
+remembered now! What a frightful turmoil his brain had been in!
+
+“Yes; of course!” He tried to speak nonchalantly. “I had forgotten for
+the moment.”
+
+She caught his arm in a quick, tight hold, shaking him in a terrified
+way.
+
+“YOU--forget a thing like that! Jimmie--something terrible has happened.
+Can't you see that I am nearly mad with anxiety! What is it? What is it?
+That package, Jimmie--is it the package?”
+
+He did not answer. What could he say? It meant life, hope, joy,
+everything that the world held for her--and it was gone.
+
+“Yes--it IS the package!” she whispered frantically. “Quick, Jimmie!
+Tell me! It--it was not there? You--you could not find it?”
+
+“It was there,” he said, as though the words were literally forced from
+him.
+
+“Then? Then--WHAT, Jimmie?” The clutch on his arm was like a vise.
+
+“They got it,” he said. It was like a death sentence that he pronounced.
+“It is destroyed.”
+
+She did not speak or move--save that her hands, as though nerveless and
+without strength, fell away from his arms, and dropped to her sides. It
+was dark there under the stoop, though not so dark but that he could see
+her face. It was gray--gray as death. And there was misery and fear
+and a pitiful helplessness in it--and then she swayed a little, and he
+caught her in his arms.
+
+“Gone!” she murmured in a dead, colourless way--and suddenly laughed out
+sharply, hysterically.
+
+“Don't! For God's sake, don't do that!” he pleaded wildly.
+
+She looked at him then for a moment in strange quiet--and lifted her
+hand and stroked his face in a numbed way.
+
+“It--it would have been better, Jimmie, wouldn't it,” she said in the
+same monotonous voice, “it would have been better if--if I had never
+found out anything, and they--they had done the same to me that they did
+to--to father.”
+
+“Marie! Marie!” It was the first time he had ever spoken her name, and
+it was on his lips now in an agony of tenderness and appeal. “Don't! You
+mustn't speak like that!”
+
+“I'm tired,” she said. “I--I can't fight any more.”
+
+She did not cry. She lay there in his arms quite still--like a weary
+child.
+
+The minutes passed. When Jimmie Dale spoke again it was
+irrelevantly--and his face was very white:
+
+“Marie, describe the upper floor of that house over there for me.”
+
+She roused herself with a start.
+
+“The upper floor?” she repeated slowly. “Why--why do you ask that?”
+
+“Have YOU forgotten in turn?” he said, with a steady smile. “That money
+in the safe--it's yours--we can at least save that out of the wreck. You
+only drew the basement plan and the first floor for the Magpie--the
+more I know about the house the better, of course, in case anything goes
+wrong. Now, see, try and be brave--and tell me quickly, for I must get
+through before the Magpie comes, and I have barely half an hour.”
+
+“No, Jimmie--no!” She slipped out of his arms. “Let it alone! I am
+afraid. Something--I--I have a feeling that something will happen.”
+
+“It is the only way.” He said it involuntarily, more to himself than to
+her.
+
+“Jimmie, let it alone!” she said again.
+
+“No,” he said. “I am going--so tell me quickly. Every minute that we
+wait is one that counts against us.”
+
+She hesitated an instant--and then, speaking rapidly, made a verbal
+sketch of the upper portion of the house for him.
+
+“It's a very large house, isn't it?” he commented innocently--to pave
+the way for the question, above all others, that he had to ask. “Which
+is your uncle's, I mean that man's room?”
+
+“The first on the right, at the head of the landing,” she answered.
+“Only, Jimmie, don't--don't go!”
+
+He drew her close to him again.
+
+“Now, listen,” he said quietly. “When the Magpie comes and finds I am
+not here, lead him to think that the money he gave me was too much for
+me; that I am probably in some den, doped with drug--and hold him as
+long as you can on the pretext that there is always the possibility I
+may, after all, show up before he goes in there. You understand? And
+now about yourself--you must do exactly as I say. On no account allow
+yourself to be seen by ANY ONE except the Magpie. I would tell you to
+go now, only, unless it is vitally necessary, we cannot afford to
+arouse the Magpie's suspicions--he'd have every crook in the underworld
+snarling at our heels. But you are not to wait, even for him, if you
+detect the slightest disturbance in that house before he comes. And,
+equally, after he has gone in, whether I have come out or not, at the
+first indication of anything unusual you are to get away at once. You
+understand--Marie?”
+
+“Yes,” she said. “But--but, Jimmie, you--”
+
+“Just one thing more.” He smiled at her reassuringly. “Did the Magpie
+say anything about how he intended to get in?”
+
+“Yes--by the side away from the corner of the street,” she said
+tremulously. “You see, there's quite a space between the house and the
+one next door; and, besides, the house next door is closed up, there's
+nobody there, the family has gone away for the summer. The library
+window there is low enough to reach from the ground.”
+
+For a moment longer he held her close to him, as though he could not let
+her go--then bent and kissed her passionately. And in that moment all
+the emotions he had known as he had walked blindly from Spider Jack's
+that night surged again upon him; and that voice was whispering,
+whispering, whispering: “It is the only way--it is the only way.”
+
+And then, not daring to trust his voice, he released her suddenly,
+and stepped back out from under the stoop--and the next instant he was
+across the deserted avenue. Another, and he had slipped through the
+iron gates that opened on the street driveway--and in yet another he was
+crouched close up against the front door of the LaSalle mansion.
+
+It was a large house, a very large house, one of the few that, even
+amid the wealth and luxury of that quarter, boasted its own grounds, and
+those so restricted as scarcely to deserve the name; but it was set far
+enough back from the street to escape the radius of the street lamps,
+and so guarantee in its shadows security from observation. It was not
+the Magpie's way, the front door--the obvious to the Magpie and his ilk
+was a thing always to be shunned. Jimmie Dale's lips were set in a
+grim smile, as his fingers worked with lightning speed, now taking this
+instrument and now that from the leather pockets in the girdle beneath
+his shirt--the penitentiaries were full of Magpies who shunned the
+obvious!
+
+Very slowly, very cautiously the door opened. He listened breathlessly,
+tensely. The door closed again--behind him. He was inside now.
+Stillness! Blackness! Not a sound! A minute went by--another. And then,
+as he stood there, strained, listening, the silence itself began, it
+seemed, to palpitate, and pound, pound, pound, and be full of strange
+noises. It was a horrible thing--to kill a man!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+OUT OF THE DARKNESS
+
+
+A moment later, Jimmie Dale stepped forward through the vestibule.
+He was quite calm now; a sort of cold, merciless precision in every
+movement succeeding the riot of turbulent emotions that had possessed
+him as he had entered the house.
+
+The half hour, the maximum length of time before the Magpie would
+appear, as he had estimated it when out there under the stoop with the
+Tocsin, had dwindled now to perhaps twenty minutes, twenty-five at the
+outside. Twenty-five minutes! Twenty-five minutes was so little that for
+an instant the temptation was strong upon him to sacrifice, rather
+than any of those precious minutes, the Magpie instead! And then in the
+darkness, as he stole noiselessly across the hall, he shook his head. It
+would be a cowardly, brutal thing to do. What chance would a man with a
+record like the Magpie's stand if caught there? How easy it would be
+to shift the murder of the supposed Henry LaSalle to the Magpie's
+shoulders! Jimmie Dale's lips closed firmly. Self-preservation was,
+perhaps, the first law, but he would save the Magpie if he could--the
+Magpie should have his chance! The man might be a criminal, might
+deserve punishment at the hands of the law, his liberty might be a
+menace to the community--but he was not a murderer, his life forfeit for
+a crime he had never committed!
+
+If he, Jimmie Dale, could only in some way have arranged with the Tocsin
+out there to keep the Magpie away altogether! But it could not be done
+without arousing the Magpie's suspicions; and, as a corollary to that,
+afterward, with the subsequent events, would come--the deluge! The law
+of the underworld was clear, concise, and admitting of no appeal on that
+point; to double cross a pal meant, sooner or later, a knife thrust, a
+blackjack, or--But what difference did it make what form the execution
+of the sentence took? And, since, then, that was out of the question,
+since he could not keep the Magpie away without practically risking his
+own life, the Magpie at least must have his chance.
+
+Jimmie Dale was at the library door now, that, according to the plan the
+Tocsin had drawn for the Magpie, and as he remembered her description
+when she had told him her story earlier in the evening, was just at the
+foot of the staircase. How dark it was! Though the stairs could be only
+a few feet away, he could not see them. And how intense the silence was
+again! Here, where he stood, the slightest stir from above must have
+reached him--but there was not a sound.
+
+His hand felt out for the doorknob, found it, turned it, and pushed the
+door open. He stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him.
+The safe, according to the Tocsin's plan again, was in that sort of
+alcove at the lower end of the library. Jimmie Dale's flashlight played
+inquisitively about the room. There was the window, the only one in the
+room, the window through which the Magpie proposed to enter; there
+was the archway of the alcove, with its--no, there were no longer any
+portieres; and there was the safe, he could see it quite plainly from
+where he stood at the upper end of the room.
+
+The flashlight went out for the space of perhaps thirty seconds--thirty
+seconds of absolute silence, absolute stillness--then the round, white
+ray of the light again, but glistening now on the nickel knobs and dial
+of the safe--and Jimmie Dale was on his knees before it.
+
+A low, scarcely breathed exclamation, that seemed to mingle anxiety
+and hesitation, escaped him. He, who knew the make of every safe in the
+country, knew this one for its true worth. Twenty-five minutes! Could he
+open it in that time, let alone with any time to spare! It was not
+like the one in Spider Jack's; it was the kind that the Magpie, however
+clever he might be in his own way, would be forced to negotiate with
+“soup,” and, with the attendant noise, double his chance of discovery
+and capture--and the responsibility for what might have happened
+UPSTAIRS! No; the Magpie must have his chance! And, besides, the money
+in the safe apart, why should not he, Jimmie Dale, have his own chance,
+as well? All this would help. The motive--robbery; the perpetrator,
+there was grim mockery on his lips now as the light went out and the
+sensitive fingers closed on the knob of the dial, the perpetrator--the
+Gray Seal. It would afford excellent food for the violent editorial
+diatribes under which the police again would writhe in frenzy!
+
+Stillness again! Silence! Only a low, tense breathing; only, so faint
+that it could not be heard a foot away, a curious scratching, as from
+time to time the supersensitive fingers fell away from the dial to rub
+upon the carpet--to increase even their sensitiveness by setting the
+nerves to throbbing through the skin surface at the tips. And then
+Jimmie Dale's head, ear pressed close against the safe to catch the
+tumbler's fall, was lifted--and the flashlight played again on the dial.
+
+“Twenty-eight and a quarter--left.”
+
+How fast the time went--and how slowly! Still the black shape crouched
+there in the darkness against the safe. At times, in strange, ghostly
+flashes, the nickel dial with the ray upon it seemed to leap out and
+glisten through the surrounding blackness; at times, the quick intake of
+breath, as from great exertion; at times, faint, musical little clicks,
+as, after abortive effort, the dial whirled, preparatory to a fresh
+attempt. And then, at last--a gasp of relief:
+
+“Ah!”
+
+Came the sound, barely audible, as of steel sliding in well-oiled
+grooves, the muffled thud of metal meeting metal as the bolts shot
+back--and the heavy door swung outward.
+
+Jimmie Dale stretched his cramped limbs, and wiped the moisture from
+his face--then set to work again upon the inner door. This was an easier
+matter--far easier. Five minutes, perhaps a little more, went by--and
+then the inner door was open, and the flashlight's ray was flooding the
+interior of the safe.
+
+A queer little sound, half of astonishment, half of disappointment,
+issued from Jimmie Dale's lips. There was money here, a great deal
+of money, undoubtedly, but there was no such sum as he had, somehow,
+fantastically imagined from the Magpie's evidently overcoloured story
+that there would be; there was money, ten packages of banknotes neatly
+piled in the bottom compartment--but there was no half million of
+dollars! He picked up one of the packages hurriedly--and drew in
+his breath. After all, there was a great deal--the notes were
+of hundred-dollar denomination, and on the bottom were two
+one-thousand-dollar bills! Calculated roughly, if each of the other
+nine packages contained a like amount, the total must exceed a hundred
+thousand.
+
+And now Jimmie Dale began to work with feverish haste. From the leather
+girdle inside his shirt came the thin metal insignia case--and a gray
+seal was stuck firmly on the dial knob of the safe. This done, he tucked
+away the packages of banknotes, some into his pockets and some inside
+his shirt; and then quickly ransacked the interior of the safe,
+flauntingly spilling the contents of drawers and pigeonholes out upon
+the floor.
+
+He stood up, and, leaving the safe door wide open, walked back across
+the room to the window, unfastened the catch, and opened the window an
+inch or two. The way was open now for the Magpie! The Magpie would have
+no need to make any noise in forcing an entrance; he would be able to
+see almost at a glance that he had been forestalled--by the Gray Seal;
+and that, as far as he was concerned, the game was up. The Magpie had
+his chance! If the Magpie did not take the hint and make his escape as
+noiselessly as he had entered--it was his own fault! He, Jimmie Dale,
+had given the Magpie his chance.
+
+Jimmie Dale turned from the window, and made his way out of the library
+to the foot of the stairs, leaving the library door open behind him. How
+long had he been? Was it more or less than the twenty-five minutes? He
+did not know--only, as yet, the Magpie had not come, and now perhaps it
+did not make so much difference.
+
+Where was he going now? His foot was on the first stair--and suddenly he
+drew it back, the cold sweat bursting out on his forehead. Where was
+he going now? “THE FIRST ROOM ON THE RIGHT AT THE HEAD OF THE LANDING.”
+ From his inner consciousness, as it were, the answer, in all the bald,
+naked horror that it implied, flashed upon him. The first room on the
+right--THAT man's room! God, how the darkness and the stillness began
+to palpitate again, and suddenly seem to shriek out at him over and over
+the one single, ghastly word--MURDER!
+
+It had been with him, that thought, all the time he had been working
+at the safe; but it had been there then only subconsciously, like some
+heavy, nameless dread, subjugated for the moment by the work he had
+had to do which had demanded the centred attention of every faculty he
+possessed. But now the moment had come when there was only THAT before
+him, only that, nothing else--only that, the man upstairs in the first
+room to the right of the landing!
+
+Why did he hesitate? Why did he stand there while the priceless moments
+before daylight came were passing? The man was a murderer, a blotch on
+society, and, his life already forfeited, he was living now only because
+the law had not found him out--the man was a criminal, bloodstained--and
+his life, because he had taken her father's life and had tried to take
+the Tocsin's own life, stood between her and every hope of happiness,
+robbing her even literally, in a material sense, of everything that
+the world could hold for her! Why did he hesitate? It was that man's
+life--or hers! It was the only way!
+
+He put his foot upon the bottom step again--paused still another
+instant--and then began stealthily to mount the stairs. The darkness!
+There had never been, it seemed, such darkness before! The stillness--he
+had never known silence so heavy, so full of strange, premonitory
+pulsings; a silence that seemed so incongruously full of clamouring
+whispers in his ears! It must be those imagined whispers that were
+affecting his nerve--for now, as he gained the landing and slipped his
+automatic from his pocket, his hand was shaking with a queer twitching
+motion.
+
+For an instant, fighting for his self-composure, he stood striving
+to locate his surroundings through the darkness. The staircase was a
+circular one, making the landing nearly at the front of the house, and
+rearward from this, the Tocsin had said, a hallway ran down the centre,
+with rooms on either side. The first room to the right, therefore,
+should be just at his hand. He reached out, feeling cautiously--there
+was nothing. He edged to the right--still nothing; edged a little
+farther, a sense of bewilderment growing upon him, and finally his
+fingers touched the wall. It was very strange! The hallway must be much
+wider than he had understood it to be from what she had said!
+
+He moved along now straight ahead of him, his hand on the wall, feeling
+for the door--and with every step his bewilderment increased. Surely
+there must be some mistake--perhaps he had misunderstood! He had come
+fully twice the distance that one would expect--and yet there was
+no door. Ah, what was that? His fingers closed on soft, heavy velvet
+hangings. These could hardly be in front of a door, and yet--what else
+could it be? He drew the hangings warily apart, and felt behind them. It
+was a window; but it was shuttered in some way evidently, for he could
+not see out.
+
+Jimmie Dale stood motionless there for fully a minute. It seemed absurd,
+preposterous, the conviction that was being forced home upon him--that
+there were no rooms on the right-hand side of the corridor at all!
+But that was not like the Tocsin, accurate always in the most minute
+details. The room must be still farther along. He was tempted to use
+his flashlight--but that, as long as he could feel his way, was an
+unnecessary risk. A flashlight upstairs, where a sleeping-room door
+might be ajar, or even wide open, where some one wakeful, THAT man
+himself, perhaps, might see it, was quite another matter than a
+flashlight in the closed and deserted library below!
+
+He went on once more, still guiding himself by a light finger touch upon
+the wall, passed another portiere similar to the first, and, after that,
+another--and finally stopped by bringing up abruptly against the end
+wall of the house. It was certainly very strange! There WERE no rooms
+on the right-hand side of the corridor. And here, hanging across the end
+wall, was another of those ubiquitous velvet portieres. He parted it,
+and, a little to his surprise, found a window that was not shuttered,
+but that, instead, was heavily barred by an ornamental grille work. He
+could see out, however, and found that he was looking directly out
+from the rear of the house. A lamp from the side street threw what was
+undoubtedly the garage into shadowy outline, and he made out below him
+a short stretch of yard between the garage and the house. He remembered
+that now--she had described all that to the Magpie. There was no
+driveway between the front and the rear. The house being on the corner,
+the entrance to the garage was directly from the side street. Yes, she
+had described all that exactly as it was, but--he dropped the portiere
+and faced around, carrying his hand in a nonplused way to his eyes--but
+here, upstairs, within the house, it was not as she had said it was at
+all! What did it mean? She could not have blundered so egregiously as
+that, unless--he caught his breath suddenly--unless she had done so
+intentionally! Was that it? Had she surmised, formed a suspicion of
+what was in his mind, of what he meant to do--and taken this means of
+defeating it? If so--well, it was too late for that now! There was
+one way--only one way! Whatever the cost, whatever it might mean for
+him--there was only one way out for her.
+
+His flashlight was in his hand now, and the round, white ray shot down
+the corridor--seemed suddenly to falter unsteadily--swept in through an
+open door that was almost beside him--and then, as though a nerveless
+hand held it, the ray dropped and played shakily on the toe of his boot
+before it went out.
+
+A stifled cry rose to his lips. Something cold, like a hand of ice,
+seemed to clutch at his heart. Those portieres, the wide, richly
+carpeted corridor! It was the corridor of the night before! That room at
+his side was the room where he had seen Hilton Travers, the chauffeur,
+dead, lashed in a chair! He felt the sweat beads burst out anew upon his
+forehead.
+
+IT WAS THE CRIME CLUB!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+RETRIBUTION
+
+
+His brain seemed to whirl, staggered as by some gigantic, ghastly
+mockery. The Crime Club! HERE! He had thought to creep upon that
+man--and he had run blindly into the very heart and centre of these hell
+fiends' nest!
+
+Silently he stood there, holding his breath as he listened now,
+motionless as a statue, forcing his mind to THINK. He remembered that
+last night his impression of the place had been that it was more like
+some great private mansion than anything else. Well, he had been right,
+it seemed! He could have laughed aloud--sardonically, hysterically. It
+was not so strange now that there were no rooms on the right-hand side
+of the corridor! And what could have suited their purpose better, what,
+by its very location, its unimpeachable character, could be a more ideal
+lair for them than this house! And how grimly simple it was now, the
+explanation! In the five years that the false Henry LaSalle had been in
+possession, they had cunningly remodelled the upper floor--that was all!
+It was quite clear now why the man never entertained--why he had never
+been caught or found or known to be in communication with his fellow
+conspirators! It was no longer curious that one might watch the door of
+the house for months at a stretch and go unrewarded for one's pains, as
+the Tocsin had done, when access to the house by those who frequented it
+was so easy through the garage on the side street--and from the garage,
+if their work there was in keeping with their clever contrivances
+within the house, by an underground connection into, say, the cellar or
+basement!
+
+Again Jimmie Dale checked that nervous, unnatural inclination to laugh
+aloud. Was there anything, any single incident, any single detail of all
+that had transpired, that was not explained, borne out, as it could be
+explained and borne out in no other way save that the Crime Club should
+be no other than this very house itself? It was the exposition of
+that favourite theory of his--it was so obvious that therein lay its
+security. He had mocked at the Magpie not many moments before on that
+score--and now it was the beam in his own eye! It was so obvious now, so
+glaringly obvious, that the Crime Club could have been nowhere else; so
+obvious, with every word of the Tocsin's story pointing it out like a
+signpost--and he had not seen it!
+
+And then suddenly every muscle grew strained and rigid. WAS THERE SOME
+ONE IN THE CORRIDOR? Was it some one moving--or was it only fancy? He
+listened--while he strained his eyes through the darkness. There was no
+sound; only that abnormal, heavy silence that--yes, he remembered that,
+too, now--that had clung about him last night like a pall. He could
+see nothing, hear nothing--but intuitively, bringing a cold dismay, the
+greater because it was something unknown, intangible, he FELT as though
+eyes were upon him, that even in the darkness he was being watched!
+
+And as he stood there, then, slowly there crept upon Jimmie Dale the
+sense of peril and disaster. It was not intuition now--it was certainty.
+He was trapped! It was the part of a fool to imagine that with their
+devil's cunning, their cleverness, their ingenuity, he, or any one else,
+could enter that house unknown to its occupants! Had he made electric
+contact when he had opened the front door, and rung a signal here,
+perhaps, upstairs--had he set some system of alarm at work when he had
+touched that window? What did it matter--the details that had heralded
+his entrance? He was certain now that his presence in the house was
+known. Only, why had they left him so long without attack? He shook his
+head with a quick, impatient movement. That, too, was obvious! He was
+under observation. Who was he? Why had he come? Was he simply a paltry
+safe-tapper--or was he one whom they had a real need to fear? And then,
+too, there might well be another reason. It was far from likely, in fact
+unreasonable, to imagine that all the men he had seen here the night
+before were in the house now. Not many of them, if any, would LIVE here,
+for CONSTANT, daily coming and going, even through the garage, could
+not escape notice; and, of the servants, probably a lesser breed of
+criminal, some of them, at least, no doubt, were engaged at that
+moment in watching his own house on Riverside Drive! There was even
+the possibility that the man posing as Henry LaSalle was, for the time
+being, here alone.
+
+He shook his head again. He could hardly hope for that--he had no right
+to hope for anything more now than a struggle, with an inevitably fatal
+ending to himself, but one in which at least he could sell his life as
+dearly as possible, one in which, perhaps, he might pay the Tocsin's
+score with the man he had come to find! If he could do that--well, after
+all, the price was not too great!
+
+There were no tremours of the muscles now. It was Jimmie Dale, the Gray
+Seal, every faculty alert, tense, keyed up to its highest efficiency;
+the brain cool, keen, and active--fighting for his life. The front door
+through which he had entered was an impossibility; but there was the
+window in the library that he had opened--if they would let him get that
+far! That was as good a chance as any. If he made an effort to find,
+say, a way to the flat above and chanced some means of escape there, it
+would in no wise obviate an attack upon him, and he would only be under
+the added disadvantage of unfamiliar surroundings.
+
+Feeling out with his left hand, his automatic thrown a little forward
+in his right, he began to retrace his way along the blank wall of the
+corridor, pausing between each step to listen, moving silently, his
+tread on the heavy carpet as noiseless as though it were some shadow
+creeping there.
+
+Stillness--utter, absolute! Always that stillness. Always that sense of
+danger around him--the tense, bated expectancy of momentary attack--a
+revolver flash through the darkness--a sudden rush upon him. But still
+there was nothing--only the darkness, only the silence.
+
+He gained the head of the stairs and began to descend--and now the
+strain began to tell upon his nerves again. Again he was possessed of
+the mad impulse to cry out, to do anything that would force the issue,
+that would end the horrible, unbearable suspense. Why did that revolver
+shot not come? Why had they not yet rushed upon him? Why were they
+playing with him as a cat with a mouse? Or was it all wild, fanciful
+imagination? NO! What was that again! He could have sworn this time that
+he had heard a sound, but he could neither define its character, nor
+locate the direction from which it had come.
+
+He was at the foot of the stairs now; and, guiding himself by the wall,
+moving now barely an inch at a time, he reached the library door that
+he had left open, and stole in over the threshold. Halfway down the room
+and diagonally across from where he stood was the window. In a moment
+now he could gain that, but they would never let him go so easily--and
+so it must come now, in that next moment, their attack! Where were they?
+Where were they now? The table--he must remember not to bump into the
+table! A pause between each step, he was crossing the room. He was
+halfway to the window. Had it been all fancy, was he to--And then Jimmie
+Dale stood motionless. SOME ONE HAD CLOSED THE LIBRARY DOOR SOFTLY!
+
+Stillness again! A sort of deadly calm upon him, Jimmie Dale felt
+out behind his back for the big library table that he had been
+circuiting--if the window were wide open it might be done, but to jump
+for it and stand silhouetted there during the pause necessary to fling
+the window up was little less than suicidal. He edged back noiselessly
+until his fingers touched the table; then, lowering himself to his
+knees, he backed in underneath it, and lay flat upon the floor. It was
+not much protection, but it had one advantage: if they switched on
+the lights it would show an EMPTY room for the first instant, and that
+instant meant--the first shot!
+
+Where were they now? By the library door? How many of them were there?
+Well, it was their move! Two could play at cat and mouse until--until
+DAYLIGHT! That wasn't very far off, now, and when that came he might
+still have the first shot, but after that--he turned his head quickly
+toward the window. There was a faint scratching noise as of finger nails
+gripping the sill; then the window, very slowly, almost silently, was
+pushed steadily upward, and a dark form loomed up outside; and then,
+crawling through, a man dropped, as though his feet were padded like a
+cat's on the floor inside the room. The Magpie!
+
+A flashlight's ray shot out--and, with a twisted smile propped now
+on his left elbow to give free play to his revolver arm, Jimmie Dale
+followed the white spot eagerly with his eyes. But it did not circle
+around; instead, the light was turned almost instantly toward the lower
+end of the room--and, a second later, was holding steadily on the open
+door of the safe, and the litter of papers on the floor.
+
+Came a savage growl of amazed fury from the Magpie: then his step
+down the room; and, as he reached the safe, a torrent of unbridled
+blasphemy--and then, in a sort of staggered gasp, as he leaned suddenly
+forward examining the knob of the dial:
+
+“The Gray Seal!”
+
+A moment the Magpie stood there; and then, cursing again in abandon,
+turned, and started back for the window, his flashlight dancing before
+him--and stopped, a snarl of fury on his lips. The flashlight was
+playing full on Jimmie Dale under the table!
+
+“Larry the Bat! The Gray Seal! By God!” choked the Magpie. “You--you--”
+ The Magpie's flashlight, as he shifted it from his right hand to his
+left and wrenched out his revolver, had fallen upon two men crouched
+close against the wall by the library door--and he screamed out in an
+access of fury. “De double cross! A plant! De bulls! You damned snitch,
+Larry!” screamed out the Magpie--and fired.
+
+The bullet tore into the carpet beside Jimmie Dale. Came answering shots
+from the men by the door; and then the Magpie, emptying his automatic at
+the two men as he ran, the flame tongues cutting vicious lanes of fire
+through the darkness, dashed for the window. There was a cry, the crash
+of a heavy body pitching to the floor--and the Magpie had flung himself
+out through the window, and in the momentary ensuing silence within the
+room came the sound of his footsteps running on the gravel below.
+
+There was a low moan, the movement as of some one staggering and
+lurching around--and then the lights went on. But for an instant
+Jimmie Dale did not move. He was staring at the form of a man still and
+motionless on the floor in front of him--the man who had posed as Henry
+LaSalle. Dead! The man was dead! His mind ran riot for a moment. Where
+were the others--were there only these two? Only these two in the house!
+Only these two--and one was dead! And then Jimmie Dale was on his feet.
+One was dead--but there was still the other, the man who was reeling
+there, back turned to him, by the electric-light switch. But even as
+Jimmie Dale sprang forward, this second man, clawing at the wall for
+support, slipped to his knees and fell upon the carpet.
+
+Jimmie Dale reached him, snatched the revolver from his hand, and bent
+over him. It was the man whose name he did not know, but whose face he
+had reason enough to know too well--it was the leader of the Crime Club.
+
+The man, though evidently badly wounded, smiled defiantly in spite of
+his pain.
+
+“So you're the Gray Seal!” he flung out contemptuously. “A clever
+enough safe-cracker--but only a lowbrow, like the rest of them. Another
+illusion dispelled! Well, you've got the money--better run, hadn't you?”
+
+Jimmie Dale made no answer. Satisfied that the man was too badly hurt to
+move, he went and bent over the silent form in the centre of the room. A
+moment's examination was enough. “Henry LaSalle” was dead.
+
+He stood there looking down at the man. It was what he had come
+for--though it was the Magpie, not himself, who had accomplished it!
+The man was dead! The words began to run through his mind in a queer
+reiteration. The man was dead--the man was dead! He checked himself
+sharply. He must think now--think fast, and think RIGHT.
+
+The Magpie knew that Larry the Bat was the Gray Seal--and as fast as the
+Magpie could get there, the news would spread like wildfire through the
+underworld. “Death to the Gray Seal! Death to the Gray Seal!” He could
+hear that slogan ringing again in his ears, but as he had never heard it
+before--with a snarl of triumph now as of wolves who at last had pulled
+their quarry down. He had not a second to spare--and yet--that man
+wounded there on the floor! What of him--guilty of murder, the brains of
+this inhuman, monstrous organisation, the one to whom, more even than to
+that dead man, the Tocsin owed the horror and the misery and the grief
+and despair that had come into her life! What of him? What of the Crime
+Club here? What of this nest of vipers? Were they to escape? Were they
+to--
+
+With a sudden, low exclamation, Jimmie Dale jumped for the table, and,
+snatching up the telephone, rattled the hook violently.
+
+“Give me”--his voice came in well-simulated gasps, each like a man
+fighting for every word--“give me--police--headquarters! Quick! QUICK!
+I've--been--shot!”
+
+The wounded man on the floor raised himself on his elbow.
+
+“What are you doing?” he demanded in a startled way. “Are you mad! Thank
+your stars you were lucky enough to get out of this alive--and get out
+now, while you have the chance!”
+
+Jimmie Dale pressed his hand firmly over the mouthpiece of the
+telephone.
+
+“I'll go,” he said, with a cold smile, “when I've settled with you--for
+the murder of Henry LaSalle.”
+
+“That man!” ejaculated the man scornfully, pointing to the form on the
+floor. “So that's your game! Going to try and cover your tracks! Why,
+you fool, I LIVE here! Do you think the police would imagine for an
+instant that I killed him?”
+
+“I said--HENRY LASALLE,” said Jimmie Dale evenly.
+
+The man came farther up on his elbow, a sudden look of fear in his face.
+
+“What--what do you mean?” he cried hoarsely.
+
+But Jimmie Dale was talking again into the telephone--gasping, choking
+out his words as before:
+
+“Police headquarters? I'm Henry LaSalle. Fifth Avenue. I--I've been
+shot. Take down this statement. I'll--I'll be dead before you get
+here--I'm not the real Henry LaSalle at all. We murdered Henry
+LaSalle--in Australia, and murdered Peter LaSalle here. We--we tried
+to kill the daughter, but she ran away. This house has been our
+headquarters for the last five years. The man who shot me to-night is
+the leader of the gang. We quarrelled over the division of a haul.
+He's here on the floor now, wounded. Get them all, get them all, damn
+them!--do you hear?--get them all! They're out of the house now, but
+lay a trap for them. They always come in through the garage on the side
+street. Oh, God, I'm done for! Break down the west walls of the rooms
+upstairs--if--you--want proof of what--the gang's been doing. Hurry!
+Hurry! I'm--I'm--done for--I--”
+
+Jimmie Dale permitted the telephone to drop with a clash from his hand
+to the table.
+
+The face of the man on the floor was livid.
+
+“Who are you? In God's name, who are you?” he cried out wildly.
+
+“Does it matter?” inquired Jimmie Dale grimly. “Your game is up. You'll
+go to the chair for the murder of 'Henry LaSalle'--if it is by proxy!
+Those rooms upstairs alone are enough to damn you, to prove every word
+of that dying 'confession'--but to-morrow, added to it, will come the
+story of Marie LaSalle herself.”
+
+For a moment the man hung there swaying on his elbow, his face working
+in ghastly fashion--and then suddenly, with a strange laugh, he carried
+one hand swiftly to his mouth--and laughed again--and before Jimmie Dale
+could reach him was lifeless on the floor.
+
+A tiny vial rolled away upon the carpet. Jimmie Dale picked it up. A
+drop or two of liquid still remained in it--colourless, clear, like
+that liquid this same man had dropped into the rabbit's mouth the night
+before, like the liquid in the glasses they had carried into that third
+room, like the liquid that his man had said was from a formula of their
+own, that was instantaneous in its action, that defied detection by
+autopsy!
+
+The set, stern features of Jimmie Dale relaxed. It was justice--but it
+was also death. In a surge of emotion, the events of scarcely more
+than twenty-four hours, began to crowd upon him--and then, ominously
+dominant, above all else, that slogan of the underworld, “Death to the
+Gray Seal!” came ringing once more in his ears. It brought him, with a
+startled movement of his hand across his eyes, to a realisation of his
+own desperate position. Yes, yes, he must go! The way was clear now for
+the Tocsin--clear now for her!
+
+He dropped the vial into his pocket, and, running to the safe, quickly
+scraped the gray seal from the dial's knob; then he drew the packages of
+money from his shirt and pockets and tossed them on the floor among the
+litter of papers already there--she would get it back again when it had
+served its purpose, it would be self-evident that it was the proceeds of
+that day's sale of the estate's securities over which the “quarrel” had
+occurred!
+
+And now the window! He ran to it, closed it, and LOCKED it; then,
+laying the revolver he had taken from the leader down beside the man,
+he stepped across the room again and drew the body of “Henry LaSalle”
+ closer to the table--as though the man had fallen there when the
+telephone had dropped from his hand.
+
+It was done now! On the floor beside him lay each man's weapon--and both
+of the revolvers had been discharged several times. Jimmie Dale paused
+on the library threshold for a final survey of the room. It was done!
+The way was clear--for her. And now if he could only save himself! There
+was no chance for Larry the Bat! Could he save--JIMMIE DALE!
+
+He crossed the hall, a queer, half-grim, half-wistful smile on his
+lips, unlocked the front door, stepped out, locked it behind him--and
+in another moment, doubling around the corner, was running along like a
+hare along the side street.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+“DEATH TO THE GRAY SEAL!”
+
+
+On Jimmie Dale ran. Across on Fourth Avenue he swung on a car that took
+him to Astor Place. Then striking east once more, making a detour to
+avoid the Bowery, he ran on at top speed again. To reach the Sanctuary,
+not before the Magpie should have spread the alarm, that was impossible,
+but to reach it before the underworld should have had time to recover
+its breath, as it were, before the underworld should have had time to
+act--that was his only chance! The Magpie had, at the outside, a start
+of fifteen minutes; but he, Jimmie Dale, had probably retrieved five
+minutes of that in the time he had made in getting downtown. That left
+the Magpie ten to the good. How long would it take the Magpie to bring
+the underworld swarming like hornets around the Sanctuary?
+
+On Larry the Bat ran. At the Sanctuary were the clothes, the belongings
+of Jimmie Dale. Could he save Jimmie Dale! If he could get there,
+change, and get out again, the way was clear for him--as clear as for
+the Tocsin now. In a few hours the police would have every member of
+the Crime Club in the trap; there would be no watch any more around
+his house on Riverside Drive; and he would be free to return there
+and resume his normal life as Jimmie Dale again if he could make
+the Sanctuary in time! But let the Magpie get there first, let the
+underworld tear the place to pieces in its fury as it would do, let them
+discover that hiding place under the flooring, for instance, and the
+Gray Seal would not be merely Larry the Bat, but Jimmie Dale as well,
+and--a cry escaped him even as he ran--it meant ruin, the disgrace of
+an honoured name, death, crimes without number at his door. Crimes! The
+Gray Seal had never committed a crime! But the crimes attributed to the
+Gray Seal he could not disprove, not one of them! He had meant them
+to appear as crimes--and he had succeeded so well that the Gray Seal's
+name, execrated, was a synonym for the most callous, dangerous, and
+unscrupulous criminal of the age!
+
+He was gasping for breath as finally, making for the side door, he
+darted into the alleyway that flanked the Sanctuary. What story would
+the Magpie tell? Not the truth, of course--that would let the Magpie in
+for what had happened that night, for the Magpie must be well aware
+that he had shot at least one of the two men in that room. But the
+truth wasn't necessary; it was foreign, and had no bearing on the one
+outstanding fact--the Gray Seal was Larry the Bat. At the present moment
+the Magpie had a double incentive for “getting” the Gray Seal--the Gray
+Seal was the only one who could prove murder against him that night
+in the LaSalle mansion. And afterwards, when the police version of the
+affair was made public, the Magpie, to save himself, would be careful
+enough to do or say nothing to contradict “Henry LaSalle's” confession!
+
+Larry the Bat slipped in through the door, halted there, listened; and
+then began to mount the rickety stairs, with his silent tread. At the
+top he paused again. Nothing--no sound! They were not here yet--so far
+he was in time! He stepped to the Sanctuary door, unlocked it, passed
+into the squalid, miserable room that had harboured him for so long as
+Larry the Bat, locked the door behind him, crossed quickly to the window
+to make sure that the shutters were closed--and then, for the first
+time, as the gray light streaked in through the interstices, he was
+conscious that it was already dawn. So much the more need for haste
+then!
+
+He whipped out his revolver and laid it at his hand on the dilapidated
+table; then the flooring in the corner was up in an instant, and he
+began to strip off the rags of Larry the Bat. Boots, mismated socks, the
+torn, patched trousers, the greasy flannel shirt, the threadbare coat,
+the nondescript slouch hat were thrown in a pile on the floor; and
+with them, from their hiding-place, the grease paints and heterogeneous
+collection of make-up accessories. This done, he began to slip on the
+clothes of Jimmie Dale; and, when half dressed, turned to the table
+again to remove the characteristic grime, stain, and paint of Larry the
+Bat from face, hands, wrists, throat, and neck. This was a longer, more
+arduous task. He reached for the cracked pitcher to pour more water into
+the basin--and, snatching up his revolver instead, whirled to face the
+door.
+
+Some one was outside! He had caught the creak of a footstep upon the
+stairs. In a flash he was across the room and crouched by the door. Yes,
+the step was nearer now--at the head of the stairs--on the landing. His
+revolver lifted, holding a steady bead on the door panel. And then there
+came a low voice:
+
+“Jimmie! Jimmie! Are you there? Quick, Jimmie! Are you there?”
+
+The Tocsin! What was she doing here! Why had he not warned her up there
+on the avenue, fool that he was, that of all places she was to keep away
+from here!
+
+She slipped into the room as he unlocked the door.
+
+“They're coming, Jimmie!” she panted breathlessly. “There's not an
+instant to lose! Listen! When the Magpie ran from the house, I ran with
+him--but it”--she tried to smile--“it wasn't to obey you, to run away--I
+had made up my mind I wouldn't do that--it was to find out from him what
+had happened. He told me you were the Gray Seal. He did not suspect me.
+He thinks you were no more than just Larry the Bat to me, as you were
+to everybody else. He went straight to Chicago Ike's gambling rooms and
+found the Skeeter's gang there--you know them, Red Mose, the Midget,
+Harve Thoms, and the Skeeter--you remember your fight with them over
+old Luddy's diamonds! Well, they have not forgotten, either! They are on
+their way here, now! The news that you are the Gray Seal is travelling
+like lightning all through the underworld--there will be a mob here on
+the Skeeter's heels. So, Jimmie--quick! Run!”
+
+Run! Half Larry the Bat, half Jimmie Dale--and run! In another five
+minutes, perhaps--yes. But there probably would not be five minutes--and
+she--if she were found here!
+
+“Yes,” he said quietly. “I'll get away in a moment. You go at once.
+I'll”--he was smiling at her reassuringly--“I'll meet you at--”
+
+She looked at him then for an instant--interrupting him quickly, as she
+shook her head.
+
+“I didn't notice, Jimmie. You cannot go like that--can you? It would
+be even worse than being caught as Larry the Bat. Hurry then--I am not
+going without you.”
+
+“No!” he said. “Go now! Go at once, Marie--while you can. You have
+risked your life as it is to come here and tell me this. For God's sake,
+go now!”
+
+The great, brown eyes were smiling bravely through a sudden mist. She
+shook her head again.
+
+“Not without you, Jimmie.”
+
+It brought a fierce, wild throb of joy upon him--and then a cold,
+sickening fear.
+
+“Listen!” he cried out desperately. “You must go now! You cannot take
+any chances now, Marie. Everything is right for you. That man who posed
+as your uncle is dead--the leader of the Crime Club is dead. Don't you
+understand what that means! You have only to be Marie LaSalle again and
+claim your own. I cannot tell you all now--there's no time. That house
+was the Crime Club itself. The police will get them all. Don't you see!
+Don't you see! Everything is clear for you now--and now go! Go--you must
+go!”
+
+She was staring at him, a strange wonder in her face.
+
+“Clear! All clear--for me! I--I can go back to--to my own life again!”
+ It was as though she were whispering some amazing thing of unbelievable
+joy to herself.
+
+“YES!” he cried out again. “Yes! But go--go, Marie!”
+
+But now, for answer, suddenly she reached out and took the key from the
+door and put it in the pocket of her dress.
+
+“We will go together, Jimmie--or not at all,” she said simply. “We are
+wasting precious moments. Hurry and dress!”
+
+He hesitated miserably. What could he do--if she WOULD not go! And it
+was true--the moments were flying. Better, rather than futile argument,
+to use them as she said. There was still a chance! Why not! Five
+minutes! He could do better than that! He MUST do better than that!
+
+Without a word, he ran back across the room. In frantic haste, from
+face, hands, wrists, and neck came the stain. There was still time. She
+was standing there by the door, listening. She, the Tocsin, she whom
+he loved, she who, all through the years that had gone, had been so
+strangely elusive and yet so intimately a part of his life, SHE was
+standing there now, here with him--in peril with every second that
+passed!
+
+He had only to slip on his coat and vest now--and make a bundle of
+Larry the Bat's things on the floor, so that he could carry them away
+to destroy them. He stooped to gather up the clothes--and straightened
+suddenly--and jumped toward the door again.
+
+“They are coming, Jimmie!” she called, in a low voice. But he had
+already heard them--the stairs were creaking loudly under the tread of
+many feet. He pushed the Tocsin hurriedly back against the wall at the
+side of the door.
+
+“Stand there!” he said, under his breath. “Out of the line of fire!
+Don't move!”
+
+There was a rush against the door--and then a voice growled:
+
+“Aw, cut dat out! Wot do youse want to do--scare him away by bustin' it!
+Pick de lock, an' we'll lay for him inside till he shows up.”
+
+It was the Skeeter's voice. The Skeeter and his gang--the worst apaches
+in the city of New York! Professional assassins, death contractors,
+he had called them--and the lowest bidders! A man's life any time for
+twenty-five dollars! No, they were not likely to forget the affair of
+the pushcart man, to forget old Luddy and his diamonds, to forget--the
+Gray Seal! And they were only the vanguard of what was to come!
+
+Some one was working at the lock now. There was one way to stop that. It
+would not take them long to find out that he WAS there once the door
+was opened! Better know it with the door SHUT! Jimmie Dale lifted his
+revolver coolly and fired through the panel.
+
+A burst of yells answered the shot; and among them, high above the
+others, the Magpie's scream:
+
+“We got him! We got him! He's dere now!”
+
+And then it seemed that pandemonium broke loose--there was a volley of
+shots, the bullets splintering through the door panels as from a machine
+gun, so fast they came--and then another rush against the door.
+
+Flat on the floor, but well back and to one side, Jimmie Dale fired
+steadily--again and again.
+
+Came screams of pain, yells, and oaths--and they fell back from the
+door.
+
+And now from above, from overhead, came tumult--windows thrown up, the
+stamp of feet, cries of fright. And from the street, a low, sullen roar.
+The underworld was gathering fast!
+
+Once more the rush upon the door--and Jimmie Dale, a grim, twisted smile
+upon his lips, emptied his revolver into the panels. Once more they
+fell back--and then there came the Skeeter's voice, snarling like an
+infuriated beast:
+
+“He'll get de lot of us like dis! Cut it out! Besides, we'll have de
+bulls down here in a minute--an' he's OUR meat, not theirs. Dey'd be
+too damned soft wid him--dey'd only send him to de chair. Youse chase
+upstairs, Mose, an' pass de word to beat it--an' beat it quick. We'll
+BURN de skunk out--dat's wot. An' de bulls can stand alongside an'
+watch, if dey likes--but he's our meat.”
+
+Jimmie Dale did not dare to look at the Tocsin's face. Mechanically he
+refilled the magazine of his automatic--and lay there, waiting. The roar
+from the street grew louder. They seemed to be fighting out there, as
+though an inadequate number of police were trying to disperse a mob--and
+not succeeding! Pretty soon, with the riot call in, there would probably
+be a battle--for the Gray Seal! Sublime irony! It was death at the hands
+of either one!
+
+Children whimpered on the stairs outside, men swore, women cried, feet
+shuffled hurriedly by as the tenement emptied. Occasionally, a pertinent
+invitation to him to remain where he was, there was a vicious rip
+through the panel, and the drumming whir of a bullet flying through the
+room. And then a curious, ominous crackling sound--and then the smell of
+smoke.
+
+Jimmie Dale stood up, his face drawn and haggard. The tenement would go
+like matchwood, burn like a bonfire, with any kind of a start--and there
+was no doubt about the start! The Skeeter, the Magpie, and the rest
+would have seen that it had headway enough to serve their purpose before
+either firemen or police could thwart them. He, Jimmie Dale, could
+take his choice: walk out into a bullet, or stay there and--he smiled
+miserably as his eyes fell upon the pile of Larry the Bat's clothing on
+the floor. There was no longer need to worry about ITS destruction--the
+fire would take care of that only too well! And then a low, bitter
+cry came to his lips, and he clenched his hands. If it were only
+himself--only himself! He crossed to the Tocsin and caught her in his
+arms.
+
+“Oh, my God--Marie!” he faltered.
+
+The cape and hood had fallen from her, and with the hood had fallen the
+gray-streaked hair of Silver Mag--and now as she smiled at him it was
+from a face that was very beautiful and very brave and very full of
+tenderness.
+
+And he held her there--and neither spoke.
+
+It seeped in under the threshold of the door, it came from everywhere,
+filling the room--the black, strangling smoke. Outside in the hall all
+was silence now--save for that crackle of flame that grew in volume,
+that came now in quick, sharp reports, like revolver shots. From out in
+the street swelled a cry: “Death to the Gray Seal!” Then the clang of
+bells, the roar and rattle of fire apparatus, strident voices bellowing
+orders, and the crowd again, blood hungry: “Death to the Gray Seal!”
+
+There was a chance, just one--if the fire had no headway along the upper
+end of the landing--and if they had not thought to set a watch for
+him ABOVE! They--the Magpie, the Skeeter, and his gang--must have been
+driven even out of the house now by the smoke and flame.
+
+“Give me the key, I am going to open the door, Marie,” he said quietly.
+“Cover your face with a handkerchief, anything, and run to the LEFT to
+the next flight of stairs. There are two flats above this--we'll make
+the roof if we can. Now--are you ready?”
+
+It was an instant before she answered, an instant in which she lifted
+her face to his, and held his face between her two hands--and then:
+
+“I am ready, Jimmie.”
+
+He flung open the door, his arm around her to help her forward--and
+instinctively, with a cry, fell back for a moment. With the inrush of
+the draft poured the smoke, and through it, lurid, yellow, showed the
+flames leaping from the stair well.
+
+And then all was blind madness. Together they ran. At the foot of the
+stairs she fell, recovered herself, staggered up another--and fell
+again. He caught her up in his arms and, staggering now as she had
+staggered, went on. His lungs seemed to be bursting. His limbs grew
+weak and trembled under him. He could not see or breathe. The nauseating
+fumes suffocated him, bringing an intolerable agony. He gained the first
+landing above. There was one more--one more! If he could only rest here
+for a moment! Yes, that was it--rest. It wasn't so bad here now. She
+stirred in his arms, struggled to her feet--and he was helping her on
+again, and up the next flight of stairs.
+
+And suddenly he found himself laughing in hysteria--for they were
+climbing a half stair, half ladderway at the end of the upper landing,
+and the open skylight was above them, and they were drinking in the
+pure, fresh air--and now they were out upon the roof, and the roar from
+the street was in their ears, like the roar of great waters from some
+canyon far below. Jimmie Dale tried to speak, and found his lips were
+cracked and dry. He wet them with his tongue.
+
+“Don't stand up--we'd be seen--CRAWL,” he mumbled hoarsely.
+
+It took a long time--over one roof, and then another, and yet
+another--and then through the skylight of a tenement whose occupants
+were either craning from the front windows, or were on the street below.
+It was, perhaps, half an hour--and then they, too, were standing in the
+street, and all about them the crowd was shouting in wild excitement.
+
+Up the block, inside the fire lines, the Sanctuary was blazing
+furiously--and now suddenly the wall seemed to bulge outward. It brought
+a yell from the crowd:
+
+“Death to the Gray Seal!”
+
+She pulled at his arm.
+
+“Let us get away! Let us get away, Jimmie!” she whispered frantically.
+
+A strange smile was on Jimmie Dale's lips.
+
+“We're safe now--for always,” he whispered back. “Look!”
+
+The Sanctuary wall bulged farther outward, seemed to hang an instant
+hesitant in mid-air--and fell with a mighty crash.
+
+The Gray Seal was dead!
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of Jimmie Dale, by Frank L. Packard
+
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+
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+   PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+   "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" >
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <title>
+      The Adventures of Jimmie Dale, by Frank L. Packard
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
+
+    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
+    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
+    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
+    blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
+    div.fig    { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
+    div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
+    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
+    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
+    .pagenum   {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal;
+               margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%;
+               text-align: right;}
+    pre        { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
+
+</style>
+  </head>
+  <body>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of Jimmie Dale, by Frank L. Packard
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Adventures of Jimmie Dale
+
+Author: Frank L. Packard
+
+Release Date: May 3, 2006 [EBook #1218]
+Last Updated: March 13, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF JIMMIE DALE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Donald Lainson; David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      THE ADVENTURES OF JIMMIE DALE
+    </h1>
+    <h2>
+      by Frank L. Packard
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <blockquote>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br /> <a href="#link2H_PART1"> <big><b>PART ONE: THE MAN IN THE CASE</b></big>
+        </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003">
+        CHAPTER III </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006">
+        CHAPTER VI </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010">
+        CHAPTER X </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> <br /> <br />
+      </p>
+      <hr />
+      <p>
+        <br /> <br /> <a href="#link2H_PART2"> <big><b>PART TWO: THE WOMAN IN THE
+        CASE</b></big> </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER I </a><br />
+        <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER II </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014">
+        CHAPTER III </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER IV </a><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER V </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017">
+        CHAPTER VI </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER VII </a><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER VIII </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020">
+        CHAPTER IX </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER X </a><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XI </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023">
+        CHAPTER XII </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XIII </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<br />
+        <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XIV </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026">
+        CHAPTER XV </a><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XVI </a>
+      </p>
+    </blockquote>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_PART1" id="link2H_PART1">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      PART ONE: THE MAN IN THE CASE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER I
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE GRAY SEAL
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Among New York's fashionable and ultra-exclusive clubs, the St. James
+      stood an acknowledged leader&mdash;more men, perhaps, cast an envious eye
+      at its portals, of modest and unassuming taste, as they passed by on Fifth
+      Avenue, than they did at any other club upon the long list that the city
+      boasts. True, there were more expensive clubs upon whose membership roll
+      scintillated more stars of New York's social set, but the St. James was
+      distinctive. It guaranteed a man, so to speak&mdash;that is, it guaranteed
+      a man to be innately a gentleman. It required money, it is true, to keep
+      up one's membership, but there were many members who were not wealthy, as
+      wealth is measured nowadays&mdash;there were many, even, who were pressed
+      sometimes to meet their dues and their house accounts, but the accounts
+      were invariably promptly paid. No man, once in, could ever afford, or ever
+      had the desire, to resign from the St. James Club. Its membership was
+      cosmopolitan; men of every walk in life passed in and out of its doors,
+      professional men and business men, physicians, artists, merchants,
+      authors, engineers, each stamped with the &ldquo;hall mark&rdquo; of the St. James, an
+      innate gentleman. To receive a two weeks' out-of-town visitor's card to
+      the St. James was something to speak about, and men from Chicago, St.
+      Louis, or San Francisco spoke of it with a sort of holier-than-thou air to
+      fellow members of their own exclusive clubs, at home again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Is there any doubt that Jimmie Dale was a gentleman&mdash;an INNATE
+      gentleman? Jimmie Dale's father had been a member of the St. James Club,
+      and one of the largest safe manufacturers of the United States, a
+      prosperous, wealthy man, and at Jimmie Dale's birth he had proposed his
+      son's name for membership. It took some time to get into the St. James;
+      there was a long waiting list that neither money, influence, nor pull
+      could alter by so much as one iota. Men proposed their sons' names for
+      membership when they were born as religiously as they entered them upon
+      the city's birth register. At twenty-one Jimmie Dale was elected to
+      membership; and, incidentally, that same year, graduated from Harvard. It
+      was Mr. Dale's desire that his son should enter the business and learn it
+      from the ground up, and Jimmie Dale, for four years thereafter, had
+      followed his father's wishes. Then his father died. Jimmie Dale had
+      leanings toward more artistic pursuits than business. He was credited with
+      sketching a little, writing a little; and he was credited with having
+      received a very snug amount from the combine to which he sold out his
+      safe-manufacturing interests. He lived a bachelor life&mdash;his mother
+      had been dead many years&mdash;in the house that his father had left him
+      on Riverside Drive, kept a car or two and enough servants to run his
+      menage smoothly, and serve a dinner exquisitely when he felt hospitably
+      inclined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Could there be any doubt that Jimmie Dale was innately a gentleman?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was evening, and Jimmie Dale sat at a small table in the corner of the
+      St. James Club dining room. Opposite him sat Herman Carruthers, a young
+      man of his own age, about twenty-six, a leading figure in the newspaper
+      world, whose rise from reporter to managing editor of the morning
+      NEWS-ARGUS within the short space of a few years had been almost meteoric.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were at coffee and cigars, and Jimmie Dale was leaning back in his
+      chair, his dark eyes fixed interestedly on his guest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers, intently engaged in trimming his cigar ash on the edge of the
+      Limoges china saucer of his coffee set, looked up with an abrupt laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; I wouldn't care to go on record as being an advocate of crime,&rdquo; he
+      said whimsically; &ldquo;that would never do. But I don't mind admitting quite
+      privately that it's been a positive regret to me that he has gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Made too good 'copy' to lose, I suppose?&rdquo; suggested Jimmie Dale
+      quizzically. &ldquo;Too bad, too, after working up a theatrical name like that
+      for him&mdash;the Gray Seal&mdash;rather unique! Who stuck that on him&mdash;you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers laughed&mdash;then, grown serious, leaned toward Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't mean to say, Jimmie, that you don't know about that, do you?&rdquo;
+       he asked incredulously. &ldquo;Why, up to a year ago the papers were full of
+      him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never read your beastly agony columns,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, with a cheery
+      grin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Carruthers, &ldquo;you must have skipped everything but the stock
+      reports then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Granted,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;So go on, Carruthers, and tell me about him&mdash;I
+      dare say I may have heard of him, since you are so distressed about it,
+      but my memory isn't good enough to contradict anything you may have to say
+      about the estimable gentleman, so you're safe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers reverted to the Limoges saucer and the tip of his cigar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He was the most puzzling, bewildering, delightful crook in the annals of
+      crime,&rdquo; said Carruthers reminiscently, after a moment's silence. &ldquo;Jimmie,
+      he was the king-pin of them all. Clever isn't the word for him, or
+      dare-devil isn't either. I used to think sometimes his motive was more
+      than half for the pure deviltry of it, to laugh at the police and pull the
+      noses of the rest of us that were after him. I used to dream nights about
+      those confounded gray seals of his&mdash;that's where he got his name; he
+      left every job he ever did with a little gray paper affair, fashioned
+      diamond-shaped, stuck somewhere where it would be the first thing your
+      eyes would light upon when you reached the scene, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't go so fast,&rdquo; smiled Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;I don't quite get the connection.
+      What did you have to do with this&mdash;er&mdash;Gray Seal fellow? Where
+      do you come in?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I? I had a good deal to do with him,&rdquo; said Carruthers grimly. &ldquo;I was a
+      reporter when he first broke loose, and the ambition of my life, after I
+      began really to appreciate what he was, was to get him&mdash;and I nearly
+      did, half a dozen times, only&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only you never quite did, eh?&rdquo; cut in Jimmie Dale slyly. &ldquo;How near did
+      you get, old man? Come on, now, no bluffing; did the Gray Seal ever even
+      recognise you as a factor in the hare-and-hound game?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're flicking on the raw, Jimmie,&rdquo; Carruthers answered, with a wry
+      grimace. &ldquo;He knew me, all right, confound him! He favoured me with several
+      sarcastic notes&mdash;I'll show 'em to you some day&mdash;explaining how
+      I'd fallen down and how I could have got him if I'd done something else.&rdquo;
+       Carruthers' fist came suddenly down on the table. &ldquo;And I would have got
+      him, too, if he had lived.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lived!&rdquo; ejaculated Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;He's dead, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; averted Carruthers; &ldquo;he's dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;H'm!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale facetiously. &ldquo;I hope the size of the wreath you
+      sent was an adequate tribute of your appreciation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never sent any wreath,&rdquo; returned Carruthers, &ldquo;for the very simple
+      reason that I didn't know where to send it, or when he died. I said he was
+      dead because for over a year now he hasn't lifted a finger.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rotten poor evidence, even for a newspaper,&rdquo; commented Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;Why
+      not give him credit for having, say&mdash;reformed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers shook his head. &ldquo;You don't get it at all, Jimmie,&rdquo; he said
+      earnestly. &ldquo;The Gray Seal wasn't an ordinary crook&mdash;he was a classic.
+      He was an artist, and the art of the thing was in his blood. A man like
+      that could no more stop than he could stop breathing&mdash;and live. He's
+      dead; there's nothing to it but that&mdash;he's dead. I'd bet a year's
+      salary on it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Another good man gone wrong, then,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale capriciously. &ldquo;I
+      suppose, though, that at least you discovered the 'woman in the case'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers looked up quickly, a little startled; then laughed shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's the matter?&rdquo; inquired Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; said Carruthers. &ldquo;You kind of got me for a moment, that's all.
+      That's the way those infernal notes from the Gray Seal used to end up:
+      'Find the lady, old chap; and you'll get me.' He had a damned patronising
+      familiarity that would make you squirm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor old Carruthers!&rdquo; grinned Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;You did take it to heart,
+      didn't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd have sold my soul to get him&mdash;and so would you, if you had been
+      in my boots,&rdquo; said Carruthers, biting nervously at the end of his cigar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And been sorry for it afterward,&rdquo; supplied Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, by Jove, you're right!&rdquo; admitted Carruthers, &ldquo;I suppose I should. I
+      actually got to love the fellow&mdash;it was the GAME, really, that I
+      wanted to beat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, and how about this woman? Keep on the straight and narrow path, old
+      man,&rdquo; prodded Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The woman?&rdquo; Carruthers smiled. &ldquo;Nothing doing! I don't believe there was
+      one&mdash;he wouldn't have been likely to egg the police and reporters on
+      to finding her if there had been, would he? It was a blind, of course. He
+      worked alone, absolutely alone. That's the secret of his success,
+      according to my way of thinking. There was never so much as an indication
+      that he had had an accomplice in anything he ever did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's eyes travelled around the club's homelike, perfectly
+      appointed room. He nodded to a fellow member here and there, then his eyes
+      rested musingly on his guest again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers was staring thoughtfully at his coffee cup.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He was the prince of crooks and the father of originality,&rdquo; announced
+      Carruthers abruptly, following the pause that had ensued. &ldquo;Half the time
+      there wasn't any more getting at the motive for the curious things he did,
+      than there was getting at the Gray Seal himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Carruthers,&rdquo; said Jimmy Dale, with a quick little nod of approval,
+      &ldquo;you're positively interesting to-night. But, so far, you've been kind of
+      scouting around the outside edges without getting into the thick of it.
+      Let's have some of your experiences with the Gray Seal in detail; they
+      ought to make ripping fine yarns.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not to-night, Jimmie,&rdquo; said Carruthers; &ldquo;it would take too long.&rdquo; He
+      pulled out his watch mechanically as he spoke, glanced at it&mdash;and
+      pushed back his chair. &ldquo;Great Scott!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;It's nearly half-past
+      nine. I'd no idea we had lingered so long over dinner. I'll have to hurry;
+      we're a morning paper, you know, Jimmie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What! Really! Is it as late as that.&rdquo; Jimmie Dale rose from his chair as
+      Carruthers stood up. &ldquo;Well, if you must&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must,&rdquo; said Carruthers, with a laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, O slave.&rdquo; Jimmie Dale laughed back&mdash;and slipped his hand,
+      a trick of their old college days together, through Carruthers' arm as
+      they left the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He accompanied Carruthers downstairs to the door of the club, and saw his
+      guest into a taxi; then he returned inside, sauntered through the billiard
+      room, and from there into one of the cardrooms, where, pressed into a
+      game, he played several rubbers of bridge before going home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was, therefore, well on toward midnight when Jimmie Dale arrived at his
+      house on Riverside Drive, and was admitted by an elderly manservant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, Jason,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale pleasantly. &ldquo;You still up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; replied Jason, who had been valet to Jimmie Dale's father
+      before him. &ldquo;I was going to bed, sir, at about ten o'clock, when a
+      messenger came with a letter. Begging your pardon, sir, a young lady, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jason&rdquo;&mdash;Jimmie Dale flung out the interruption, sudden, quick,
+      imperative&mdash;&ldquo;what did she look like?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why&mdash;why, I don't exactly know as I could describe her, sir,&rdquo;
+       stammered Jason, taken aback. &ldquo;Very ladylike, sir, in her dress and
+      appearance, and what I would call, sir, a beautiful face.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hair and eyes&mdash;what color?&rdquo; demanded Jimmie Dale crisply. &ldquo;Nose,
+      lips, chin&mdash;what shape?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, sir,&rdquo; gasped Jason, staring at his master, &ldquo;I&mdash;I don't rightly
+      know. I wouldn't call her fair or dark, something between. I didn't take
+      particular notice, and it wasn't overlight outside the door.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's too bad you weren't a younger man, Jason,&rdquo; commented Jimmie Dale,
+      with a curious tinge of bitterness in his voice. &ldquo;I'd have given a year's
+      income for your opportunity to-night, Jason.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said Jason helplessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, go on,&rdquo; prompted Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;You told her I wasn't home, and she
+      said she knew it, didn't she? And she left the letter that I was on no
+      account to miss receiving when I got back, though there was no need of
+      telephoning me to the club&mdash;when I returned would do, but it was
+      imperative that I should have it then&mdash;eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good Lord, sir!&rdquo; ejaculated Jason, his jaw dropped, &ldquo;that's exactly what
+      she did say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jason,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale grimly, &ldquo;listen to me. If ever she comes here
+      again, inveigle her in. If you can't inveigle her, use force; capture her,
+      pull her in, do anything&mdash;do anything, do you hear? Only don't let
+      her get away from you until I've come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jason gazed at his master as though the other had lost his reason.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Use force, sir?&rdquo; he repeated weakly&mdash;and shook his head. &ldquo;You&mdash;you
+      can't mean that, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can't I?&rdquo; inquired Jimmie Dale, with a mirthless smile. &ldquo;I mean every
+      word of it, Jason&mdash;and if I thought there was the slightest chance of
+      her giving you the opportunity, I'd be more imperative still. As it is&mdash;where's
+      the letter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On the table in your studio, sir,&rdquo; said Jason, mechanically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale started toward the stairs&mdash;then turned and came back to
+      where Jason, still shaking his head heavily, had been gazing anxiously
+      after his master. Jimmie Dale laid his hand on the old man's shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jason,&rdquo; he said kindly, with a swift change of mood, &ldquo;you've been a long
+      time in the family&mdash;first with father, and now with me. You'd do a
+      good deal for me, wouldn't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd do anything in the world for you, Master Jim,&rdquo; said the old man
+      earnestly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, remember this,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale slowly, looking into the
+      other's eyes, &ldquo;remember this&mdash;keep your mouth shut and your eyes
+      open. It's my fault. I should have warned you long ago, but I never
+      dreamed that she would ever come here herself. There have been times when
+      it was practically a matter of life and death to me to know who that woman
+      is that you saw to-night. That's all, Jason. Now go to bed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Master Jim,&rdquo; said the old man simply, &ldquo;thank you, sir, thank you for
+      trusting me. I've dandled you on my knee when you were a baby, Master Jim.
+      I don't know what it's about, and it isn't for me to ask. I thought, sir,
+      that maybe you were having a little fun with me. But I know now, and you
+      can trust me, Master Jim, if she ever comes again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, Jason,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, his hand closing with an
+      appreciative pressure on the other's shoulder &ldquo;Good-night, Jason.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Upstairs on the first landing, Jimmie Dale opened a door, closed and
+      locked it behind him&mdash;and the electric switch clicked under his
+      fingers. A glow fell softly from a cluster of shaded ceiling lights. It
+      was a large room, a very large room, running the entire depth of the
+      house, and the effect of apparent disorder in the arrangement of its
+      appointments seemed to breathe a sense of charm. There were great cozy,
+      deep, leather-covered lounging chairs, a huge, leather-covered davenport,
+      and an easel or two with half-finished sketches upon them; the walls were
+      panelled, the panels of exquisite grain and matching; in the centre of the
+      room stood a flat-topped rosewood desk; upon the floor was a dark, heavy
+      velvet rug; and, perhaps most inviting of all, there was a great,
+      old-fashioned fireplace at one side of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For an instant Jimmie Dale remained quietly by the door, as though
+      listening. Six feet he stood, muscular in every line of his body, like a
+      well-trained athlete with no single ounce of superfluous fat about him&mdash;the
+      grace and ease of power in his poise. His strong, clean-shaven face, as
+      the light fell upon it now, was serious&mdash;a mood that became him well&mdash;the
+      firm lips closed, the dark, reliant eyes a little narrowed, a frown on the
+      broad forehead, the square jaw clamped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then abruptly he walked across the room to the desk, picked up an envelope
+      that lay upon it, and, turning again, dropped into the nearest lounging
+      chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There had been no doubt in his mind, none to dispel. It was precisely what
+      he had expected from almost the first word Jason had spoken. It was the
+      same handwriting, the same texture of paper, and there was the same old
+      haunting, rare, indefinable fragrance about it. Jimmie Dale's hands turned
+      the envelope now this way, now that, as he looked at it. Wonderful hands
+      were Jimmie Dale's, with long, slim, tapering fingers whose sensitive tips
+      seemed now as though they were striving to decipher the message within.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed suddenly, a little harshly, and tore open the envelope. Five
+      closely written sheets fell into his hand. He read them slowly,
+      critically, read them over again; and then, his eyes on the rug at his
+      feet, he began to tear the paper into minute pieces between his fingers,
+      depositing the pieces, as he tore them, upon the arm of his chair. The
+      five sheets demolished, his fingers dipped into the heap of shreds on the
+      arm of the chair and tore them over and over again, tore them until they
+      were scarcely larger than bits of confetti, tore at them absently and
+      mechanically, his eyes never shifting from the rug at his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then with a shrug of his shoulders, as though rousing himself to present
+      reality, a curious smile flickering on his lips, he brushed the pieces of
+      paper into one hand, carried them to the empty fireplace, laid them down
+      in a little pile, and set them afire. Lighting a cigarette, he watched
+      them burn until the last glow had gone from the last charred scrap; then
+      he crunched and scattered them with the brass-handled fender brush, and,
+      retracing his steps across the room, flung back a portiere from where it
+      hung before a little alcove, and dropped on his knees in front of a round,
+      squat, barrel-shaped safe&mdash;one of his own design and planning in the
+      years when he had been with his father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His slim, sensitive fingers played for an instant among the knobs and
+      dials that studded the door, guided, it seemed by the sense of touch alone&mdash;and
+      the door swung open. Within was another door, with locks and bolts as
+      intricate and massive as the outer one. This, too, he opened; and then
+      from the interior took out a short, thick, rolled-up leather bundle tied
+      together with thongs. He rose from his knees, closed the safe, and drew
+      the portiere across the alcove again. With the bundle under his arm, he
+      glanced sharply around the room, listened intently, then, unlocking the
+      door that gave on the hall, he switched off the lights and went to his
+      dressing room, that was on the same floor. Here, divesting himself quickly
+      of his dinner clothes, he selected a dark tweed suit with loose-fitting,
+      sack coat from his wardrobe, and began to put it on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dressed, all but his coat and vest, he turned to the leather bundle that
+      he had placed on a table, untied the thongs, and carefully opened it out
+      to its full length&mdash;and again that curious, cryptic smile tinged his
+      lips. Rolled the opposite away from that in which it had been tied up, the
+      leather strip made a wide belt that went on somewhat after the fashion of
+      a life preserver, the thongs being used for shoulder straps&mdash;a belt
+      that, once on, the vest would hide completely, and, fitting close, left no
+      telltale bulge in the outer garments. It was not an ordinary belt; it was
+      full of stout-sewn, up-right little pockets all the way around, and in the
+      pockets grimly lay an array of fine, blued-steel, highly tempered
+      instruments&mdash;a compact, powerful burglar's kit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The slim, sensitive fingers passed with almost a caressing touch over the
+      vicious little implements, and from one of the pockets extracted a thin,
+      flat metal case. This Jimmie Dale opened, and glanced inside&mdash;between
+      sheets of oil paper lay little rows of GRAY, ADHESIVE, DIAMOND-SHAPED
+      SEALS.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale snapped the case shut, returned it to its recess, and from
+      another took out a black silk mask. He held it up to the light for
+      examination.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pretty good shape after a year,&rdquo; muttered Jimmie Dale, replacing it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He put on the belt, then his vest and coat. From the drawer of his dresser
+      he took an automatic revolver and an electric flashlight, slipped them
+      into his pocket, and went softly downstairs. From the hat stand he chose a
+      black slouch hat, pulled it well over his eyes&mdash;and left the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale walked down a block, then hailed a bus and mounted to the top.
+      It was late, and he found himself the only passenger. He inserted his dime
+      in the conductor's little resonant-belled cash receiver, and then settled
+      back on the uncomfortable, bumping, cushionless seat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On rattled the bus; it turned across town, passed the Circle, and headed
+      for Fifth Avenue&mdash;but Jimmie Dale, to all appearances, was quite
+      oblivious of its movements.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a year since she had written him. SHE! Jimmie Dale did not smile,
+      his lips were pressed hard together. Not a very intimate or personal
+      appellation, that&mdash;but he knew her by no other. It WAS a woman,
+      surely&mdash;the hand-writing was feminine, the diction eminently so&mdash;and
+      had SHE not come herself that night to Jason! He remembered the last
+      letter, apart from the one to-night, that he had received from her. It was
+      a year ago now&mdash;and the letter had been hardly more than a note. The
+      police had worked themselves into a frenzy over the Gray Seal, the papers
+      had grown absolutely maudlin&mdash;and she had written, in her
+      characteristic way:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Things are a little too warm, aren't they, Jimmie? Let's let them cool for
+      a year.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Since then until to-night he had heard nothing from her. It was a strange
+      compact that he had entered into&mdash;so strange that it could never have
+      known, could never know a parallel&mdash;unique, dangerous, bizarre, it
+      was all that and more. It had begun really through his connection with his
+      father's business&mdash;the business of manufacturing safes that should
+      defy the cleverest criminals&mdash;when his brains, turned into that
+      channel, had been pitted against the underworld, against the methods of a
+      thousand different crooks from Maine to California, the report of whose
+      every operation had reached him in the natural course of business, and
+      every one of which he had studied in minutest detail. It had begun through
+      that&mdash;but at the bottom of it was his own restless, adventurous
+      spirit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had meant to set the police by the ears, using his gray-seal device
+      both as an added barb and that no innocent bystander of the underworld,
+      innocent for once, might be involved&mdash;he had meant to laugh at them
+      and puzzle them to the verge of madness, for in the last analysis they
+      would find only an abortive attempt at crime&mdash;and he had succeeded.
+      And then he had gone too far&mdash;and he had been caught&mdash;by HER.
+      That string of pearls, which, to study whose effect facetiously, he had so
+      idiotically wrapped around his wrist, and which, so ironically, he had
+      been unable to loosen in time and had been forced to carry with him in his
+      sudden, desperate dash to escape from Marx's the big jeweler's, in Maiden
+      Lane, whose strong room he had toyed with one night, had been the lever
+      which, AT FIRST, she had held over him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bus was on Fifth Avenue now, and speeding rapidly down the deserted
+      thoroughfare. Jimmie Dale looked up at the lighted windows of the St.
+      James Club as they went by, smiled whimsically, and shifted in his seat,
+      seeking a more comfortable position.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She had caught him&mdash;how he did not know&mdash;he had never seen her&mdash;did
+      not know who she was, though time and again he had devoted all his
+      energies for months at a stretch to a solution of the mystery. The morning
+      following the Maiden Lane affair, indeed, before he had breakfasted, Jason
+      had brought him the first letter from her. It had started by detailing his
+      every move of the night before&mdash;and it had ended with an ultimatum:
+      &ldquo;The cleverness, the originality of the Gray Seal as a crook lacked but
+      one thing,&rdquo; she had naively written, &ldquo;and that one thing was that his
+      crookedness required a leading string to guide it into channels that were
+      worthy of his genius.&rdquo; In a word, SHE would plan the coups, and he would
+      act at her dictation and execute them&mdash;or else how did twenty years
+      in Sing Sing for that little Maiden Lane affair appeal to him? He was to
+      answer by the next morning, a simple &ldquo;yes&rdquo; or &ldquo;no&rdquo; in the personal column
+      of the morning NEWS-ARGUS.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A threat to a man like Jimmie Dale was like flaunting a red rag at a bull,
+      and a rage ungovernable had surged upon him. Then cold reason had come. He
+      was caught&mdash;there was no question about that&mdash;she had taken
+      pains to show him that he need make no mistake there. Innocent enough in
+      his own conscience, as far as actual theft went, for the pearls would in
+      due course be restored in some way to the possession of their owner, he
+      would have been unable to make even his own father, who was alive then,
+      believe in his innocence, let alone a jury of his peers. Dishonour, shame,
+      ignominy, a long prison sentence, stared him in the face, and there was
+      but one alternative&mdash;to link hands with this unseen, mysterious
+      accomplice. Well, he could at least temporise, he could always &ldquo;queer&rdquo; a
+      game in some specious manner, if he were pushed too far. And so, in the
+      next morning's NEWS-ARGUS, Jimmie Dale had answered &ldquo;yes.&rdquo; And then had
+      followed those years in which there had been NO temporising, in which
+      every plan was carried out to the last detail, those years of curious,
+      unaccountable, bewildering affairs that Carruthers had spoken of, one on
+      top of another, that had shaken the old headquarters on Mulberry Street to
+      its foundations, until the Gray Seal had become a name to conjure with.
+      And, yes, it was quite true, he had entered into it all, gone the limit,
+      with an eagerness that was insatiable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bus had reached the lower end of Fifth Avenue, passed through
+      Washington Square, and stopped at the end of its run. Jimmie Dale
+      clambered down from the top, threw a pleasant &ldquo;good-night&rdquo; to the
+      conductor, and headed briskly down the street before him. A little later
+      he crossed into West Broadway, and his pace slowed to a leisurely stroll.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here, at the upper end of the street, was a conglomerate business section
+      of rather inferior class, catering doubtless to the poor, foreign element
+      that congregated west of Broadway proper, and to the south of Washington
+      Square. The street was, at first glance, deserted; it was dark and dreary,
+      with stores and lofts on either side. An elevated train roared by
+      overhead, with a thunderous, deafening clamour. Jimmie Dale, on the
+      right-hand side of the street, glanced interestedly at the dark store
+      windows as he went by. And then, a block ahead, on the other side, his
+      eyes rested on an approaching form. As the other reached the corner and
+      paused, and the light from the street lamp glinted on brass buttons,
+      Jimmie Dale's eyes narrowed a little under his slouch hat. The policeman,
+      although nonchalantly swinging a nightstick, appeared to be watching him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale went on half a block farther, stooped to the sidewalk to tie
+      his shoe, glanced back over his shoulder&mdash;the policeman was not in
+      sight&mdash;and slipped like a shadow into the alleyway beside which he
+      had stopped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was another Jimmie Dale now&mdash;the professional Jimmie Dale. Quick
+      as a cat, active, lithe, he was over a six foot fence in the rear of a
+      building in a flash, and crouched a black shape, against the back door of
+      an unpretentious, unkempt, dirty, secondhand shop that fronted on West
+      Broadway&mdash;the last place certainly in all New York that the managing
+      editor of the NEWS-ARGUS, or any one else, for that matter, would have
+      picked out as the setting for the second debut of the Gray Seal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the belt around his waist, Jimmie Dale took the black silk mask, and
+      slipped it on; and from the belt, too, came a little instrument that his
+      deft fingers manipulated in the lock. A curious snipping sound followed.
+      Jimmie Dale put his weight gradually against the door. The door held fast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bolted,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sensitive fingers travelled slowly up and down the side of the door,
+      seeming to press and feel for the position of the bolt through an inch of
+      plank&mdash;then from the belt came a tiny saw, thin and pointed at the
+      end, that fitted into the little handle drawn from another receptacle in
+      the leather girdle beneath the unbuttoned vest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hardly a sound it made as it bit into the door. Half a minute passed&mdash;there
+      was the faint fall of a small piece of wood&mdash;into the aperture crept
+      the delicate, tapering fingers&mdash;came a slight rasping of metal&mdash;then
+      the door swung back, the dark shadow that had been Jimmie Dale vanished
+      and the door closed again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A round, white beam of light glowed for an instant&mdash;and disappeared.
+      A miscellaneous, lumbering collection of junk and odds and ends blocked
+      the entry, leaving no more space than was sufficient for bare passageway.
+      Jimmie Dale moved cautiously&mdash;and once more the flashlight in his
+      hand showed the way for an instant&mdash;then darkness again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cluttered accumulation of secondhand stuff in the rear gave place to a
+      little more orderly arrangement as he advanced toward the front of the
+      store. Like a huge firefly, the flashlight twinkled, went out, twinkled
+      again, and went out. He passed a sort of crude, partitioned-off apartment
+      that did duty for the establishment's office, a sort of little boxed-in
+      place it was, about in the middle of the floor. Jimmie Dale's light played
+      on it for a moment, but he kept on toward the front door without any
+      pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Every movement was quick, sure, accurate, with not a wasted second. It had
+      been barely a minute since he had vaulted the back fence. It was hardly a
+      quarter of a minute more before the cumbersome lock of the front door was
+      unfastened, and the door itself pulled imperceptibly ajar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went swiftly back to the office now&mdash;and found it even more of a
+      shaky, cheap affair than it had at first appeared; more like a box stall
+      with windows around the top than anything else, the windows doubtless to
+      permit the occupant to overlook the store from the vantage point of the
+      high stool that stood before a long, battered, wobbly desk. There was a
+      door to the place, too, but the door was open and the key was in the lock.
+      The ray of Jimmie Dale's flashlight swept once around the interior&mdash;and
+      rested on an antique, ponderous safe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Under the mask Jimmie Dale's lips parted in a smile that seemed almost
+      apologetic, as he viewed the helpless iron monstrosity that was little
+      more than an insult to a trained cracksman. Then from the belt came the
+      thin metal case and a pair of tweezers. He opened the case, and with the
+      tweezers lifted out one of the gray-coloured, diamond-shaped seals.
+      Holding the seal with the tweezers, he moistened the gummed side with his
+      lips, then laid it on a handkerchief which he took from his pocket, and
+      clapped the handkerchief against the front of the safe, sticking the seal
+      conspicuously into place. Jimmie Dale's insignia bore no finger prints.
+      The microscopes and magnifying glasses at headquarters had many a time
+      regretfully assured the police of that fact.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now his hands and fingers seemed to work like lightning. Into the soft
+      iron bit a drill&mdash;bit in and through&mdash;bit in and through again.
+      It was dark, pitch black&mdash;and silent. Not a sound, save the quick,
+      dull rasp of the ratchet&mdash;like the distant gnawing of a mouse! Jimmie
+      Dale worked fast&mdash;another hole went through the face of the
+      old-fashioned safe&mdash;and then suddenly he straightened up to listen,
+      every faculty tense, alert, and strained, his body thrown a little
+      forward. WHAT WAS THAT!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the alleyway leading from the street without, through which he
+      himself had come, sounded the stealthy crunch of feet. Motionless in the
+      utter darkness, Jimmie Dale listened&mdash;there was a scraping noise in
+      the rear&mdash;someone was climbing the fence that he had climbed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In an instant the tools in Jimmie Dale's hands disappeared into their
+      respective pockets beneath his vest&mdash;and the sensitive fingers shot
+      to the dial on the safe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too bad,&rdquo; muttered Jimmie Dale plaintively to himself. &ldquo;I could have made
+      such an artistic job of it&mdash;I swear I could have cut Carruthers'
+      profile in the hole in less than no time&mdash;to open it like this is
+      really taking the poor old thing at a disadvantage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was on his knees now, one ear close to the dial, listening as the
+      tumblers fell, while the delicate fingers spun the knob unerringly&mdash;the
+      other ear strained toward the rear of the premises.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Came a footstep&mdash;a ray of light&mdash;a stumble&mdash;nearer&mdash;the
+      newcomer was inside the place now, and must have found out that the back
+      door had been tampered with. Nearer came the steps&mdash;still nearer&mdash;and
+      then the safe door swung open under Jimmie Dale's hand, and Jimmie Dale,
+      that he might not be caught like a rat in a trap, darted from the office&mdash;but
+      he had delayed a little too long.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From around the cluttered piles of junk and miscellany swept the light&mdash;full
+      on Jimmie Dale. Hesitation for the smallest fraction of a second would
+      have been fatal, but hesitation was something that in all his life Jimmie
+      Dale had never known. Quick as a panther in its spring, he leaped full at
+      the light and the man behind it. The rough voice, in surprised exclamation
+      at the sudden discovery of the quarry, died in a gasp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a crash as the two men met&mdash;and the other reeled back
+      before the impact. Onto him Jimmie Dale sprang, and his hands flew for the
+      other's throat. It was an officer in uniform! Jimmie Dale had felt the
+      brass buttons as they locked. In the darkness there was a queer smile on
+      Jimmie Dale's tight lips. It was no doubt THE officer whom he had passed
+      on the other side of the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The other was a smaller man than Jimmie Dale, but powerful for his build&mdash;and
+      he fought now with all his strength. This way and that the two men reeled,
+      staggered, swayed, panting and gasping; and then&mdash;they had lurched
+      back close to the office door&mdash;with a sudden swing, every muscle
+      brought into play for a supreme effort, Jimmie Dale hurled the other from
+      him, sending the man sprawling back to the floor of the office, and in the
+      winking of an eye had slammed shut the door and turned the key.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a bull-like roar, the shrill CHEEP-CHEEP-CHEEP of the
+      patrolman's whistle, and a shattering crash as the officer flung his body
+      against the partition&mdash;then the bark of a revolver shot, the tinkle
+      of breaking glass, as the man fired through the office window&mdash;and
+      past Jimmie Dale, speeding now for the front door, a bullet hummed
+      viciously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Out on the street dashed Jimmie Dale, whipping the mask from his face&mdash;and
+      glanced like a hawk around him. For all the racket, the neighbourhood had
+      not yet been aroused&mdash;no one was in sight. From just overhead came
+      the rattle of a downtown elevated train. In a hundred-yard sprint, Jimmie
+      Dale raced it a half block to the station, tore up the steps&mdash;and a
+      moment later dropped nonchalantly into a seat and pulled an evening
+      newspaper from his pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale got off at the second station down, crossed the street,
+      mounted the steps of the elevated again, and took the next train uptown.
+      His movements appeared to be somewhat erratic&mdash;he alighted at the
+      station next above the one by which he had made his escape. Looking down
+      the street it was too dark to see much of anything, but a confused noise
+      as of a gathering crowd reached him from what was about the location of
+      the secondhand store. He listened appreciatively for a moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't it a perfectly lovely night?&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale amiably to himself.
+      &ldquo;And to think of that cop running away with the idea that I didn't see him
+      when he hid in a doorway after I passed the corner! Well, well, strange&mdash;isn't
+      it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With another glance down the street, a whimsical lift of his shoulders, he
+      headed west into the dilapidated tenement quarter that huddled for a
+      handful of blocks near by, just south of Washington Square. It was a
+      little after one o'clock in the morning now and the pedestrians were
+      casual. Jimmie Dale read the street signs on the corners as he went along,
+      turned abruptly into an intersecting street, counted the tenements from
+      the corner as he passed, and&mdash;for the eye of any one who might be
+      watching&mdash;opened the street door of one of them quite as though he
+      were accustomed and had a perfect right to do so, and went inside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was murky and dark within; hot, unhealthy, with lingering smells of
+      garlic and stale cooking. He groped for the stairs and started up. He
+      climbed one flight, then another&mdash;and one more to the top. Here,
+      treading softly, he made an examination of the landing with a view,
+      evidently, to obtaining an idea of the location and the number of doors
+      that opened off from it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His selection fell on the third door from the head of the stairs&mdash;there
+      were four all told, two apartments of two rooms each. He paused for an
+      instant to adjust the black silk mask, tried the door quietly, found it
+      unlocked, opened it with a sudden, quick, brisk movement&mdash;and,
+      stepping in side, leaned with his back against it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-morning,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale pleasantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a squalid place, a miserable hole, in which a single flickering,
+      yellow gas jet gave light. It was almost bare of furniture; there was
+      nothing but a couple of cheap chairs, a rickety table&mdash;unpawnable. A
+      boy, he was hardly more than that, perhaps twenty-two, from a posture in
+      which he was huddled across the table with head buried in out-flung arms,
+      sprang with a startled cry to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-morning,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale again. &ldquo;Your name's Hagan, Bert Hagan&mdash;isn't
+      it? And you work for Isaac Brolsky in the secondhand shop over on West
+      Broadway&mdash;don't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy's lips quivered, and the gaunt, hollow, half-starved face, white,
+      ashen-white now, was pitiful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I guess you got me,&rdquo; he faltered &ldquo;I&mdash;I suppose you're a
+      plain-clothes man, though I never knew dicks wore masks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They don't generally,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale coolly. &ldquo;It's a fad of mine&mdash;Bert
+      Hagan.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lad, hanging to the table, turned his head away for a moment&mdash;and
+      there was silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently Hagan spoke again. &ldquo;I'll go,&rdquo; he said numbly. &ldquo;I won't make any
+      trouble. Would&mdash;would you mind not speaking loud? I&mdash;I wouldn't
+      like her to know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Her?&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy tiptoed across the room, opened a connecting door a little, peered
+      inside, opened it a little wider&mdash;and looked over his shoulder at
+      Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale crossed to the boy, looked inside the other room&mdash;and his
+      lip twitched queerly, as the sight sent a quick, hurt throb through his
+      heart. A young woman, younger than the boy, lay on a tumble-down bed, a
+      rag of clothing over her&mdash;her face with a deathlike pallor upon it,
+      as she lay in what appeared to be a stupor. She was ill, critically ill;
+      it needed no trained eye to discern a fact all too apparent to the most
+      casual observer. The squalor, the glaring poverty here, was even more
+      pitifully in evidence than in the other room&mdash;only here upon a chair
+      beside the bed was a cluster of medicine bottles and a little heap of
+      fruit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale drew back silently as the boy closed the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hagan walked to the table and picked up his hat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm&mdash;I'm ready,&rdquo; he said brokenly. &ldquo;Let's go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just a minute,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;Tell us about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Twon't take long,&rdquo; said Hagan, trying to smile. &ldquo;She's my wife. The
+      sickness took all we had. I&mdash;I kinder got behind in the rent and
+      things. They were going to fire us out of here&mdash;to-morrow. And there
+      wasn't any money for the medicine, and&mdash;and the things she had to
+      have. Maybe you wouldn't have done it&mdash;but I did. I couldn't see her
+      dying there for the want of something a little money'd buy&mdash;and&mdash;and
+      I couldn't&rdquo;&mdash;he caught his voice in a little sob&mdash;&ldquo;I couldn't
+      see her thrown out on the street like that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, &ldquo;instead of putting old Isaac's cash in the
+      safe this evening when you locked up, you put it in your pocket instead&mdash;eh?
+      Didn't you know you'd get caught?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What did it matter?&rdquo; said the boy. He was twirling his misshappen hat
+      between his fingers. &ldquo;I knew they'd know it was me in the morning when old
+      Isaac found it gone, because there wasn't anybody else to do it. But I
+      paid the rent for four months ahead to-night, and I fixed it so's she'd
+      have medicine and things to eat. I was going to beat it before daylight
+      myself&mdash;I&rdquo;&mdash;he brushed his hand hurriedly across his cheek&mdash;&ldquo;I
+      didn't want to go&mdash;to leave her till I had to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, say&rdquo;&mdash;there was wonderment in Jimmie Dale's tones, and his
+      English lapsed into ungrammatical, reassuring vernacular&mdash;&ldquo;ain't that
+      queer! Say, I'm no detective. Gee, kid, did you think I was? Say, listen
+      to this! I cracked old Isaac's safe half an hour ago&mdash;and I guess
+      there won't be any idea going around that you got the money and I pulled a
+      lemon. Say, I ain't superstitious, but it looks like luck meant you to
+      have another chance, don't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The hat dropped from Hagan's hands to the floor, and he swayed a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&mdash;you ain't a dick!&rdquo; he stammered. &ldquo;Then how'd you know about me
+      and my name when you found the safe empty? Who told you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A wry grimace spread suddenly over Jimmie Dale's face beneath the mask,
+      and he swallowed hard. Jimmie Dale would have given a good deal to have
+      been able to answer that question himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, that!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;That's easy&mdash;I knew you worked there.
+      Say, it's the limit, ain't it? Talk about your luck being in, why all
+      you've got to do is to sit tight and keep your mouth shut, and you're safe
+      as a church. Only say, what are you going to do about the money, now
+      you've got a four months' start and are kind of landed on your feet?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do?&rdquo; said the boy. &ldquo;I'll pay it back, little by little. I meant to. I
+      ain't no&mdash;&rdquo; He stopped abruptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Crook,&rdquo; supplied Jimmie Dale pleasantly. &ldquo;Spit it right out, kid; you
+      won't hurt my feelings none. Well, I'll tell you&mdash;you're talking the
+      way I like to hear you&mdash;you pay that back, slide it in without his
+      knowing it, a bit at a time, whenever you can, and you'll never hear a yip
+      out of me; but if you don't, why it kind of looks as though I have a right
+      to come down your street and get my share or know the reason why&mdash;eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you never get any share,&rdquo; said Hagan, with a catch in his voice. &ldquo;I
+      pay it back as fast as I can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;That's right&mdash;that's what I said. Well, so
+      long&mdash;Hagan.&rdquo; And Jimmie Dale had opened the door and slipped
+      outside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An hour later, in his dressing room in his house on Riverside Drive,
+      Jimmie Dale was removing his coat as the telephone, a hand instrument on
+      the table, rang. Jimmie Dale glanced at it&mdash;and leisurely proceeded
+      to remove his vest. Again the telephone rang. Jimmie Dale took off his
+      curious, pocketed leather belt&mdash;as the telephone repeated its
+      summons. He picked out the little drill he had used a short while before,
+      and inspected it critically&mdash;feeling its point with his thumb, as one
+      might feel a razor's blade. Again the telephone rang insistently. He
+      reached languidly for the receiver, took it off its hook, and held it to
+      his ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, with a sleepy yawn. &ldquo;Hello! Hello! Why the
+      deuce don't you yank a man out of bed at two o'clock in the morning and
+      have done with it, and&mdash;eh? Oh, that you, Carruthers?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; came Carruthers' voice excitedly. &ldquo;Jimmie, listen&mdash;listen! The
+      Gray Seal's come to life! He's just pulled a break on West Broadway!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good Lord!&rdquo; gasped Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;You don't say!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER II
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      BY PROXY
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The most puzzling bewildering, delightful crook in the annals of crime,&rdquo;
+       Herman Carruthers, the editor of the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, had called the
+      Gray Seal; and Jimmie Dale smiled a little grimly now as he recalled the
+      occasion of a week ago at the St. James Club over their after-dinner
+      coffee. That was before his second debut, with Isaac Brolsky's
+      poverty-stricken premises over on West Broadway as a setting for the
+      break.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      SHE had written: &ldquo;Things are a little too warm, aren't they, Jimmie? Let's
+      let them cool for a year.&rdquo; Well, they had cooled for a year, and
+      Carruthers as a result had been complacently satisfied in his own mind
+      that the Gray Seal was dead&mdash;until that break at Isaac Brolsky's over
+      on West Broadway!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's smile was tinged with whimsicality now. The only effect of
+      the year's inaction had been to usher in his renewed activity with a furor
+      compared to which all that had gone before was insignificant. Where the
+      newspapers had been maudlin, they now raved&mdash;raved in editorials and
+      raved in headlines. It was an impossible, untenable, unbelievable
+      condition of affairs that this Gray Seal, for all his incomparable
+      cleverness, should flaunt his crimes in the faces of the citizens of New
+      York. One could actually see the editors writhing in their swivel chairs
+      as their fiery denunciations dripped from their pens! What was the matter
+      with the police? Were the police children; or, worse still, imbeciles&mdash;or,
+      still worse again, was there some one &ldquo;higher up&rdquo; who was profiting by
+      this rogue's work? New York would not stand for it&mdash;New York would
+      most decidedly not&mdash;and the sooner the police realised that fact the
+      better! If the police were helpless, or tools, the citizens of New York
+      were not, and it was time the citizens were thoroughly aroused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a way, too, to arouse the citizens, that was both good business
+      from the newspaper standpoint, and efficacious as a method. Carruthers, of
+      the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, had initiated it. The MORNING NEWS-ARGUS offered
+      twenty-five thousand dollars' reward for the capture of the Gray Seal!
+      Other papers immediately followed suit in varying amounts. The
+      authorities, State and municipal, goaded to desperation, did likewise, and
+      the five million men, women, and children of New York were automatically
+      metamorphosed into embryonic sleuths. New York was aroused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale, alias the Gray Seal, member of the ultra-exclusive St. James
+      Club, the latter fact sufficient in itself to guarantee his social
+      standing, graduate of Harvard, inheritor of his deceased father's immense
+      wealth amassed in the manufacture of burglar-proof safes, some of the most
+      ingenious patents on which were due to Jimmie Dale himself, figured with a
+      pencil on the margin of the newspaper he had been reading, using the arm
+      of the big, luxurious, leather-upholstered lounging chair as a support for
+      the paper. The result of his calculations was eighty-five thousand
+      dollars.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He brushed the paper onto the Turkish rug, dove into the pocket of his
+      dinner jacket for his cigarettes, and began to smoke as his eyes strayed
+      around the room, his own particular den in his fashionable Riverside Drive
+      residence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eighty-five thousand dollars' reward! Jimmie Dale blew meditative rings of
+      cigarette smoke at the fireplace. What would she say to that? Would she
+      decide it was &ldquo;too hot&rdquo; again, and call it off? It added quite a little
+      hazard to the game&mdash;QUITE a little! If he only knew who &ldquo;she&rdquo; was! It
+      was a strange partnership&mdash;the strangest partnership that had ever
+      existed between two human beings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned a little in his chair as a step sounded in the hallway without&mdash;that
+      is, Jimmie Dale caught the sound, muffled though it was by the heavy
+      carpet. Came then a knock upon the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come in,&rdquo; invited Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was old Jason, the butler. The old man was visibly excited, as he
+      extended a silver tray on which lay a letter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's hand reached quickly out, the long, slim tapering fingers
+      closed upon the envelope&mdash;but his eyes were on Jason significantly,
+      questioningly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Master Jim,&rdquo; said the old man, &ldquo;I recognised it on the instant, sir.
+      After what you said, sir, last week, honouring me, I might say, to a
+      certain extent with your confidence, though I'm sure I don't know what it
+      all means, I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who brought it this time, Jason?&rdquo; inquired Jimmie Dale quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not the young person, begging your pardon, not the young lady, sir. A
+      shuffer in a big automobile. 'Your master at once,' he says, and shoves
+      the letter into my hand, and was off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very good, Jason,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;You may go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The door closed. Yes, it was from HER&mdash;it was the same texture of
+      paper, there was the same rare, haunting fragrance clinging to it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He tore the envelope open, and extracted a folded sheet of paper. What was
+      it this time? To call the partnership off again until the present furor
+      should have subsided once more&mdash;or the skilfully sketched outline of
+      a new adventure? Which? He glanced at the few lines written on the sheet,
+      and lunged forward from his chair to his feet. It was neither one nor the
+      other. It was&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's face was set, and an angry red surge swept his cheeks. His
+      lips moved, muttering audibly fragments of the letter, as he stared at it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&mdash;incredible that you&mdash;a heinous thing&mdash;act instantly&mdash;this
+      is ruin&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For an instant&mdash;a rare occurrence in Jimmie Dale's life&mdash;he
+      stood like a man stricken, still staring at the sheet in his hand. Then
+      mechanically his fingers tore the paper into little pieces, and the little
+      pieces into tiny shreds. Anger fled, and a sickening sense of impotent
+      dismay took its place; the red left his cheeks, and in its stead a
+      grayness came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Act instantly!&rdquo; The words seemed to leap at him, drum at his ears with
+      constant repetition. Act instantly! But how? How? Then his brain&mdash;that
+      keen, clear, master brain&mdash;sprang from stunned inaction into virility
+      again. Of course&mdash;Carruthers! It was in Carruthers' line.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stepped to the desk&mdash;and paused with his hand extended to pick up
+      the telephone. How explain to Carruthers that he, Jimmie Dale, already
+      knew what Carruthers might not yet have heard of, even though Carruthers
+      would naturally be among the first to be in touch with such affairs! No;
+      that would never do. Better get there himself at once and trust to&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The telephone rang.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale waited until it rang again, then he lifted the receiver from
+      the hook.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello! Hello! Jimmie!&rdquo; came a voice. &ldquo;This is Carruthers. That you,
+      Jimmie?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale and sat down limply in the desk chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's the Gray Seal again. I promised you I'd let you in on the ground
+      floor next time anything happened, so come on down here quick if you want
+      to see some of his work at firsthand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale flirted a bead of sweat from his forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Carruthers,&rdquo; said Jimmie languidly, &ldquo;you newspaper chaps make me tired
+      with your Gray Seal. I'm just going to bed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bed nothing!&rdquo; spluttered Carruthers, from the other end of the wire.
+      &ldquo;Come down, I tell you. It's worth your while&mdash;half the population of
+      New York would give the toes off their feet for the chance. Come down, you
+      blast idiot! The Gray Seal has gone the limit this time&mdash;it's
+      MURDER.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's face was haggard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; he said peevishly. &ldquo;Sounds interesting. Where are you? I guess maybe
+      I'll jog along.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should think you would!&rdquo; snapped Carruthers. &ldquo;You know the Palace on
+      the Bowery? Yes? Well, meet me on the corner there as soon as you can.
+      Hustle! Good&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I say, Carruthers!&rdquo; interposed Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo; demanded Carruthers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks awfully for letting me know, old man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't mention it!&rdquo; returned Carruthers sarcastically. &ldquo;You always were a
+      grateful beast, Jimmie. Hurry up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale hung up the receiver of the city 'phone, and took down the
+      receiver of another, a private-house installation, and rang twice for the
+      garage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The light car at once, Benson,&rdquo; he ordered curtly. &ldquo;At once!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale worked quickly then. In his dressing room, he changed from
+      dinner clothes to tweeds; spent a second or so over the contents of a
+      locked drawer in the dresser, from which he selected a very small but
+      serviceable automatic, and a very small but highly powerful magnifying
+      glass whose combination of little round lenses worked on a pivot, and,
+      closed over one another, were of about the compass of a quarter of a
+      dollar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In three minutes he was outside the house and stepping into the car, just
+      as it drew up at the curb.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Benson,&rdquo; he said tersely to his chauffeur, &ldquo;drop me one block this side
+      of the Palace on the Bowery&mdash;and forget there was ever a speed law
+      enacted. Understand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very good, sir,&rdquo; said Benson, touching his cap. &ldquo;I'll do my best, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale, in the tonneau, stretched out his legs under the front seat,
+      and dug his hands into his pockets&mdash;and inside the pockets his hands
+      were clenched and knotted fists.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Murder! At times it had occurred to him that there was a possibility that
+      some crook of the underworld would attempt to cover his tracks and take
+      refuge from pursuit by foisting himself on the authorities as the Gray
+      Seal. That was a possibility, a risk always to be run. But that MURDER
+      should be laid to the Gray Seal's door! Anger, merciless and unrestrained,
+      surged over Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was peril here, live and imminent. Suppose that some day he should
+      be caught in some little affair, recognised and identified as the Gray
+      Seal, there would be the charge of murder hanging over him&mdash;and the
+      electric chair to face!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the peril was not the only thing. Even worse to Jimmie Dale's artistic
+      and sensitive temperament was the vilification, the holding up to
+      loathing, contumely, and abhorrence of the name, the stainless name, of
+      the Gray Seal. It WAS stainless! He had guarded it jealously&mdash;as a
+      man guards the woman's name he loves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Affairs that had mystified and driven the police distracted with impotence
+      there had been, many of them; and on the face of them&mdash;crimes. But no
+      act ever committed had been in reality a crime&mdash;none without the
+      highest of motives, the righting of some outrageous wrong, the protection
+      of some poor stumbling fellow human.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That had been his partnership with her. How, by what amazing means, by
+      what power that smacked almost of the miraculous she came in touch with
+      all these things and supplied him with the data on which to work he did
+      not know&mdash;only that, thanks to her, there were happier hearts and
+      happier homes since the Gray Seal had begun to work. &ldquo;Dear Philanthropic
+      Crook,&rdquo; she often called him in her letters. And now&mdash;it was MURDER!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Take Carruthers, for instance. For years, as a reporter before he had
+      risen to the editorial desk, he had been one of the keenest on the scent
+      of the Gray Seal, but always for the sake of the game&mdash;always filled
+      with admiration, as he said himself, for the daring, the originality of
+      the most puzzling, bewildering, delightful crook in the annals of crime.
+      Carruthers was but an example. Carruthers now would hunt the Gray Seal
+      like a mad dog. The Gray Seal, to Carruthers and every one else, would be
+      the vilest name in the land&mdash;a synonym for murder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the car flew&mdash;and upon Jimmie Dale's face, as though chiselled in
+      marble, was a look that was not good to see. And a mirthless smile set,
+      frozen, on his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll get the man that did this,&rdquo; gritted Jimmie Dale between his teeth.
+      &ldquo;I'll GET him! And, when I get him, I'll wring a confession from him if I
+      have to swing for it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The car swept from Broadway into Astor Place, on down the Bowery, and
+      presently stopped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale stepped out. &ldquo;I shall not want you any more, Benson,&rdquo; he said.
+      &ldquo;You may return home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale started down the block&mdash;a nonchalant Jimmie Dale now, if
+      anything, bored a little. Near the corner, a figure, back turned, was
+      lounging at the edge of the sidewalk. Jimmie Dale touched the man on the
+      arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, Carruthers!&rdquo; he drawled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, Jimmie!&rdquo; Carruthers turned with an excited smile. &ldquo;That's the boy!
+      You've made mighty quick time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you told me to hurry,&rdquo; grumbled Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;I'm doing my best to
+      please you to-night. Came down in my car, and got summoned for three fines
+      to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers laughed. &ldquo;Come on,&rdquo; he said; and, linking his arm in Jimmie
+      Dale's, turned the corner, and headed west along the cross street. &ldquo;This
+      is going to make a noise,&rdquo; he continued, a grim note creeping into his
+      voice. &ldquo;The biggest noise the city has ever heard. I take back all I said
+      about the Gray Seal. I'd always pictured his cleverness as being
+      inseparable with at least a decent sort of man, even if he was a rogue and
+      a criminal, but I'm through with that. He's a rotter and a hound of the
+      rankest sort! I didn't think there was anything more vulgar or brutal than
+      murder, but he's shown me that there is. A guttersnipe's got more decency!
+      To murder a man and then boastfully label the corpse is&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, Carruthers,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale plaintively, suddenly hanging back, &ldquo;I
+      say, you know, it's&mdash;it's all right for you to mess up in this sort
+      of thing, it's your beastly business, and I'm awfully damned thankful to
+      you for giving me a look-in, but isn't it&mdash;er&mdash;rather INFRA DIG
+      for me? A bit morbid, you know, and all that sort of thing. I'd never hear
+      the end of it at the club&mdash;you know what the St. James is. Couldn't I
+      be Merideth Stanley Annstruther, or something like that, one of your new
+      reporters, or something like that, you know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers chuckled. &ldquo;Sure, Jimmie,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You're the latest addition
+      to the staff of the NEWS-ARGUS. Don't worry; the incomparable Jimmie Dale
+      won't figure publicly in this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's awfully good of you,&rdquo; said Jimmie gratefully. &ldquo;I have to have a
+      notebook or something, don't I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers, from his pocket, handed him one. &ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A little way ahead, a crowd had collected on the sidewalk before a
+      doorway, and Carruthers pointed with a jerk of his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's in Moriarty's place&mdash;a gambling hell,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;I haven't
+      got the story myself yet, though I've been inside, and had a look around.
+      Inspector Clayton discovered the crime, and reported it at headquarters. I
+      was at my desk in the office when the news came, and, as you know the
+      interest I've taken in the Gray Seal, I decided to 'cover' it myself. When
+      I got here, Clayton hadn't returned from headquarters, so, as you seemed
+      so keenly interested last week, I telephoned you. If Clayton's back now
+      we'll get the details. Clayton's a good fellow with the 'press,' and he
+      won't hold anything out on us. Now, here we are. Keep close to me, and
+      I'll pass you in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They shouldered through the crowd and up to an officer at the door. The
+      officer nodded, stepped aside, and Carruthers, with Jimmie Dale following,
+      entered the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They climbed one flight, and then another. The card-rooms, the faro, stud,
+      and roulette layouts were deserted, save for policemen here and there on
+      guard. Carruthers led the way to a room at the back of the hall, whose
+      door was open and from which issued a hubbub of voices&mdash;one voice
+      rose above the others, heavy and gratingly complacent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clayton's back,&rdquo; observed Carruthers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They stepped over the threshold, and the heavy voice greeted them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, here's Carruthers now! H'are you, Carruthers? They told me you'd been
+      here, and were coming back, so I've been keeping the boys waiting before
+      handing out the dope. You've had a look at that&mdash;eh?&rdquo; He flung out a
+      fat hand toward the bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The voices rose again, all directed at Carruthers now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bubble's burst, eh, Carruthers? What about the 'Prince of Crooks'?
+      Artistry in crime, wasn't it, you said?&rdquo; They were quoting from his
+      editorials of bygone days, a half dozen reporters of rival papers,
+      grinning and joshing him good-naturedly, seemingly quite unaffected by
+      what lay within arm's reach of them upon the bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers smiled a little wryly, shrugged his shoulders&mdash;and
+      presented Jimmie Dale to Inspector Clayton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Matthewson, a new man of ours&mdash;inspector.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Glad to know you, Mr. Matthewson,&rdquo; said the inspector.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale found his hand grasped by another that was flabby and
+      unpleasantly moist; and found himself looking into a face that was red,
+      with heavy rolls of unhealthy fat terminating in a double chin and a
+      thick, apoplectic neck&mdash;a huge, round face, with rat's eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Clayton dropped Jimmie Dale's hand, and waved his own in the air. Jimmie
+      Dale remained modestly on the outside of the circle as the reporters
+      gathered around the police inspector.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, then,&rdquo; said Clayton coarsely, &ldquo;the guy that's croaked there is
+      Metzer, Jake Metzer. Get that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale, scribbling hurriedly in his notebook like all the rest,
+      turned a little toward the bed, and his lower jaw crept out the fraction
+      of an inch. Both gas jets in the room were turned on full, giving ample
+      light. A man fully dressed, a man of perhaps forty, lay upon his back on
+      the bed, one arm outflung across the bedspread, the other dangling, with
+      fingers just touching the floor, the head at an angle and off the pillow.
+      It was as though he had been carried to the bed and flung upon it after
+      the deed had been committed. Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted and swept the
+      room. Yes, everything was in disorder, as though there had been a struggle&mdash;a
+      chair upturned, a table canted against the wall, broken pieces of crockery
+      from the washstand on the carpet, and&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Metzer was a stool pigeon, see?&rdquo; went on Clayton, &ldquo;and he lived here.
+      Moriarty wasn't on to him. Metzer stood in thick with a wider circle of
+      crooks than any other snitch in New York.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale, still scribbling as Clayton talked, stepped to the bed and
+      leaned over the murdered man. The murder had been done with a blackjack
+      evidently&mdash;a couple of blows. The left side of the temple was crushed
+      in. Right in the middle of the forehead, pasted there, a gray-colored,
+      diamond shaped paper seal flaunted itself&mdash;the device of the Gray
+      Seal. In Jimmie Dale' hand, hidden as he turned his back, the tiny
+      combination of powerful lenses was focused on the seal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Clayton guffawed. &ldquo;That's right!&rdquo; he called out. &ldquo;Take a good look. That's
+      a bright young man you've got, Carruthers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale looked up a little sheepishly&mdash;and got a grin from the
+      assembled reporters, and a scowl from Carruthers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, then,&rdquo; continued Clayton, &ldquo;here's the facts&mdash;as much of 'em as
+      I can let you boys print at present. You know I'm stretching a point to
+      let you in here&mdash;don't forget that when you come to write up the case&mdash;honour
+      where's honour's due, you know. Well, me and Metzer there was getting
+      ready to close down on a big piece of game, and I was over here in this
+      room talking to him about it early this afternoon. We had it framed to get
+      our man to-night&mdash;see? I left Metzer, say, about three o'clock, and
+      he was to show up over at headquarters with another little bit of evidence
+      we wanted at eight o'clock to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale was listening&mdash;to every word. But he stooped now again
+      over the murdered man's head deliberately, though he felt the inspector's
+      rat's eyes upon him&mdash;stooped, and, with his finger nail, lifted back
+      the right-hand point of the diamond-shaped seal where it bordered a faint
+      thread of blood on the man's forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a bull-like roar from the inspector, and he burst through the
+      ring of reporters, and grabbed Jimmie Dale by the shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here you, what in hell are you doing!&rdquo; he spluttered angrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Embarrassed and confused, Jimmie Dale drew back, glanced around, and
+      smiled again a little sheepishly as his eyes rested on the red-flushed
+      jowl of the inspector.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I wanted to see how it was stuck on,&rdquo; he explained inanely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stuck on!&rdquo; bellowed Clayton. &ldquo;I'll show you how it's STUCK on, if you
+      monkey around here! Don't you know any better than that! Where were you
+      dragged up anyway? The coroner hasn't been here yet. You're a hot cub of a
+      reporter, you are!&rdquo; He turned to Carruthers. &ldquo;Y'ought to get out printed
+      instructions for 'em before you turn 'em loose!&rdquo; he snapped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers' face was red with mortification. There was a grin, expanded,
+      on the faces of the others.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stand away from that bed!&rdquo; roared Clayton at Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;And if you go
+      near it again, I'll throw you out of here bodily!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale edged away, and, eyes lowered, fumbled nervously with the
+      leaves of his notebook.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Clayton grunted, glared at Jimmie Dale for an instant viciously&mdash;and
+      resumed his story.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was saying,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that Metzer was to come to headquarters at eight
+      o'clock this evening. Well, he didn't show up. That looked queer. It was
+      mighty important business. We was after one of the biggest hauls we'd ever
+      pulled off. I waited till nine o'clock, an hour ago, and I was getting
+      nervous. Then I started over here to find out what was the matter. When I
+      got here I asked Moriarty if he'd seen Metzer. Moriarty said he hadn't
+      since I was here before. He was a little suspicious that I had something
+      on Metzer&mdash;see? Well, by pumping Moriarty, he admitted that Metzer
+      had had a visitor about an hour after I left.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who was it? Know what his name is, inspector?&rdquo; asked one of the reporters
+      quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Inspector Clayton winked heavily. &ldquo;Don't be greedy boys,&rdquo; he grinned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean you've got him?&rdquo; burst out another one of the men excitedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure! Sure, I've got him.&rdquo; Inspector Clayton waved his fat hand airily.
+      &ldquo;Or I will have before morning&mdash;but I ain't saying anything more till
+      it's over.&rdquo; He smiled significantly. &ldquo;Well, that's about all. You've got
+      the details right around you. I left Moriarty downstairs and came up here,
+      and found just what you see&mdash;Metzer laying on the bed there, and the
+      gray seal stuck on his forehead&mdash;and&rdquo;&mdash;he ended abruptly&mdash;&ldquo;I'll
+      have the Gray Seal himself behind the bars by morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A chorus of ejaculations rose from the reporters, while their pencils
+      worked furiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Jimmie Dale appeared to have an inspiration. Jimmie Dale turned a
+      leaf in his notebook and began to sketch rapidly, cocking his head now on
+      one side now on the other. With a few deft strokes he had outlined the
+      figure of Inspector Clayton. The reporter beside Jimmie Dale leaned over
+      to inspect the work, and another did likewise. Jimmie Dale drew in
+      Clayton's face most excellently, if somewhat flatteringly; and then, with
+      a little flourish of pride, wrote under the drawing: &ldquo;The Man Who Captured
+      the Gray Seal.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's a cracking good sketch!&rdquo; pronounced the reporter at his side. &ldquo;Let
+      the inspector see it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; demanded Clayton, scowling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale handed him the notebook modestly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Inspector Clayton took it, looked at it, looked at Jimmie Dale; then his
+      scowl relaxed into a self-sufficient and pleased smile, and he grunted
+      approvingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's the stuff to put over,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Mabbe you're not much of a
+      reporter, but you can draw. Y're all right, sport&mdash;y're all right.
+      Forget what I said to you a while ago.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale smiled too&mdash;deprecatingly. And put the notebook in his
+      pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An officer entered the room hurriedly, and, drawing Clayton aside, spoke
+      in an undertone. A triumphant and malicious grin settled on Clayton's
+      features, and he started with a rush for the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come around to headquarters in two hours, boys,&rdquo; he called as he went
+      out, &ldquo;and I'll have something more for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The room cleared, the reporters tumbling downstairs to make for the
+      nearest telephones to get their &ldquo;copy&rdquo; into their respective offices.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the street, a few doors up from the house where they were free from the
+      crowd, Carruthers halted Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jimmie,&rdquo; he said reproachfully, &ldquo;you certainly made a mark of us both.
+      There wasn't any need to play the 'cub' so egregiously. However, I'll
+      forgive you for the sake of the sketch&mdash;hand it over, Jimmie; I'm
+      going to reproduce it in the first edition.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It wasn't drawn for reproduction, Carruthers&mdash;at least not yet,&rdquo;
+       said Jimmie Dale quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers stared at him. &ldquo;Eh?&rdquo; he asked blankly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've taken a dislike to Clayton,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale whimsically. &ldquo;He's too
+      patently after free advertising, and I'm not going to help along his
+      boost. You can't have it, old man, so let's think about something else.
+      What'll they do with that bit of paper that's on the poor devil's forehead
+      up there, for instance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say,&rdquo; said Carruthers, &ldquo;does it strike you that you're acting queer? You
+      haven't been drinking, have you, Jimmie?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What'll they do with it?&rdquo; persisted Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Carruthers, smiling a little tolerantly, &ldquo;they'll photograph
+      it and enlarge the photograph, and label it 'Exhibit A' or 'Exhibit B' or
+      something like that&mdash;and file it away in the archives with the fifty
+      or more just like it that are already in their collection.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's what I thought,&rdquo; observed Jimmie Dale. He took Carruthers by the
+      lapel of the coat. &ldquo;I'd like a photograph of that. I'd like it so much
+      that I've got to have it. Know the chap that does that work for the
+      police?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; admitted Carruthers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very good!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale crisply, &ldquo;Get an extra print of the
+      enlargement from him then&mdash;for a consideration&mdash;whatever he asks&mdash;I'll
+      pay for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what for?&rdquo; demanded Carruthers. &ldquo;I don't understand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale very seriously, &ldquo;put it down to imagination or
+      whatever you like, I think I smell something fishy here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You WHAT!&rdquo; exclaimed Carruthers in amazement. &ldquo;You're not joking, are
+      you, Jimmie?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale laughed shortly. &ldquo;It's so far from a joke,&rdquo; he said, in a low
+      tone, &ldquo;that I want your word you'll get that photograph into my hands by
+      to-morrow afternoon, no matter what transpires in the meantime. And look
+      here, Carruthers, don't think I'm playing the silly thickhead, and trying
+      to mystify you. I'm no detective or anything like that. I've just got an
+      idea that apparently hasn't occurred to any one else&mdash;and, of course,
+      I may be all wrong. If I am, I'm not going to say a word even to you,
+      because it wouldn't be playing fair with some one else; if I'm right the
+      MORNING NEWS-ARGUS gets the biggest scoop of the century. Will you go in
+      on that basis?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers put out his hand impulsively. &ldquo;If you're in earnest, Jimmie&mdash;you
+      bet!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good!&rdquo; returned Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;The photograph by to-morrow afternoon then.
+      And now&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now,&rdquo; said Caruthers, &ldquo;I've got to hurry over to the office and get a
+      write-up man at work. Will you come along, or meet me at headquarters
+      later? Clayton said in two hours he'd&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Neither,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;I'm not interested in headquarters. I'm
+      going home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, all right then,&rdquo; Carruthers returned. &ldquo;You can bank on me for
+      to-morrow. Good-night, Jimmie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-night, old man,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, and, turning, walked briskly
+      toward the Bowery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Jimmie Dale did not go home. He walked down the Bowery for three
+      blocks, crossed to the east side, and turned down a cross street. Two
+      blocks more he walked in this direction, and halfway down the next. Here
+      he paused an instant&mdash;the street was dimly lighted, almost dark,
+      deserted. Jimmie Dale edged close to the houses until his shadow blended
+      with the shadows of the walls&mdash;and slipped suddenly into a
+      pitch-black areaway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He opened a door, stepped into an unlighted hallway where the air was
+      close and evil smelling, mounted a stairway, and halted before another
+      door on the first landing. There was the low clicking of a lock, three
+      times repeated, and he entered a room, closing and fastening the door
+      behind him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale called it his &ldquo;Sanctuary.&rdquo; In one of the worst neighbourhoods
+      of New York, where no questions were asked as long as the rent was paid,
+      it had the further advantage of three separate exits&mdash;one by the
+      areaway where he had entered; one from the street itself; and another
+      through a back yard with an entry into a saloon that fronted on the next
+      street. It was not often that Jimmie Dale used his Sanctuary, but there
+      had been times when it was no more nor less than exactly what he called it&mdash;a
+      sanctuary!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stepped to the window, assured himself that the shade was down&mdash;and
+      lighted the gas, blinking a little as the yellow flame illuminated the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a rough place, dirty, uninviting; a bedroom, furnished in the most
+      scanty fashion. Neither, apparently, was there anything suspicious about
+      it to reward one curious enough to break in during the owner's absence&mdash;some
+      rather disreputable clothes hanging on the wall, and flung untidily across
+      the bed&mdash;that was all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alone now, Jimmie Dale's face was strained and anxious and, occasionally,
+      as he undressed himself, his hands clenched until his knuckles grew white.
+      The gray seal on the murdered man's forehead was a GENUINE GRAY SEAL&mdash;one
+      of Jimmie Dale's own. There was no doubt of that&mdash;he had satisfied
+      himself on that point.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where had it come from? How had it been obtained? Jimmie Dale carefully
+      placed the clothes he had taken off under the mattress, pulled a
+      disreputable collarless flannel shirt over his head, and pulled on a
+      disreputable pair of boots. There were only two sources of supply. His own&mdash;and
+      the collection that the police had made, which Carruthers had referred to.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale lifted a corner of the oilcloth in a corner of the room,
+      lifted a piece of the flooring, lifted out a little box which he placed
+      upon the rickety table, and sat down before a cracked mirror. Who was it
+      that would have access to the gray seals in the possession of the police,
+      since, obviously, it was one of those that was on the dead man's forehead?
+      The answer came quick enough&mdash;came with the sudden out-thrust of
+      Jimmie Dale's lower jaw. ONE OF THE POLICE THEMSELVES&mdash;no one else.
+      Clayton's heavy, cunning face, Clayton's shifty eyes, Clayton's sudden
+      rush when he had touched the dead man's forehead, pictured themselves in a
+      red flash of fury before Jimmie Dale. There was no mask now, no
+      facetiousness, no acted part&mdash;only a merciless rage, and the muscles
+      of Jimmie Dale's face quivered and twitched. MURDER, foisted, shifted upon
+      another, upon the Gray Seal&mdash;making of that name a calumny&mdash;ruining
+      forever the work that she and he might do!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then Jimmie Dale smiled mirthlessly, with thinning lips. The box
+      before him was open. His fingers worked quickly&mdash;a little wax behind
+      the ears, in the nostrils, under the upper lip, deftly placed-hands,
+      wrists, neck, throat, and face received their quota of stain, applied with
+      an artist's touch&mdash;and then the spruce, muscular Jimmie Dale,
+      transformed into a slouching, vicious-featured denizen of the underworld,
+      replaced the box under the flooring, pulled a slouch hat over his eyes,
+      extinguished the gas, and went out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's range of acquaintanceship was wide&mdash;from the upper
+      strata of the St. James Club to the elite of New York's gangland. And,
+      adored by the one, he was trusted implicitly by the other&mdash;not
+      understood, perhaps, by the latter, for he had never allied himself with
+      any of their nefarious schemes, but trusted implicitly through long years
+      of personal contact. It had stood Jimmie Dale in good stead before, this
+      association, where, in a sort of strange, carefully guarded exchange, the
+      news of the underworld was common property to those without the law. To
+      New York in its millions, the murder of Metzer, the stool pigeon, would be
+      unknown until the city rose in the morning to read the sensational details
+      over the breakfast table; here, it would already be the topic of whispered
+      conversations, here it had probably been known long before the police had
+      discovered the crime. Especially would it be expected to be known to Pete
+      Lazanis, commonly called the Runt, who was a power below the dead line
+      and, more pertinent still, one in whose confidence Jimmie Dale had
+      rejoiced for years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale, as Larry the Bat&mdash;a euphonious &ldquo;monaker&rdquo; bestowed
+      possibly because this particular world knew him only by night&mdash;began
+      a search for the Runt. From one resort to another he hurried, talking in
+      the accepted style through one corner of his mouth to hard-visaged
+      individuals behind dirty, reeking bars that were reared on equally dirty
+      and foul-smelling sawdust-strewn floors; visiting dance halls, secretive
+      back rooms, and certain Chinese pipe joints.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the Runt was decidedly elusive. There had been no news of him, no one
+      had seen him&mdash;and this after fully an hour had passed since Jimmie
+      Dale had left Carruthers in front of Moriarty's. The possibilities however
+      were still legion&mdash;numbered only by the numberless dives and dens
+      sheltered by that quarter of the city.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale turned into Chatham Square, heading for the Pagoda Dance Hall.
+      A man loitering at the curb shot a swift, searching glance at him as he
+      slouched by. Jimmie Dale paused in the doorway of the Pagoda and looked up
+      and down the street. The man he had passed had drawn a little closer;
+      another man in an apparently aimless fashion lounged a few yards away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Something up,&rdquo; muttered Jimmie Dale to himself. &ldquo;Lansing, of
+      headquarters, and the other looks like Milrae.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale pushed in through the door of the Pagoda. A bedlam of noise
+      surged out at him&mdash;a tin-pan piano and a mandolin were going
+      furiously from a little raised platform at the rear; in the centre of the
+      room a dozen couples were in the throes of the tango and the bunny-hug;
+      around the sides, at little tables, men and women laughed and applauded
+      and thumped time on the tabletops with their beer mugs; while waiters,
+      with beer-stained aprons and unshaven faces, juggled marvelous handfuls of
+      glasses and mugs from the bar beside the platform to the patrons at the
+      tables.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's eyes swept the room in a swift, comprehensive glance, fixed
+      on a little fellow, loudly dressed, who shared a table halfway down the
+      room with a woman in a picture hat, and a smile of relief touched his
+      lips. The Runt at last!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He walked down the room, caught the Runt's eyes significantly as he passed
+      the table, kept on to a door between the platform and the bar, opened it,
+      and went out into a lighted hallway, at one end of which a door opened
+      onto the street, and at the other a stairway led above.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Runt joined him. &ldquo;Wot's de row, Larry?&rdquo; inquired the Runt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nuthin' much,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;Only I t'ought I'd let youse know. I
+      was passin' Moriarty's an' got de tip. Say, some guy's croaked Jake Metzer
+      dere.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, ferget it!&rdquo; observed the Runt airily. &ldquo;Dat's stale. Was wise to dat
+      hours ago.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's face fell. &ldquo;But I just come from dere,&rdquo; he insisted; &ldquo;an' de
+      harness bulls only just found it out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mabbe,&rdquo; grunted the Runt. &ldquo;But Metzer got his early in de afternoon&mdash;see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale looked quickly around him&mdash;and then leaned toward the
+      Runt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wot's de lay, Runt?&rdquo; he whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Runt pulled down one eyelid, and, with his knowing grin, the
+      cigarette, clinging to his upper lip, sagged down in the opposite corner
+      of his mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale grinned, too&mdash;in a flash inspiration had come to Jimmie
+      Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, Runt&rdquo;&mdash;he jerked his head toward the street door&mdash;&ldquo;wot's
+      de fly cops doin' out dere?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The grin vanished from the Runt's lips. He stared for a second wildly at
+      Jimmie Dale, and then clutched at Jimmie Dale's arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;De WOT?&rdquo; he said hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;De fly cops,&rdquo; Jimmie Dale repeated in well-simulated surprise. &ldquo;Dey was
+      dere when I come in&mdash;Lansing an' Milrae, an&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Runt shot a hurried glance at the stairway, and licked his lips as
+      though they had gone suddenly dry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My Gawd, I&mdash;&rdquo; He gasped, and shrank hastily back against the wall
+      beside Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door from the street had opened noiselessly, instantly. Black forms
+      bulked there&mdash;then a rush of feet&mdash;and at the head of half a
+      dozen men, the face of Inspector Clayton loomed up before Jimmie Dale.
+      There was a second's pause in the rush; and, in the pause, Clayton's
+      voice, in a vicious undertone:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You two ginks open your traps, and I'll run you both in!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And then the rush passed, and swept on up the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale looked at the Runt. The cigarette dangled limply; the Runt's
+      eyes were like a hunted beast's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dey got him!&rdquo; he mumbled. &ldquo;It's Stace&mdash;Stace Morse. He come to me
+      after croakin' Metzer, an' he's been hidin' up dere all afternoon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Stace Morse&mdash;known in gangland as a man with every crime in the
+      calendar to his credit, and prominent because of it! Something seemed to
+      go suddenly queer inside of Jimmie Dale. Stace Morse! Was he wrong, after
+      all? Jimmie Dale drew closer to the Runt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yer givin' me a steer, ain't youse?&rdquo; He spoke again from the corner of
+      his mouth, almost inaudibly. &ldquo;Are youse sure it was Stace croaked Metzer?
+      Wot fer? How'd yer know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Runt was listening, his eyes strained toward the stairs. The hall door
+      to the street was closed, but both were quite well aware that there was an
+      officer on guard outside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He told me,&rdquo; whispered the Runt. &ldquo;Metzer was fixin' ter snitch on him
+      ter-night. Dey've got de goods on Stace, too. He made a bum job of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why didn't he get out of de country den when he had de chanst, instead of
+      hangin' around here all afternoon?&rdquo; demanded Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He was broke,&rdquo; the Runt answered. &ldquo;We was gettin' de coin fer him ter
+      fade away wid ter-night, an'&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A revolver shot from above cut short his words. Came then the sound of a
+      struggle, oaths, the shuffling tread of feet&mdash;but in the dance hall
+      the piano still rattled on, the mandolin twanged, voices sang and
+      applauded, and beer mugs thumped time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were on the stairs now, the officers, half carrying, half dragging
+      some one between them&mdash;and the man they dragged cursed them with
+      utter abandon. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Jimmie Dale
+      caught sight of the prisoner's face&mdash;not a prepossessing one&mdash;villainous,&mdash;low-browed,
+      contorted with a mixture of fear and rage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a lie! A lie! A lie!&rdquo; the man shrieked. &ldquo;I never seen him in me life&mdash;blast
+      you!&mdash;curse you!&mdash;d'ye hear!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Inspector Clayton caught Jimmie Dale and the Runt by the collars.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's nothing to interest you around here!&rdquo; he snapped maliciously. &ldquo;Go
+      on, now&mdash;beat it!&rdquo; And he pushed them toward the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They had heard the disturbance in the dance hall now and the occupants
+      were swarming to the sidewalk. A patrol wagon came around the corner. In
+      the crowd Jimmie Dale slipped away from the Runt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Was he wrong, after all? A fierce passion seized him. It was Stace Morse
+      who had murdered Metzer, the Runt had said. In Jimmie Dale's brain the
+      words began to reiterate themselves in a singsong fashion: &ldquo;It was Stace
+      Morse. It was Stace Morse.&rdquo; Then his lips drew tight together. WAS it
+      Stace Morse? He would have given a good deal for a chance to talk to the
+      man&mdash;even for a minute. But there was no possibility of that now.
+      Later, to-morrow perhaps, if he was wrong, after all!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale returned to the Sanctuary, removed from his person all
+      evidences of Larry the Bat&mdash;and from the Sanctuary went home to
+      Riverside Drive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In his den there, in the morning after breakfast, Jason, the butler,
+      brought him the papers. Three-inch headlines in red ink screamed, exulted,
+      and shrieked out the news that the Gray Seal, in the person of Stace
+      Morse, fence, yeggman and murderer, had been captured. The public, if it
+      had held any private admiration for the one-time mysterious crook could
+      now once and forever disillusion itself. The Gray Seal was Stace Morse&mdash;and
+      Stace Morse was of the dregs of the city's scum, a pariah, an outcast,
+      with no single redeeming trait to lift him from the ruck of mire and slime
+      that had strewn his life from infancy. The face of Inspector Clayton,
+      blandly self-complacent, leaped out from the paper to meet Jimmie Dale's
+      eyes&mdash;and with it a column and a half of perfervid eulogy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Something at first like dismay, the dismay of impotency, filled Jimmie
+      Dale&mdash;and then, cold, leaving him unnaturally calm, the old merciless
+      rage took its place. There was nothing to do now but wait&mdash;wait until
+      Carruthers should send that photograph. Then if, after all, he were wrong&mdash;then
+      he must find some other way. But was he wrong! The notebook that
+      Carruthers had given him, open at the sketch he had made of Clayton, lay
+      upon the desk. Jimmie Dale picked it up&mdash;he had already spent quite a
+      little time over it before breakfast&mdash;and examined it again minutely,
+      even resorting to his magnifying glass. He put it down as a knock sounded
+      at the door, and Jason entered with a silver card tray. From Carruthers
+      already! Jimmie Dale stepped quickly forward&mdash;and then Jimmie Dale
+      met the old man's eyes. It wasn't from Carruthers&mdash;it was from HER!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The same shuffer brought it, Master Jim,&rdquo; said Jason.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale snatched the envelope from the tray, and waved the other from
+      the room. As the door closed, he tore open the letter. There was just a
+      single line:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie&mdash;Jimmie, you haven't failed, have you?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale stared at it. Failed! Failed&mdash;HER! The haggard look was
+      in his face again. It was the bond between them that was at stake&mdash;the
+      Gray Seal&mdash;the bond that had come, he knew for all time in that
+      instant, to mean his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God knows!&rdquo; he muttered hoarsely, and flung himself into a lounging
+      chair, still staring at the note.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The hours dragged by. Luncheon time arrived and passed&mdash;and then by
+      special messenger the little package from Carruthers came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale started to undo the string, then laid the package down, and
+      held out his hands before him for inspection. They were trembling visibly.
+      It was a strange condition for Jimmie Dale either to witness or
+      experience, unlike him, foreign to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This won't do, Jimmie,&rdquo; he said grimly, shaking his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He picked up the package again, opened it, and from between two pieces of
+      cardboard took out a large photographic print. A moment, two, Jimmie Dale
+      examined it, used the magnifying glass again; and then a strange gleam
+      came into the dark eyes, and his lips moved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've won,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, with ominous softness. &ldquo;I've WON!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was standing beside the rosewood desk, and he reached for the phone.
+      Carruthers would be at home now&mdash;he called Carruthers there. After a
+      moment or two he got the connection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is Jimmie, Carruthers,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Yes, I got it. Thanks. . . . Yes.
+      . . . Listen. I want you to get Inspector Clayton, and bring him up here
+      at once. . . . What? No, no&mdash;no! . . . How? . . . Why&mdash;er&mdash;tell
+      him you're going to run a full page of him in the Sunday edition, and you
+      want him to sit for a sketch. He'd go anywhere for that. . . . Yes. . . .
+      Half an hour. . . . YES. . . . Good-bye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale hung up the receiver; and, hastily now, began to write upon a
+      pad that lay before him on the desk. The minutes passed. As he wrote, he
+      scored out words and lines here and there, substituting others. At the end
+      he had covered three large pages with, to any one but himself, an
+      indecipherable scrawl. These he shoved aside now, and, very carefully,
+      very legibly, made a copy on fresh sheets. As he finished, he heard a car
+      draw up in front of the house. Jimmie Dale folded the copied sheets
+      neatly, tucked them in his pocket, lighted a cigarette, and was lolling
+      lazily in his chair as Jason announced: &ldquo;Mr. Carruthers, sir, and another
+      gentleman to see you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Show them up, Jason,&rdquo; instructed Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale rose from his chair as they came in. Jason, well-trained
+      servant, closed the door behind them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, Carruthers; hello, inspector,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale pleasantly, and
+      waved them to seats. &ldquo;Take this chair, Carruthers.&rdquo; He motioned to one at
+      his elbow. &ldquo;Glad to see you, inspector&mdash;try that one in front of the
+      desk, you'll find it comfortable.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers, trying to catch Jimmie Dale's eye for some sort of a cue, and,
+      failing, sat down. Inspector Clayton stared at Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, it's YOU, eh?&rdquo; His eyes roved around the room, fastened for an
+      instant on some of Jimmie Dale's work on an easel, came back finally to
+      Jimmie Dale&mdash;and he plumped himself down in the chair indicated.
+      &ldquo;Thought you was more'n a cub reporter,&rdquo; he remarked, with a grin. &ldquo;You
+      were too slick with your pencil. Pretty fine studio you got here.
+      Carruthers says you're going to draw me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale smiled&mdash;not pleasantly&mdash;and leaned suddenly over the
+      desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said slowly, a grim intonation in his voice, &ldquo;going to draw you&mdash;TRUE
+      TO LIFE.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With an exclamation, Clayton slued around in his chair, half rose, and his
+      shifty eyes, small and cunning, bored into Jimmie Dale's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What d'ye mean by that?&rdquo; he snapped out
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just exactly what I say,&rdquo; replied Jimmie Dale curtly. &ldquo;No more, no less.
+      But first, not to be too abrupt, I want to join with the newspapers in
+      congratulating you on the remarkable&mdash;shall I call it celerity, or
+      acumen?&mdash;with which you solved the mystery of Metzer's death, and
+      placed the murderer behind the bars. It is really remarkable, inspector,
+      so remarkable, in fact, that it's almost&mdash;SUSPICIOUS. Don't you think
+      so? No? Well, that's what Mr. Carruthers was good enough to bring you up
+      here to talk over&mdash;in an intimate and confidential way, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Inspector Clayton surged up from his chair to his feet, his fists
+      clenched, the red sweeping over his face&mdash;and then he shook one fist
+      at Carruthers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So that's your game, is it!&rdquo; he stormed. &ldquo;Trying to crawl out of that
+      twenty-five thousand reward, eh? And as for you&rdquo;&mdash;he turned on Jimmie
+      Dale&mdash;&ldquo;you've rigged up a nice little plant between you, eh? Well, it
+      won't work&mdash;and I'll make you squirm for this, both of you, damn you,
+      before I'm through!&rdquo; He glared from one to the other for a moment&mdash;then
+      swung on his heel. &ldquo;Good-afternoon, gentlemen,&rdquo; he sneered, as he started
+      for the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was halfway across the room before Jimmie Dale spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clayton!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Clayton turned. Jimmie Dale was still leaning over the desk, but now one
+      elbow was propped upon it, and in the most casual way a revolver covered
+      Inspector Clayton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you attempt to leave this room,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, without raising his
+      voice, &ldquo;I assure you that I shall fire with as little compunction as
+      though I were aiming at a mad dog&mdash;and I apologise to all mad dogs
+      for coupling your name with them.&rdquo; His voice rang suddenly cold. &ldquo;Come
+      back here, and sit down in that chair!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The colour ebbed slowly from Clayton's face. He hesitated&mdash;then
+      sullenly retraced his steps; hesitated again as he reached the chair, and
+      finally sat down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&mdash;what d'ye mean by this?&rdquo; he stammered, trying to bluster.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just this,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;That I accuse you of the murder of Jake
+      Metzer&mdash;IT WAS YOU WHO MURDERED METZER.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good God!&rdquo; burst suddenly from Carruthers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You lie!&rdquo; yelled Clayton&mdash;and again he surged up from his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is what Stace Morse said,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale coolly. &ldquo;Sit down!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Clayton tried to laugh. &ldquo;You're&mdash;you're having a joke, ain't
+      you? It was Stace&mdash;I can prove it. Come down to headquarters, and I
+      can prove it. I got the goods on him all the way. I tell you&rdquo;&mdash;his
+      voice rose shrilly&mdash;&ldquo;it was Stace Morse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are a despicable hound,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, through set lips. &ldquo;Here&rdquo;&mdash;he
+      handed the revolver over to Carruthers&mdash;&ldquo;keep him covered,
+      Carruthers. You're going to the CHAIR for this, Clayton,&rdquo; he said, in a
+      fierce monotone. &ldquo;The chair! You can't send another there in your place&mdash;this
+      time. Shall I draw you now&mdash;true to life? You've been grafting for
+      years on every disreputable den in your district. Metzer was going to show
+      you up; and so, Metzer being in the road, you removed him. And you seized
+      on the fact of Stace Morse having paid a visit to him this afternoon to
+      fix the crime on&mdash;Stace Morse. Proofs? Oh, yes, I know you've
+      manufactured proofs enough to convict him&mdash;if there weren't stronger
+      proofs to convict YOU.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Convict ME!&rdquo; Clayton's lower jaw hung loosely; but still he made an
+      effort at bluster. &ldquo;You haven't a thing on me&mdash;not a thing&mdash;not
+      a thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale smiled again&mdash;unpleasantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are quite wrong, Clayton. See&mdash;here.&rdquo; He took a sheet of paper
+      from the drawer of his desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Clayton reached for it quickly. &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; he demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale drew it back out of reach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just a minute,&rdquo; he said softly. &ldquo;You remember, don't you, that in the
+      presence of Carruthers here, of myself, and of half a dozen reporters, you
+      stated that you had been alone with Metzer in his room at three o'clock
+      yesterday, and that it was you&mdash;alone&mdash;who found the body later
+      on at nine o'clock? Yes? I mention this simply to show that from your own
+      lips the evidence is complete that you had an OPPORTUNITY to commit the
+      crime. Now you may look at this, Clayton.&rdquo; He handed over the sheet of
+      paper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Clayton took it, stared at it, turning it over from first one side to the
+      other. Then a sort of relief seemed to come to him and he gulped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing but a damned piece of blank paper!&rdquo; he mumbled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale reached over and took back the sheet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're wrong again, Clayton,&rdquo; he said calmly. &ldquo;It WAS quite blank before
+      I handed it to you&mdash;but not now. I noticed yesterday that your hands
+      were generally moist. I am sure they are more so now&mdash;excitement, you
+      know. Carruthers, see that he doesn't interrupt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      From a drawer, Jimmie Dale took out a little black bottle, the notebook he
+      had used the day before, and the photograph Carruthers had sent him. On
+      the sheet of paper Clayton had just handled, Jimmie Dale sprinkled a
+      little powder from the bottle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lampblack,&rdquo; explained Jimmie Dale. He shook the paper carefully, allowing
+      the loose powder to fall on the desk blotter&mdash;and held out the sheet
+      toward Clayton. &ldquo;Rather neat, isn't it? A very good impression, too. Your
+      thumb print, Clayton. Now don't move. You may look&mdash;not touch.&rdquo; He
+      laid the paper down on the desk in front of Clayton. Beside it he placed
+      the notebook, open at the sketch&mdash;a black thumb print now upon it.
+      &ldquo;You recall handling this yesterday, I'm sure, Clayton. I tried the same
+      experiment with the lampblack on it this morning, you see. And this&rdquo;&mdash;beside
+      the notebook he placed the police photograph; that, too, in its
+      enlargement, showed, sharply defined, a thumb print on a diamond-shaped
+      background. &ldquo;You will no doubt recognise it as an official photograph,
+      enlarged, taken of the gray seal on Metzer's forehead&mdash;AND THE THUMB
+      PRINT OF METZER'S MURDERER. You have only to glance at the little scar at
+      the edge of the centre loop to satisfy yourself that the three are
+      identical. Of course, there are a dozen other points of similarity equally
+      indisputable, but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale stopped. Clayton was on his feet&mdash;rocking on his feet.
+      His face was deathlike in its pallor. Moisture was oozing from his
+      forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't do it! I didn't do it!&rdquo; he cried out wildly. &ldquo;My God, I tell
+      you, I DIDN'T do it&mdash;and&mdash;and&mdash;that would send me to the
+      chair.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale coldly, &ldquo;and that's precisely where you're going&mdash;to
+      the chair.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man was beside himself now&mdash;racked to the soul by a paroxysm of
+      fear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm innocent&mdash;innocent!&rdquo; he screamed out. &ldquo;Oh, for God's sake, don't
+      send an innocent man to his death. It WAS Stace Morse. Listen! Listen!
+      I'll tell the truth.&rdquo; He was clawing with his hands, piteously, over the
+      desk at Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;When the big rewards came out last week I stole one
+      of the gray seals from the bunch at headquarters to&mdash;to use it the
+      first time any crime was committed when I was sure I could lay my hands on
+      the man who did it. Don't you see? Of course he'd deny he was the Gray
+      Seal, just as he'd deny that he was guilty&mdash;but I'd have the proof
+      both ways and&mdash;and I'd collect the rewards, and&mdash;and&mdash;&rdquo; The
+      man collapsed into the chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers was up from his seat, his hands gripping tight on the edge of
+      the desk as he leaned over it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jimmie&mdash;Jimmie&mdash;what does this mean?&rdquo; he gasped out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale smiled&mdash;pleasantly now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That he has told the truth,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale quietly. &ldquo;It is quite true
+      that Stace Morse committed the murder. Shows up the value of
+      circumstantial evidence though, doesn't it? This would certainly have got
+      him off, and convicted Clayton here before any jury in the land. But the
+      point is, Carruthers, that Stace Morse ISN'T the Gray Seal&mdash;and that
+      the Gray Seal is NOT a murderer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Clayton looked up. &ldquo;You&mdash;you believe me?&rdquo; he stammered eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale whirled on him in a sudden sweep of passion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;NO, you cur!&rdquo; he flashed. &ldquo;It's not you I believe. I simply wanted your
+      confession before witnesses.&rdquo; He whipped the three written sheets from his
+      pocket. &ldquo;Here, substantially, is that confession written out.&rdquo; He passed
+      it to Carruthers. &ldquo;Read it to him, Carruthers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers read it aloud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale grimly, &ldquo;this spells ruin for you, Clayton. You
+      don't deserve a chance to escape prison bars, but I'm going to give you
+      one, for you're going to get it pretty stiff, anyhow. If you refuse to
+      sign this, I'll hand you over to the district attorney in half an hour,
+      and Carruthers and I will swear to your confession; on the other hand, if
+      you sign it, Carruthers will not be able to print it until to-morrow
+      morning, and that gives you something like fourteen hours to put distance
+      between yourself and New York. Here is a pen&mdash;if you are quick enough
+      to take us by surprise once you have signed, you might succeed in making a
+      dash for that door and effecting your escape&mdash;without forcing us to
+      compound a felony&mdash;understand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Clayton's hand trembled violently as he seized the pen. He scrawled his
+      name&mdash;looked from one to the other&mdash;wet his lips&mdash;and then,
+      taking Jimmie Dale at his word, rushed for the door&mdash;and the door
+      slammed behind him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers' face was hard. &ldquo;What did you let him go for, Jimmie?&rdquo; he said
+      uncompromisingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Selfishness. Pure selfishness,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale softly. &ldquo;They'd guy me
+      unmercifully if they ever heard of it at the St. James Club. The honour is
+      all yours, Carruthers. I don't appear on the stage. That's understood?
+      Yes? Well, then&rdquo;&mdash;he handed over the signed confession&mdash;&ldquo;is the
+      'scoop' big enough?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers fingered the sheets, but his eyes in a bewildered way searched
+      Jimmie Dale's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Big enough!&rdquo; he echoed, as though invoking the universe. &ldquo;It's the
+      biggest thing the newspaper game has ever known. But how did you come to
+      do it? What started you? Where did you get your lead?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, from you, I guess, Carruthers,&rdquo; Jimmie Dale answered thoughtfully,
+      with artfully puckered brow. &ldquo;I remembered that you had said last week
+      that the Gray Seal never left finger marks on his work&mdash;and I saw one
+      on the seal on Metzer's forehead. Then, you know, I lifted one corner
+      where the seal overlapped a thread of blood, and, underneath, the thread
+      of blood wasn't in the slightest disturbed; so, of course, I knew the seal
+      had been put on quite a long time after the man was dead&mdash;not until
+      the blood had dried thoroughly, to a crust, you know, so that even the
+      damp surface of the sticky side of the seal hadn't affected it. And then,
+      I took a dislike to Clayton somehow&mdash;and put two and two together,
+      and took a flyer in getting him to handle the notebook. I guess that's all&mdash;no
+      other reason on earth. Jolly lucky, don't you think?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers didn't say anything for a moment. When he spoke, it was
+      irrelevantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You saved me twenty-five thousand dollars on that reward, Jimmie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's the only thing I regret,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale brightly. &ldquo;It wasn't
+      nice of you, Carruthers, to turn on the Gray Seal that way. And it strikes
+      me you owe the chap, whoever he is, a pretty emphatic exoneration after
+      what you said in this morning's edition.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jimmie,&rdquo; said Carruthers earnestly. &ldquo;You know what I thought of him
+      before. It's like a new lease of life to get back one's faith in him. You
+      leave it to me. I'll put the Gray Seal on a pedestal to-morrow that will
+      be worthy of the immortals&mdash;you leave it to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Carruthers kept his word. Also, before the paper had been an hour off
+      the press, Carruthers received a letter. It thanked Carruthers quite
+      genuinely, even if couched in somewhat facetious terms, for his &ldquo;sweeping
+      vindication,&rdquo; twitted him gently for his &ldquo;backsliding,&rdquo; begged to remain
+      &ldquo;his gratefully,&rdquo; and in lieu of signature there was a gray-coloured piece
+      of paper shaped like this:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      [Picture]
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only there were no fingerprints on it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER III
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE MOTHER LODE
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      It was the following evening, and they had dined together again at the St.
+      James Club&mdash;Jimmie Dale, and Carruthers of the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS.
+      From Clayton and a discussion of the Metzer murder, the conversation had
+      turned, not illogically, upon the physiognomy of criminals in general.
+      Jimmie Dale, lazily ensconced now in a lounging chair in one of the club's
+      private library rooms, flicked a minute speck of cigar ash from the sleeve
+      of his dinner jacket, and smiled whimsically across the table at his
+      friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I dare say there's a lot in physiognomy, Carruthers,&rdquo; he drawled.
+      &ldquo;Never studied the thing, you know&mdash;that is, from the standpoint of
+      crime. Personally, I've only got one prejudice: I distrust, on principle,
+      the man who wears a perennial and pompous smirk&mdash;which isn't, of
+      course, strictly speaking, physiognomy at all. You see, a man can't help
+      his eyes being beady or his nose pronounced, but pomposity and a smirk,
+      now&mdash;&rdquo; Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers laughed&mdash;and then glanced ludicrously at Jimmie Dale, as
+      the door, ajar, was pushed open, and a man entered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Speaking of angels,&rdquo; murmured Jimmie Dale&mdash;and sat up in his chair.
+      &ldquo;Hello, Markel!&rdquo; he observed casually, &ldquo;You've met Carruthers, of the
+      NEWS-ARGUS, haven't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Markel was fat and important; he had beady black eyes, fastidiously
+      trimmed whiskers&mdash;and a pronounced smirk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Markel blew his nose vigorously, coughed asthmatically, and held out his
+      hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course, certainly,&rdquo; said he effusively. &ldquo;I've met Carruthers several
+      times&mdash;used his sheet more than once to advertise a new bond
+      flotation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The dominant note in Markel's voice was an ingratiating and unpleasant
+      whine, and Carruthers nodded, not very cordially&mdash;and shook hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Markel went back to the door, closed it carefully, and returned to the
+      table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fact is,&rdquo; he smiled confidentially, &ldquo;I saw you two come in here a few
+      minutes ago, and I've got something that I thought Carruthers might be
+      glad to have for his society column&mdash;say, in the Sunday edition.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He dove into the inside pocket of his coat, produced a large morocco
+      leather jeweller's case, and, holding it out over the table between
+      Carruthers and Jimmie Dale, suddenly snapped the cover open&mdash;and
+      then, with a complacent little chuckle that terminated in another fit of
+      coughing, spilled the contents on the table under the electric reading
+      lamp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like a thing of living, pulsing fire it rolled before their eyes&mdash;a
+      magnificent diamond necklace, of wondrous beauty, gleaming and
+      scintillating as the light rays shot back from a thousand facets.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment, both men gazed at it without a word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Little surprise for my wife,&rdquo; volunteered Markel, with a debonair wave of
+      his pudgy hand, and trying to make his voice sound careless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The case lay open&mdash;patently displaying the name of the most famous
+      jewelry house in America. Jimmie Dale's eyes fixed on Markel's whiskers
+      where they were brushed outward in an ornate and fastidious gray-black
+      sweep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By Jove!&rdquo; he commented. &ldquo;You don't do things by halves, do you, Markel?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Two hundred and ten thousand dollars I paid for that little bunch of
+      gewgaws,&rdquo; said Markel, waving his hand again. Then he clapped Carruthers
+      heartily on the shoulder. &ldquo;What do you think of it, Carruthers&mdash;eh?
+      Say, a photograph of it, and one of Mrs. Markel&mdash;eh? Please her, you
+      know&mdash;she's crazy on this society stunt&mdash;all flubdub to me of
+      course. How's it strike you, Carruthers?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers, very evidently, liked neither the man nor his manners, but
+      Carruthers, above everything else, was a gentleman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Markel,&rdquo; he said a little frigidly,
+      &ldquo;I don't believe in this sort of thing. It's all right from a newspaper
+      standpoint, and we do it; but it's just in this way that owners of
+      valuable jewelry lay themselves open to theft. It simply amounts to
+      advising every crook in the country that you have a quarter of a million
+      at his disposal, which he can carry away in his vest pocket, once he can
+      get his hands on it&mdash;and you invite him to try.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale laughed. &ldquo;What Carruthers means, Markel, is that you'll have
+      the Gray Seal down your street. Carruthers talks of crooks generally, but
+      he thinks in terms of only one. He can't help it. He's been trying so long
+      to catch the chap that it's become an obsession. Eh, Carruthers?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers smiled seriously. &ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; he admitted. &ldquo;I hope, though, for
+      Mr. Markel's sake, that the Gray Seal won't take a fancy to it&mdash;if he
+      does, Mr. Markel can say good-bye to his necklace.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pouf!&rdquo; coughed Markel arrogantly. &ldquo;Overrated! His cleverness is all in
+      the newspaper columns. If he knows what's good for him, he'll know enough
+      to leave this alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale was leaning over the table poking gingerly with the tip of his
+      forefinger at the centre stone in the setting, revolving it gently to and
+      fro in the light&mdash;a very large stone, whose weight would hardly be
+      less than fifteen carats. Jimmie Dale lowered his head for a closer
+      examination&mdash;and to hide a curious, mocking little gleam that crept
+      into his dark eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I should say you're right, Markel,&rdquo; he agreed judicially. &ldquo;He ought
+      to know better than to touch this. It&mdash;it would be too hard to
+      dispose of.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not worrying,&rdquo; declared Markel importantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;Two hundred and ten thousand, you said. Any
+      special&mdash;er&mdash;significance to the occasion, if the question's not
+      impertinent? Birthday, wedding anniversary&mdash;or something like that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, nothing like that!&rdquo; Markel grinned, winked secretively, and rubbed
+      his hands together. &ldquo;I'm feeling good, that's all&mdash;I'm going to make
+      the killing of my life to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Markel turned to Carruthers. &ldquo;I'll let you in on that, too, Carruthers, in
+      a day or two, if you'll send a reporter around&mdash;financial man, you
+      know. It'll be worth your while. And now, how about this? What do you say
+      to a little article and the photos next Sunday?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a slight hint of rising colour in Carruthers' face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you'll send them to the society editor, I've no doubt he'll be able to
+      use them,&rdquo; he said brusquely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Right!&rdquo; said Markel, and coughed, and patted Carruthers' shoulder
+      patronisingly again. &ldquo;I'll just do that little thing.&rdquo; He picked up the
+      necklace, dangled it till it flashed and flashed again under the light,
+      then restored it very ostentatiously to its case, and the case to his
+      pocket. &ldquo;Thanks awfully, Carruthers,&rdquo; he said, as he rose from his chair.
+      &ldquo;See you again, Dale. Good-night!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers glared at the door as it closed behind the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say it!&rdquo; prodded Jimmie Dale sweetly. &ldquo;Don't feel restrained because you
+      are a guest&mdash;I absolve you in advance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rotter!&rdquo; said Carruthers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale softly. &ldquo;You see&mdash;Carruthers?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers' match crackled savagely as he lighted a cigar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I see,&rdquo; he growled. &ldquo;But I don't see&mdash;you'll pardon my saying
+      so&mdash;how vulgarity like that ever acquired membership in the St. James
+      Club.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Carruthers,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale plaintively, &ldquo;you ought to know better than
+      that. You know, to begin with, since it seems he has advertised with you,
+      that he runs some sort of brokerage business in Boston. He's taken a
+      summer home up here on Long Island, and some misguided chap put him on the
+      club's visitor's list. His card will NOT be renewed. Sleek customer, isn't
+      he? Trifle familiar&mdash;I was only introduced to him last night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers grunted, broke his burned match into pieces, and began to toss
+      the pieces into an ash tray.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale became absorbed in an inspection of his hands&mdash;those
+      wonderful hands with long, slim, tapering fingers, whose clean, pink flesh
+      masked a strength and power that was like to a steel vise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale looked up. &ldquo;Going to print a nice little story for him about
+      the 'costliest and most beautiful necklace in America'?&rdquo; he inquired
+      innocently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carruthers scowled. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said bluntly. &ldquo;I am not. He'll read the
+      NEWS-ARGUS a long time before he reads anything about that, Jimmie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But therein Carruthers was wrong&mdash;the NEWS-ARGUS carried the &ldquo;story&rdquo;
+       of Markel's diamond necklace in three-inch &ldquo;caps&rdquo; in red ink on the front
+      page in the next morning's edition&mdash;and Carruthers gloated over it
+      because the morning NEWS-ARGUS was the ONLY paper in New York that did.
+      Carruthers was to hear more of Markel and Markel's necklace than he
+      thought, though for the time being the subject dropped between the two
+      men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was still early, barely ten o'clock, when Carruthers left the club,
+      and, preferring to walk to the newspaper offices, refused Jimmie Dale's
+      offer of his limousine. It was but five minutes later when Jimmie Dale,
+      after chatting for a moment or two with those about in the lobby, in turn
+      sought the coat room, where Markel was being assisted into his coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Getting home early, aren't you, Markel?&rdquo; remarked Jimmie Dale pleasantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Markel, and ran his fingers fussily, comb fashion, through his
+      whiskers. &ldquo;Quite a little run out to my place, you know&mdash;and with,
+      you know what, I don't care to be out too late.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, of course,&rdquo; concurred Jimmie Dale, getting into his own coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They walked out of the club together, and Markel climbed importantly into
+      the tonneau of a big gray touring car.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah&mdash;home, Peters,&rdquo; he sniffed at his chauffeur; and then, with a
+      grandiloquent wave of his hand to Jimmie Dale: &ldquo;'Night, Dale.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale smiled with his eyes&mdash;which were hidden by the brim of
+      his hat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-night, Markel,&rdquo; he replied, and the smile crept curiously to the
+      corners of his mouth as he watched the gray car disappear down the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A limousine drew up, and Benson, Jimmie Dale's chauffeur, opened the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Home, Mr. Dale?&rdquo; he asked cheerily, touching his cap. &ldquo;Yes, Benson&mdash;home,&rdquo;
+       said Jimmie Dale absently, and stepped into the car.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a luxurious car, as everything that belonged to Jimmie Dale was
+      luxurious&mdash;and he leaned back luxuriously on the cushions, extended
+      his legs luxuriously to their full length, plunged his hands into his
+      overcoat pockets&mdash;and then a change stole strangely, slowly over
+      Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sensitive fingers of his right hand in the pocket had touched, and now
+      played delicately over a sealed envelope that they had found there, played
+      over it as though indeed by the sense of touch alone they could read the
+      contents&mdash;and he drew his body gradually erect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was another of those mysterious missives from&mdash;HER. The texture of
+      the paper was invariably the same&mdash;like this one. How had it come
+      there? Collusion with the coat boy at the club? That was hardly probable.
+      Perhaps it had been there before he had entered the club for dinner&mdash;he
+      remembered, now, that there had been several people passing, and that he
+      had been jostled slightly in crossing the sidewalk. What, however, did it
+      matter? It was there mysteriously, as scores of others had come to him
+      mysteriously, with never a clew to her identity, to the identity of his&mdash;he
+      smiled a little grimly&mdash;accomplice in crime.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took the envelope from his pocket and stared at it. His fingers had not
+      been at fault&mdash;it was one of hers. The faint, elusive, exquisite
+      fragrance of some rare perfume came to him as he held it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd give,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale wistfully to himself&mdash;&ldquo;I'd give
+      everything I own to know who you are&mdash;and some day, please God, I
+      will know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale tore the envelope very gently, as though the tearing almost
+      were an act of desecration&mdash;and extracted the letter from within. He
+      began to read aloud hurriedly and in snatches:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;DEAR PHILANTHROPIC CROOK: Charleton Park Manor&mdash;Markel's house is
+      the second one from the gates on the right-hand side&mdash;library leads
+      off reception hall on left, door opposite staircase&mdash;telephone in
+      reception hall near vestibule entrance, left-hand side&mdash;safe is one
+      of your father's make, No. 14,321&mdash;clothes closet behind the desk&mdash;probably
+      will be kept in cash box&mdash;five servants; two men, three maids&mdash;quarters
+      on top story&mdash;Markel and wife occupy room over library&mdash;French
+      windows to dining room on opposite side of the house&mdash;opening on the
+      lawn&mdash;get it TO-NIGHT, Jimmie&mdash;TO-MORROW WOULD BE TOO LATE&mdash;dispose
+      of it&mdash;see fit&mdash;Henry Wilbur, Marshall Building, Broadway&mdash;fifth
+      story&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Through the glass-panelled front of the car, Jimmie Dale could see his
+      chauffeur's back, and the hand that held the letter dropped now to his
+      side, and Jimmie Dale stared&mdash;at his chauffeur's back. Then,
+      presently, he read the letter again, as though committing it to memory
+      now; and then, tearing the paper into tiny shreds, as he did with every
+      one of her communications, he reached out of the window and allowed the
+      little pieces to filter gradually from his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Gray Seal! He smiled in his whimsical way. If it were ever known! He,
+      Jimmie Dale, with his social standing, his wealth, his position&mdash;the
+      Gray Seal! Not a police official, not a secret-service bureau probably in
+      the civilised world, but knew the name&mdash;not a man, woman, or child
+      certainly in this great city around him but to whom it was as familiar as
+      their own! Danger? Yes. A battle of wits? Yes. His against everybody's&mdash;even
+      against Carruthers', his old college chum! For, even as a reporter, before
+      he had risen to the editorial desk, and even now that he had, Carruthers
+      had been one of the keenest on the scent of the Gray Seal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Danger? Yes. But it was worth it! Worth it a thousand times for the very
+      lure of the danger itself; but worth it most of all for his association
+      with her who, by some amazing means, verging indeed on the miraculous,
+      came into touch with all these things, and supplied him with the data on
+      which to work&mdash;that always some wrong might be righted, or gladness
+      come where there had been gloom before, or hope where there had been
+      despair&mdash;that into some fellow human's heart should come a gleam of
+      sunshine. Yes, in spite of the howls of the police, the virulent diatribes
+      of the press, an angry public screaming for his arrest, conviction, and
+      punishment, there were those perhaps who even on their bended knees at
+      night asked God's blessing on&mdash;the Gray Seal!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Was it strange, then, after all, that the police, seeking a clew through
+      motive, should have been driven to frenzy on every occasion in finding
+      themselves forever confronted with what, from every angle they were able
+      to view it, was quite a purposeless crime! On one point only they were
+      right, the old dogma, the old, old cry, old as the institution of police,
+      older than that, old since time immemorial&mdash;CHERCHEZ LA FEMME! Quite
+      right&mdash;but also quite purposeless! Jimmie Dale's eyes grew wistful.
+      He had been &ldquo;hunting for the woman in the case&rdquo; himself, now, for months
+      and years indefatigably, using every resource at his command&mdash;quite
+      purposelessly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders. Why go over all this to-night&mdash;there
+      were other things to do. She had come to him again&mdash;and this time
+      with a matter that entailed more than ordinary difficulty, more than usual
+      danger, that would tax his wits and his skill to the utmost, not only to
+      succeed, but to get out of it himself with a whole skin. Markel&mdash;eh?
+      Jimmie Dale leaned back in his seat, clasped his hands behind his head&mdash;and
+      his eyes, half closed now, were studying Benson's back again through the
+      plate-glass front.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was still sitting in that position as the car approached his residence
+      on Riverside Drive&mdash;but, as it came to a stop, and Benson opened the
+      door, it was a very alert Jimmie Dale that stepped to the sidewalk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Benson,&rdquo; he said crisply, &ldquo;I am going downtown again later on, but I
+      shall drive myself. Bring the touring car around and leave it in front of
+      the house. I'll run it into the garage when I get back&mdash;you need not
+      wait up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very good, sir,&rdquo; said Benson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the hallway, Jason, the butler, who had been butler to Jimmie Dale's
+      father before him, took Jimmie Dale's hat and coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a fine evening, Master Jim,&rdquo; said the privileged old man
+      affectionately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale took out his silver cigarette case, selected a cigarette,
+      tapped it daintily on the cover of the case&mdash;and accepted the match
+      the old man hastily produced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Jason.&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, pleasantly facetious, &ldquo;it a fine night, a
+      glorious night, moon and stars and a balmy breeze&mdash;quite too fine,
+      indeed, to remain indoors. In fact, you might lay out my gray ulster; I
+      think I will go for a spin presently, when I have changed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said Jason. &ldquo;Anything else, Master Jim?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; that's all, Jason. Don't sit up for me&mdash;you may go to bed now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, sir,&rdquo; said the old man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale went upstairs, opened the door of his own particular den on
+      the right of the landing, stepped inside, closed the door, switched on the
+      light&mdash;and Jimmie Dale's debonair nonchalance dropped from him as a
+      mask instantly&mdash;and it was another Jimmie Dale&mdash;the professional
+      Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Quick now in every action, he swung aside the portiere that curtained off
+      the squat, barrel-shaped safe in the little alcove, opened the safe, took
+      out that curious leather girdle with its kit of burglar's tools, added to
+      it a flashlight and an automatic revolver, closed the safe&mdash;and
+      passed into his dressing room. Here, he proceeded to divest himself
+      rapidly of his evening clothes, selecting in their stead a suit of dark
+      tweed. He heard Jason come up the stairs, pass along the hall, and mount
+      the second flight to his own quarters; and presently came the sound of an
+      automobile without. The dressing room fronted on the Drive&mdash;Jimmie
+      Dale looked out. Benson was just getting out of the touring car. Slipping
+      the leather girdle, then, around his waist, Jimmie Dale put on his vest,
+      then his coat&mdash;and walked briskly downstairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jason had laid out a gray ulster on the hall stand. Jimmie Dale put it on,
+      selected a leather cap with motor-goggle attachment that pulled down
+      almost to the tip of his nose, tucked a slouch hat into the pocket of the
+      ulster, and, leaving the house, climbed into his car.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He glanced at his watch as he started&mdash;it was a quarter of eleven.
+      Jimmie Dale's lips pursed a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess it'll make a night of it, and a tight squeeze, at that, to get
+      back under cover before daylight,&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;I'll have to do some tall
+      speeding.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But at first, across the city and through Brooklyn, for all his
+      impatience, it was necessarily slow&mdash;after that, Jimmie Dale took
+      chances, and, once on the country roads of Long Island, the big, powerful
+      car tore through the night like a greyhound whose leash is slipped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A half hour passed&mdash;Jimmie Dale's eyes shifting occasionally from the
+      gray thread of road ahead of him under the glare of the dancing lamps, to
+      the road map spread out at his feet, upon which, from time to time, he
+      focused his pocket flashlight. And then, finally, he slowed the car to a
+      snail's pace&mdash;he should be very near his destination&mdash;that very
+      ultra-exclusive subdivision of Charleton Park Manor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On either side of the road now was quite a thickly set stretch of wooded
+      land, rising slightly on the right&mdash;and this Jimmie Dale scrutinised
+      sharply. In fact, he stopped for an instant as he came opposite to a wagon
+      track&mdash;it seemed to be little more than that&mdash;that led in
+      through the trees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If it's not too far from the seat of war,&rdquo; commented Jimmie Dale to
+      himself, as he went on again, &ldquo;it will do admirably.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And then, a hundred yards farther on, Jimmie Dale nodded his head in
+      satisfaction&mdash;he was passing the rather ornate stone pillars that
+      marked the entrance to Charleton Park Manor, and on which the initial
+      promoters of the subdivision, the real-estate people, had evidently deemed
+      it good advertising policy to expend a small fortune.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another hundred yards farther on, Jimmie Dale turned his car around and
+      returned past the gates to the wagon track again. The road was deserted&mdash;not
+      a car nor a vehicle of any description was in sight. Jimmie Dale made sure
+      of that&mdash;and in another instant Jimmie Dale's own car, every light
+      extinguished, had vanished&mdash;he had backed it up the wagon track, just
+      far enough in for the trees to screen it thoroughly from the main road.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nor did Jimmie Dale himself appear again on the main road&mdash;until just
+      as he emerged close to the gates of Charleton Park Manor from a short cut
+      through the woods. Also, he was without his ulster now, and the slouch hat
+      had replaced the motor cap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale, in the moonlight, took stock of his surroundings, as he
+      passed in at a businesslike walk through the gates. It was a large park,
+      if that name could properly be applied to it at all, and the houses&mdash;he
+      caught sight of one set back from the driveway on the right&mdash;were
+      quite far apart, each in its own rather spacious grounds among the trees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The second house on the right,&rdquo; her letter had said. Jimmie Dale had
+      already passed the first one&mdash;the next would be Markel's then&mdash;and
+      it loomed ahead of him now, black and shadowy and unlighted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale shot a glance around him&mdash;there was stillness, quiet
+      everywhere&mdash;no sign of life&mdash;no sound.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's face became tense, his lips tight&mdash;and he stepped
+      suddenly from the sidewalk in among the trees. They were not thick here,
+      of course, the trees, and the turf beneath his feet was well kept&mdash;and,
+      therefore, soundless. He moved quickly now, but cautiously, from tree to
+      tree, for the moonlight, flooding the lawn and house, threw all objects
+      into bold relief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A minute, two, three went by&mdash;and a shadow flitted here and there
+      across the light-green sward, like the moving of the trees swaying in the
+      breeze&mdash;and then Jimmie Dale was standing close up against one side
+      of the house, hidden by the protecting black shadows of the walls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But here, for a moment, Jimmie Dale seemed little occupied with the house
+      itself&mdash;he was staring down past its length to where the woods made a
+      heavy, dark background at the rear. Then he turned his head, to face
+      directly to the main road, then back again slowly, as though measuring an
+      angle. Jimmie Dale had no intention of making his escape by the roundabout
+      way in which he had been forced to come in order to make certain of
+      locating the right house, the second one from the gates&mdash;and he was
+      getting the bearings of his car and the wagon track now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess that'll be about right,&rdquo; Jimmie Dale muttered finally. &ldquo;And now
+      for&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He slipped along the side of the house and halted where, almost on a level
+      with the ground, the French windows of the dining room opened on the lawn.
+      Jimmie Dale tried them gently. They were locked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An indulgent smile crept to Jimmie Dale's lips&mdash;and his hand crept in
+      under his vest. It came out again&mdash;not empty&mdash;and Jimmie Dale
+      leaned close against the window. There was a faint, almost inaudible,
+      scratching sound, then a slight, brittle crack&mdash;and Jimmie Dale laid
+      a neat little four-inch square of glass on the ground at his feet. Through
+      the aperture he reached in his hand, turned the key that was in the lock,
+      turned the bolt-rod handle, pushed the doors silently open&mdash;wide open&mdash;left
+      them open&mdash;and stepped into the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He could see quite well within, thanks to the moonlight. Jimmie Dale
+      produced a black silk mask from one of the little leather pockets,
+      adjusted it carefully over his face, and crossed the room to the hall
+      door. He opened this&mdash;wide open&mdash;left it open&mdash;and entered
+      the hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here it was dark&mdash;a pitch blackness. He stood for a moment, listening&mdash;utter
+      silence. And then&mdash;alert, strained, tense in an instant, Jimmie Dale
+      crouched against the wall&mdash;and then he smiled a little grimly. It was
+      only some one coughing upstairs&mdash;Markel&mdash;in his sleep, perhaps,
+      or, perhaps&mdash;in wakefulness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm a fool!&rdquo; confided Jimmie Dale to himself, as he recognised the cough
+      that he had heard at the club. &ldquo;And yet&mdash;I don't know. One's nerves
+      get sort of taut. Pretty stiff business. If I'm ever caught, the
+      penitentiary sentence I get will be the smallest part of what's to pay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A round button of light played along the wall from the flashlight in his
+      hand&mdash;just for an instant&mdash;and all was blackness again. But in
+      that instant Jimmie Dale was across the hall, and his fingers were tracing
+      the telephone connection from the instrument to where the wires
+      disappeared in the baseboard of the floor. Another instant, and he had
+      severed the wires with a pair of nippers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again the quick, firefly gleam of light to locate the stair case and the
+      library door opposite to it&mdash;and, moving without the slightest noise,
+      Jimmie Dale's hand was on the door itself. Again he paused to listen. All
+      was silence now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door swung under his hand, and, left open behind him, he was in the
+      room. The flashlight winked once&mdash;suspiciously. Then he snapped its
+      little switch, keeping the current on, and the ray dodged impudently here
+      and there all over the apartment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The safe was set in a sort of clothes closet behind the desk, she had
+      said. Yes, there it was&mdash;the door, at least. Jimmie Dale moved toward
+      it&mdash;and paused as his light swept the top of the intervening desk. A
+      mass of papers, books, and correspondence littered it untidily. The yellow
+      sheet of a telegram caught Jimmie Dale's eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He picked it up and glanced at it. It read:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Vein uncovered to-day. Undoubtedly mother lode. Enormously rich. Put the
+      screws on at once. THURL.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Under the mask, Jimmie Dale's lips twitched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think, Markel, you miserable hound,&rdquo; said he softly, &ldquo;that God will
+      forgive me for depriving you of a share of the profits. Two hundred and
+      ten thousand, I think it was, you said the sparklers cost.&rdquo; A curious
+      little sound came from Jimmie Dale's lips&mdash;like a chuckle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale tossed the telegram back on the desk, moved on behind the
+      desk, opened the door of the closet that had been metamorphosed into a
+      vault&mdash;and the white light travelled slowly, searchingly, critically
+      over the shining black-enamelled steel, the nickelled knobs, and dials of
+      a safe that confronted him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale nodded at it&mdash;familiarly, grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's number one-four-three-two-one, all right,&rdquo; he murmured. &ldquo;And one of
+      the best we ever made. Pretty tough. But I've done it before. Say, half an
+      hour of gentle persuasion. It would be too bad to crack it with 'soup'&mdash;besides,
+      that's crude&mdash;Carruthers would never forgive the Gray Seal for that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The light went out&mdash;blackness fell. Jimmie Dale's slim, sensitive
+      fingers closed on the dial's knob, his head touched the steel front of the
+      safe as he pressed his ear against it for the tumblers' fall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then silence. It seemed to grow heavier, that silence, with each
+      second&mdash;to palpitate through the quiet house&mdash;to grow pregnant,
+      premonitory of dread, of fear&mdash;it seemed to throb in long
+      undulations, and the stillness grew LOUD. A moonbeam filtered in between
+      the edge of the drawn shade and the edge of the window. It struggled
+      across the floor in a wavering path, strayed over the desk, and died away,
+      shadowy and formless, against the blackness of the opened recess door,
+      against the blackness of the great steel safe, the blackness of a huddled
+      form crouched against it. Only now and then, in a strange, projected,
+      wraithlike effect, the moon ray glinted timidly on the tip of a nickel
+      dial, and, ghostlike, disclosed a human hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Upstairs, Markel coughed again. Then from the safe a whisper,
+      heavy-breathed as from great exertion:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;MISSED IT!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The dial whirled with faint, musical, little metallic clicks; then began
+      to move slowly again, very, very slowly. The moonbeam, as though petulant
+      at its own abortive attempt to satisfy its curiosity, retreated back
+      across the floor, and faded away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Blackness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Time passed. Then from the safe again, but now in a low gasp, a pant of
+      relief:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The ear might barely catch the sound&mdash;it was as of metal sliding in
+      well-oiled grooves, of metal meeting metal in a padded thud. The massive
+      door swung outward. Jimmie Dale stood up, easing his cramped muscles, and
+      flirted the sweat beads from his forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After a moment, he knelt again. There was still the inner door&mdash;but
+      that was a minor matter to Jimmie Dale compared with what had gone before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stillness once more&mdash;a long period of it. And then again that cough
+      from above&mdash;a prolonged paroxysm of it this time that went racketing
+      through the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale, in the act of swinging back the inner door of the safe,
+      paused to listen, and little furrows under his mask gathered on his
+      forehead. The coughing stopped. Jimmie Dale waited a moment, still
+      listening&mdash;then his flashlight bored into the interior of the safe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The cash box, probably,&rdquo; quoted Jimmie Dale, beneath his breath&mdash;and
+      picked it up from where it lay in the bottom compartment of the safe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The lock snipped under the insistent probe of a delicate little
+      blued-steel instrument, and Jimmie Dale lifted the cover. There was a
+      package of papers and documents on top, held together with elastic bands.
+      Jimmie Dale spent a moment or two examining these, then his fingers dived
+      down underneath, and the next minute, under the flashlight, the morocco
+      leather case open, the diamond necklace was sparkling and flashing on its
+      white satin bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A tempting little thing, isn't it?&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale gently. &ldquo;It was
+      really thoughtful of you, Markel, to buy that this afternoon!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale replaced the necklace in the cash box, set the cash box on the
+      floor, closed the inner door of the safe, and swung the outer door a
+      little inward&mdash;but left it flauntingly ajar. Then from a pocket of
+      the leather girdle beneath his vest he produced his small, thin, flat,
+      metal case. From this, from between sheets of oil paper, with the aid of a
+      pair of tweezers, he lifted out a gray, diamond-shaped seal. Jimmie Dale
+      was apparently fastidious. He held the seal with the tweezers as he
+      moistened the adhesive side with his tongue, laid the seal on his
+      handkerchief, and pressed the handkerchief firmly against the safe&mdash;as
+      usual, Jimmie Dale's insignia bore no finger prints as it lay neatly
+      capping the knob of the dial.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He reached down, picked up the cash box&mdash;and then, for the second
+      time that night, held suddenly tense, alert, listening, his every muscle
+      taut. A door opened upstairs. There came a murmur of voices. Then a
+      momentary lull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale listened. Like a statue he stood there in the black,
+      absolutely motionless&mdash;his head a little forward and to one side.
+      Nothing&mdash;not a sound. Then a very low, curious, swishing noise, and a
+      faint creak. SOMEBODY WAS COMING DOWN THE STAIRS!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale moved stealthily from the recess, and noiselessly to the desk.
+      Very faintly, but distinctly now, came a pad of either slippered or bare
+      feet on the stairway carpet. Like a cat, soundless in his movements,
+      Jimmie Dale crept toward the door of the room. Down the stairs came that
+      pad of feet; occasionally came that swishing sound. Nearer the door crept
+      Jimmie Dale, and his lips were thinned now, his jaws clamped. How near
+      were they together, he and this night prowler? At times he could not hear
+      the other at all, and, besides, the heavy carpet made the judgment of
+      distance an impossibility. If he could gain the hall, and, in the
+      darkness, elude the other, the way of escape through the dining room was
+      open. And then, within a few feet of the door, Jimmie Dale halted
+      abruptly, as a woman's voice rose querulously from the hallway above:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are making a perfect fool of yourself, Theodore Markel! Come back
+      here to bed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's face hardened like stone&mdash;the answer came almost from
+      the very threshold in front of him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't sleep, I tell you&rdquo;&mdash;it was Markel's voice, in a disgruntled
+      snarl. &ldquo;I was a fool to bring the confounded thing home. I'm going to take
+      the library couch for the rest of the night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It happened quick, then&mdash;quick as the winking of an eye. Two sharp,
+      almost simultaneous, clicks of the electric-light buttons pressed by
+      Markel, and the hall and library were a flood of light&mdash;and Jimmie
+      Dale leaped forward to where, in dressing gown and pajamas, blankets and
+      bedding over one arm, a revolver dangling in the other hand, Markel stood
+      full before the door in the hallway without.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a wild yell of terror and surprise from Markel, then a deafening
+      roar and a spit of flame from his revolver&mdash;a bitter, smothered
+      exclamation from Jimmie Dale as the cash box crashed to the floor from his
+      left hand, and he was upon the other like a tiger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With the impact, both men went to the floor, grappled, and rolled over and
+      over. Half mad with fear, shock, and surprise, Markel fought like a
+      maniac, and his voice, in gasping shouts, rang through the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A minute, two passed&mdash;and the men rolled about the hall floor.
+      Markel, over middle age and unheathily fat, against Jimmie Dale's six feet
+      of muscle&mdash;only Jimmie Dale's left hand, dripping a red stream now,
+      was almost useless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From above came wild confusion&mdash;women's voices in little shrieks;
+      men's voices shouting in excitement; doors opening, running feet. And then
+      Jimmie Dale had snatched the revolver from the floor where Markel had
+      dropped it in the scuffle, and was pressing it against Markel's forehead&mdash;and
+      Markel, terror-stricken, had collapsed in a flabby, pliant heap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale, still covering Markel with the weapon, stood up. The
+      frightened faces of women protruded over the banisters above. The two
+      men-servants, at best none too enthusiastically on the way down, stopped
+      as though stunned as Jimmie Dale swung the revolver upon them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Jimmie Dale spoke&mdash;to Markel&mdash;pointing the weapon at Markel
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't like you, Markel,&rdquo; he said, with cold impudence. &ldquo;The only decent
+      thing you'll ever do will be to die&mdash;and if those men of yours on the
+      stairs move another step it will be your death warrant. Do you understand?
+      I would suggest that you request them to stay where they are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cold sweat was on Markel's face as he stared into the muzzle of the
+      revolver, and his teeth chattered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go back!&rdquo; he screamed hysterically at the servants. &ldquo;Go back! Sit down!
+      Don't move! Do what he tells you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale grimly. &ldquo;Now, get up yourself!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Markel got up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale backed to the library door, picked up the cash box, tucked it
+      under his left armpit, and faced those on the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Markel and I are going out for a little walk,&rdquo; he announced coolly.
+      &ldquo;If one of you make a move or raise an alarm before your master comes
+      back, I shall be obliged, in self-defence, to shoot&mdash;Mr. Markel. Mr.
+      Markel quite understands that&mdash;I am sure. Do you not, Mr. Markel?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Helen,&rdquo; screamed Markel to his wife, &ldquo;don't let 'em move! For God's sake,
+      do as he says!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's lips, just showing beneath the edge of his mask, broadened
+      in a pleasant little smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you lead the way, Mr. Markel?&rdquo; he requested, with ironic deference.
+      &ldquo;Through the dining room, please. Yes, that's right!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Markel walked weakly into the dining room, and Jimmie Dale followed. A
+      prod in the back from the revolver muzzle, and Markel stepped through the
+      French windows and out on the lawn. Jimmie Dale faced the other toward the
+      woods at the rear of the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go on!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale's voice was curt now, uncompromising. &ldquo;And step
+      lively!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They passed on along the side of the house and in among the trees. Fifty
+      yards or so more, and Jimmie Dale halted. He backed Markel up against a
+      large tree&mdash;not over gently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I say&rdquo;&mdash;Markel's teeth were going like castanets. &ldquo;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll oblige me by keeping your mouth shut,&rdquo; observed Jimmie Dale
+      politely&mdash;and he whipped the cord of Markel's dressing gown loose and
+      began to tie the man to the tree. &ldquo;You have many unpleasant
+      characteristics, Markel&mdash;your voice is one of them. Shall I repeat
+      that I do not like you?&rdquo; He stepped to the back of the tree. &ldquo;Pardon me if
+      I draw this uncomfortably tight. I don't think you can reach around to the
+      knot. No? The trunk is too large? Quite so!&rdquo; He stepped around to face
+      Markel again&mdash;the man was thoroughly frightened, his face was livid,
+      his jaw sagged weakly, and his eyes followed every movement of the
+      revolver in Jimmie Dale's hand in a sort of miserable fascination. Jimmie
+      Dale smiled unhappily. &ldquo;I am going to do something, Markel, that I should
+      advise no other man to do&mdash;I am going to put you on your honour! For
+      the next fifteen minutes you are not to utter a sound. Do you understand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Y-yes,&rdquo; said Markel hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale sadly, &ldquo;I don' think you do. Let me be painfully
+      explicit. If you break your vow of silence by so much as a second, then
+      to-morrow, or the next day, or the day after, at my convenience, Markel,
+      you and I will meet again&mdash;for the LAST time. There can be no
+      possible misapprehension on your part now&mdash;Markel?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;N-no,&rdquo;&mdash;Markel could scarcely chatter out the word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite so,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, in velvet tones. He stood for an instant
+      looking at the other with cool insolence; then: &ldquo;Good-night, Markel&rdquo;&mdash;and
+      five minutes later a great touring car was tearing New Yorkward over the
+      Long Island roads at express speed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was one o'clock in the morning as Jimmie Dale swung the car into a
+      cross street off lower Broadway, and drew up at the curb beside a large
+      office building. He got out, snuggled the cash box under his ulster, went
+      around to the Broadway entrance, glanced up to note that a light burned in
+      a fifth-story window, and entered the building.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The hallway was practically in darkness, one or two incandescents only
+      threw a dim light about. Jimmie Dale stopped for a moment at the foot of
+      the stairs, beside the elevator well, to listen&mdash;if the watchman was
+      making rounds, it was in another part of the building Jimmie Dale began to
+      climb.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He reached the fifth floor, turned down the corridor, and halted in front
+      of a door, through the ground-glass panel of which a light glowed faintly&mdash;as
+      though coming from an inner office beyond. Jimmie Dale drew the black silk
+      mask from his pocket, adjusted it, tried the door, found it unlocked,
+      opened it noiselessly, and stepped inside. Across the room, through
+      another door, half open, the light streamed into the outer office, where
+      Jimmie Dale stood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale stole across the room, crouched by the door to look into the
+      inner office&mdash;and his face went suddenly rigid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good God!&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;As bad as that!&rdquo;&mdash;but it was a nonchalant
+      Jimmie Dale to all outward appearances that, on the instant, stepped
+      unconcernedly over the threshold.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An elderly man, white-haired, kindly-faced, kindly-eyed, save now that the
+      face was drawn and haggard, the eyes full of weariness, was standing
+      behind a flat-topped desk, his fingers twitching nervously on a revolver
+      in his hand. He whirled, with a startled cry, at Jimmie Dale's entrance,
+      and the revolver clattered from his fingers to the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, smiling pleasantly, &ldquo;that you were going
+      to shoot yourself. Your name is Wilbur, Henry Wilbur, isn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Unmanned, trembling, the other stood&mdash;and nodded mechanically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's really not a nice thing to do,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale confidentially.
+      &ldquo;Makes a mess, you see, too&rdquo;&mdash;he was pulling off his motor gauntlet,
+      his ulster, his jacket, and, having set the cash box on the desk, was
+      rolling back his sleeve as he spoke. &ldquo;Had a little experience myself this
+      evening.&rdquo; He held out his hand that, with the forearm, was covered with
+      blood. &ldquo;A little above the wrist&mdash;fortunately only a flesh wound&mdash;a
+      little memento from a chap named Markel, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;MARKEL!&rdquo; The word burst, quivering, from the other's lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale imperturbably. &ldquo;Do you mind if I wash a bit&mdash;and
+      could you oblige me with a towel, or something that would do for a
+      bandage?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man seemed dazed. In a subconscious way, he walked from the desk to a
+      little cupboard, and took out two towels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale stooped, while the other's back was turned, picked up the
+      revolver from the floor, and slipped it into his trousers pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Markel?&rdquo; said Wilbur again, the same trembling anxiety in his voice, as
+      he handed Jimmie Dale the towels and motioned toward a washstand in the
+      corner of the room. &ldquo;Did you say Markel&mdash;Theodore Markel?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, examining his wound critically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You had trouble&mdash;a fight with him? Is he&mdash;he&mdash;dead?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, smiling a little grimly. &ldquo;He's pretty badly hurt,
+      though, I imagine&mdash;but not in a physical way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Strange!&rdquo; whispered Wilbur, in a numbed tone to himself; and he went back
+      and sank down in his desk chair. &ldquo;Strange that you should speak of Markel&mdash;strange
+      that you should have come here to-night!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale did not answer. He glanced now and then at the other, as he
+      deftly dressed his wrist&mdash;the man seemed on the verge of collapse, on
+      the verge of a nervous breakdown. Jimmie Dale swore softly to himself.
+      Wilbur was too old a man to be called upon to stand against the trouble
+      and anxiety that was mirrored in the misery in his face, that had brought
+      him to the point of taking his own life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale put on his coat again, walked over to the desk, and picked up
+      the 'phone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I may?&rdquo; he inquired courteously&mdash;and confided a number to the
+      mouthpiece of the instrument.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's wait, during which Wilbur, in a desperate sort of
+      way, seemed to be trying to rally himself, to piece together a puzzle, as
+      it were; and for the first time he appeared to take a personal interest in
+      the masked figure that leaned against his desk. He kept passing his hands
+      across his eyes, staring at Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Jimmie Dale spoke&mdash;into the 'phone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;MORNING NEWS-ARGUS office? Mr. Carruthers, please. Thank you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Another wait&mdash;then Jimmie Dale's voice changed its pitch and register
+      to a pleasant and natural, though quite unrecognisable bass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Carruthers? Yes. I thought it might interest you to know that Mr.
+      Theodore Markel purchased a very valuable diamond necklace this afternoon.
+      . . . Oh, you knew that, did you? Well, so much the better; you'll be all
+      the more keenly interested to know that it is no longer in his possession.
+      . . . I beg pardon? Oh, yes, I quite forgot&mdash;this is the Gray Seal
+      speaking. . . . Yes. . . . The Gray Seal. . . . I have just come from Mr.
+      Markel's country house, and if you hurry a man out there you ought to be
+      able to give the public an exclusive bit of news, a scoop, I believe you
+      call it&mdash;you see, Mr. Carruthers, I am not ungrateful for, I might
+      say, the eulogistic manner in which the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS treated me in
+      that last affair, and I trust I shall be able to do you many more favours&mdash;I
+      am deeply in your debt. And, oh, yes, tell your reporter not to overlook
+      the detail of Mr. Markel in his pajamas and dressing gown tied to a tree
+      in his park&mdash;Mr. Markel might be inclined to be reticent on that
+      point, and it would be a pity to deprive the public of any&mdash;er&mdash;'atmosphere'
+      in the story, you know. . . . What? . . . No; I am afraid Mr. Markel's
+      'phone is&mdash;er&mdash;out of order. . . . Yes. . . . And, by the way,
+      speaking of 'phones, Mr. Carruthers, between gentlemen, I know you will
+      make no effort under the circumstances to discover the number I am calling
+      from. Good-night, Mr. Carruthers.&rdquo; Jimmie Dale hung the receiver abruptly
+      on the hook.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, turning to Wilbur&mdash;and then he stopped.
+      The man was on his feet, swaying there, his face positively gray.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God!&rdquo; Wilbur burst out. &ldquo;What have you done? A thousand times better
+      if I had shot myself, as I would have done in another moment if you had
+      not come in. I was only ruined then&mdash;I am disgraced now. You have
+      robbed Markel's safe&mdash;I am the one man in the world who would have a
+      reason above all others for doing that&mdash;and Markel knows it. He will
+      accuse me of it. He can prove I had a motive. I have not been home
+      to-night. Nobody knows I am here. I cannot prove an alibi. What have you
+      done!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, almost plaintively, swinging himself up on the
+      corner of the desk and taking the cash box on his knee, &ldquo;really, you are
+      alarming yourself unnecessarily. I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Wilbur stopped him. &ldquo;You don't know what you are talking about!&rdquo;
+       Wilbur cried out, in a choked way; then, his voice steadying, he rushed
+      on: &ldquo;Listen! I am a ruined man, absolutely ruined. And Markel has ruined
+      me&mdash;I did not see through his trick until too late. Listen! For
+      years, as a mining engineer, I made a good salary&mdash;and I saved it.
+      Two years ago I had nearly seventy thousand dollars&mdash;it represented
+      my life work. I bought an abandoned mine in Alaska for next to nothing&mdash;I
+      was certain it was rich. A man by the name of Thurl, Jason T. Thurl,
+      another mining engineer, a steamer acquaintance, was out there at the time&mdash;he
+      was a partner of Markel's, though I didn't know it then. I started to work
+      the mine. It didn't pan out. I dropped nearly every cent. Then I struck a
+      small vein that temporarily recouped me, and supplied the necessary funds
+      with which to go ahead for a while. Thurl, who had tried to buy the mine
+      out from under my option in the first place, repeatedly then tried to buy
+      it from me at a ridiculous figure. I refused. He persisted. I refused&mdash;I
+      was confident, I KNEW I had one of the richest properties in Alaska.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Wilbur paused. A little row of glistening drops had gathered on his
+      forehead. Jimmie Dale, balancing Markel's cash box on one knee, drummed
+      softly with his finger tips on the cover.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The vein petered out,&rdquo; Wilbur went on. &ldquo;But I was still confident. I sank
+      all the proceeds of the first strike&mdash;and sank them fast, for
+      unaccountable accidents that crippled me both financially and in the
+      progress of the work began to happen.&rdquo; Wilbur flung out his hands
+      impotently. &ldquo;Oh, it's a long story&mdash;too long to tell. Thurl was at
+      the bottom of those accidents. He knew as well as I did that the mine was
+      rich&mdash;better than I did, for that matter, for we discovered before we
+      ran him out of Alaska that he had made secret borings on the property. But
+      what I did not know until a few hours ago was that he had actually
+      uncovered what we uncovered only yesterday&mdash;the mother lode. He was
+      driving me as fast as he could into the last ditch&mdash;for Markel. I
+      didn't know until yesterday that Markel had any thing to do with it. I
+      struggled on out there, hoping every day to open a new vein. I raised
+      money on everything I had, except my insurance and the mine&mdash;and sank
+      it in the mine. No one out there would advance me anything on a property
+      that looked like a failure, that had once already been abandoned. I have
+      always kept an office here, and I came back East with the idea of raising
+      something on my insurance. Markel, quite by haphazard as I then thought,
+      was introduced to me just before we left San Francisco on our way to New
+      York. On the run across the continent we became very friendly. Naturally,
+      I told him my story. He played sympathetic good fellow, and offered to
+      lend me fifty thousand dollars on a demand note. I did not want to be
+      involved for a cent more than was necessary, and, as I said, I hoped from
+      day to day to make another strike. I refused to take more than ten
+      thousand. I remember now that he seemed strangely disappointed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Wilbur stopped. He swept the moisture from his forehead&mdash;and
+      his fist, clenched, came down upon the desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see the game!&rdquo;&mdash;there was bitter anger in his voice now. &ldquo;You
+      see the game! He wanted to get me in deep enough so that I couldn't
+      wriggle out, deeper than ten thousand that I could get at any time on my
+      insurance, he wanted me where I couldn't get away&mdash;and he got me. The
+      first ten thousand wasn't enough. I went to him for a second, a third, a
+      fourth, a fifth&mdash;hoping always that each would be the last. Each time
+      a new note, a demand note for the total amount, was made, cancelling the
+      former one. I didn't know his game, didn't suspect it&mdash;I blessed God
+      for giving me such a friend&mdash;until this, or, rather, yesterday
+      afternoon, when I received a telegram from my manager at the mine saying
+      that he had struck what looked like a very rich vein&mdash;the mother
+      lode. And&rdquo;&mdash;Wilbur's fist curled until the knuckles were like ivory
+      in their whiteness&mdash;&ldquo;he added in the telegram that Thurl had wired
+      the news of the strike to a man in New York by the name of Markel. Do you
+      see? I hadn't had the telegram five minutes, when a messenger brought me a
+      letter from Markel curtly informing me that I would have to meet my note
+      to-morrow morning. I can't meet it. He knew I couldn't. With wealth in
+      sight&mdash;I'm wiped out. A DEMAND note, a call loan, do you understand&mdash;and
+      with a few months in which to develop the new vein I could pay it readily.
+      As it is&mdash;I default the note&mdash;Markel attaches all I have left,
+      which is the mine. The mine is sold to satisfy my indebtedness. Markel
+      buys it in legally, upheld by the law&mdash;and acquires, ROBS me of it,
+      and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale musingly, &ldquo;you were going to shoot yourself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Wilbur straightened up, and there was something akin to pathetic grandeur
+      in the set of the old shoulders as they squared back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes!&rdquo; he said, in a low voice. &ldquo;And shall I tell you why? Even if, which
+      is not likely, there was something reverting to me over the purchase
+      price, it would be a paltry thing compared with the mine. I have a wife
+      and children. If I have worked for them all my life, could I stand back
+      now at the last and see them robbed of their inheritance by a
+      black-hearted scoundrel when I could still lift a hand to prevent it! I
+      had one way left. What is my life? I am too old a man to cling to it where
+      they are concerned. I have referred to my insurance several times. I have
+      always carried heavy insurance&rdquo;&mdash;he smiled a little curious,
+      mirthless smile&mdash;&ldquo;THAT HAS NO SUICIDE CLAUSE.&rdquo; He swept his hand over
+      the desk, indicating the papers scattered there. &ldquo;I have worked late
+      to-night getting my affairs in order. My total insurance is fifty-two
+      thousand dollars, though I couldn't BORROW anywhere near the full amount
+      on it&mdash;but at my death, paid in full, it would satisfy the note. My
+      executors, by instruction would pay the note&mdash;and no dollar from the
+      mine, no single grain of gold, not an ounce of quartz, would Markel ever
+      get his hands on, and my wife and children would be saved. That is&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His words ended abruptly&mdash;with a little gasp. Jimmie Dale had opened
+      the cash box and was dangling the necklace under the light&mdash;a stream
+      of fiery, flashing, sparkling gems.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Wilbur spoke again, a hard, bitter note in his voice, pointing his
+      hand at the necklace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But now, on top of everything, you have brought me disgrace&mdash;because
+      you broke into his safe to-night for THAT? He would and will accuse me. I
+      have heard of you&mdash;the Gray Seal&mdash;you have done a pitiful
+      night's work in your greed for that thing there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For this?&rdquo; Jimmie Dale smiled ironically, holding the necklace up. Then
+      he shook his head. &ldquo;I didn't break into Markel's safe for this&mdash;it
+      wouldn't have been worth while. It's only paste.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;PASTE!&rdquo; exclaimed Wilbur, in a slow way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Paste,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale placidly, dropping the necklace back into its
+      case. &ldquo;Quite in keeping with Markel, isn't it&mdash;to make a sensation on
+      the cheap?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But that doesn't change matters!&rdquo; Wilbur cried out sharply, after a
+      numbed instant's pause. &ldquo;You still broke into the safe, even if you didn't
+      know then that the necklace was paste.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, but, you see&mdash;I did know then,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale softly. &ldquo;I am
+      really&mdash;you must take my word for it&mdash;a very good judge of
+      stones, and I had&mdash;er&mdash;seen these before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Wilbur stared&mdash;bewildered, confused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why&mdash;what was it that&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A paper,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, with a little chuckle&mdash;and produced it
+      from the cash box. &ldquo;It reads like this: 'On demand, I promise to pay&mdash;'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My note!&rdquo; It came in a great, surging cry from Wilbur; and he strained
+      forward to read it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;Of course&mdash;your note. Did you think
+      that I had just happened to drop in on you? Now, then, see here, you just
+      buck up, and&mdash;er&mdash;smile. There isn't even a possibility of you
+      being accused of the theft. In the first place, Markel saw quite enough of
+      me to know that it wasn't you. Secondly, neither Markel nor any one else
+      would ever dream that the break was made for anything else but the
+      necklace, with which you have no connection&mdash;the papers were in the
+      cash box and were just taken along with it. Don't you see? And, besides,
+      the police, with my very good friend, Carruthers at their elbows, will see
+      very thoroughly to it that the Gray Seal gets full and ample credit for
+      the crime. But&rdquo;&mdash;Jimmie Dale pulled out his watch, and yawned under
+      his mask&mdash;&ldquo;it's getting to be an unconscionable hour&mdash;and you've
+      still a letter to write.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A letter?&rdquo; Wilbur's voice was broken, his lips quivering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To Markel,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale pleasantly. &ldquo;Write him in reply to his
+      letter of the afternoon, and post it before you leave here&mdash;just as
+      though you had written it at once, promptly, on receipt of his. He will
+      still get it on the morning delivery. State that you will take up the note
+      immediately on presentation at whatever bank he chooses to name. That's
+      all. Seeing that he hasn't got it, he can't very well present it&mdash;can
+      he? Eventually, having&mdash;er&mdash;no use for fake diamonds, I shall
+      return the necklace, together with the papers in his cash box here&mdash;including
+      your note.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eventually?&rdquo; Uncomprehendingly, stumblingly, Wilbur repeated the word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In a month or two or three, as the case may be,&rdquo; explained Jimmie Dale
+      brightly. &ldquo;Whenever you insert a personal in the NEWS-ARGUS to the effect
+      that the mother lode has given you the cash to meet it.&rdquo; He replaced the
+      note in the cash box, slipped down to his feet from the desk&mdash;and
+      then he choked a little. Wilbur, the tears streaming down his face, unable
+      to speak, was holding out his hands to Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;I&mdash;er&mdash;good-night!&rdquo;
+       said Jimmie Dale hurriedly&mdash;and stepped quickly from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Halfway down the first flight of stairs he paused. Steps, running after
+      him, sounded along the corridor above; and then Wilbur's voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't go&mdash;not yet,&rdquo; cried the old man. &ldquo;I don't understand. How did
+      you know&mdash;who told you about the note?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale did not answer&mdash;he went on noiselessly down the stairs.
+      His mask was off now, and his lips curved into a strange little smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish I knew,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale wistfully to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IV
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE COUNTERFEIT FIVE
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      It was still early in the evening, but a little after nine o'clock. The
+      Fifth Avenue bus wended its way, jouncing its patrons, particularly those
+      on the top seats, across town, and turned into Riverside Drive. A short
+      distance behind the bus, a limousine rolled down the cross street
+      leisurely, silently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the lights of passing craft on the Hudson and a myriad scintillating,
+      luminous points dotting the west shore came into view, Jimmie Dale rose
+      impulsively from his seat on the top of the bus, descended the little
+      circular iron ladder at the rear, and dropped off into the street. It was
+      only a few blocks farther to his residence on the Drive, and the night was
+      well worth the walk; besides, restless, disturbed, and perplexed in mind,
+      the walk appealed to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stepped across to the sidewalk and proceeded slowly along. A month had
+      gone by and he had not heard a word from&mdash;HER. The break on West
+      Broadway, the murder of Metzer in Moriarty's gambling hell, the theft of
+      Markel's diamond necklace had followed each other in quick succession&mdash;and
+      then this month of utter silence, with no sign of her, as though indeed
+      she had never existed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it was not this temporary silence on her part that troubled Jimmie
+      Dale now. In the years that he had worked with this unknown, mysterious
+      accomplice of his whom he had never seen, there had been longer intervals
+      than a bare month in which he had heard nothing from her&mdash;it was not
+      that. It was the failure, total, absolute, and complete, that was the only
+      result for the month of ceaseless, unremitting, doggedly-expended effort,
+      even as it had been the result many times before, in an attempt to solve
+      the enigma that was so intimate and vital a factor in his own life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If he might lay any claims to cleverness, his resourcefulness, at least,
+      he was forced to admit, was no match for hers. She came, she went without
+      being seen&mdash;and behind her remained, instead of clews to her
+      identity, only an amazing, intangible mystery, that left him at times
+      appalled and dismayed. How did she know about those conditions in West
+      Broadway, how did she know about Metzer's murder, how did she know about
+      Markel and Wilbur&mdash;how did she know about a hundred other affairs of
+      the same sort that had happened since that night, years ago now, when out
+      of pure adventure he had tampered with Marx's, the jeweller's strong room
+      in Maiden Lane, and she had, mysteriously then, too, solved HIS identity,
+      discovered him to be the Gray Seal?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale, wrapped up in his own thoughts, entirely oblivious to his
+      surroundings, traversed another block. There had never been since the
+      world began, and there would never be again, so singular and bizarre a
+      partnership as this&mdash;of hers and his. He, Jimmie Dale, with his
+      strange double life, one of New York's young bachelor millionaires, one
+      whose social status was unquestioned; and she, who&mdash;who WHAT? That
+      was just it! Who what? What was she? What was her name? What one personal,
+      intimate thing did he know about her? And what was to be the end? Not that
+      he would have severed his association with her&mdash;not for worlds!&mdash;though
+      every time, that, by some new and curious method, one of her letters found
+      its way into his hands, outlining some fresh coup for him to execute, his
+      peril and danger of discovery was increased in staggering ratio. To-day,
+      the police hunted the Gray Seal as they hunted a mad dog; the papers
+      stormed and raved against him: in every detective bureau of two continents
+      he was catalogued as the most notorious criminal of the age&mdash;and yet,
+      strange paradox, no single crime had ever been committed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's strong, fine-featured face lighted up. Crime! Thanks to her,
+      there were those who blessed the name of the Gray Seal, those into whose
+      lives had come joy, relief from misery, escape from death even&mdash;and
+      their blessings were worth a thousandfold the risk and peril of disaster
+      that threatened him at every minute of the day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank God for her!&rdquo; murmured Jimmie Dale softly. &ldquo;But&mdash;but if I
+      could only find her, see her, know who she is, talk to her, and hear her
+      voice!&rdquo; Then he smiled a little wanly. &ldquo;It's been a pretty tough month&mdash;and
+      nothing to show for it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It had! It had been one of the hardest months through which Jimmie Dale
+      had ever lived. The St. James, that most exclusive club, his favourite
+      haunt, had seen nothing of him; the easel in his den, that was his hobby,
+      had been untouched; there had been days even when he had not crossed the
+      threshold of his home. Every resource at his command he had called into
+      play in an effort to solve the mystery. For nearly the entire month,
+      following first this lead and then that, he had lived in the one disguise
+      that he felt confident she knew nothing of&mdash;that was, or, rather, had
+      become, almost a dual personality with him. From the Sanctuary, that
+      miserable and disreputable room in a tenement on the East Side, a tenement
+      that had three separate means of entrance and exit, he had emerged day
+      after day as Larry the Bat, a character as well known and as well liked in
+      the exclusive circles of the underworld as was Jimmie Dale in the most
+      exclusive strata of New York's society and fashion. And it had been
+      useless&mdash;all useless. Through his own endeavours, through the help of
+      his friends of the underworld, the lives of half a dozen men, Bert Hagan's
+      on West Broadway, for instance, Markel's, and others', had been laid bare
+      to the last shred, but nowhere could be found the one vital point that
+      linked their lives with hers, that would account for her intimate
+      knowledge of them, and so furnish him with the clew that would then with
+      certainty lead him to a solution of her identity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was baffling, puzzling, unbelievable, bordering, indeed, on the
+      miraculous&mdash;herself, everything about her, her acts, her methods, her
+      cleverness, intangible in one sense, were terrifically real in another.
+      Jimmie Dale shook his head. The miraculous and this practical, everyday
+      life were wide and far apart. There was nothing miraculous about it&mdash;it
+      was only that the key to it was, so far, beyond his reach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then suddenly Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders in consonance with a
+      whimsical change in both mood and thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Larry the Bat, is a hard taskmaster!&rdquo; he muttered facetiously. &ldquo;I'm
+      afraid I'm not very presentable this evening&mdash;no bath this morning,
+      and no shave, and, after nearly a month of make-up, that beastly grease
+      paint gets into the skin creases in a most intimate way.&rdquo; He chuckled as
+      the thought of old Jason, his butler, came to him. &ldquo;I saw Jason, torn
+      between two conflicting emotions, shaking his head over the black circles
+      under my eyes last night&mdash;he didn't know whether to worry over the
+      first signs of a galloping decline, or break his heart at witnessing the
+      young master he had dandled on his knees going to the damnation bowwows
+      and turning into a confirmed roue! I guess I'll have to mind myself,
+      though. Even Carruthers detached his mind far enough from his editorial
+      desk and the hope of exclusively publishing the news of the Gray Seal's
+      capture in the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, to tell me I was looking seedy. It's
+      wonderful the way a little paint will metamorphose a man! Well, anyway,
+      here's for a good hot tub to-night, and a fresh start!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He quickened his pace. There were still three blocks to go, and here was
+      no hurrying, jostling crowd to impede his progress; indeed, as far as he
+      could see up the Drive, there was not a pedestrian in sight. And then, as
+      he walked, involuntarily, insistently, his mind harked back into the old
+      groove again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've tried to picture her,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale softly to himself. &ldquo;I've
+      tried to picture her a hundred, yes, a thousand times, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A bus, rumbling cityward, went by him, squeaking, creaking, and rattling
+      in its uneasy joints&mdash;and out of the noise, almost at his elbow it
+      seemed, a voice spoke his name&mdash;and in that instant intuitively he
+      KNEW, and it thrilled him, stopped the beat of his heart, as, dulcet,
+      soft, clear as the note of a silver bell it fell&mdash;and only one word:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jimmie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He whirled around. A limousine, wheels just grazing the curb, was gliding
+      slowly and silently past him, and from the window a woman's arm,
+      white-gloved and dainty, was extended, and from the fingers to the
+      pavement fluttered an envelope&mdash;and the car leaped forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the fraction of a second, Jimmie Dale stood dazed, immovable, a gamut
+      of emotions, surprise, fierce exultation, amazement, a strange joy, a
+      mighty uplift, swirling upon him&mdash;and then, snatching up the envelope
+      from the ground, he sprang out into the road after the car. It was the one
+      chance he had ever had, the one chance she had ever given him, and he had
+      seen&mdash;a white-gloved arm! He could not reach the car, it was speeding
+      away from him like an arrow now, but there was something else that would
+      do just as well, something that with all her cleverness she had overlooked&mdash;the
+      car's number dangling on the rear axle, the rays of the little lamp
+      playing on the enamelled surface of the plate! Gasping, panting, he held
+      his own for a yard or more, and there floated back to him a little silvery
+      laugh from the body of the limousine, and then Jimmie Dale laughed, too,
+      and stopped&mdash;it was No. 15,836!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood and watched the car disappear up the Drive. What delicious irony!
+      A month of gruelling, ceaseless toil that had been vain, futile, useless&mdash;and
+      the key, when he was not looking for it, unexpectedly, through no effort
+      of his, was thrust into his hand&mdash;No. 15,836!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale, the gently ironic smile still on his lips, those slim,
+      supersensitive fingers of his subconsciously noting that the texture of
+      the envelope was the same as she always used, retraced his steps to the
+      sidewalk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Number fifteen thousand eight hundred and thirty-six,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale
+      aloud&mdash;and halted at the curb as though rooted to the spot. It
+      sounded strangely familiar, that number! He repeated it over again slowly:
+      &ldquo;One-five-eight-three-six.&rdquo; And the smile left his lips, and upon his face
+      came the look of a chastened child. She had used a duplicate plate!
+      Fifteen thousand eight hundred and thirty-six was the number of one of his
+      own cars&mdash;his own particular runabout!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment longer he stood there, undecided whether to laugh or swear,
+      and then his eyes fastened mechanically on the envelope he was twirling in
+      his fingers. Here, at least, was something that was not elusive; that, on
+      the contrary, as a hundred others in the past had done, outlined probably
+      a grim night's work ahead for the Gray Seal! And, if it were as those
+      others had been, every minute from the moment of its receipt was precious
+      time. He stepped under the nearest street light, and tore the envelope
+      open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear Philanthropic Crook,&rdquo; it began&mdash;and then followed two closely
+      written pages. Jimmie Dale read them, his lips growing gradually tighter,
+      a smouldering light creeping into his dark eyes, and once he emitted a
+      short, low whistle of consternation&mdash;that was at the end, as he read
+      the post-script that was heavily underscored: &ldquo;Work quickly. They will
+      raid to-night. Be careful. Look out for Kline, he is the sharpest man in
+      the United States secret service.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a brief instant longer, Jimmie Dale stood under the street lamp, his
+      mind in a lightning-quick way cataloguing every point in her letter,
+      viewing every point from a myriad angles, constructing, devising, mapping
+      out a plan to dove-tail into them&mdash;and then Jimmie Dale swung on a
+      downtown bus. There was neither time nor occasion to go home now&mdash;that
+      marvellous little kit of burglar's tools that peeped from their tiny
+      pockets in that curious leather undervest, and that reposed now in the
+      safe in his den, would be useless to him to-night; besides, in the breast
+      pocket of his coat, neatly folded, was a black silk mask, and, relics of
+      his role of Larry the Bat, an automatic revolver, an electric flashlight,
+      a steel jimmy, and a bunch of skeleton keys, were distributed among the
+      other pockets of his smart tweed suit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale changed from the bus to the subway, leaving behind him, strewn
+      over many blocks, the tiny and minute fragments into which he had torn her
+      letter; at Astor Place he left the subway, walked to Broadway, turned
+      uptown for a block to Eighth Street, then along Eighth Street almost to
+      Sixth Avenue&mdash;and stopped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A rather shabby shop, a pitiful sort of a place, displaying in its window
+      a heterogeneous conglomeration of cheap odds and ends, ink bottles, candy,
+      pencils, cigarettes, pens, toys, writing pads, marbles, and a multitude of
+      other small wares, confronted him. Within, a little, old, sweet-faced,
+      gray-haired woman stood behind the counter, pottering over the
+      rearrangement of some articles on the shelves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My word!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale softly to himself. &ldquo;You wouldn't believe it,
+      would you! And I've always wondered how these little stores managed to
+      make both ends meet. Think of that old soul making fifteen or twenty
+      thousand dollars from a layout like this&mdash;even if it has taken her a
+      lifetime!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale had halted nonchalantly and unconcernedly by the curb, not too
+      near the window, busied apparently in an effort to light a refractory
+      cigarette; and then, about to enter the store, he gazed aimlessly across
+      the street for a moment instead. A man came briskly around the corner from
+      Sixth Avenue, opened the store door, and went in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale drew back a little, and turned his head again as the door
+      closed&mdash;and a sudden, quick, alert, and startled look spread over his
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man who had entered bent over the counter and spoke to the old lady.
+      She seemed to listen with a dawning terror creeping over her features, and
+      then her hands went piteously to the thin hair behind her ears. The man
+      motioned toward a door at the rear of the store. She hesitated, then came
+      out from behind the counter, and swayed a little as though her limbs would
+      not support her weight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's lips thinned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid,&rdquo; he muttered slowly, &ldquo;I'm afraid that I'm too late even now.&rdquo;
+       And then, as she came to the door and turned the key on the inside: &ldquo;Pray
+      Heaven she doesn't turn the light out&mdash;or somebody might think I was
+      trying to break in!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But in that respect Jimmie Dale's fears were groundless. She did not turn
+      out either of the gas jets that lighted the little shop; instead, in a
+      faltering, reluctant sort of manner, she led the way directly through the
+      door in the rear, and the man followed her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The shop was empty&mdash;and Jimmie Dale was standing against the door on
+      the outside. His position was perfectly natural&mdash;a hundred passers-by
+      would have noted nothing but a most commonplace occurrence&mdash;a man in
+      the act of entering a store. And, if he appeared to fumble and have
+      trouble with the latch, what of it! Jimmie Dale, however, was not fumbling&mdash;hidden
+      by his back that was turned to the street, those wonderful fingers of his,
+      in whose tips seemed embodied and concentrated every one of the human
+      senses, were working quickly, surely, accurately, without so much as the
+      wasted movement of a single muscle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A faint tinkle&mdash;and the key within fell from the lock to the floor. A
+      faint click&mdash;and the bolt of the lock slipped back. Jimmie Dale
+      restored the skeleton keys and a little steel instrument that accompanied
+      them to his pocket&mdash;and quietly opened the door. He stepped inside,
+      picked up the key from the floor, inserted it in the lock, closed the door
+      behind him, and locked it again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To guard against interruption,&rdquo; observed Jimmie Dale, a little
+      quizzically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was, perhaps, thirty seconds behind the others. He crossed the shop
+      noiselessly, cautiously, and passed through the door at the rear. It
+      opened into a short passage that, after a few feet, gave on a sort of
+      corridor at right angles&mdash;and down this latter, facing him, at the
+      end, the door of a lighted room was open, and he could see the figure of
+      the man who had entered the shop, back turned, standing on the threshold.
+      Voices, indistinct, came to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The corridor itself was dark; and Jimmie Dale, satisfied that he was
+      fairly safe from observation, stole softly forward. He passed two doors on
+      his left&mdash;and the curious arrangement of the building that had
+      puzzled him for a moment became clear. The store made the front of an old
+      tenement building, with apartments above, and the rear of the store was a
+      sort of apartment, too&mdash;the old lady's living quarters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Step by step, testing each one against a possible creaking of the floor,
+      Jimmie Dale moved forward, keeping close up against one wall. The man
+      passed on into the room&mdash;and now Jimmie Dale could distinguish every
+      word that was being spoken; and, crouched up, in the dark corridor, in the
+      angle of the wall and the door jamb itself, could see plainly enough into
+      the room beyond. Jimmie Dale's jaw crept out a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A young man, gaunt, pale, wrapped in blankets, half sat, half reclined in
+      an invalid's chair; the old lady, on her knees, the tears streaming down
+      her face, had her arms around the sick man's neck; while the other man,
+      apparently upset at the scene, tugged vigorously at long, gray mustaches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sammy! Sammy!&rdquo; sobbed the woman piteously. &ldquo;Say you didn't do it, Sammy&mdash;say
+      you didn't do it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here, Mrs. Matthews,&rdquo; said the man with the gray mustaches gently,
+      &ldquo;now don't you go to making things any harder. I've got to do my duty just
+      the same, and take your son.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The young man, a hectic flush beginning to burn on his cheeks, gazed
+      wildly from one to the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&mdash;what is it?&rdquo; he cried out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man threw back his coat and displayed a badge on his vest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm Kline of the secret service,&rdquo; he said gravely. &ldquo;I'm sorry, Sammy, but
+      I want you for that little job in Washington at the bureau&mdash;before
+      you left on sick leave!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sammy Matthews struggled away from his mother's arms, pulled himself
+      forward in his chair&mdash;and his tongue licked dry lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&mdash;what job?&rdquo; he whispered thickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know, don't you?&rdquo; the other answered steadily. He took a large, flat
+      pocketbook from his pocket, opened it, and took out a five-dollar bill. He
+      held this before the sick man's eyes, but just out of reach, one finger
+      silently indicating the lower left-hand corner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Matthews stared at it for a moment, and the hectic flush faded to a
+      grayish pallor, and a queer, impotent sound gurgled in his throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see you recognise it,&rdquo; said the other quietly. &ldquo;It's open and shut,
+      Sammy. That little imperfection in the plate's got you, my boy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sammy! Sammy!&rdquo; sobbed the woman again. &ldquo;Sammy, say you didn't do it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a lie!&rdquo; said Matthews hoarsely. &ldquo;It's a lie! That plate was
+      condemned in the bureau for that imperfection&mdash;condemned and
+      destroyed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Condemned TO BE destroyed,&rdquo; corrected the other, without raising his
+      voice. &ldquo;There's a little difference there, Sammy&mdash;about twenty years'
+      difference&mdash;in the Federal pen. But it wasn't destroyed; this note
+      was printed from it by one of the slickest gangs of counterfeiters in the
+      United States&mdash;but I don't need to tell you that, I guess you know
+      who they are. I've been after them a long time, and I've got them now,
+      just as tight as I've got you. Instead of destroying that plate, you stole
+      it, and disposed of it to the gang. How much did they give you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Matthews' face seemed to hold a dumb horror, and his fingers picked at the
+      arms of the chair. His mother had moved from beside him now, and both her
+      hands were patting at the man's sleeve in a pitiful way, while again and
+      again she tried to speak, but no words would come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a lie!&rdquo; said Matthews again, in a colourless, mechanical way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man glanced at Mrs. Matthews as he put the five-dollar note back into
+      his pocket, seemed to choke a little, shook his head, and all trace of the
+      official sternness that had crept into his voice disappeared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's no good,&rdquo; he said in a low tone. &ldquo;Don't do that, Mrs. Matthews, I've
+      got to do my duty.&rdquo; He leaned a little toward the chair. &ldquo;It's dead to
+      rights, Sammy. You might as well make a clean breast of it. It was up to
+      you and Al Gregor to see that the plate was destroyed. It WASN'T
+      destroyed; instead, it shows up in the hands of a gang of counterfeiters
+      that I've been watching for months. Furthermore, I've got the plate
+      itself. And finally, though I haven't placed him under arrest yet for fear
+      you might hear of it before I wanted you to and make a get-away, I've got
+      Al Gregor where I can put my hands on him, and I've got his confession
+      that you and he worked the game between you to get that plate out of the
+      bureau and dispose of it to the gang.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my God!&rdquo;&mdash;it came in a wild cry from the sick man, and in a
+      desperate, lurching way he struggled up to his feet. &ldquo;Al Gregor said that?
+      Then&mdash;then I'm done!&rdquo; He clutched at his temples. &ldquo;But it's not true&mdash;it's
+      not true! If the plate was stolen, and it must have been stolen, or that
+      note wouldn't have been found, it was Al Gregor who stole it&mdash;I
+      didn't, I tell you! I knew nothing of it, except that he and I were
+      responsible for it and&mdash;and I left it to him&mdash;that's the only
+      way I'm to blame. He's caught, and he's trying to get out of it with a
+      light sentence by pretending to turn State's evidence, but&mdash;but I'll
+      fight him&mdash;he can't prove it&mdash;it's only his word against mine,
+      and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The other shook his head again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's no good, Sammy,&rdquo; he said, a touch of sternness back in his tones
+      again. &ldquo;I told you it was open and shut. It's not only Al Gregor. One of
+      the gang got weak knees when I got him where I wanted him the other night,
+      and he swears that you are the one who DELIVERED the plate to them.
+      Between him and Gregor and what I know myself, I've got evidence enough
+      for any jury against every one of the rest of you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Horror, fear, helplessness seemed to mingle in the sick man's staring
+      eyes, and he swayed unsteadily upon his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm innocent!&rdquo; he screamed out. &ldquo;But I'm caught, I'm caught in a net, and
+      I can't get out&mdash;they lied to you&mdash;but no one will believe it
+      any more than you do and&mdash;and it means twenty years for me&mdash;oh,
+      God!&mdash;twenty years, and&mdash;&rdquo; His hands went wriggling to his
+      temples again, and he toppled back in a faint into the chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've killed him! You've killed my boy!&rdquo; the old lady shrieked out
+      piteously, and flung herself toward the senseless figure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man jumped for the table across the room, on which was a row of
+      bottles, snatched one up, drew the cork, smelled it, and ran back with the
+      bottle. He poured a little of the contents into his cupped hand, held it
+      under young Matthews' nostrils, and pushed the bottle into Mrs. Matthews'
+      hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bathe his forehead with this, Mrs. Matthews,&rdquo; he directed reassuringly.
+      &ldquo;He'll be all right again in a moment. There, see&mdash;he's coming around
+      now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a long, fluttering sigh, and Matthews opened his eyes; then a
+      moment's silence; and then he spoke, with an effort, with long pauses
+      between the words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am&mdash;I&mdash;to&mdash;go&mdash;now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The words seemed to ring absolute terror in the old lady's ears. She
+      turned, and dropped to her knees on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Kline, Mr. Kline,&rdquo; she sobbed out, &ldquo;oh, for God's love, don't take
+      him! Let him off, let him go! He's my boy&mdash;all I've got! You've got a
+      mother, haven't you? You know&mdash;&rdquo; The tears were streaming down the
+      sweet, old face again. &ldquo;Oh, won't you, for God's dear name, won't you let
+      him go? Won't&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop!&rdquo; the man cried huskily. He was mopping at his face with his
+      handkerchief. &ldquo;I thought I was case-hardened, I ought to be&mdash;but I
+      guess I'm not. But I've got to do my duty. You're only making it worse for
+      Sammy there, as well as me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her arms were around his knees now, clinging there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why can't you let him off!&rdquo; she pleaded hysterically. &ldquo;Why can't you! Why
+      can't you! Nobody would know, and I'd do anything&mdash;I'd pay anything&mdash;anything&mdash;I'll
+      give you ten&mdash;fifteen thousand dollars!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My poor woman,&rdquo; he said kindly, placing his hand on her head, &ldquo;you are
+      talking wildly. Apart altogether from the question of duty, even if I
+      succeeded in hushing the matter up, I would probably at least be suspected
+      and certainly discharged, and I have a family to support&mdash;and if I
+      were caught I'd get ten years in the Federal prison for it. I'm sorry for
+      this; I believe it's your boy's first offence, and if I could let him off
+      I would.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you can&mdash;you can!&rdquo; she burst out, rocking on her knees, clinging
+      tighter still to him, as though in a paroxysm of fear that he might
+      somehow elude her. &ldquo;It will kill him&mdash;it will kill my boy. And you
+      can save him! And even if they discharged you, what would that mean
+      against my boy's life! You wouldn't suffer, your family wouldn't suffer,
+      I'll&mdash;I'll take care of that&mdash;perhaps I could raise a little
+      more than fifteen thousand&mdash;but, oh, have pity, have mercy&mdash;don't
+      take him away!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man stared at her a moment, stared at the white face on the reclining
+      chair&mdash;and passed his hand heavily across his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will! You will!&rdquo; It came in a great surging cry of joy from the old
+      lady. &ldquo;You will&mdash;oh, thank God, thank God!&mdash;I can see it in your
+      face!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I guess I'm soft,&rdquo; he said huskily, and stooped and raised Mrs.
+      Matthews to her feet. &ldquo;Don't cry any more. It'll be all right&mdash;it'll
+      be all right. I'll&mdash;I'll fix it up somehow. I haven't made any
+      arrests yet, and&mdash;well, I'll take my chances. I'll get the plate and
+      turn it over to you to-morrow, only&mdash;only it's got to be destroyed in
+      my presence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes!&rdquo; she cried, trying to smile through her tears&mdash;and then
+      she flung her arms around her son's neck again. &ldquo;And when you come
+      to-morrow, I'll be ready with the money to do my share, too, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Sammy Matthews shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're wrong, both of you,&rdquo; he said weakly. &ldquo;You're a white man, Kline.
+      But destroying that plate won't save me. The minute a single note printed
+      from it shows up, they'll know back there in Washington that the plate was
+      stolen, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; you're safe enough there,&rdquo; the other interposed heavily. &ldquo;Knowing
+      what was up, you don't think I'd give the gang a chance to get them into
+      circulation, do you? I got them all when I got the plate. And&rdquo;&mdash;he
+      smiled a little anxiously&mdash;&ldquo;I'll bring them here to be destroyed with
+      the plate. It would finish me now, as well as you, if one of them ever
+      showed up. Say,&rdquo; he said suddenly, with a catch in his breath, &ldquo;I&mdash;I
+      don't think I know what I'm doing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Matthews reached out her hands to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What can I say to you!&rdquo; she said brokenly, &ldquo;What&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale drew back along the wall. A little way from the door he
+      quickened his pace, still moving, however, with extreme caution. They were
+      still talking behind him as he turned from the corridor into the
+      passageway leading to the store, and from there into the store itself. And
+      then suddenly, in spite of caution, his foot slipped on the bare floor. It
+      was not much&mdash;just enough to cause his other foot, poised tentatively
+      in air, to come heavily down, and a loud and complaining creak echoed from
+      the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's jaws snapped like a steel trap. From down the corridor came
+      a sudden, excited exclamation in the little old lady's voice, and then her
+      steps sounded running toward the store. In the fraction of a second Jimmie
+      Dale was at the front door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clumsy, blundering fool!&rdquo; he whispered fiercely to himself as he turned
+      the key, opened the door noiselessly until it was just ajar, and turned
+      the key in the lock again, leaving the bolt protruding out. One step
+      backward, and he was rapping on the counter with his knuckles. &ldquo;Isn't
+      anybody here?&rdquo; he called out loudly. &ldquo;Isn't any&mdash;oh!&rdquo;&mdash;as Mrs.
+      Matthews appeared in the back doorway. &ldquo;A package of cigarettes, please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stared at him, a little frightened, her eyes red and swollen with
+      recent crying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How&mdash;how did you get in here?&rdquo; she asked tremendously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon?&rdquo; inquired Jimmie Dale, in polite surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I locked the door&mdash;I'm sure I did,&rdquo; she said, more to
+      herself than to Jimmie Dale, and hurried across the floor to the door as
+      she spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale, still politely curious, turned to watch her. For a moment
+      bewilderment and a puzzled look were in her face&mdash;and then a sort of
+      surprised relief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must have turned the key in the lock without shutting the door tight,&rdquo;
+       she explained, &ldquo;for I knew I turned the key.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale bent forward to examine the lock&mdash;and nodded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he agreed, with a smile. &ldquo;I should say so.&rdquo; Then, gravely
+      courteous: &ldquo;I'm sorry to have intruded.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is nothing,&rdquo; she answered; and, evidently anxious to be rid of him,
+      moved quickly around behind the counter. &ldquo;What kind of cigarettes do you
+      want?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Egyptians&mdash;any kind,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, laying a bill on the
+      counter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He pocketed the cigarettes and his change, and turned to the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-evening,&rdquo; he said pleasantly&mdash;and went out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale smiled a little curiously, a little tolerantly. As he started
+      along the street, he heard the door of the little shop close with a sort
+      of supercareful bang, the key turned, and the latch rattle to try the door&mdash;the
+      little old lady was bent on making no mistake a second time!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then the smile left Jimmie Dale's lips, his face grew strained and
+      serious, and he broke into a run down the block to Sixth Avenue. Here he
+      paused for an instant&mdash;there was the elevated, the surface cars&mdash;which
+      would be the quicker? He looked up the avenue. There was no train coming;
+      the nearest surface car was blocks away. He bit his lips in vexation&mdash;and
+      then with a jump he was across the street and hailing a passing taxicab
+      that his eyes had just lighted on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Got a fare?&rdquo; called Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sir,&rdquo; answered the chauffeur, bumping his car to an abrupt halt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale ran alongside, and yanked the door open. &ldquo;Do you know
+      where the Palace Saloon on the Bowery is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; replied the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale held a ten-dollar bank note up before the chauffeur's eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Earn that in four minutes, then,&rdquo; he snapped&mdash;and sprang into the
+      cab.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The taxicab swerved around on little better than two wheels, started on a
+      mad dash down the Avenue&mdash;and Jimmie Dale braced himself grimly in
+      his seat. The cab swerved again, tore across Waverly Place, circuited
+      Washington Square, crossed Broadway, and whirled finally into the upper
+      end of the Bowery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale spoke once&mdash;to himself&mdash;plaintively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's too bad I can't let old Carruthers in on this for a scoop with his
+      precious MORNING NEWS-ARGUS&mdash;but if I get out of it alive myself,
+      I'll do well! Wonder if the day'll ever come when he finds out that his
+      very dear friend and old college pal, Jimmie Dale, is the Gray Seal that
+      he's turned himself inside out for about four years now to catch, and that
+      he'd trade his soul with the devil any time to lay hands on! Good old
+      Carruthers! 'The most puzzling, bewildering, delightful crook in the
+      annals of crime'&mdash;am I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cab drew up at the curb. Jimmie Dale sprang out, shoved the bill into
+      the chauffeur's hand, stepped quickly across the sidewalk, and pushed his
+      way through the swinging doors of the Palace Saloon. Inside leisurely and
+      nonchalantly, he walked down past the length of the bar to a door at the
+      rear. This opened into a passageway that led to the side entrance of the
+      saloon on the cross street. Jimmie Dale emerged from the side entrance,
+      crossed the street, retraced his steps to the Bowery, crossed over, and
+      walked rapidly down that thoroughfare for two blocks. Here he turned east
+      into the cross street; and here, once more, his pace became leisurely and
+      unhurried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a strange coincidence, though possibly a very happy one,&rdquo; said
+      Jimmie Dale, as he walked along, &ldquo;that it should be on the same street as
+      the Sanctuary&mdash;ah, this ought to be the place!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An alleyway, corresponding to the one that flanked the tenement where, as
+      Larry the Bat, he had paid room rent as a tenant for several years, in
+      fact, the alleyway next above it, and but a short block away, intersected
+      the street, narrow, black, and uninviting. Jimmie Dale, as he passed,
+      peered down its length.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No light&mdash;that's good!&rdquo; commented Jimmie Dale to himself. Then:
+      &ldquo;Window opens on alleyway ten feet from ground&mdash;shoe store, Russian
+      Jew, in basement&mdash;go in front door&mdash;straight hallway&mdash;room
+      at end&mdash;Russian Jew probably accomplice&mdash;be careful that he does
+      not hear you moving overhead&rdquo;&mdash;Jimmie Dale's mind, with that curious
+      faculty of his, was subconsciously repeating snatches from her letter word
+      for word, even as he noted the dimly lighted, untidy, and disorderly
+      interior of what, from strings of leather slippers that decorated the
+      cellarlike entrance, was evidently a cheap and shoddy shoe store in the
+      basement of the building.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The building itself was rickety and tumble-down, three stories high, and
+      given over undoubtedly to gregarious foreigners of the poorer class, a
+      rabbit burrow, as it were, having a multitude of roomers and lodgers.
+      There was nothing ominous or even secretive about it&mdash;up the short
+      flight of steps to the entrance, even the door hung carelessly half open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's slouch hat was pulled a little farther down over his eyes as
+      he mounted the steps and entered the hallway. He listened a moment. A sort
+      of subdued, querulous hubbub seemed to hum through the place, as voices,
+      men's, women's, and children's, echoing out from their various rooms
+      above, mingled together, and floated down the stairways in a discordant
+      medley. Jimmie Dale stepped lightly down the length of the hall&mdash;and
+      listened again; this time intently, with his ear to the keyhole of the
+      door that made the end of the passage. There was not a sound from within.
+      He tried the door, smiled a little as he reached for his keys, worked over
+      the lock&mdash;and straightened up suddenly as his ear caught a descending
+      step on the stairs. It was two flights up, however&mdash;and the door was
+      unlocked now. Jimmie Dale opened it, and, like a shadow, slipped inside;
+      and, as he locked the door behind him, smiled once more&mdash;the door
+      lock was but a paltry makeshift at best, but INSIDE his fingers had
+      touched a massive steel bolt that, when shot home, would yield when the
+      door itself yielded&mdash;and not before. Without moving the bolt, he
+      turned&mdash;and his flashlight for a moment swept the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not much like the way they describe this sort of place in storybooks!&rdquo;
+       murmured Jimmie Dale capriciously. &ldquo;But I get the idea. Mr. Russian Jew
+      downstairs makes a bluff at using it for a storeroom.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again the flashlight made a circuit. Here, there, and everywhere,
+      seemingly without any attempt at order, were piles of wooden shipping
+      cases. Only the centre of the room was clear and empty; that, and a vacant
+      space against the wall by the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale, moving without sound, went to the window. There was a shade
+      on it, and it was pulled down. He reached up underneath it, felt for the
+      window fastening, and unlocked it; then cautiously tested the window
+      itself by lifting it an inch or two&mdash;it slid easily in its grooves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood then for a moment, hardfaced, a frown gathering his forehead into
+      heavy furrows, as the flashlight's ray again and again darted hither and
+      thither. There was nothing, absolutely nothing in the room but wooden
+      packing cases. He lifted the cover of the one nearest to him and looked
+      inside. It was quite empty, except for some pieces of heavy cord, and a
+      few cardboard shoe boxes that, in turn, were empty, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's here, of course,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale thoughtfully to himself. &ldquo;Clever
+      work, too! But I can't move half a hundred packing cases without that chap
+      below hearing me; and I can't do it in ten minutes, either, which, I
+      imagine is the outside limit of time. Fortunately, though, these cases are
+      not without their compensation&mdash;a dozen men could hide here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He began to move about the room. And now he stooped before one pile of
+      boxes and then another, curiously attempting to lift up the entire pile
+      from the bottom. Some he could not move; others, by exerting all his
+      strength, gave a little; and then, finally, over in one corner, he found a
+      pile that appeared to answer his purpose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These are certainly empty,&rdquo; he muttered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was just room to squeeze through between them and the next stack of
+      cases alongside; but, once through, by the simple expedient of moving the
+      cases out a little to take advantage of the angle made by the corner of
+      the room, he obtained ample space to stand comfortably upright against the
+      wall. But Jimmie Dale was not satisfied yet. Could he see out into the
+      room? He experimented with his flashlight&mdash;and carefully shifted the
+      screen of cases before him a little to one side. And yet still he was not
+      satisfied. With a sort of ironical droop at the corners of his lips, as
+      though suddenly there had flashed upon him the inspiration that fathered
+      one of those whimsical ideas and fancies that were so essentially a
+      characteristic of Jimmie Dale, he came out from behind the cases, went
+      across the room to the case he had opened when he first entered, took out
+      the cord and the cover of one of the cardboard shoe boxes, and with these
+      returned to his hiding place once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sounds from the upper stories of the tenement now reached him hardly
+      at all; but from below, directly under his feet almost, he could hear some
+      one, the proprietor of the shoe store probably, walking about.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tense, every faculty now on the alert, his head turned in a strained,
+      attentive attitude, Jimmie Dale threw on the flashlight's tiny switch,
+      took that intimate and thin metal case from his pocket, extracted a
+      diamond-shaped, gray paper seal with the little tweezers, moistened the
+      adhesive side, and stuck it in the centre of the white cardboard-box
+      cover, then tore the edges of the cardboard down until the whole was just
+      small enough to slip into his pocket. Through the cardboard he looped a
+      piece of cord, placard fashion, and with his pencil printed the four words&mdash;&ldquo;with
+      the compliments of &ldquo;&mdash;above the gray seal. He surveyed the result
+      with a grim, mirthless chuckle&mdash;and put the piece of cardboard in his
+      pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm taking the longest chances I ever took in my life,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale
+      very seriously to himself, as his fingers twisted, and doubled, and tied
+      the remaining pieces of cord together, and finally fashioned a running
+      noose in one end. &ldquo;I don't&mdash;&rdquo; The cord and the flashlight went into
+      his pocket, the room was in darkness, the black mask was whipped from his
+      breast pocket and adjusted to his face, and his automatic was in his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Came the creak of a footstep, as though on a ladder exactly below him,
+      another, and another, receding curiously in its direction, yet at the same
+      time growing louder in sound as if nearer the floor&mdash;then a crack of
+      light showed in the floor in the centre of the room. This held for an
+      instant, then expanded suddenly into a great luminous square&mdash;and
+      through a trapdoor, opened wide now, a man's head appeared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's eyes, fixed through the space between the piles of cases,
+      narrowed&mdash;there was, indeed, little doubt but that the shoe-store
+      proprietor below was an accomplice! The store served a most convenient
+      purpose in every respect&mdash;as a secret means of entry into the room,
+      as a sort of guarantee of innocence for the room itself. Why not! To the
+      superficial observer, to the man who might by some chance blunder into the
+      room&mdash;it was but an adjunct of the store itself!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man in the trap-doorway paused with his shoulders above the floor,
+      looked around, listened, then drew himself up, walked across the floor,
+      and shot the heavy bolt on the door that led into the hallway of the
+      house. He returned then to the trapdoor, bent over it, and whistled
+      softly. Two more men, in answer to the summons, came up into the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Cap'll be along in a minute,&rdquo; one of them said. &ldquo;Turn on the light.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A switch clicked, flooding the room with sudden brilliancy from half a
+      dozen electric bulbs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too many!&rdquo; grunted the same voice again. &ldquo;We ain't working to-night&mdash;turn
+      out half of 'em.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The sudden transition from the darkness for a moment dazzled Jimmie Dale's
+      eyes&mdash;but the next moment he was searching the faces of the three
+      men. There were few crooks, few denizens of the crime world below the now
+      obsolete but still famous dead line that, as Larry the Bat, he did not
+      know at least by sight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Moulton, Whitie Burns, and Marty Dean,&rdquo; confided Jimmie Dale softly to
+      himself. &ldquo;And I don't know of any worse, except&mdash;the Cap. And gun
+      fighters, every one of them, too&mdash;nice odds, to say nothing of&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here's the Cap now!&rdquo; announced one of the three. &ldquo;Hello, Cap, where'd you
+      raise the mustache?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted to the trapdoor, and into them crept a
+      contemptuous and sardonic smile&mdash;the man who was coming up now and
+      hoisting himself to the floor was the man who, half an hour before, had
+      threatened young Sammy Matthews with arrest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Cap, alias Bert Malone, alias a score of other names, closed the
+      trapdoor after him, pulled off his mustache and gray wig, tucked them in
+      his pocket, and faced his companions brusquely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind about the mustache,&rdquo; he said curtly. &ldquo;Get busy, the lot of
+      you. Stir around and get the works out!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What for?&rdquo; inquired Whitie Burns, a sharp, ferret-faced little man. &ldquo;We
+      got enough of the old stuff on hand now, and that bum break Gregor made
+      when he pinched the cracked plate put the finish on that. Say, Cap&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Close your face, Whitie, and get the works out!&rdquo; Malone cut in shortly.
+      &ldquo;We've only got the whole night ahead of us&mdash;but we'll need it all.
+      We're going to run the queer off that cracked plate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      One of the others, Marty Dean this time, a certain brutal aggressiveness
+      in both features and physique, edged forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, what's the lay?&rdquo; he demanded. &ldquo;A joke? We printed one fiver off that
+      plate&mdash;and then we knew enough to quit. With that crack along the
+      corner, you couldn't pass 'em on a blind man! And Gregor saying he thought
+      we could patch the plate up enough to get by with gives me a pain&mdash;he's
+      got jingles in his dome factory! Run them fivers eh&mdash;say, are you
+      cracked, too?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, forget it!&rdquo; observed Malone caustically. &ldquo;Who's running this gang?&rdquo;
+       Then, with a malicious grin: &ldquo;I got a customer for those fivers&mdash;fifteen
+      thousand dollars for all we can turn out to-night. See?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The others stared at him for a moment, incredulity and greed mingling in a
+      curious half-hesitant, half-expectant look on their faces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Whitie Burns spoke, circling his lips with the tip of his tongue:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;D'ye mean it, Cap&mdash;honest? What's the lay? How'd you work it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Malone, unbending with the sensation he had created, grinned again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Easy enough,&rdquo; he said offhandedly. &ldquo;It was like falling off a log. Gregor
+      said, didn't he, that the only way he had been able to get his claws on
+      that plate was on account of young Matthews going away sick&mdash;eh?
+      Well, the old Matthews woman, his mother, has got money&mdash;about
+      fifteen thousand. I guess she ain't got any more than that, or I'd have
+      raised the ante. Aw, it was easy. She threw it at me. I framed one up on
+      them, that's all. I'm Kline, of the secret service&mdash;see? I don't
+      suppose they'd ever seen him, though they'd know his name fast enough, but
+      I made up something like him. I showed them where I had a case against
+      Sammy for pinching the plate that was strong enough to put a hundred
+      innocent men behind the bars. Of course, he knew well enough he was
+      innocent, but he could see the twenty years I showed him with both eyes.
+      Say, he mussed all over the place, and went and fainted like a girl. And
+      then the old woman came across with an offer of fifteen thousand for the
+      plate, and corrupted me.&rdquo; Malone's cunning, vicious face, now that the
+      softening effects of the gray hair and mustache were gone, seemed
+      accentuated diabolically by the grin broadening into a laugh, as he
+      guffawed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marty Dean's hand swung with a bang to Malone's shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, Cap&mdash;say, you're all right!&rdquo; he exclaimed excitedly. &ldquo;You're
+      the boy! But what's the good of running anything off the plate before
+      turning it over to 'em&mdash;the stuff's no good to us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You got a wooden nut, with sawdust for brains,&rdquo; said Malone
+      sarcastically. &ldquo;If he'd thought the gang of counterfeiters that was
+      supposed to have bought the plate from him had run off only one fiver and
+      then stopped because they say it wouldn't get by, and weren't going to run
+      any more, and just destroy the plate like it was supposed to have been
+      destroyed to begin with, and it all end up with no one the wiser, where
+      d'ye think we'd have banked that fifteen thousand! I told him I had the
+      whole run confiscated, and that the queer went with the plate, so we'll
+      just make that little run to-night&mdash;that's why I sent word around to
+      you this morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the jumping!&rdquo; ejaculated Whitie Burns, heavy with admiration. &ldquo;You got
+      a head on you, Cap!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a good thing for some of you that I have,&rdquo; returned Malone
+      complacently. &ldquo;But don't stand jawing all night. Go on, now&mdash;get
+      busy!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no surprise in Jimmie Dale's face&mdash;he had chosen his
+      position behind a pile of cases that he had been extremely careful, as a
+      man is careful when his life hangs in the balance, to assure himself were
+      empty. None of the four came near or touched the pile behind which he
+      stood; but, here and there about the room, they pulled this one and that
+      one out from various stacks. In scarcely more than a moment, the room was
+      completely transformed. It was no longer a storeroom for surplus stock,
+      for the storage of bulky and empty packing cases! From the cases the men
+      had picked out, like a touch of magic, appeared a veritable printing
+      plant, an elaborate engraver's outfit&mdash;a highly efficient foot-power
+      press, rapidly being assembled by Whitie Burns; an electric dryer, inks, a
+      pile of white, silk-threaded bank-note paper, a cutter, and a score of
+      other appurtenances.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale very gently to himself. &ldquo;Yes, quite so&mdash;but
+      the plate? Ah!&rdquo; Malone was taking it out from the middle of a bundle of
+      old newspapers, loosely tied together, that he had lifted from one of the
+      cases.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's eyes fastened on it&mdash;and from that instant never left
+      it. A minute passed, two, three of them&mdash;the four men were silently
+      busy about the room&mdash;Malone was carefully cleaning the plate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They will raid to-night. Look out for Kline, he is the sharpest man in
+      the United State secret service&rdquo;&mdash;the warning in her letter was
+      running through Jimmie Dale's mind. Kline&mdash;the real Kline&mdash;was
+      going to raid the place to-night. When? At what time? It must be nearly
+      eleven o'clock already, and&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It came sudden, quick as the crack of doom&mdash;a terrific crash against
+      the bolted door&mdash;but the door, undoubtedly to the surprise of those
+      without, held fast, thanks to the bolt. The four men, white-faced, seemed
+      for an instant turned to statues. Came another crash against the door&mdash;and
+      a sharp, imperative order to those within to open it and surrender.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We're pinched! Beat it!&rdquo; whispered Whitie Burns wildly&mdash;and dashed
+      for the trapdoor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like a rat for its hole, Marty Dean followed. Malone, farther away,
+      dropped the plate on the floor, and rushed, with Moulton beside him, after
+      the others&mdash;but he never reached the trapdoor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Over the crashing blows, raining now in quick succession on the door of
+      the room, over a startled commotion as lodgers, roomers, and tenants on
+      the floor above awoke into frightened activity with shouts and cries, came
+      the louder crash of a pile of packing boxes hurled to the floor. And over
+      them, vaulting those scattered in his way, Jimmie Dale sprang at Malone.
+      The man reeled back, with a cry. Moulton dashed through the trapdoor and
+      disappeared. The short, ugly barrel of Jimmie Dale's automatic was between
+      Malone's eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You make a move,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, in a low sibilant way, &ldquo;and I'll drop
+      you where you stand! Put your hands behind your back&mdash;palms
+      together!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Malone, dazed, cowed, obeyed. A panel of the door split and rent down its
+      length&mdash;the hinges were sagging. Jimmie Dale worked like lightning.
+      The cord with the slip noose from his pocket went around Malone's wrists,
+      jerked tight, and knotted; the placard, his lips grim, with no sign of
+      humour, Jimmie Dale dangled around the man's neck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An introduction for you to Mr. Kline out there&mdash;that you seem so
+      fond of!&rdquo; gritted Jimmie Dale. Then, working as he talked: &ldquo;I've got no
+      time to tell you what I think of you, you pitiful hound&rdquo;&mdash;he snatched
+      up the plate from the floor and put it in his pocket&mdash;&ldquo;Twenty years,
+      I think you said, didn't you?&rdquo;&mdash;his hand shot into Malone's
+      pocket-book, and extracted the five-dollar note&mdash;&ldquo;If you can open
+      this with your toes maybe you can get a way&rdquo;&mdash;he wrenched the
+      trapdoor over and slammed it shut&mdash;&ldquo;good-night, Malone&rdquo;&mdash;and he
+      leaped for the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door tottered inward from the top, ripping, tearing, smashing hinges,
+      panels, and jamb. Jimmie Dale got a blurred vision of brass buttons, blue
+      coats, and helmets, and, in the forefront, of a stocky, gray-mustached,
+      gray-haired man in plain clothes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale threw up the window, swung out, as with a rush the officers
+      burst through into the room and a revolver bullet hummed viciously past
+      his ear, and dropped to the ground&mdash;into encircling arms!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, no, you don't, my bucko!&rdquo; snapped a hoarse voice in his ear. &ldquo;Keep
+      quiet now, or I'll crack your bean&mdash;understand!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But the officer, too heavy to be muscular, was no match for Jimmie Dale,
+      who, even as he had dropped from the sill, had caught sight of the lurking
+      form below; and now, with a quick, sudden, lithe movement he wriggled
+      loose, his fist from a short-arm jab smashed upon the point of the other's
+      jaw, sending the man staggering backward&mdash;and Jimmie Dale ran.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A crowd was already collecting at the mouth of the alleyway, mostly
+      occupants of the house itself, and into these, scattering them in all
+      directions, eluding dexterously another officer who made a grab for him,
+      Jimmie Dale charged at top speed, burst through, and headed down the
+      street, running like a deer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yells went up, a revolver spat venomously behind him, came the shrill
+      CHEEP-CHEEP! of the police whistle, and heavy boots pounding the pavement
+      in pursuit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Down the block Jimmie Dale raced. The yells augmented in his rear. Another
+      shot&mdash;and this time he heard the bullet buzz. And then he swerved&mdash;into
+      the next alleyway&mdash;that flanked the Sanctuary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had perhaps a ten yards' lead, just a little more than the distance
+      from the street to the side door of the Sanctuary that opened on the
+      alleyway. And, as he ran now, his fingers tore at his clothing, loosening
+      his tie, unbuttoning coat, vest, collar, shirt, and undershirt. He leaped
+      at the door, swung it open, flung himself inside&mdash;and then
+      sacrificing speed to silence, went up the stairs like a cat, cramming his
+      mask now into his pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His room was on the first landing. In an instant he had unlocked the door,
+      entered, and locked it again behind him. From outside, an excited street
+      urchin's voice shrilled up to him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He went in that door! I seen him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The police whistle chirped again; and then an authoritative voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get around and watch the saloon back of this, Heeney&mdash;there's a way
+      out through there from this joint.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale, divested of every stitch of clothing that he had worn, pulled
+      a disreputable collarless flannel shirt over his head, pulled on a dirty
+      and patched pair of trousers, and slipped into a threadbare and filthy
+      coat. Jimmie Dale was working against seconds. They were at the lower door
+      now. He lifted the oilcloth in the corner of the room, lifted up the loose
+      piece of the flooring, shoved his discarded garments inside, and from a
+      little box that was there smeared the hollow of his hand with some black
+      substance, possessed himself of two little articles, replaced the
+      flooring, replaced the oilcloth, and, in bare feet, stole across the room
+      to the door. Against the door, without a sound, Jimmie Dale placed a
+      chair, and on the chair seat he laid the two little articles he had been
+      carrying in his hand. It was intensely black in the room, but Jimmie Dale
+      needed no light here. From under the bed he pulled out a pair of woolen
+      socks and a pair of congress boots, both as disreputable as the rest of
+      his attire, put them on&mdash;and very quietly, softly, cautiously,
+      stretched himself out on the bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The officers were at the top of the stairs. A voice barked out:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stand guard on this landing, Peters. Higgins, you take the one above.
+      We'll start from the top of the house and work down. Allow no one to pass
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir! Very good, Mr. Kline,&rdquo; was the response.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kline!&mdash;the sharpest man in the United States secret service, she had
+      said. Jimmie Dale's lips set.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm glad I had no shave this morning,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale grimly to
+      himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His fingers were working with the black substance in the hollow of his
+      hand&mdash;and the long, slim, tapering fingers, the shapely,
+      well-cared-for hands grew unkempt and grimy, black beneath the finger
+      nails&mdash;and a little, too, played its part on the day's growth of
+      beard, a little around the throat and at the nape of the neck, a little
+      across the forehead to meet the locks of straggling and disordered hair.
+      Jimmie Dale wiped the residue from the hollow of his hand on the knee of
+      his trousers&mdash;and lay still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An officer paced outside. Upstairs doors opened and closed. Gruff, harsh
+      tones in commands echoed through the house. The search party descended to
+      the second floor&mdash;and again the same sounds were repeated. And then,
+      thumping down the creaking stairs, they stopped before Jimmie Dale's room.
+      Some one tried the door, and, finding it locked, rattled it violently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Open the door!&rdquo; It was Kline's voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's eyes were closed, and he was breathing regularly, though
+      just a little slower than in natural respiration.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Break it down!&rdquo; ordered Kline tersely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a rush at it&mdash;and it gave. It surged inward, knocked
+      against the chair, upset the latter, something tinkled to the floor&mdash;and
+      four officers, with Kline at their head, jumped into the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale never moved. A flashlight played around the room and focused
+      upon him&mdash;and then he was shaken roughly&mdash;only to fall inertly
+      back on the bed again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess this is all right, Mr. Kline,&rdquo; said one of the officers. &ldquo;It's
+      Larry the Bat, and he's doped to the eyes. There's the stuff on the floor
+      we knocked off the chair.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Light the gas!&rdquo; directed Kline curtly; and, being obeyed, stooped to the
+      floor and picked up a hypodermic syringe and a small bottle. He held the
+      bottle to the light, and read the label: LIQUOR MORPHINAE. &ldquo;Shake him
+      again!&rdquo; he commanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      None too gently, a policeman caught Jimmie Dale by the shoulder and shook
+      him vigorously&mdash;again Jimmie Dale, once the other let go his hold,
+      fell back limply on the bed, breathing in that same, slightly slowed way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Larry the Bat, eh?&rdquo; grunted Kline; then, to the officer who had
+      volunteered the information: &ldquo;Who's Larry the Bat? What is he? And how
+      long have you known him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know who he is any more than what you can see there for
+      yourself,&rdquo; replied the officer. &ldquo;He's a dope fiend, and I guess a pretty
+      tough case, though we've never had him up for anything. He's lived here
+      ever since I've been on the beat, and that's three years or&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right!&rdquo; interrupted Kline crisply. &ldquo;He's no good to us! You say
+      there's an exit from this house into that saloon at the back?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir but the fellow, whoever he is, couldn't get away from there.
+      Heeney's been over on guard from the start.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then he's still inside there,&rdquo; said Kline, clipping off his words. &ldquo;We'll
+      search the saloon. Nice night's work this is! One out of the whole gang&mdash;and
+      that one with the compliments of the Gray Seal!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The men went out and began to descend the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale to himself, still motionless, still breathing in
+      that slow way so characteristic of the drug. &ldquo;Two. Three. Four.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The minutes went by&mdash;a quarter of an hour&mdash;a half hour. Still
+      Jimmie Dale lay there&mdash;still motionless&mdash;still breathing with
+      slow regularity. His muscles began to cramp, to give him exquisite
+      torture. Around him all was silence&mdash;only distant sounds from the
+      street reached him, muffled, and at intervals. Another quarter of an hour
+      passed&mdash;an eternity of torment. It seemed to Jimmie Dale, for all his
+      will power, that he could not hold himself in check, that he must move,
+      scream out even in the torture that was passing all endurance. It was
+      silent now, utterly silent&mdash;and then out of the silence, just outside
+      his door, a footstep creaked&mdash;and a man walked to the stairs and went
+      down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Five,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale to himself. &ldquo;The sharpest man in the United
+      States secret service.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And then for the first time Jimmie Dale moved&mdash;to wipe away the beads
+      of sweat that had sprung out upon his forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER V
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE AFFAIR OF THE PUSHCART MAN
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Larry the Bat shambled out of the side door of the tenement into the back
+      alleyway; shambled along the black alleyway to the street&mdash;and smiled
+      a little grimly as a shadow across the roadway suddenly shifted its
+      position. The game was growing acute, critical, desperate even&mdash;and
+      it was his move.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Larry the Bat, disreputable denizen of the underworld, alias Jimmie Dale,
+      millionaires' clubman, alias the Gray Seal, whom Carruthers of the MORNING
+      NEWS-ARGUS called the master criminal of the age, shuffled along in the
+      direction of the Bowery, his hands plunged deep in the pockets of his
+      frayed and tattered trousers, where his fingers, in a curious, wistful
+      way, fondled the keys of his own magnificent residence on Riverside Drive.
+      It was his move&mdash;and it was an impasse, ironical, sardonic, and it
+      was worse&mdash;it was full of peril.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      True, he had outwitted Kline of the secret service two nights before, when
+      Kline had raided the counterfeiters' den; true, he had no reason to
+      believe that Kline suspected HIM specifically, but the man Kline wanted
+      HAD entered the tenement that night, and since then the house had been
+      shadowed day and night. The result was both simple and disastrous&mdash;to
+      Jimmie Dale. Larry the Bat, a known inmate of the house, might come and go
+      as he pleased&mdash;but to emerge from the Sanctuary in the person of
+      Jimmie Dale would be fatal. Kline had been outwitted, but Kline had not
+      acknowledged final defeat. The tenement had been searched from top to
+      bottom&mdash;unostentatiously. His own room on the first landing had been
+      searched the previous afternoon, when he was out, but they had failed to
+      find the cunningly contrived opening in the floor under the oilcloth in
+      the corner, an impromptu wardrobe, that would proclaim Larry the Bat and
+      Jimmie Dale to be one and the same person&mdash;that would inevitably lead
+      further to the establishment of his identity as the Gray Seal. In time, of
+      course, the surveillance would cease&mdash;but he could not wait. That was
+      the monumental irony of it&mdash;the factor that, all unknown to Kline,
+      was forcing the issue hard now. It was his move.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Since, years ago now, as the Gray Seal, he had begun to work with HER,
+      that unknown, mysterious accomplice of his, and the police, stung to
+      madness both by the virulent and constant attacks of the press and by the
+      humiliating prod of their own failures, sought daily, high and low, with
+      every resource at their command, for the Gray Seal, he had never been in
+      quite so strange and perilous a plight as he found himself at that moment.
+      To preserve inviolate the identity of Larry the Bat was absolutely vital
+      to his safety. It was the one secret that even she, who so strangely
+      appeared to know all else about him, he was sure, had not discovered&mdash;and
+      it was just that, in a way, that had brought the present impossible
+      situation to pass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the month previous, in a lull between those letters of hers, he had set
+      himself doggedly and determinedly to the renewed task of what had become
+      so dominantly now a part of his very existence&mdash;the solving of HER
+      identity. And for that month, as the best means to the end&mdash;means,
+      however, that only resulted as futilely as the attempts that had gone
+      before&mdash;he had lived mostly as Larry the Bat, returning to his home
+      in his proper person only when occasion and necessity demanded it. He had
+      been going home that evening, two nights before, walking along Riverside
+      Drive, when from the window of the limousine she had dropped the letter at
+      his feet that had plunged him into the affair of the Counterfeit Five&mdash;and
+      he had not gone home! Eventually, to save himself, he had, in the
+      Sanctuary, performing the transformation in desperate haste, again been
+      forced to assume the role of Larry the Bat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That was really the gist of it. And yesterday morning he had remembered,
+      to his dismay, that he had had little or no money left the night before.
+      He had intended, of course, to replenish his supply&mdash;when he got
+      home. Only he hadn't gone home! And now he needed money&mdash;needed it
+      badly, desperately. With thousands in the bank, with abundance even in his
+      safe, in his own den at home, a supply kept there always for an emergency,
+      he was facing actual want&mdash;he rattled two dimes, a nickel, and a few
+      odd pennies thoughtfully against the keys in his pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To a certain extent, old Jason, his butler, could be trusted. Jason even
+      knew that mysterious letters of tremendous secretive importance came to
+      the house, and the old man always meant well&mdash;but he dared not trust
+      even Jason with the secret of his dual personality. What was he to do? He
+      needed money imperatively&mdash;at once. Thanks to Kline, for the time
+      being, at least, he could not rid himself of the personality of Larry the
+      Bat by the simple expedient or slipping into the clothes of Jimmie Dale&mdash;he
+      must live, act, and remain Larry the Bat until the secret service officer
+      gave up the hunt. How bridge the gulf between Jimmie Dale and Larry the
+      Bat in old Jason's eyes!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nor was that all. There was still another matter, and one that, in order
+      to counteract it, demanded at once a serious inroad&mdash;to the extent of
+      a telephone call&mdash;upon his slender capital. A too prolonged and
+      unaccounted-for absence from home, and old Jason, in his anxious,
+      blundering solicitude, would have the fat in the fire at that end&mdash;and
+      the city, and the social firmament thereof, would be humming with the
+      startling news of the disappearance of a well-known millionaire. The
+      complications that would then ensue, with himself powerless to lift a
+      finger, Jimmie Dale did not care to think about&mdash;such a contretemps
+      must at all hazards be prevented.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale reached the corner of the street, where it intersected the
+      Bowery, and paused languidly by the curb. No one appeared to be following.
+      He had not expected that there would be&mdash;but it was as well to be
+      sure. He walked then a few steps along the Bowery&mdash;and slipped
+      suddenly into a doorway, from where he could command a view of the street
+      corner that he had just left. At the end of ten minutes, satisfied that no
+      one had any concern in his immediate movements, he shambled on again down
+      the Bowery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a saloon two blocks away that boasted a private telephone booth.
+      Jimmie Dale made that his destination.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Larry the Bat was a very well-known character in that resort, and the
+      bullet-headed dispenser of drinks behind the bar nodded unctuously to him
+      over the heads of those clustered at the rail as he entered; Larry the
+      Bat, as befitted one of the elite of the underworld, was graciously
+      pleased to acknowledge the proletariat salutation with a curt nod. He
+      walked down to the end of the room, entered the telephone booth&mdash;and
+      was carelessly careful to close the door tightly behind him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He gave the number of his residence on Riverside Drive, and waited for the
+      connection. After some delay, Jason's voice answered him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jason,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, in matter-of-fact tones, &ldquo;I shall be out of the
+      city for another three or four days, possibly a week, and&mdash;&rdquo; he
+      stopped abruptly, as a sort of gasp came to him over the wire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank God that's you, sir!&rdquo; exclaimed the old butler wildly. &ldquo;I've been
+      near mad, sir, all day!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't get excited, Jason!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale a little sharply. &ldquo;The mere
+      matter of my absence for the last two days is nothing to cause you any
+      concern. And while I am on the subject, Jason, let me say now that I shall
+      be glad if you will bear that fact in mind in future.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; stammered Jason. &ldquo;But, sir, it ain't that&mdash;good Lord,
+      Master Jim, it ain't that, sir! It's&mdash;it's one of them letters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Something like a galvanic shock seemed to jerk the disreputable,
+      loose-jointed frame of Larry the Bat suddenly erect&mdash;and a strained
+      whiteness crept over the dirty, unwashed face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go on, Jason,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, without a quiver in his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It came this morning, sir&mdash;that shuffer with his automobile left it.
+      I had just time to say you weren't at home, sir, and he was gone. And
+      then, sir, there ain't been an hour gone by all through the day that a
+      woman, sir&mdash;a lady, begging your pardon, Master Jim&mdash;hasn't rung
+      up on the telephone, asking if you were back, and if I could get you, and
+      where you were, and half frantic, sir, half sobbing, sometimes, sir, and
+      saying there was a life hanging on it, Master Jim.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Larry the Bat, staring into the mouthpiece of the instrument,
+      subconsciously passed his hand across his forehead, and subconsciously
+      noted that his fingers, as he drew them away, were damp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is the letter now, Jason?&rdquo; inquired Jimmie Dale coolly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here on your desk, Master Jim. Shall I bring it to you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Bring it to him! How? When? Where? Bring it to him! The ghastly irony of
+      it! Jimmie Dale tried to think&mdash;prodding, spurring desperately that
+      keen, lightning brain of his that had never failed him yet. How bridge the
+      gulf between Larry the Bat and Jimmie Dale in Jason's eyes&mdash;not just
+      for the replenishing of funds now, but with a life at stake!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;I think not, Jason,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale calmly. &ldquo;Just leave it
+      where it is. And if she telephones again, say that you have told me&mdash;that
+      will be sufficient to satisfy any further inquiries. And Jason&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If she telephones again, try and find out where the call comes from.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't forgotten what you said once, Master Jim, sir,&rdquo; said the old
+      man eagerly. &ldquo;And I've been trying that sir, all day. They've all come
+      from different pay stations, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A mirthless little smile tinged Jimmie Dale's lips. Of course! He might
+      have known! It was always that way, always the same. He was as near to the
+      solution of her identity at that moment as he had been years ago, when
+      she, in some mysterious way, alone of all the world, had identified him as
+      the Gray Seal!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very good, Jason,&rdquo; he said quietly. &ldquo;Don't bother about it any more. It
+      will be all right. You can expect me when you see me. Good-night.&rdquo; He hung
+      the receiver on the hook, walked out of the booth, and mechanically
+      reached the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All right! It was far from &ldquo;all right&rdquo;&mdash;very far from it. It was no
+      trivial thing, that letter; they never had been trivial things, those
+      letters of hers, that involved so often a matter of life and death&mdash;as
+      this one now, perhaps, as her actions would seem to indicate, involved
+      life and death more urgently than any that had gone before. It was far
+      from all right&mdash;at a moment when his own position, his own safety,
+      was at best but a desperate chance; when his every energy, brain, wit, and
+      cunning were taxed to the utmost to save himself! And yet, somehow, some
+      way, at any cost, he must get that letter&mdash;and at any cost he must
+      act upon it! To fail her was to fail utterly in everything that failure in
+      its most miserable, its widest sense, implied&mdash;failure in that which
+      rose paramount to every other consideration in life!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fail her! Jimmie Dale's lips thinned into a hard, drawn line&mdash;and
+      then parted slowly in a curiously whimsical smile. It would be a strange
+      burglary that he had decided upon, in order that he might not fail her&mdash;stranger
+      than any the Gray Seal had ever committed, and, in some respects, even
+      more perilous!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He started along the Bowery, walking briskly now, toward the nearest
+      subway station, at Astor Place, his mind for the moment electing to face
+      the situation in a humour as whimsical as his smile. Supposing that, as
+      Larry the Bat, he were caught and arrested during the next hour, in
+      Jimmie's Dale's residence on Riverside Drive! With his arrest as Larry the
+      Bat, Jimmie's Dale would automatically disappear. Would follow then the
+      suspicion that Jimmie Dale, the millionaire, had met with foul play, and
+      as time went on, and Jimmie Dale, being then in prison as Larry the Bat,
+      did not reappear, the assurance of it; then the certainty that suspicion
+      would focus on Larry the Bat as being connected with the millionaire's
+      death, since Larry the Bat had been caught in Jimmie Dale's home&mdash;and
+      he would be accused of his own murder! It was quite humourous, of course,
+      quite grotesquely bizarre&mdash;but it was equally an exceedingly grim
+      possibility! There were drawbacks to a dual personality!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In a word,&rdquo; confided Jimmie Dale softly to himself, and a serious light
+      crept into the dark, steady eyes, &ldquo;I'm in a bit of a nasty mess!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At Astor Place he entered the subway; at Fourteenth Street he changed to
+      an express, and at Ninety-sixth Street he got out. It was but a short walk
+      west to Riverside Drive, and from there his house was only a few blocks
+      farther on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale did not slouch now. And for all his disreputable attire,
+      incongruous as it was in that neighbourhood, few people that he passed
+      paid any attention to him, none gave him more than a casual glance&mdash;Jimmie
+      Dale swung along, upright, with no attempt to make himself inconspicuous,
+      hurrying a little, as one intent upon a definite errand. As he neared his
+      house he slowed his pace a little until a couple, who were passing in
+      front of it, had gone on; then he went up the steps, but noiselessly as a
+      shadow now, to the front door, opened it softly, closed it softly behind
+      him, and crouched for a moment in the vestibule.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Through the monogrammed lace on the plate glass of the inner doors he
+      could see, a little indistinctly, into the reception hall beyond. The hall
+      was empty. Jason, for that matter, would be the only one likely to be
+      about; the other servants would have no business there in any case, and
+      whether in their quarters above or below, they had their own stairs at the
+      rear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale inserted the key in the spring lock, and opened the door a
+      cautious fraction of an inch&mdash;to listen. There was no sound&mdash;yes,
+      a subdued murmured&mdash;the servants were downstairs in the basement. He
+      slipped inside, slipped, in a flash, across the hall, and, treading like a
+      cat, went up the stairs. He scarcely seemed to breathe until, with a
+      little sigh of relief, he stood inside his den on the first floor, with
+      the door shut behind him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must speak to Jason about being a little more watchful,&rdquo; muttered
+      Jimmie Dale facetiously. &ldquo;Here's all my property at the mercy of&mdash;Larry
+      the Bat!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An instant he stood by the door, looking about him&mdash;in the bright
+      moonlight streaming in through the side windows the room's appointments
+      stood out in soft shadows, the huge davenport, the great, luxurious
+      easy-chairs, an easel with a half-finished canvas, as he had left it; the
+      big, flat-topped, rosewood desk, the open fireplace&mdash;and then, his
+      steps silent on the thick velvet rug under foot, he walked quickly to the
+      desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes, there it was&mdash;the letter. He placed it hurriedly in his pocket&mdash;the
+      moonlight was not strong enough to read by, and he dared not turn on the
+      lights.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now money&mdash;funds. In the alcove behind the portiere, Jimmie Dale
+      dropped on his knees before the squat, barrel-shaped safe, and opened it.
+      He reached inside, took out a package of banknotes, placed the bills in
+      his pocket&mdash;and hesitated a moment. What else would he require? What
+      act did that letter call upon the Gray Seal to perform in the next few
+      hours? Jimmie Dale stared thoughtfully into the interior of the safe.
+      Whatever it was, it must be performed in the role of Larry the Bat, for
+      though he could get into his dressing room now, and become Jimmie Dale
+      again, there were still those watchers outside the Sanctuary&mdash;THEY
+      must not become suspicious&mdash;and if Larry the Bat disappeared
+      mysteriously, Larry the Bat would be the man that Kline and the secret
+      service of the United States would never cease hunting for, and that would
+      mean that he could never reassume a character that was as necessary for
+      his protection as breath was to life, so long as the Gray Seal worked.
+      True, he could change now to Jimmie Dale, but he would have to change back
+      again and return to the Sanctuary before morning, as Larry the Bat&mdash;and
+      remain there until Kline, beaten, called off his human bloodhounds. No, a
+      change was not to be thought of.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What, then, would he require&mdash;that compact little kit of burglar
+      tools, rolled in its leather jacket, that, unrolled slipped about his body
+      like a close-fitting undervest? As well to take it anyway. He removed his
+      coat and vest, took out the leather bundle from the safe, untied the
+      thongs that bound it together, unrolled it, passed it around his body,
+      life belt fashion, secured the thongs over his shoulders, and put on his
+      coat and vest again. A revolver, a flashlight? He had both&mdash;at the
+      Sanctuary, under the flooring&mdash;but there were duplicates here! He
+      slipped them into his pockets. Anything else&mdash;to forestall and
+      provide for any possible contingency? He hesitated again for a moment,
+      thinking, then slowly closed the inner door of the safe, locked it, swung
+      the outer door shut&mdash;and, in the act of twirling the knobs, sprang
+      suddenly to his feet. Sharp, shrill in the stillness of the room, the
+      telephone bell on the desk rang out clamourously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's face set hard, as he leaped out from behind the curtain&mdash;had
+      Jason heard it! It rang again before he could reach the desk&mdash;was
+      ringing as he snatched the receiver from the hook.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yes!&rdquo; he called, in a low, guarded, hasty way, into the mouthpiece.
+      &ldquo;Hello! What is it?&rdquo; And then one hand, resting on the desk, closed around
+      the edge, and tightened until the skin over the knuckles grew ivory white.
+      It was&mdash;SHE! She! It was HER voice&mdash;he had only heard it once in
+      all his life&mdash;that night, two nights before, in a silvery laugh from
+      the limousine as it had sped away from him down the road&mdash;but he
+      knew! It thrilled him now with a mad rhapsody, robbing him for the moment
+      of every thought save that she was living, real, existent&mdash;that it
+      was HER voice. &ldquo;It's you&mdash;YOU!&rdquo; he said hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Jimmie&mdash;you at last!&rdquo;&mdash;it came in a little gasping cry of
+      relief. &ldquo;The letter&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I've got it&mdash;it's all right&mdash;it's all right&rdquo;&mdash;the
+      words would not seem to come fast enough in his desperate haste. &ldquo;But it's
+      you now. Listen! Listen!&rdquo; he pleaded. &ldquo;Tell me who you are! My God! how
+      I've tried to find you, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That rippling, silvery laugh again, but now, too, it seemed to his eager
+      ear, with just the faintest note of wistfulness in it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some day, Jimmie. That letter now. It&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale straightened up suddenly&mdash;Jason's steps, running, sounded
+      outside the room along the corridor&mdash;there was not an instant to
+      lose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hang up! Good-bye! Danger! Don't ring again!&rdquo; he whispered hurriedly,
+      and, with a miserable smile, replacing the receiver bitterly on the hook,
+      he jumped for the curtain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He reached it none too soon. The door opened, an electric-light switch
+      clicked, and the room was flooded with light. Jason, still running, headed
+      for the desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It'll be her again!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale heard the old man mutter, as from the
+      edge of the portiere he watched the other's actions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jason picked up the telephone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello! Hello!&rdquo; he called&mdash;then began to click impatiently with the
+      receiver hook. &ldquo;Hello! . . . Who? . . . Central? . . . I don't want any
+      number&mdash;somebody was calling here. . . . What? . . . Nobody on the
+      wire!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He set the telephone back on the desk with a bewildered air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's queer!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;I could have sworn I heard it ring twice,
+      and&mdash;&rdquo; He stopped abruptly, and, leaning across the desk, hung there,
+      wide-eyed, staring, while a sickly pallor began to steal into his face.
+      &ldquo;The letter!&rdquo; he mumbled wildly. &ldquo;The letter&mdash;Master Jim's letter&mdash;the
+      letter&mdash;it's GONE!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Trembling, excited, the old man began to search the desk, then down on his
+      knees on the floor under it; and then, growing more frantic with every
+      instant, rose and began to hunt around the room in an agitated, aimless
+      fashion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jason's distress was very real&mdash;he was almost beside himself now with
+      fear and anxiety. A whimsical, affectionate smile played over Jimmie
+      Dale's lips at the old man's antics&mdash;and changed suddenly into one of
+      consternation. Jason was making directly now for the curtain behind which
+      he stood! Perhaps, though, he would pass it by, and&mdash;Jason's hand
+      reached out and grasped the portiere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jason!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man staggered back as though he had been struck, tried to speak,
+      choked, and gazed at the curtain with distended eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is&mdash;is that you, sir&mdash;Master Jim&mdash;behind the curtain
+      there?&rdquo; he finally blurted out. &ldquo;I&mdash;sir&mdash;you gave me a start&mdash;and
+      the letter, Master Jim&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't lose your head, Jason,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale coolly. &ldquo;I've got the
+      letter. Now do as I bid you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;Master Jim,&rdquo; faltered the old man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pull down the window shades and draw the portiere together,&rdquo; directed
+      Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jason, still overwrought and excited, obeyed a little awkwardly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now the lights, Jason,&rdquo; instructed Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;Turn them off, and go
+      and sit down in that chair at the desk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Jason obeyed, stumbling in the darkness as he returned from the
+      electric-light switch at the farther end of the room. He sat down in the
+      chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Larry the Bat stepped out from behind the curtain. &ldquo;I came for that
+      letter, Jason,&rdquo; he explained quietly. &ldquo;I am going out again now. I may be
+      back to-morrow; I may not be back for a week. You will say nothing, not a
+      word, of my having been here to-night. Do you understand, Jason?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said Jason; then hesitantly: &ldquo;Would you mind saying, sir, when
+      you came in?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's of no consequence, Jason&mdash;is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sir,&rdquo; said Jason.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale smiled in the darkness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jason!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish you to remain where you are, without leaving that chair, for the
+      next ten minutes.&rdquo; He moved across the room to the door. &ldquo;Good-night,
+      Jason,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-night, Master Jim&mdash;good-night, sir&mdash;oh, Lord!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale did not require that ten minutes; it was a very wide margin of
+      safety to obviate the possibility of Jason, from a window, detecting the
+      exit of a disreputable character from the house&mdash;in three minutes he
+      was turning the corner of the first cross street and walking rapidly away
+      from Riverside Drive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the subway station Jimmie Dale read the letter&mdash;read it twice
+      over, as he always read those strange epistles of hers that opened the
+      door to new peril, new danger to the Gray Seal, but too, that seemed
+      somehow to draw tighter, in a glad, big way, the unseen bond between them;
+      read it, as he always read those letters, almost subconsciously committing
+      the very words to memory with that keen faculty of brain of his. But now
+      as he began to tear the sheet and envelope into minute particles, a
+      strained, hard look was on his face and in his eyes, and his lips, half
+      parted, moved a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a death warrant,&rdquo; muttered Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;I&mdash;I guess to-night
+      will see the end of the Gray Seal. She says I needn't do it, but I guess
+      it's worth the risk&mdash;a human life!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A downtown express roared into the station.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What time is it?&rdquo; Jimmie Dale asked the guard, as he stepped aboard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Bout midnight,&rdquo; the man answered tersely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The forward car was almost empty, and Jimmie Dale chose a seat by himself.
+      How did she know? How did she know not only this, but the hundred other
+      affairs that she had outlined in those letters of hers? By what means,
+      superhuman, indeed, it seemed, did she&mdash;Jimmie Dale jerked himself
+      erect suddenly. What good did it do to speculate on that now, when every
+      minute was priceless? What was HE to do, how was he to act, what plan
+      could he formulate and carry out, and WIN against odds that, at the
+      outset, were desperate enough even to forecast almost certain failure&mdash;and
+      death!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Who would ever have suspected old Tom Ludgate, known for years throughout
+      the squalour of the East Side as old Luddy, the pushcart man, of having a
+      bag of unset diamonds under his pillow&mdash;or under the sack, rather,
+      that he probably used for a pillow! What a queer thing to do! But then,
+      old Luddy was a character&mdash;apparently always in the most
+      poverty-stricken condition, apparently hardly more than keeping body and
+      soul together, trusting no one, and obsessed by the dread that by
+      depositing in a bank some one would discover that he had money, and
+      attempt to force it from him, he had put his savings, year after year, for
+      twenty years, twenty-five years, perhaps, into unset stone&mdash;diamonds.
+      How had she found that out?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale sank into a deeper reverie. He could steal them all right, and
+      they would be well worth the stealing&mdash;old Luddy had done well, and
+      lived and existed on next to nothing&mdash;the stones, she said, were
+      worth about fifteen thousand dollars. Not so bad, even for twenty-five
+      years of vegetable selling from a pushcart! He could steal them all right;
+      it would tax the Gray Seal's ingenuity little to do so simple a thing as
+      that, but that was not all, nor, indeed, hardly a factor in it&mdash;it
+      was vital that if he were to succeed at all he must steal them PUBLICLY,
+      as it were.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And after that&mdash;WHAT? His own chances were pretty slim at best.
+      Jimmie Dale, staring at the grayness of the subway wall through the
+      window, shook his head slowly&mdash;then, with a queer little
+      philosophical shrug of his shoulders, he smiled gravely, seriously. It was
+      all a part of the game, all a part of the life&mdash;of the Gray Seal!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was half-past twelve, or a little later, as nearly as he could judge,
+      for Larry the Bat carried no such ornate thing in evidence as a watch, as
+      he halted at the corner of a dark, squalid street in the lower East Side.
+      It was a miserable locality&mdash;in daylight humming with a cosmopolitan
+      hive of pitiful humans dragging out as best they could an intolerable
+      existence, a locality peopled with every nationality on earth, their
+      community of interest the struggle to maintain life at the lowest possible
+      expenditure, where necessity even was pared and shaved down to a minimum;
+      but now, at night time, or rather in the early-morning hours, the
+      darkness, in very mercy, it seemed, covered it with a veil, as it were,
+      and in the quiet that hung over it now hid the bald, the hideous, aye, and
+      the piteous, too, from view.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a narrow street, and the row of tenement houses, each house almost
+      identical with its neighbour, that flanked the pavement on either side,
+      seemed, from where Jimmie Dale stood looking down its length, from the
+      corner, to converge together at a point a little way beyond, giving it an
+      unreal, ominous, cavernlike effect. And, too, there seemed something
+      ominous even in its quiet. It was as though one sensed acutely the
+      crouching of some Thing in its lair&mdash;waiting silently, viciously,
+      with sullen patience.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A footstep sounded&mdash;another. Jimmie Dale drew quickly back around the
+      corner into an areaway. Two men passed&mdash;in helmets&mdash;swinging
+      their nightsticks&mdash;that beat was always policed in pairs!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They passed on, turned the corner, and went down the narrow cross street
+      that Jimmie Dale had just been inspecting. He started to follow&mdash;and
+      drew back again abruptly. A form flitted suddenly across the road and
+      disappeared in the darkness in the officers' wake&mdash;ten yards behind
+      the first another followed&mdash;at the same interval of distance still
+      another&mdash;and yet still one more&mdash;four in all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The darkness hid all six, the two policemen, the four men behind them&mdash;the
+      only sounds were the OFFICERS' footsteps dying away in the distance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's fingers were mechanically testing the mechanism of the
+      automatic in his pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Skeeter's gang!&rdquo; he muttered to himself. &ldquo;Red Mose, the Midget, Harve
+      Thoms&mdash;and the Skeeter! The Worst apaches in the city of New York;
+      death contractors&mdash;the lowest bidders! Professional assassins, and a
+      man's life any time for twenty-five dollars! I wonder&mdash;I've never
+      done it yet&mdash;but I wonder if it would be a crime in God's sight if
+      one shot&mdash;to KILL!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale was at the corner again&mdash;again the street before him was
+      black, deserted, empty. He chose the right hand side, and, well in the
+      shadow of the houses, as an extra precaution, stole along silently. He
+      stopped finally before one where, in the doorway, hung a little sign.
+      Jimmie Dale mounted the porch, and with his eyes close to the sign could
+      just make out the larger words in the big printed type:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      ROOM TO RENT TOP FLOOR
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale nodded. That was right. The first house on the right-hand
+      side, with the room-to-rent sign, her letter had said. His fingers were
+      testing the doorknob. The door was not locked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Naturally, it wouldn't be locked,&rdquo; Jimmie Dale told himself grimly&mdash;and
+      stepped inside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood for an instant without movement, every faculty on the alert. Far
+      up above him a step, guarded though his trained ear made it out to be,
+      creaked faintly upon the stairs&mdash;there was no other sound. The
+      creaking, almost inaudible at its loudest, receded farther up&mdash;and
+      silence fell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the darkness, noiselessly, Jimmie Dale groped for the stairway, found
+      it, and began to ascend. The minutes passed&mdash;it seemed a minute even
+      from step to step, and there were three flights to the top! There must be
+      no creaking this time&mdash;the slightest sound, he knew well enough,
+      would be not only fatal to the work he had to do, but probably fatal to
+      himself as well. He had been near death many times&mdash;the consciousness
+      that he was nearer to it now, possibly, than he had ever been before,
+      seemed to stimulate his senses into acute and abnormal energy. And, too,
+      the physical effort, as, step by step, the flexed muscles relaxing so
+      slowly, little by little, gradually, each time as he found foothold on the
+      step higher up, was a terrific strain. At the top his face was bathed in
+      perspiration, and he wiped it off with his coat sleeve.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was still dark here, intensely dark, and his eyes, though grown
+      accustomed to it, could make out nothing but the deeper shadow of the
+      walls. But thanks to her, always a mistress of accurate and minute detail,
+      he possessed a mental plan of his surroundings. The head of the stairs
+      gave on the middle of the hallway&mdash;the hallway ran to his right and
+      left. To his right, on the opposite side of the hall, was the door of old
+      Luddy's squalid two-room apartment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment Jimmie Dale stood hesitant&mdash;a sudden perplexity and
+      anxiety growing upon him. It was strange! What did it mean? He had nerved
+      himself to a quick, desperate attempt, trusting to surprise and his own
+      wit and agility for victory&mdash;there had seemed no other way than that,
+      since he had seen those four men at the corner&mdash;since they were AHEAD
+      of him. True, they were not much ahead of him, not enough to have
+      accomplished their purpose&mdash;and, furthermore, they were not in that
+      room. He knew that absolutely, beyond question of doubt. He had listened
+      for just that all the nerve-racking way up the stairs. But where were
+      they? There was no sound&mdash;not a sound&mdash;just blackness, dark,
+      impenetrable, utter, that began to palpitate now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It came in a whisper, wavering, sibilant&mdash;from his left. A sort of
+      relief, fierce in the breaking of the tense expectancy, premonitory in the
+      possibilities that it held, swept Jimmie Dale. He crept along the hall.
+      The whisper had come from that room, presumably empty&mdash;that was for
+      rent!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By the door he crouched&mdash;his sensitive fingers, eyes to Jimmie Dale
+      so often&mdash;feeling over jamb and panels with a delicate, soundless
+      touch. The door was just ajar. The fingers crept inside and touched the
+      knob and lock&mdash;there was no key within.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The whispering still went on&mdash;but it seemed like a screaming of
+      vultures now in Jimmie Dale's ears, as the words came to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, say, Skeeter, dis high-brow stunt gives me de pip! Me fer goin' in
+      dere an' croakin' de geezer reg'lar, widout de frills. Who's to know? Say,
+      just about two minutes, an' we're beatin' it wid de sparklers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An inch, a half inch at a time, the knob slowly, very, very slowly
+      turning, the door was being closed by the crouched form on the threshold.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Close yer trap, Mose!&rdquo; came a fierce response. &ldquo;We ain't fixed the lay
+      all day for nothin'. There ain't a soul on earth knows he's got any
+      sparklers, 'cept us. If there was, it would be different&mdash;then they'd
+      know that was what whoever did it was after, see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The door was closed&mdash;the knob slowly, very, very slowly being
+      released again. From one of the leather pockets under Jimmie Dale's vest
+      came a tiny steel instrument that he inserted in the key-hole.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The same voice spoke on:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's what we're croaking him for, 'cause nobody knows about them
+      diamonds, and so's he can't TELL anybody afterward that any were pinched.
+      An' that's why it's got to look like he just got tired of living and did
+      it himself. I guess that'll hold the police when they find the poor old
+      duck hanging from the ceiling, with a bit of cord around his neck, and a
+      chair kicked out from under his feet on the floor. Ain't you got the
+      brains of a louse to see that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure&rdquo;&mdash;the whisper came dully, in grudging intonation through the
+      panels&mdash;the door was locked. &ldquo;Sure, but it's de hangin' 'round
+      waitin' to get busy that's gettin' me goat, an'&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale straightened up and began to retreat along the corridor. A
+      merciless rage was upon him now, every fiber of his being seemed to tingle
+      and quiver with it&mdash;the damnable, hellish ingenuity of it all seemed
+      to choke and suffocate him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Luck!&rdquo; muttered Jimmie Dale between his clenched teeth. &ldquo;Oh, the blessed
+      luck to get that door locked! I've got time now to set the stage for my
+      own get-away before the showdown!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stole on along the corridor. Excerpts from her letter were running
+      through his brain: &ldquo;It would do no good to warn him, Jimmie&mdash;the
+      Skeeter and his gang would never let up on him until they got the stones.
+      . . . It would do no good for you to steal them first, for they would only
+      take that as a ruse of old Luddy's, and murder the man first and hunt
+      afterward. . . . In some way you must let the Skeeter SEE you steal them,
+      make them think, make them certain that it is a bona-fide theft, so that
+      they will no longer have any interest or any desire to do old Luddy harm.
+      . . . And for it to appear real to them, it must appear real to old Luddy
+      himself&mdash;do not take any chances there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's eyes narrowed. Yes, it was simple enough now with that pack
+      of hell's wolves guarded for the moment by a locked door, forced to give
+      him warning by breaking the door before they could get out. It was simple
+      enough now to enter old Luddy's room, steal the stones at the revolver
+      point, then make enough disturbance&mdash;when he was ready&mdash;to set
+      the gang in motion, and, as they rushed in open him, to make his escape
+      with the stones to the roof through Luddy's room. That was simple enough&mdash;there
+      was an opening to the roof in Luddy's room, she had said, and there was a
+      ladder kept there in place. On hot nights, it seemed, the old man used to
+      go up there and sleep on the roof&mdash;not now, of course. It was too
+      late in the year for that&mdash;but the opening in the roof was there, and
+      the ladder remained there, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes, it was simple enough now. And the next morning the papers would rave
+      with execrations against the Gray Seal&mdash;for the robbery of the life
+      savings of a poor, defenseless old man, for committing as vile and pitiful
+      a crime as had ever stirred New York! Even Carruthers, of the MORNING
+      NEWS-ARGUS, would be moved to bitter attack. Good old Carruthers&mdash;who
+      little thought that the Gray Seal was his old college pal, his present
+      most intimate friend, Jimmie Dale! And afterward&mdash;after the next
+      morning? Well, that, at least, had never been in doubt. Old Luddy could be
+      made to leave New York, and, once away, with the Skeeter and his gang
+      robbed of incentive to pay any further attention to him, the stones could
+      be secretly returned to the old man. And it would to the public, to the
+      police, be just another of the Gray Seal's crimes&mdash;that was all!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale had reached old Luddy's door. The Gray Seal? Oh, yes, they
+      would know it was the Gray Seal&mdash;the insignia was familiar enough;
+      familiar to the crooks of the underworld, who held it in awe; familiar to
+      the police, to whom it was an added barb of ridicule. He was placing it
+      now, that insignia, a diamond-shaped, gray paper seal, on the panel of the
+      door; and now, a black silk mask adjusted over his face, Jimmie Dale bent
+      to insert the little steel instrument in the lock&mdash;a pitiful, paltry
+      thing, a cheap lock, to fingers that could play so intimately with
+      twirling knobs and dials, masters of the intricate mechanism of vaults and
+      safes!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then, about to open the door, a sort of sudden dismay fell upon him.
+      He had not thought of that&mdash;somehow, it had not occurred to him! WHAT
+      WAS IT THEY WERE WAITING FOR? Why had they not struck at once, as, when he
+      had first entered the house, he had supposed they would do? What was it?
+      Why was it? Was old Luddy out? Were they waiting for his return&mdash;or
+      what?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door, without sound, moved gradually under his hand. A faint odor
+      assailed his nostrils! It was dark, very dark. Across the room, in a
+      direct line, was the doorway of the inner room&mdash;she had explained
+      that in her letter. It was slow progress to cross that room without sound,
+      in silence&mdash;it was a snail's movement&mdash;for fear that even a
+      muscle might crack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now he stood in the inner doorway. It was dark here, to&mdash;and yet,
+      how bizarre, a star seemed to twinkle through the very roof of the room
+      itself! The odour was pungent now. There was a long-drawn sigh&mdash;then
+      a low, indescribable sound of movement. SOMEBODY, APART FROM OLD LUDDY,
+      WAS IN THE ROOM!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It swept, the full consciousness of it, upon Jimmie Dale in an
+      instantaneous flash. Chloroform; the open scuttle in the roof; the waiting
+      of those others&mdash;all fused into a compact logical whole. They had
+      loosened the scuttle during the day, probably when old Luddy was away&mdash;one
+      of them had crept down there now to chloroform the old man into
+      insensibility&mdash;the others would complete the ghastly work presently
+      by stringing their victim up to the ceiling&mdash;and it would be suicide,
+      for, long before morning came, long before the old man would be
+      discovered, the fumes of the chloroform would be gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed like a cold hand, deathlike, clutching at his heart. Was he too
+      late, after all! Chloroform alone could&mdash;kill! To the right, just a
+      little to the right&mdash;he must make no mistake&mdash;his ear placed the
+      sound! He whipped his hands from the side pockets of his coat&mdash;the
+      ray of his flashlight cut across the room and fell upon an aged face upon
+      a bed, upon a hand clutching a wad of cloth, the cloth pressed horribly
+      against the nose and mouth of the upturned face&mdash;and then, roaring in
+      the stillness, spitting a vicious lane of fire that paralleled the
+      flashlight's ray, came the tongue flame of his automatic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a yell, a scream, that echoed out, reverberated, and went
+      racketing through the house, and Jimmie Dale leaped forward&mdash;over a
+      table, sending it crashing to the floor. The man had reeled back against
+      the wall, clutching at a shattered wrist, staring into the flashlight's
+      eye, white-faced, jaw dropped, lips working in mingled pain and fear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Harve Thoms&mdash;you, eh?&rdquo; gritted Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A cunning look swept the distorted face. Here, apparently, was only one
+      man&mdash;there were pals, three of them, only a few yards away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You ain't got nothing on me!&rdquo; he snarled, sparring for time. &ldquo;You police
+      are too damned fresh with your guns!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll take yours!&rdquo; snapped Jimmie Dale, and snatched it deftly from the
+      other's pocket. &ldquo;This ain't any police job, my bucko, and you make a move
+      and I'll drop you for keeps, if what you've got already ain't enough to
+      teach you to keep your hands off jobs that belong to your betters!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was working with mad haste as he spoke. One minute at the outside was,
+      perhaps, all he could count upon. Already he had caught the rattle of the
+      locked door down the hall. He lit a match and turned on the gas over the
+      bed&mdash;it was the most dangerous thing he could do&mdash;he knew that
+      well enough, none knew it better&mdash;it was offering himself as a fair
+      mark when the others rushed in, as they would in a moment now&mdash;but
+      the Skeeter and his gang and this man here must have no misconception of
+      his purpose, his reason for being there, the same as their own, the theft
+      of the stones&mdash;and no misconception as to his SUCCESS.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Y'ain't the police!&rdquo;&mdash;it came in a choked gasp from the other, as he
+      blinked in the sudden light &ldquo;Say then&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shut up!&rdquo; ordered Jimmie Dale curtly. &ldquo;And mind what I told you about
+      moving!&rdquo; He leaned over the bed. Old Luddy, though under the influence of
+      the chloroform, was moving restlessly. Thoms had evidently only begun to
+      apply the chloroform&mdash;old Luddy was safe! Jimmie Dale ran his hand in
+      under the pillow. &ldquo;If you ain't swiped them already they ought to be
+      here!&rdquo; he growled; &ldquo;and if you have I'll&mdash;ah!&rdquo; A little chamois bag
+      was in his hand. He laughed sneeringly at Thoms, opened the bag, allowed a
+      few stones to trickle into his hand&mdash;and then, without stopping to
+      replace them, dashed stones and bag into his pocket. The door along the
+      corridor crashed open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that?&rdquo; he gasped out, in well-simulated fright&mdash;and sprang
+      for the ladder that led up to the roof.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It had all taken, perhaps, the minute that he had counted on&mdash;no
+      more. Noises came from the floors below now, a confusion of them&mdash;the
+      shot, the scream had been heard by others, save those who had been in the
+      locked room. And the latter were outside now in the corridor, running to
+      their accomplice's aid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a pause at the outer door&mdash;then an oath&mdash;and coupled
+      with the oath an exclamation:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Gray Seal!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They had swept a flashlight over the door panel&mdash;Jimmie Dale, halfway
+      up the ladder, smiled grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door opened&mdash;there was a rush of feet. The man with the shattered
+      wrist yelled, cursing wildly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here he is&mdash;on the ladder! Let him have it! Fill him full of holes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale was in the light&mdash;they were in the dark of the outer
+      room. He fired at the threshold, checking their rush&mdash;as a hail of
+      bullets chipped and tore at the ladder and spat wickedly against the wall.
+      He swung through to the roof, trying, as he did so, to kick the ladder
+      loose behind him. It was fastened!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The three gunmen jumped into the room&mdash;from the roof Jimmie Dale got
+      a glimpse of them below, as he flung himself clear of the opening. Bullets
+      whistled through the aperture&mdash;a voice roared up as he gained his
+      feet:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on! After him! The whole place is alive, but this lets us out. We
+      can frame up how we came to be here easy enough. Never mind the old geezer
+      there any more! Get the Gray Seal&mdash;the reward that's out for him is
+      worth twice the sparklers, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale hurled the cover over the scuttle. He could have stood them
+      off from above and kept the ladder clear with his revolver, but the alarm
+      seemed general now&mdash;windows were opening, voices were calling to one
+      another&mdash;from the windows across the street he must stand out in
+      sharp outline against the sky. Yes&mdash;he was seen now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A woman's voice, from a top-story window across the street, screamed out,
+      high-pitched in excitement:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There he is! There he is! On the roof there!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale started on the run along the roof. The houses, built wall to
+      wall, flat-roofed, seemed to offer an open course ahead of him&mdash;until
+      a lane or an intersecting street should bar his way! But they were not
+      quite all on the same level, though&mdash;the wall of the next house rose
+      suddenly breast high in front of him. He flung himself up, regained his
+      feet&mdash;and ducked instantly behind a chimney.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The crack of a revolver echoed through the night&mdash;a bullet drummed
+      through the air&mdash;the Skeeter and his gang were on the roof now,
+      dashing forward, firing as they ran. Two shots from Jimmie Dale's
+      automatic, in quick succession cooled the ardour of their rush&mdash;and
+      they broke, black, flitting forms, for the shelter of chimneys, too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now the whole neighbourhood seemed awakened. A dull-toned roar, as
+      from some great gulf below, rolled up from the street, a medley of
+      slamming windows, the rush of feet as people poured from the houses,
+      cries, shouts, and yells&mdash;and high over all the shrill call of the
+      police-patrol whistle&mdash;and the CRACK, CRACK, CRACK of the Skeeter's
+      revolver shots&mdash;the Skeeter and his hellhounds for once
+      self-appointed allies of the law!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Twice again Jimmie Dale fired&mdash;then crouching, running low, he
+      zigzagged his way across the next roof. The bullets followed him&mdash;once
+      more his pursuers dashed forward. And again Jimmie Dale, his face set like
+      stone now, his breath coming in hard gasps, dodged behind a chimney, and
+      with his gun checked their rush for the third time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He glanced about him&mdash;and with a growing sense of disaster saw that
+      two houses farther on the stretch of roof appeared to end. There would be
+      a lane or a street there! And in another minute or two, if it were not
+      already the case, others would be following the gunmen to the roof, and
+      then he would be&mdash;he caught his breath suddenly in a queer little
+      strangled cry of relief. Just back of him, a few yards away, his eyes made
+      out what, in the darkness, seemed to be a glass skylight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A dark form sped like a deeper shadow across the black in front of him,
+      making for a chimney nearer by, closing in the range. Jimmie Dale fired&mdash;wide.
+      Tight as was the corner he was in, little as was the mercy deserved at his
+      hands, he could not, after all, bring himself to shoot&mdash;to kill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A voice, the Skeeter's, bawled out raucously:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rush him all together&mdash;from different sides at once!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A backward leap! Jimmie Dale's boot was crashing glass and frame, stamping
+      at it desperately, making a hole for his body through the skylight. A
+      yell, a chorus of them, answered this&mdash;then the crunch of racing feet
+      on the gravel roof. He emptied his revolver, sweeping the darkness with a
+      semicircle of vicious flashes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed an hour&mdash;it was barely the fraction of a second, as he hung
+      by his hands from the side of the skylight frame, his body swinging back
+      and forth in the unknown blackness below. The skylight might be, probably
+      was, directly over the stair well, and open clear to the basement of the
+      house&mdash;but it was his only chance. He swung his body well out, let go&mdash;and
+      dropped. With the impetus he smashed against a wall, was flung back from
+      it in a sort of rebound, and his hands closed, gripping fiercely, on
+      banisters. It had been the stair well beyond any question of doubt, but
+      his swing had sent him clear of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Above, they had not yet reached the skylight. Jimmie Dale snatched a
+      precious moment to listen, as he rose, and found himself, apart from
+      bruises, perhaps unhurt. There was commotion, too, in this house below,
+      the alarm had extended and spread along the block&mdash;but the commotion
+      was all in the FRONT of the house&mdash;the street was the lure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale started down the stairs, and in an instant he had gained the
+      landing. In another he had slipped to the rear of the hall&mdash;somewhere
+      there, from the hall itself, from one of the rear rooms, there must be an
+      exit to the fire escape. To attempt to leave by the front way was certain
+      capture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were yelling, shouting down now through the sky-light above, as
+      Jimmie Dale softly raised the window sash at the rear of the hall. The
+      fire escape was there. Shouts from along the corridor, from the tenement
+      dwellers who had been crowding their neighbours' rooms, craning their
+      necks probably from the front windows, answered the shouts now from the
+      roof and the skylight; doors opened; forms rushed out&mdash;but it was
+      dark in the corridor, only a murky yellow at the upper end from the opened
+      doors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale slipped through the window to the fire escape, and, working
+      cautiously, silently, but with the speed of a trained athlete, made his
+      way down. At the bottom he dropped from the iron platform into the back
+      yard, ran for the fence and climbed over into a lane on the other side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then, as he ran, Jimmie Dale snatched the mask from his face and put
+      it in his pocket. He was safe now. He swept the sweat drops from his
+      forehead with the back of his hand&mdash;noticing them for the first time.
+      It had been close&mdash;almost as close for him as it had been for old
+      Luddy. And to-morrow the papers would execrate the Gray Seal! He smiled a
+      little wanly. His breath was still coming hard. Presently they would scour
+      the lane&mdash;when they found that their quarry was not in the house.
+      What a racket they were making! The whole district seemed roused like a
+      swarm of angry bees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He kept on along the lane&mdash;and dodged suddenly into a cross street
+      where the two intersected. The clang of a bell dinned discordantly in his
+      ears&mdash;a patrol wagon swept by him, racing for the scene of the
+      disturbance&mdash;the riot call was out!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Jimmie Dale smiled wearily, passing his hand across his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, &ldquo;I'm pretty near all in. And I guess it's
+      time that Larry the Bat went&mdash;home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And a little later a figure turned from the Bowery and shambled down the
+      cross street, a disreputable figure, with hands plunged deep in his
+      pockets&mdash;and a shadow across the roadway suddenly shifted its
+      position as the shambling figure slouched into the black alleyway and
+      entered the tenement's side door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Larry the Bat smiled softly to himself&mdash;Kline's men were still on
+      guard!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VI
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      DEVIL'S WORK
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      A white-gloved arm, a voice, and a silvery laugh! Just that&mdash;no more!
+      Jimmie Dale, in his favourite seat, an aisle seat some seven or eight rows
+      back from the orchestra, stared at the stage, to all outward appearances
+      absorbed in the last act of the play; inwardly, quite oblivious to the
+      fact that even a play was going on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A white-gloved arm, a voice, and a silvery laugh! The words had formed
+      themselves into a sort of singsong refrain that, for the last few days,
+      had been running through his head. A strange enough guiding star to mould
+      and dictate every action in his life! And that was all he had ever seen of
+      her, all that he had ever heard of her&mdash;except those letters, of
+      course, each of which had outlined the details of some affair for the Gray
+      Seal to execute.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Indeed, it seemed a great length of time now since he had heard from her
+      even in that way, though it was not so many days ago, after all. Perhaps
+      it was the calm, as it were, that, by contrast, had given place to the
+      strenuous months and weeks just past. The storm raised by the newspapers
+      at the theft of Old Luddy's diamonds had subsided into sporadic diatribes
+      aimed at the police; Kline, of the secret service, had finally admitted
+      defeat, and a shadow no longer skulked day and night at the entrance to
+      the Sanctuary&mdash;and Larry the Bat bore the government indorsement, so
+      to speak, of being no more suspicious a character than that of a
+      disreputable, but harmless, dope fiend of the underworld.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Larry the Bat! The Gray Seal! Jimmie Dale the millionaire! What if it were
+      ever known that that strange three were one! What if&mdash;Jimmie Dale
+      smiled whimsically. A burst of applause echoed through the house, the
+      orchestra was playing, the lights were on, seats banged, there was the
+      bustle of the rising audience, the play was at an end&mdash;and for the
+      life of him he could not have remembered a single line of the last act!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The aisle at his elbow was already crowded with people on their way out.
+      Jimmie Dale stooped down mechanically to reach for his hat beneath his
+      seat&mdash;and the next instant he was standing up, staring wildly into
+      the faces around him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It had fallen at his feet&mdash;a white envelope. Hers! It was in his hand
+      now, those slim, tapering, wonderfully sensitive fingers of Jimmie Dale,
+      that were an &ldquo;open sesame&rdquo; to locks and safes, subconsciously telegraphing
+      to his mind the fact that the texture of the paper&mdash;was hers. Hers!
+      And she must be one of those around him&mdash;one of those crowding either
+      the row of seats in front or behind, or one of those just passing in the
+      aisle. It had fallen at his feet as he had stooped over for his hat&mdash;but
+      from just exactly what direction he could not tell. His eyes, eagerly,
+      hungrily, critically, swept face after face. Which one was hers? What
+      irony! She, whom he would have given his life to know, for whom indeed he
+      risked his life every hour of the twenty-four, was close to him now,
+      within reach&mdash;and as far removed as though a thousand miles separated
+      them. She was there&mdash;but he could not recognise a face that he had
+      never seen!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With an effort, he choked back the bitter, impotent laugh that rose to his
+      lips. They were talking, laughing around him. Her VOICE&mdash;yes, he had
+      once heard that, and that he would recognise again. He strained to catch,
+      to individualise the tone sounds that floated in a medley about him. It
+      was useless&mdash;of course&mdash;every effort that he had ever made to
+      find her had been useless. She was too clever, far too clever for that&mdash;she,
+      too, would know that he could and would recognise her voice where he could
+      recognise nothing else.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then, suddenly, he realised that he was attracting attention. Level
+      stares from the women returned his gaze, and they edged away a little from
+      his vicinity as they passed, their escorts crowding somewhat belligerently
+      into their places. Others, in the same row of seats as his own, were
+      impatiently waiting to get by him. With a muttered apology, Jimmie Dale
+      raised the seat of his chair, allowing these latter to pass him&mdash;and
+      then, slipping the letter into his pocketbook, he snatched up his hat from
+      the seat rack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was still a chance. Knowing he was there, she would be on her guard;
+      but in the lobby, among the crowd and unaware of his presence, there was
+      the possibility that, if he could reach the entrance ahead of her, she,
+      too, might be talking and laughing as she left the theatre. Just a single
+      word, just a tone&mdash;that was all he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The row of seats at whose end he stood was empty now, and, instead of
+      stepping into the thronged aisle, he made his way across to the opposite
+      side of the theatre. Here, the far aisle was less crowded, and in a minute
+      he had gained the foyer, confident that he was now in advance of her. The
+      next moment he was lost in a jam of people in the lobby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He moved slowly now, very slowly&mdash;allowing those behind to press by
+      him on the way to the entrance. A babel of voices rose about him, as,
+      tight-packed, the mass of people jostled, elbowed, and pushed
+      good-naturedly. It was a voice now, her voice, that he was listening for;
+      but, though it seemed that every faculty was strained and intent upon that
+      one effort, his eyes, too, had in no degree relaxed their vigilance&mdash;and
+      once, half grimly, half sardonically, he smiled to himself. There would be
+      an unexpected aftermath to this exodus of expensively gowned and
+      bejewelled women with their prosperous, well-groomed escorts! There was
+      the Wowzer over there&mdash;sleek, dapper, squirming in and out of the
+      throng with the agility and stealth of a cat. As Larry the Bat he had met
+      the Wowzer many times, as indeed he had met and was acquainted with most
+      of the elite of the underworld. The Wowzer, beyond a shadow of doubt, in
+      his own profession stood upon a plane entirely by himself&mdash;among
+      those qualified to speak, no one yet had ever questioned the Wowzer's
+      claim to the distinction of being the most dexterous and finished &ldquo;poke
+      getter&rdquo; in the United States!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The crowd thinned in the lobby, thinned down to the last few belated
+      stragglers, who passed him as he still loitered in the entrance; and then
+      Jimmie Dale, with a shrug of his shoulders that was a great deal more
+      philosophical than the maddening sense of chagrin and disappointment that
+      burned within him, stepped out to the pavement and headed down Broadway.
+      After all, he had known it in his heart of hearts all the time&mdash;it
+      had always been the same&mdash;it was only one more occasion added to the
+      innumerable ones that had gone before in which she had eluded him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now&mdash;there was the letter! Automatically he quickened his steps a
+      little. It was useless, futile, profitless, for the moment, at least, to
+      disturb himself over his failure&mdash;there was the letter! His lips
+      parted in a strange, half-serious, half-speculative smile. The letter&mdash;that
+      was paramount now. What new venture did the night hold in store for him?
+      What sudden emergency was the Gray Seal called upon to face this time&mdash;what
+      role, unrehearsed, without warning, must he play? What story of grim,
+      desperate rascality would the papers credit him with when daylight came?
+      Or would they carry in screaming headlines the announcement that the Gray
+      Seal was caged and caught at last, and in three-inch type tell the world
+      that the Gray Seal was&mdash;Jimmie Dale!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A block down, he turned from Broadway out of the theatre crowds that
+      streamed in both directions past him. The letter! Almost feverishly now he
+      was seeking an opportunity to open and read it unobserved; an eagerness
+      upon him that mingled exhilaration at the lure of danger with a sense of
+      premonition that, irritably, inevitably was with him at moments such as
+      these. It seemed, it always seemed, that, with an unopened letter of hers
+      in his possession, it was as though he were about to open a page in the
+      Book of Fate and read, as it were, a pronouncement upon himself that might
+      mean life or death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He hurried on. People still passed by him&mdash;too many. And then a cafe,
+      just ahead, making a corner, gave him the opportunity that he sought. Away
+      from the entrance, on the side street, the brilliant lights from the
+      windows shone out on a comparatively deserted pavement. There was ample
+      light to read by, even as far away from the window as the curb, and Jimmie
+      Dale, with an approving nod, turned the corner and walked along a few
+      steps until opposite the farthest window&mdash;but, as he halted here at
+      the edge of the street, he glanced quickly behind him at a man whom he had
+      just passed. The other had paused at the corner and was staring down the
+      street. Jimmie Dale instantly and nonchalantly produced his cigarette
+      case, selected a cigarette, and fastidiously tapped its end on his thumb
+      nail.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Inspector Burton in plain clothes,&rdquo; he observed musingly to himself. &ldquo;I
+      wonder if it's just a fluke&mdash;or something else? We'll see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale took a box of matches from his pocket. The first would not
+      light. The second broke, and, with an exclamation of annoyance, he flung
+      it away. The third was making a fitful effort at life, as another man
+      emerged hastily from the cafe's side door, hurried to the corner, joined
+      the man who was still loitering there, and both together disappeared at a
+      rapid pace down the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale whistled softly to himself. The second man was even better
+      known than the first; there was not a crook in New York but would
+      side-step Lannigan of headquarters, and do it with amazing celerity&mdash;if
+      he could!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Something up! But it's not my hunt!&rdquo; muttered Jimmie Dale; then, with a
+      shrug of his shoulders: &ldquo;Queer the way those headquarters chaps fascinate
+      and give me a thrill every time I see them, even if I haven't a ghost of a
+      reason for imagining that&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The sentence was never finished. Jimmie Dale's face was gray. The street
+      seemed to rock about him&mdash;and he stared, like a man stricken, white
+      to the lips, ahead of him. THE LETTER WAS GONE! His hand, wriggling from
+      his empty pocket, swept away the sweat beads that were bursting from his
+      forehead. It had come at last&mdash;the pitcher had gone once too often to
+      the well!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Numbed for an instant, his brain cleared now, working with lightning
+      speed, leaping from premise to conclusion. The crush in the theatre lobby&mdash;the
+      pushing, the jostling, the close contact&mdash;the Wowzer, the slickest,
+      cleverest pickpocket in the United States! For a moment he could have
+      laughed aloud in a sort of ghastly, defiant mockery&mdash;he himself had
+      predicted an unexpected aftermath, had he not!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aftermath! It was&mdash;the END! An hour, two hours, and New York would be
+      metamorphosed into a seething caldron of humanity bubbling with the news.
+      It seemed that he could hear the screams of the newsboys now shouting
+      their extras; it seemed that he could see the people, roused to frenzy,
+      swarming in excited crowds, snatching at the papers; he seemed to hear the
+      mob's shouts swell in execration, in exultation&mdash;it seemed as though
+      all around him had gone mad. The mystery of the Gray Seal was solved! It
+      was Jimmie Dale, Jimmie Dale, Jimmie, Dale, the millionaire, the lion of
+      society&mdash;and there was ignominy for an honoured name, and shame and
+      disaster and convict stripes and sullen penitentiary walls&mdash;or death!
+      A felon's death&mdash;the chair!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was running now, his hands clenched at his sides; his mind, working
+      subconsciously, urging him onward in a blind, as yet unrealised,
+      objectless way. And then gradually impulse gave way to calmer reason, and
+      he slowed his pace to a quick, less noticeable walk. The Wowzer! That was
+      it! There was yet a chance&mdash;the Wowzer! A merciless rage, cold,
+      deadly, settled upon him. It was the Wowzer who had stolen his pocketbook,
+      and with it the letter. There could be no doubt of that. Well, there would
+      be a reckoning at least before the end!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was in a downtown subway train now&mdash;the roar in his ears in
+      consonance, it seemed, with the turmoil in his brain. But now, too, he was
+      Jimmie Dale again; and, apart from the slightly outthrust jaw, the
+      tight-closed lips, impassive, debonair, composed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was yet a chance. As Larry the Bat he knew every den and lair below
+      the dead line, and he knew, too, the Wowzer's favourite haunts. There was
+      yet a chance, only one in a thousand, it was true, almost too pitiful to
+      be depended upon&mdash;but yet a chance. The Wowzer had probably not
+      worked alone, and he and his pal, or pals, would certainly not remain
+      uptown either to examine or divide their spoils&mdash;they would wait
+      until they were safe somewhere in one of their hell holes on the East
+      Side. If he could find the Wowzer, reach the man BEFORE THE LETTER WAS
+      OPENED&mdash;Jimmie Dale's lips grew tighter. THAT was the chance! It he
+      failed in that&mdash;Jimmie Dale's lips drooped downward in grim curves at
+      the corners. A chance! Already the Wowzer had at least a half hour's lead,
+      and, worse still, there was no telling which one of a dozen places the man
+      might have chosen to retreat to with his loot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Time passed. His mind obsessed, Jimmie Dale's physical acts were almost
+      wholly mechanical. It was perhaps fifteen minutes since he had discovered
+      the loss of the letter, and he was walking now through the heart of the
+      Bowery. Exactly how he had got there he could not have told; he had only a
+      vague realisation that, following an intuitive sense of direction, he had
+      lost not a second of time in making his way downtown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now he found himself hesitating at the corner of a cross street. Two
+      blocks east was that dark, narrow alleyway, that side door that made the
+      entrance to the Sanctuary. It would be safer, a hundred times safer, to go
+      there, change his clothes and his personality, and emerge again as Larry
+      the Bat&mdash;infinitely safer in that role to explore the dens of the
+      underworld, many of them indeed unknown and undreamed of by the police
+      themselves, than to trust himself there in well-cut, fashionable tweeds&mdash;but
+      that would take time. Time! When, with every second, the one chance he
+      had, desperate as that already was, was slipping away from him. No; what
+      was apparently the greater risk at least held out the only hope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went on again&mdash;his brain incessantly at work. At the worst, there
+      was one mitigating factor in it all. He had no need to think of her.
+      Whatever the ruin and disaster that faced him in the next few hours, she
+      in any case was safe. There was no clew to HER identity in the letter; and
+      where he, for months on end, with even more to work upon, had failed at
+      every turn to trace her, there was little fear that any one else would
+      have any better success. She was safe. As for himself&mdash;that was
+      different. The Gray Seal would be referred to in the letter, there would
+      be the outline, the data for the &ldquo;crime&rdquo; she had planned for that night;
+      and the letter, though unaddressed, being found in his pocketbook, where
+      cards and notes and a dozen different things among its contents proclaimed
+      him Jimmie Dale, needed no further evidence as to its ownership nor the
+      identity of the Gray Seal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's fingers crept inside his vest and fumbled there for a moment&mdash;and
+      a diamond stud, extracted from his shirt front, glistened sportively in
+      the necktie that was now tucked jauntily in at one side of his shirt
+      bosom. He had reached the Blue Dragon, one of Wowzer's usual hang outs,
+      and, swerving from the sidewalk, entered the place. There was wild tumult
+      within&mdash;a constant storm of applause, derision, and hilarity that was
+      hurled from the tables around the room at the turkey-trotting,
+      tango-writhing couples on the somewhat restricted space of polished
+      hardwood flooring in the centre. Jimmie Dale swaggered down the room, a
+      cigar tilted up at an angle between his teeth, his soft felt hat a little
+      rakishly on one side of his head and well over his nose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the end of the room, at the bar, Jimmie Dale leaned toward the
+      barkeeper and talked out of the corner of his mouth. There were private
+      rooms upstairs, and he jerked his head surreptitiously ceilingward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, is de Wowzer up dere?&rdquo; he inquired in a cautious whisper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man behind the bar, well known to Jimmie Dale as one of the Wowzer's
+      particular pals, favoured him with a blank stare.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never heard of de guy!&rdquo; he announced brusquely. &ldquo;Wot's yours?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gimme a mug of suds,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, reaching for a match. He puffed
+      at his cigar, blew out the match, and, after a moment, flung the charred
+      end away&mdash;but on his hand, as, palm outward, he raised it to take his
+      glass, the match had traced a small black cross.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The barkeeper put down the beer he had just drawn, wiped his hand
+      hurriedly, and with sudden enthusiasm thrust it across the bar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Glad to know youse, cull!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;Wot's de lay?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nix!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;I just blew in from Chicago. Used to know de
+      Wowzer dere. He said dis place was on de level, an' I could always find
+      him here, dat's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure, youse can!&rdquo; returned the barkeeper heartily. &ldquo;Only he ain't here
+      now. He beat it about fifteen minutes ago, him an' Dago Jim. I guess
+      youse'll find him at Chang's, I heard him an' Dago say dey was goin' dere.
+      Know de place?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I ain't much wise to New York,&rdquo; he explained.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, dat's easy,&rdquo; whispered the barkeeper. &ldquo;Go down to Chatham Square, an'
+      den any guy'll show youse Chang Foo's.&rdquo; He winked confidentially. &ldquo;I guess
+      youse won't bump yer head none gettin' around inside.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale nodded, grinned back, emptied his glass, and dug for a coin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Forget it!&rdquo; observed the barkeeper cordially. &ldquo;Dis is on me. Any friend
+      of de Wowzer's gets de glad hand here any time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;T'anks!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale gratefully, as he turned away. &ldquo;So long, then&mdash;see
+      youse later.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Chang Foo's! Jimmie Dale's face set even a little harder than it had
+      before, as he swung on again down the Bowery. Yes; he knew Chang Foo's&mdash;too
+      well. Underground Chinatown&mdash;where a man's life was worth the price
+      of an opium pill&mdash;or less! Mechanically his hand slipped into his
+      pocket and closed over the automatic that nestled there. Once in&mdash;where
+      he had to go&mdash;and the chances were even, just even, that was all,
+      that he would ever get out. Again he was tempted to return to the
+      Sanctuary and make the attempt as Larry the Bat. Larry the Bat was well
+      enough known to enter Chang Foo's unquestioned, and&mdash;but again he
+      shook his head and went on. There was not time. The Wowzer and his pal&mdash;it
+      was Dago Jim it seemed&mdash;had evidently been drinking and loitering
+      their way downtown from the theatre, and he had gained that much on them;
+      but by now they would be smugly tucked away somewhere in that maze of dens
+      below the ground, and at that moment probably were gloating over the
+      biggest night's haul they had ever made in their lives!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And if they were! What then? Once they knew the contents of that letter&mdash;what
+      then? Buy them off for a larger amount than the many thousands offered for
+      the capture of the Gray Seal? Jimmie Dale gritted his teeth. That meant
+      blackmail from them all his life, an intolerable existence, impossible, a
+      hell on earth&mdash;the slave, at the beck and call of two of the worst
+      criminals in New York! The moisture oozed again to Jimmie Dale's forehead.
+      God, if he could get that letter before it was opened&mdash;before they
+      KNEW! If he could only get the chance to fight for it&mdash;against ANY
+      odds! Life! Life was a pitiful consideration against the alternative that
+      faced him now!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the Blue Dragon to Chang Foo's was not far; and Jimmie Dale covered
+      the distance in well under five minutes. Chang Foo's was just a tea
+      merchant's shop, innocuous and innocent enough in its appearance, blandly
+      so indeed, and that was all&mdash;outwardly; but Jimmie Dale, as he
+      reached his destination, experienced the first sensation of uplift he had
+      known that night, and this from what, apparently, did not in the least
+      seem like a contributing cause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Luck! The blessed luck of it!&rdquo; he muttered grimly, as he surveyed the
+      sight-seeing car drawn up at the curb, and watched the passengers crowding
+      out of it to the ground. &ldquo;It wouldn't have been as easy to fool old Chang
+      as it was that fellow back at the Dragon&mdash;and, besides, if I can work
+      it, there's a better chance this way of getting out alive.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The guide was marshalling his &ldquo;gapers&rdquo;&mdash;some two dozen in all, men
+      and women. Jimmie Dale unostentatiously fell in at the rear; and, the
+      guide leading, the little crowd passed into the tea merchant's shop. Chang
+      Foo, a wizened, wrinkled-faced little Celestial, oily, suave, greeted them
+      with profuse bows, chattering the while volubly in Chinese.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The guide made the introduction with an all-embracing sweep of his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Chang Foo&mdash;ladies and gentlemen,&rdquo; he announced; then held up his
+      hand for silence. &ldquo;Ladies and gentlemen,&rdquo; he said impressively, &ldquo;this is
+      one of the most notorious, if not THE most notorious dive in Chinatown,
+      and it is only through special arrangement with the authorities and at
+      great expense that the company is able exclusively to gain an entree here
+      for its patrons. You will see here the real life of the Chinese, and in
+      half an hour you will get what few would get in a lifetime spent in China
+      itself. You will see the Chinese children dance and perform; the Chinese
+      women at their household tasks; the joss, the shrine of his hallowed
+      ancestors, at which Chang Foo here worships; and you will enter the most
+      famous opium den in the United States. Now, if you will all keep close
+      together, we will make a start.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In spite of his desperate situation, Jimmie Dale smiled a little
+      whimsically. Yes; they would see it all&mdash;UPSTAIRS! The same old bunk
+      dished out night after night at so much a head&mdash;and the nervous
+      little schoolma'am of uncertain age, who fidgeted now beside him, would go
+      back somewhere down in Maine and shiver while she related her &ldquo;wider
+      experiences&rdquo; in tremulous whispers into the shocked ears of envious other
+      maiden ladies of equally uncertain age. The same old bunk&mdash;and a
+      profitable one for Chang Foo for more reasons than one. It was dust in the
+      eyes of the police. The police smiled knowingly at mention of Chang Foo.
+      Who should know, if they didn't, that it was all harmless fake, all bunk!
+      And so it was&mdash;UPSTAIRS!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were passing out of the shop now, bowed out through a side door by
+      the obsequious and oily Chang Foo. And now they massed again in a sort of
+      little hallway&mdash;and Chang Foo, closing the door upon Jimmie Dale, who
+      was the last in the line, shuffled back behind the counter in his shop to
+      resume his guard duty over customers of quite another ilk. With the door
+      closed, it was dark, pitch dark. And this, too, like everything else
+      connected with Chang Foo's establishment, for more reasons than one&mdash;for
+      effect&mdash;and for security. Nervous little twitters began to emanate
+      from the women&mdash;the guide's voice rose reassuringly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep close together, ladies and gentlemen. We are going upstairs now to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale hugged back against the wall, sidled along it, and like a
+      shadow slipped down to the end of the hall. The scuffling of two dozen
+      pairs of feet mounting the creaky staircase drowned the slight sound as he
+      cautiously opened a door; the darkness lay black, impenetrable, along the
+      hall. And then, as cautiously as he had opened it, he closed the door
+      behind him, and stood for an instant listening at the head of a
+      ladder-like stairway, his automatic in his hand now. It was familiar
+      ground to Larry the Bat. The steps led down to a cellar; and diagonally
+      across from the foot of the steps was an opening, ingeniously hidden by a
+      heterogeneous collection of odds and ends, boxes, cases, and rubbish from
+      the pseudo tea shop above; a low opening in the wall to a passage that led
+      on through the cellars of perhaps half a dozen adjoining houses, each of
+      which latter was leased, in one name or another&mdash;by Chang Foo.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale crept down the steps, and in another moment had gained the
+      farther side of the cellar; then, skirting around the ruck of cases, he
+      stooped suddenly and passed in through the opening in the wall. And now he
+      halted once more. He was straining his eyes down a long, narrow passage,
+      whose blackness was accentuated rather than relieved by curious wavering,
+      gossamer threads of yellow light that showed here and there from under
+      makeshift thresholds, from doors slightly ajar. Faint noises came to him,
+      a muffled, intermittent clink of coin, a low, continuous, droning hum of
+      voices; the sickly sweet smell of opium pricked at his nostrils.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's face set rigidly. It was the resort, not only of the most
+      depraved Chinese element, but of the worst &ldquo;white&rdquo; thugs that made New
+      York their headquarters&mdash;here, in the succession of cellars, roughly
+      partitioned off to make a dozen rooms on either side of the passage, dope
+      fiends sucked at the drug, and Chinese gamblers spent the greater part of
+      their lives; here, murder was hatched and played too often to its hellish
+      end; here, the scum of the underworld sought refuge from the police to the
+      profit of Chang Foo; and here, somewhere, in one of these rooms, was&mdash;the
+      Wowzer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Wowzer! Jimmie Dale stole forward silently, without a sound, swiftly&mdash;pausing
+      only to listen for a second's space at the doors as he passed. From this
+      one came that clink of coin; from another that jabber of Chinese; from
+      still another that overpowering stench of opium&mdash;and once,
+      iron-nerved as he was, a cold thrill passed over him. Let this lair of
+      hell's wolves, so intent now on their own affairs, be once roused, as they
+      certainly must be roused before he could hope to finish the Wowzer, and
+      his chances of escape were&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He straightened suddenly, alert, tense, strained. Voices, raised in a
+      furious quarrel, came from a door just beyond him on the other side of the
+      passage, where a film of light streamed out through a cracked panel&mdash;it
+      was the Wowzer and Dago Jim! And drunk, both of them&mdash;and both in a
+      blind fury!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It happened quick then, almost instantaneously it seemed to Jimmie Dale.
+      He was crouched now close against the door, his eye to the crack in the
+      panel. There was only one figure in sight&mdash;Dago Jim&mdash;standing
+      beside a table on which burned a lamp, the table top littered with
+      watches, purses, and small chatelaine bags. The man was lurching
+      unsteadily on his feet, a vicious sneer of triumph on his face, waving
+      tauntingly an open letter and Jimmie Dale's pocket-book in his hands&mdash;waving
+      them presumably in the face of the Wowzer, whom, from the restrictions of
+      the crack, Jimmie Dale could not see. He was conscious of a sickening
+      sense of disaster. His hope against hope had been in vain&mdash;the letter
+      had been opened and read&mdash;THE IDENTITY OF THE GRAY SEAL WAS SOLVED.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dago Jim's voice roared out, hoarse, blasphemous, in drunken rage:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;De Gray Seal&mdash;see! Youse betcher life I knows! I been waitin' fer
+      somet'ing like dis, damn youse! Youse been stallin' on me fer a year every
+      time it came to a divvy. Youse've got a pocketful now youse snitched
+      to-night dat youse are tryin' to do me out of. Well, keep 'em&rdquo;&mdash;he
+      shoved his face forward. &ldquo;I keeps dis&mdash;see! Keep 'em Wowzer, youse
+      cross-eyed&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Everyt'ing I pinched to-night's on de table dere wid wot youse pinched
+      yerself,&rdquo; cut in the Wowzer, in a sullen, threatening growl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Youse lie, an' youse knows it!&rdquo; retorted Dago Jim. &ldquo;Youse have given me
+      de short end every time we've pulled a deal!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dat letter's mine, youse&mdash;&rdquo; bawled the Wowzer furiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why didn't youse open it an' read it, den, instead of lettin' me do it to
+      keep me busy while youse short-changed me?&rdquo; sneered Dago Jim. &ldquo;Youse
+      t'ought it was some sweet billy-doo, eh? Well, t'anks, Wowzer&mdash;dat's
+      wot it is! Say,&rdquo; he mocked, &ldquo;dere's a guy'll cash a t'ousand century notes
+      fer dis, an' if he don't&mdash;say, dere's SOME reward out fer the Gray
+      Seal! Wouldn't youse like to know who it is? Well, when I'm ridin' in me
+      private buzz wagon, Wowzer, youse stick around an' mabbe I'll tell youse&mdash;an'
+      mabbe I won't!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By God&rdquo;&mdash;the Wowzer's voice rose in a scream&mdash;&ldquo;youse hand over
+      dat letter!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Youse go to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Red, lurid red, a stream of flame seemed to cut across Jimmie Dale's line
+      of vision, came the roar of a revolver shot&mdash;and like a madman Jimmie
+      Dale flung his body at the door. Rickety at best, it crashed inward, half
+      wrenched from its hinges, precipitating him inside. He recovered himself
+      and leaped forward. The room was swirling with blue eddies of smoke; Dago
+      Jim, hands flung up, still grasping letter and pocketbook, pawed at the
+      air&mdash;and plunged with a sagging lurch face downward to the floor.
+      There was a yell and an oath from the Wowzer&mdash;the crack of another
+      revolver shot, the hum of the bullet past Jimmie Dale's ear, the scorch of
+      the tongue flame in his face, and he was upon the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Screeching profanity, the Wowzer grappled; and, for an instant, the two
+      men rocked, reeled, and swayed in each other's embrace; then, both men
+      losing their balance, they shot suddenly backward, the Wowzer, undermost,
+      striking his head against the table's edge&mdash;and men, table, and lamp
+      crashed downward in a heap to the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It had been no more, at most, than a matter of seconds since Jimmie Dale
+      had hurled himself into the room; and now, with a gurgling sigh, the
+      Wowzer's arms, that had been wound around Jimmie Dale's back and
+      shoulders, relaxed, and, from the blow on his head the man, lay back inert
+      and stunned. And then it seemed to Jimmie Dale as though pandemonium,
+      unreality, and chaos at the touch of some devil's hand reigned around him.
+      It was dark&mdash;no, not dark&mdash;a spurt of flame was leaping along
+      the line of trickling oil from the broken lamp on the floor. It threw into
+      ghastly relief the sprawled form of Dago Jim. Outside, from along the
+      passageway, came a confused jangle of commotion&mdash;whispering voices,
+      shuffling feet, the swish of Chinese garments. And the room itself began
+      to spring into weird, flickering shadows, that mounted and crept up the
+      walls with the spreading fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was not a second to lose before the room would be swarming with that
+      rush from the passageway&mdash;and there was still the letter, the
+      pocketbook! The table had fallen half over Dago Jim&mdash;Jimmie Dale
+      pushed it aside, tore the crushed letter and the pocketbook from the man's
+      hands&mdash;and felt, with a grim, horrible sort of anxiety, for the
+      other's heartbeat, for the verdict that meant life or death to himself.
+      There was no sign of life&mdash;the man was dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale was on his feet now. A face, another, and another showed in
+      the doorway&mdash;the Wowzer was regaining his senses, stumbling to his
+      knees. There was one chance&mdash;just one&mdash;to take those crowding
+      figures by surprise. And with a yell of &ldquo;Fire!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale sprang for the
+      doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They gave way before his rush, tumbling back in their surprise against the
+      opposite wall; and, turning, Jimmie Dale raced down the passageway. Doors
+      were opening everywhere now, forms were pushing out into the semi-darkness&mdash;only
+      to duck hastily back again, as Jimmie Dale's automatic barked and spat a
+      running fire of warning ahead of him. And then, behind, the Wowzer's voice
+      shrieked out:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Soak him! Kill de guy! He's croaked Dago Jim! Put a hole in him, de&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yells, a chorus of them, took up the refrain&mdash;then the rush of
+      following feet&mdash;and the passageway seemed to racket as though a
+      Gatling gun were in play with the fusillade of revolver shots. But Jimmie
+      Dale was at the opening now&mdash;and, like a base runner plunging for the
+      bag, he flung himself in a low dive through and into the open cellar
+      beyond. He was on his feet, over the boxes, and dashing up the stairs in a
+      second. The door above opened as he reached the top&mdash;Jimmie Dale's
+      right hand shot out with clubbed revolver&mdash;and with a grunt Chang Foo
+      went down before the blow and the headlong rush. The next instant Jimmie
+      Dale had sprung through the tea shop and was out on the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A minute, two minutes more, and Chinatown would be in an uproar&mdash;Chang
+      Foo would see to that&mdash;and the Wowzer would prod him on. The danger
+      was far from over yet. And then, as he ran, Jimmie Dale gave a little gasp
+      of relief. Just ahead, drawn up at the curb, stood a taxicab&mdash;waiting,
+      probably, for a private slumming party. Jimmie Dale put on a spurt,
+      reached it, and wrenched the door open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quick!&rdquo; he flung at the startled chauffeur. &ldquo;The nearest subway station&mdash;there's
+      a ten-spot in it for you! Quick man&mdash;QUICK! Here they come!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A crowd of Chinese, pouring like angry hornets from Chang Foo's shop, came
+      yelling down the street&mdash;and the taxi took the corner on two wheels&mdash;and
+      Jimmie Dale, panting, choking for his breath like a man spent, sank back
+      against the cushions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But five minutes later it was quite another Jimmie Dale, composed,
+      nonchalant, imperturbable, who entered an up-town subway train, and,
+      choosing a seat alone near the centre of the car, which at that hour of
+      night in the downtown district was almost deserted, took the crushed
+      letter from his pocket. For a moment he made no attempt to read it, his
+      dark eyes, now that he was free from observation, full of troubled
+      retrospect, fixed on the window at his side. It was not a pleasant thought
+      that it had cost a man his life, nor yet that that life was also the price
+      of his own freedom. True, if there were two men in the city of New York
+      whose crimes merited neither sympathy nor mercy, those two men were the
+      Wowzer and Dago Jim&mdash;but yet, after all, it was a human life, and,
+      even if his own had been in the balance, thank God it had been through no
+      act of his that Dago Jim had gone out! The Wowzer, cute and cunning, had
+      been quick enough to say so to clear himself, but&mdash;Jimmie Dale smiled
+      a little now&mdash;neither the Wowzer, nor Chang Foo, nor Chinatown would
+      ever be in a position to recognise their uninvited guest!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted to the letter speculatively, gravely. It seemed
+      as though the night had already held a year of happenings, and the night
+      was not over yet&mdash;there was the letter! It had already cost one life;
+      was it to cost another&mdash;or what?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It began as it always did. He read it through once, in amazement; a second
+      time, with a flush of bitter anger creeping to his cheeks; and a third
+      time, curiously memorising, as it were, snatches of it here and there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;DEAR PHILANTHROPIC CROOK: Robbery of Hudson-Mercantile National Bank&mdash;trusted
+      employee is ex-convict, bad police record, served term in Sing Sing three
+      years ago&mdash;known to police as Bookkeeper Bob, real name is Robert
+      Moyne, lives at &mdash;&mdash; Street, Harlem&mdash;Inspector Burton and
+      Lannigan of headquarters trailing him now&mdash;robbery not yet made
+      public&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a great deal more&mdash;four sheets of closely written data.
+      With an exclamation almost of dismay, Jimmie Dale pulled out his watch. So
+      that was what Burton and Lannigan were up to! And he had actually run into
+      them! Lord, the irony of it! The&mdash;And then Jimmie Dale stared at the
+      dial of his watch incredulously. It was still but barely midnight! It
+      seemed impossible that since leaving the theatre at a few minutes before
+      eleven, he had lived through but a single hour!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's fingers began to pluck at the letter, tearing it into
+      pieces, tearing the pieces over and over again into tiny shreds. The train
+      stopped at station after station, people got on and off&mdash;Jimmie
+      Dale's hat was over his eyes, and his eyes were glued again to the window.
+      Had Bookkeeper Bob returned to his flat in Harlem with the detectives at
+      his heels&mdash;or were Burton and Lannigan still trailing the man
+      downtown somewhere around the cafe's? If the former, the theft of the
+      letter and its incident loss of time had been an irreparable disaster; if
+      the latter&mdash;well, who knew! The risk was the Gray Seal's!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At One Hundred and Twenty-Fifth Street Jimmie Dale left the train; and, at
+      the end of a sharp four minutes' walk, during which he had dodged in and
+      out from street to street, stopped on a corner to survey the block ahead
+      of him. It was a block devoted exclusively to flats and apartment houses,
+      and, apart from a few belated pedestrians, was deserted. Jimmie Dale
+      strolled leisurely down one side, crossed the street at the end of the
+      block, and strolled leisurely back on the other side&mdash;there was no
+      sign of either Burton or Lannigan. It was a fairly safe presumption then
+      that Bookkeeper Bob had not returned yet, or one of the detectives at
+      least would have been shadowing the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale, smiling a little grimly, retraced his steps again, and turned
+      deliberately into a doorway&mdash;whose number he had noted as he had
+      passed a moment or so before. So, after all, there was time yet! This was
+      the house. &ldquo;Number eighteen,&rdquo; she had said in her letter. &ldquo;A flat&mdash;three
+      stories&mdash;Moyne lives on ground floor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale leaned against the vestibule door&mdash;there was a faint
+      click&mdash;a little steel instrument was withdrawn from the lock&mdash;and
+      Jimmie Dale stepped into the hall, where a gas jet, turned down, burned
+      dimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door of the ground-floor apartment was at his right, Jimmie Dale
+      reached up and turned off the light. Again those slim, tapering,
+      wonderfully sensitive fingers worked with the little steel instrument,
+      this time in the lock of the apartment door&mdash;again there was that
+      almost inaudible click&mdash;and then cautiously, inch by inch, the door
+      opened under his hand. He peered inside&mdash;down a hallway lighted, if
+      it could be called lighted at all, by a subdued glow from two open doors
+      that gave upon it&mdash;peered intently, listening intently, as he drew a
+      black silk mask from his pocket and slipped it over his face. And then,
+      silent as a shadow in his movements, the door left just ajar behind him,
+      he stole down the carpeted hallway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Opposite the first of the open doorways Jimmie Dale paused&mdash;a
+      curiously hard expression creeping over his face, his lips beginning to
+      droop ominously downward at the corners. It was a little sitting room,
+      cheaply but tastefully furnished, and a young woman, Bookkeeper Bob's wife
+      evidently, and evidently sitting up for her husband, had fallen sound
+      asleep in a chair, her head pillowed on her arms that were outstretched
+      across the table. For a moment Jimmie Dale held there, his eyes on the
+      scene&mdash;and the next moment, his hand curved into a clenched fist, he
+      had passed on and entered the adjoining room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a child's bedroom. A night lamp burned on a table beside the bed,
+      and the soft rays seemed to play and linger in caress on the tousled
+      golden hair of a little girl of perhaps two years of age&mdash;and
+      something seemed to choke suddenly in Jimmie Dale's throat&mdash;the
+      sweet, innocent little face, upturned to his, was smiling at him as she
+      slept.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale turned away his head&mdash;his eyelashes wet under his mask.
+      &ldquo;BENEATH THE MATTRESS OF THE CHILD'S BED,&rdquo; the letter had said. His face
+      like stone, his lips a thin line now, Jimmie Dale's hand reached deftly in
+      without disturbing the child and took out a package&mdash;and then
+      another. He straightened up, a bundle of crisp new hundred-dollar notes in
+      each hand&mdash;and on the top of one, slipped under the elastic band that
+      held the bills together, an unsealed envelope. He drew out the latter, and
+      opened it&mdash;it was a second-class steamship passage to Vera Cruz, made
+      out in a fictitious name, of course, to John Davies, the booking for next
+      day's sailing. From the ticket, from the stolen money, Jimmie Dale's eyes
+      lifted to rest again on the little golden head, the smiling lips&mdash;and
+      then, dropping the packages into his pockets, his own lips moving queerly,
+      he turned abruptly to the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God, the shame of it!&rdquo; he whispered to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He crept down the corridor, past the open door of the room where the young
+      woman still sat fast asleep, and, his mask in his pocket again, stepped
+      softly into the vestibule, and from there to the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale hurried now, spurred on it seemed by a hot, insensate fury
+      that raged within him&mdash;there was still one other call to make that
+      night&mdash;still those remaining and minute details in the latter part of
+      her letter, grim and ugly in their portent!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was close upon one o'clock in the morning when Jimmie Dale stopped
+      again&mdash;this time before a fashionable dwelling just off Central Park.
+      And here, for perhaps the space of a minute, he surveyed the house from
+      the sidewalk&mdash;watching, with a sort of speculative satisfaction, a
+      man's shadow that passed constantly to and fro across the drawn blinds of
+      one of the lower windows. The rest of the house was in darkness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, nodding his head, &ldquo;I rather thought so. The
+      servants will have retired hours ago. It's safe enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He ran quickly up the steps and rang the bell. A door opened almost
+      instantly, sending a faint glow into the hall from the lighted room; a
+      hurried step crossed the hall&mdash;and the outer door was thrown back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what is it?&rdquo; demanded a voice brusquely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was quite dark, too dark for either to distinguish the other's features&mdash;and
+      Jimmie Dale's hat was drawn far down over his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to see Mr. Thomas H. Carling, cashier of the Hudson-Mercantile
+      National Bank&mdash;it's very important,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale earnestly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am Mr. Carling,&rdquo; replied the other. &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale leaned forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From headquarters&mdash;with a report,&rdquo; he said, in a low tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; exclaimed the bank official sharply. &ldquo;Well, it's about time! I've
+      been waiting up for it&mdash;though I expected you would telephone rather
+      than this. Come in!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale courteously&mdash;and stepped into the hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The other closed the front door. &ldquo;The servants are in bed, of course,&rdquo; he
+      explained, as he led the way toward the lighted room. &ldquo;This way, please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Behind the other, across the hall, Jimmie Dale followed and close at
+      Carling's heels entered the room, which was fitted up, quite evidently
+      regardless of cost, as a combination library and study. Carling, in a
+      somewhat pompous fashion, walked straight ahead toward the carved-mahogany
+      flat-topped desk, and, as he reached it, waved his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take a chair,&rdquo; he said, over his shoulder&mdash;and then, turning in the
+      act of dropping into his own chair, grasped suddenly at the edge of the
+      desk instead, and, with a low, startled cry, stared across the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale was leaning back against the door that was closed now behind
+      him&mdash;and on Jimmie Dale's face was a black silk mask.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For an instant neither man spoke nor moved; then Carling, spare-built,
+      dapper in evening clothes, edged back from the desk and laughed a little
+      uncertainly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite neat! I compliment you! From headquarters with a report, I think
+      you said?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which I neglected to add,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, &ldquo;was to be made in private.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carling, as though to put as much distance between them as possible,
+      continued to edge back across the room&mdash;but his small black eyes,
+      black now to the pupils themselves, never left Jimmie Dale's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In private, eh?&rdquo;&mdash;he seemed to be sparring for time, as he smiled.
+      &ldquo;In private! You've a strange method of securing privacy, haven't you? A
+      bit melodramatic, isn't it? Perhaps you'll be good enough to tell me who
+      you are?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale smiled indulgently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My mask is only for effect,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;My name is&mdash;Smith.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Carling. &ldquo;I am very stupid. Thank you. I&mdash;&rdquo; he had
+      reached the other side of the room now&mdash;and with a quick, sudden
+      movement jerked his hand to the dial of the safe that stood against the
+      wall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Jimmie Dale was quicker&mdash;without shifting his position, his
+      automatic, whipped from his pocket, held a disconcerting bead on Carling's
+      forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please don't do that,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale softly. &ldquo;It's rather a good make,
+      that safe. I dare say it would take me half an hour to open it. I was
+      rather curious to know whether it was locked or not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carling's hand dropped to his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So!&rdquo; he sneered. &ldquo;That's it, is it! The ordinary variety of sneak thief!&rdquo;
+       His voice was rising gradually. &ldquo;Well, sir, let me tell you that&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Carling,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, in a low, even tone, &ldquo;unless you moderate
+      your voice some one in the house might hear you&mdash;I am quite well
+      aware of that. But if that happens, if any one enters this room, if you
+      make a move to touch a button, or in any other way attempt to attract
+      attention, I'll drop you where you stand!&rdquo; His hand, behind his back,
+      extracted the key from the door lock, held it up for the other to see,
+      then dropped it into his pocket&mdash;and his voice, cold before, rang
+      peremptorily now. &ldquo;Come back to the desk and sit down in that chair!&rdquo; he
+      ordered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment Carling hesitated; then, with a half-muttered oath, obeyed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale moved over, and stood in front of Carling on the other side of
+      the desk&mdash;and stared silently at the immaculate, fashionably groomed
+      figure before him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Under the prolonged gaze, Carling's composure, in a measure at least,
+      seemed to forsake him. He began to drum nervously with his fingers on the
+      desk, and shift uneasily in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then, from first one pocket and then the other, Jimmie Dale took the
+      two packages of banknotes, and, still with out a word, pushed them across
+      the desk until they lay under the other's eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carling's fingers stopped their drumming, slid to the desk edge, tightened
+      there, and a whiteness crept into his face. Then, with an effort, he
+      jerked himself erect in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's this?&rdquo; he demanded hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About ten thousand dollars, I should say,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale slowly. &ldquo;I
+      haven't counted it. Your bank was robbed this evening at closing time, I
+      understand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes!&rdquo; Carling's voice was excited now, the colour back in his face. &ldquo;But
+      you&mdash;how&mdash;do you mean that you are returning the money to the
+      bank?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Exactly,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carling was once more the pompous bank official. He leaned back and
+      surveyed Jimmie Dale critically with his little black eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, quite so!&rdquo; he observed. &ldquo;That accounts for the mask. But I am still a
+      little in the dark. Under the circumstances, it is quite impossible that
+      you should have stolen the money yourself, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;I found it hidden in the home of one of
+      your employees.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You found it&mdash;WHERE?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In Moyne's home&mdash;up in Harlem.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Moyne, eh?&rdquo; Carling was alert, quick now, jerking out his words. &ldquo;How did
+      you come to get into this, then? His pal? Double-crossing him, eh? I
+      suppose you want a reward&mdash;we'll attend to that, of course. You're
+      wiser than you know, my man. That's what we suspected. We've had the
+      detectives trailing Moyne all evening.&rdquo; He reached forward over the desk
+      for the telephone. &ldquo;I'll telephone headquarters to make the arrest at
+      once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just a minute,&rdquo; interposed Jimmie Dale gravely. &ldquo;I want you to listen to
+      a little story first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A story! What has a story got to do with this?&rdquo; snapped Carling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The man has got a home,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale softly. &ldquo;A home, and a wife&mdash;and
+      a little baby girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, that's the game then, eh? You want to plead for him?&rdquo; Carling flung
+      out gruffly. &ldquo;Well, he should have thought of all that before! It's quite
+      useless for you to bring it up. The man has had his chance already&mdash;a
+      better chance than any one with his record ever had before. We took him
+      into the bank knowing that he was an ex-convict, but believing that we
+      could make an honest man of him&mdash;and this is the result.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And yet&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;NO!&rdquo; said Carling icily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You refuse&mdash;absolutely?&rdquo; Jimmie Dale's voice had a lingering,
+      wistful note in it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I refuse!&rdquo; said Carling bluntly. &ldquo;I won't have anything to do with it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was just an instant's silence; and then, with a strange, slow,
+      creeping motion, as a panther creeps when about to spring, Jimmie Dale
+      projected his body across the desk&mdash;far across it toward the other.
+      And the muscles of his jaw were quivering, his words rasping, choked with
+      the sweep of fury that, held back so long, broke now in a passionate
+      surge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And shall I tell you why you won't? Your bank was robbed to-night of one
+      hundred thousand dollars. There are ten thousand here. THE OTHER NINETY
+      THOUSAND ARE IN YOUR SAFE!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You lie!&rdquo; Ashen to the lips, Carling had risen in his chair. &ldquo;You lie!&rdquo;
+       he cried. &ldquo;Do you hear! You lie! I tell you, you lie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's lips parted ominously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit down!&rdquo; he gritted between his teeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The white in Carling's face had turned to gray, his lips were working&mdash;mechanically
+      he sank down again in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale still leaned over the desk, resting his weight on his right
+      elbow, the automatic in his right hand covering Carling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You cur!&rdquo; whispered Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;There's just one reason, only one, that
+      keeps me from putting a bullet through you while you sit there. We'll get
+      to that in a moment. There is that little story first&mdash;shall I tell
+      it to you now? For the past four years, and God knows how many before
+      that, you've gone the pace. The lavishness of this bachelor establishment
+      of yours is common talk in New York&mdash;far in excess of a bank
+      cashier's salary. But you were supposed to be a wealthy man in your own
+      right; and so, in reality you were&mdash;once. But you went through your
+      fortune two years ago. Counted a model citizen, an upright man, an honour
+      to the community&mdash;what were you, Carling? What ARE you? Shall I tell
+      you? Roue, gambler, leading a double life of the fastest kind. You did it
+      cleverly, Carling; hid it well&mdash;but your game is up. To-night, for
+      instance, you are at the end of your tether, swamped with debts, exposure
+      threatening you at any moment. Why don't you tell me again that I lie&mdash;Carling?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But now the man made no answer. He had sunk a little deeper in his chair&mdash;a
+      dawning look of terror in the eyes that held, fascinated, on Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You cur!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale again. &ldquo;You cur, with your devil's work! A
+      year ago you saw this night coming&mdash;when you must have money, or face
+      ruin and exposure. You saw it then, a year ago, the day that Moyne,
+      concealing nothing of his prison record, applied through friends for a
+      position in the bank. Your co-officials were opposed to his appointment,
+      but you, do you remember how you pleaded to give the man his chance&mdash;and
+      in your hellish ingenuity saw your way then out of the trap! An ex-convict
+      from Sing Sing! It was enough, wasn't it? What chance had he!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale
+      paused, his left hand clenched until the skin formed whitish knobs over
+      the knuckles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carling's tongue sought his lips, made a circuit of them&mdash;and he
+      tried to speak, but his voice was an incoherent muttering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll not waste words,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, in his grim monotone. &ldquo;I'm not
+      sure enough myself&mdash;that I could keep my hands off you much longer.
+      The actual details of how you stole the money to-day do not matter&mdash;NOW.
+      A little later perhaps in court&mdash;but not now. You were the last to
+      leave the bank, but before leaving you pretended to discover the theft of
+      a hundred thousand dollars&mdash;that, done up in a paper parcel, was even
+      then reposing in your desk. You brought the parcel home, put it in that
+      safe there&mdash;and notified the president of the bank by telephone from
+      here of the robbery, suggesting that police headquarters be advised at
+      once. He told you to go ahead and act as you saw best. You notified the
+      police, speciously directing suspicion to&mdash;the ex-convict in the
+      bank's employ. You knew Moyne was dining out to-night, you knew where&mdash;and
+      at a hint from you the police took up the trail. A little later in the
+      evening, you took these two packages of banknotes from the rest, and with
+      this steamship ticket&mdash;which you obtained yesterday while out at
+      lunch by sending a district messenger boy with the money and instructions
+      in a sealed envelope to purchase for you&mdash;you went up to the Moynes'
+      flat in Harlem for the purpose of secreting them somewhere there. You
+      pretended to be much disappointed at finding Moyne out&mdash;you had just
+      come for a little social visit, to get better acquainted with the home
+      life of your employees! Mrs. Moyne was genuinely pleased and grateful. She
+      took you in to see their little girl, who was already asleep in bed. She
+      left you there for a moment to answer the door&mdash;and you&mdash;you&rdquo;&mdash;Jimmie
+      Dale's voice choked again&mdash;&ldquo;you blot on God's earth, you slipped the
+      money and ticket under the child's mattress!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carling came forward with a lurch in his chair&mdash;and his hands went
+      out, pawing in a wild, pleading fashion over Jimmie Dale's arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale flung him away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were safe enough,&rdquo; he rasped on. &ldquo;The police could only construe your
+      visit to Moyne's flat as zeal on behalf of the bank. And it was safer,
+      much more circumspect on your part, not to order the flat searched at
+      once, but only as a last resort, as it were, after you had led the police
+      to trail him all evening and still remain without a clew&mdash;and
+      besides, of course, not until you had planted the evidence that was to
+      damn him and wreck his life and home! You were even generous in the amount
+      you deprived yourself of out of the hundred thousand dollars&mdash;for
+      less would have been enough. Caught with ten thousand dollars of the
+      bank's money and a steamship ticket made out in a fictitious name, it was
+      prima-facie evidence that he had done the job and had the balance
+      somewhere. What would his denials, his protestations of innocence count
+      for? He was an ex-convict, a hardened criminal caught red-handed with a
+      portion of the proceeds of robbery&mdash;he had succeeded in hiding the
+      remainder of it too cleverly, that was all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carling's face was ghastly. His hands went out again&mdash;again his
+      tongue moistened his dry lips. He whispered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't&mdash;isn't there some&mdash;some way we can fix this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And then Jimmie Dale laughed&mdash;not pleasantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, there's a way, Carling,&rdquo; he said grimly. &ldquo;That's why I'm here.&rdquo; He
+      picked up a sheet of writing paper and pushed it across the desk&mdash;then
+      a pen, which he dipped into the inkstand, and extended to the other. &ldquo;The
+      way you'll fix it will be to write out a confession exonerating Moyne.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carling shrank back into his chair, his head huddling into his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;NO!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;I won't&mdash;I can't&mdash;my God!&mdash;I&mdash;I&mdash;WON'T!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The automatic in Jimmie Dale's hand edged forward the fraction of an inch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have not used this&mdash;yet. You understand now why&mdash;don't you?&rdquo;
+       he said under his breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no!&rdquo; Carling pushed away the pen. &ldquo;I'm ruined&mdash;ruined as it is.
+      But this would mean the penitentiary, too&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where you tried to send an innocent man in your place, you hound; where
+      you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some other way&mdash;some other way!&rdquo; Carling was babbling. &ldquo;Let me out
+      of this&mdash;for God's sake, let me out of this!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Carling,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale hoarsely, &ldquo;I stood beside a little bed
+      to-night and looked at a baby girl&mdash;a little baby girl with golden
+      hair, who smiled as she slept.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Carling shivered, and passed a shaking hand across his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take this pen,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale monotonously; &ldquo;or&mdash;THIS!&rdquo; The
+      automatic lifted until the muzzle was on a line with Carling's eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Carling's hand reached out, still shaking, and took the pen; and his body,
+      dragged limply forward, hung over the desk. The pen spluttered on the
+      paper&mdash;a bead of sweat spurting from the man's forehead dropped to
+      the sheet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was silence in the room. A minute passed&mdash;another. Carling's
+      pen travelled haltingly across the paper then, with a queer, low cry as he
+      signed his name, he dropped the pen from his fingers, and, rising
+      unsteadily from his chair, stumbled away from the desk toward a couch
+      across the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An instant Jimmie Dale watched the other, then he picked up the sheet of
+      paper. It was a miserable document, miserably scrawled:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess it's all up. I guess I knew it would be some day. Moyne hadn't
+      anything to do with it. I stole the money myself from the bank to-night. I
+      guess it's all up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;THOMAS H. CARLING.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      From the paper, Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted to the figure by the couch&mdash;and
+      the paper fluttered suddenly from his fingers to the desk. Carling was
+      reeling, clutching at his throat&mdash;a small glass vial rolled upon the
+      carpet. And then, even as Jimmie Dale sprang forward, the other pitched
+      head long over the couch&mdash;and in a moment it was over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Presently Jimmie Dale picked up the vial&mdash;and dropped it back on the
+      floor again. There was no label on it, but it needed none&mdash;the
+      strong, penetrating odor of bitter almonds was telltale evidence enough.
+      It was prussic, or hydrocyanic acid, probably the most deadly poison and
+      the swiftest in its action that was known to science&mdash;Carling had
+      provided against that &ldquo;some day&rdquo; in his confession!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a little space, motionless, Jimmie Dale stood looking down at the
+      silent, outstretched form&mdash;then he walked slowly back to the desk,
+      and slowly, deliberately picked up the signed confession and the steamship
+      ticket. He held them an instant, staring at them, then methodically began
+      to tear them into little pieces, a strange, tired smile hovering on his
+      lips. The man was dead now&mdash;there would be disgrace enough for some
+      one to bear, a mother perhaps&mdash;who knew! And there was another way
+      now&mdash;since the man was dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale put the pieces in his pocket, went to the safe, opened it, and
+      took out a parcel, locked the safe carefully, and carried the parcel to
+      the desk. He opened it there. Inside were nearly two dozen little packages
+      of hundred-dollar bills. The other two packages that he had brought with
+      him he added to the rest. From his pocket he took out the thin metal
+      insignia case, and with the tiny tweezers lifted up one of the
+      gray-coloured, diamond-shaped paper seals. He moistened the adhesive side,
+      and, still holding it by the tweezers, dropped it on his handkerchief and
+      pressed the seal down on the face of the topmost package of banknotes. He
+      tied the parcel up then, and, picking up the pen, addressed it in printed
+      characters:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      HUDSON-MERCANTILE NATIONAL BANK, NEW YORK CITY.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;District messenger&mdash;some way&mdash;in the morning,&rdquo; he murmured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale slipped his mask into his pocket, and, with the parcel under
+      his arm, stepped to the door and unlocked it. He paused for an instant on
+      the threshold for a single, quick, comprehensive glance around the room&mdash;then
+      passed on out into the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the corner he stopped to light a cigarette&mdash;and the flame of the
+      match spurting up disclosed a face that was worn and haggard. He threw the
+      match away, smiled a little wearily&mdash;and went on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Gray Seal had committed another &ldquo;crime.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE THIEF
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Choosing between the snowy napery, the sparkling glass and silver, the
+      cozy, shaded table-lamps, the famous French chef of the ultra-exclusive
+      St. James Club, his own home on Riverside Drive where a dinner fit for an
+      epicure and served by Jason, that most perfect of butlers, awaited him,
+      and Marlianne's, Jimmie Dale, driving in alone in his touring car from an
+      afternoon's golf, had chosen&mdash;Marlianne's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marlianne's, if such a thing as Bohemianism, or, rather, a concrete
+      expression of it exists, was Bohemian. A two-piece string orchestra played
+      valiantly to the accompaniment of a hoarse-throated piano; and between
+      courses the diners took up the refrain&mdash;and, as it was always between
+      courses with some one, the place was a bedlam of noisy riot. Nevertheless,
+      it was Marlianne's&mdash;and Jimmie Dale liked Marlianne's. He had dined
+      there many times before, as he had just dined in the person of Jimmie
+      Dale, the millionaire, his high-priced imported car at the curb of the
+      shabby street outside&mdash;and he had dined there, disreputable in
+      attire, seedy in appearance, with the police yelping at his heels, as
+      Larry the Bat. In either character Marlianne's had welcomed him with equal
+      courtesy to its spotted linen and most excellent table-d'hote with VIN
+      ORDINAIRE&mdash;for fifty cents.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now, in the act of reaching into his pocket for the change to pay his
+      bill, Jimmie Dale seemed suddenly to experience some difficulty in finding
+      what he sought, and his fingers went fumbling from one pocket to another.
+      Two men at the table in front of him were talking&mdash;their voices, over
+      a momentary lull in violin squeaks, talk, laughter, singing, and the
+      clatter of dishes, reached him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Carling commit suicide! Not on your life! No; of course he didn't! It was
+      that cursed Gray Seal croaked him, just as sure as you sit in that chair!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The other grunted. &ldquo;Yes; but what'd the Gray Seal want to pinch a hundred
+      thousand out of the bank for, and then give it back again the next
+      morning?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's he done a hundred other things for to cover up the real object of
+      what he's after?&rdquo; retorted the first speaker, with a short, vicious laugh;
+      then, with a thump of his fist on the table: &ldquo;The man's a devil, a fiend,
+      and anywhere else but New York he'd have been caught and sent to the chair
+      where he belongs long ago, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A burst of ragtime drowned out the man's words. Jimmie Dale placed a
+      fifty-cent piece and a tip beside it on his dinner check, pushed back his
+      chair, and rose from the table. There was a half-tolerantly satirical,
+      half-angry glint in his dark, steady eyes. It was not only the police who
+      yelped at his heels, but every man, woman, and child in the city. The man
+      had not voiced his own sentiments&mdash;he had voiced the sentiments of
+      New York! And it was quite on the cards that if he, Jimmie Dale, were ever
+      caught his destination would not even be the death cell and the chair at
+      Sing Sing&mdash;his fellow citizens had reached a pitch where they would
+      be quite capable of literally tearing him to pieces if they ever got their
+      hands on him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And yet there were a few, a very few, a handful out of five millions, who
+      sometimes remembered perhaps to thank God that the Gray Seal lived&mdash;that
+      was his reward. That&mdash;and SHE, whose mysterious letters prompted and
+      impelled his, the Gray Seal's, acts! She&mdash;nameless, fascinating in
+      her brilliant resourcefulness, amazing in her power, a woman whose life
+      was bound up with his and yet held apart from him in the most
+      inexplicable, absorbing way; a woman he had never seen, save for her
+      gloved arm in the limousine that night, who at one unexpected moment
+      projected a dazzling, impersonal existence across his path, and the next,
+      leaving him battling for his life where greed and passion and crime
+      swirled about him, was gone!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale threaded the small, crowded rooms&mdash;the interior of
+      Marlianne's had never been altered from the days when the place had been a
+      family residence of some pretension&mdash;and, reaching the hall, received
+      his hat from the frowsy-looking boy in attendance. He passed outside, and,
+      at the top of the steps, paused as he took his cigarette case from his
+      pocket. It was nearly a week since Carling, the cashier of the
+      Hudson-Mercantile National Bank, had been found dead in his home, a bottle
+      that had contained hydrocyanic acid on the floor beside him; nearly a week
+      since Bookkeeper Bob, unaware that he had ever been under temporary
+      suspicion for the robbery of the bank, had, equally unknown to himself,
+      been cleared of any complicity in that affair&mdash;and yet, as witness
+      the conversation of a moment ago, it was still the topic of New York,
+      still the vital issue that filled the maw of the newspapers with ravings,
+      threats, and execrations against the Gray Seal, snarling virulently the
+      while at the police for the latter's ineptitude, inefficiency, and
+      impotence!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale closed his cigarette case with a snap that was almost human in
+      its irony, dropped it back into his pocket, and lighted a match&mdash;but
+      the flame was arrested halfway to the tip of his cigarette, as his eyes
+      fixed suddenly and curiously on a woman's form hurrying down the street.
+      She had turned the corner before he took his eyes from her, and the match
+      between his fingers had gone out. Not that there was anything very strange
+      in a woman walking, or even half running, along the street; nor that there
+      was anything particularly attractive or unusual about her, and if there
+      had been the street was too dark for him to have distinguished it. It was
+      not that&mdash;it was the fact that she had neither passed by the house on
+      whose steps he stood, nor come out of any of the adjoining houses. It was
+      as though she had suddenly and miraculously appeared out of thin air, and
+      taken form on a sidewalk a little way down from Marlianne's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's queer!&rdquo; commented Jimmie Dale to himself. &ldquo;However&mdash;&rdquo; He took
+      out another match, lighted his cigarette, jerked the match stub away from
+      him, and, with a lift of his shoulders, went down the steps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He crossed the pavement, walked around the front of his machine, since the
+      steering wheel was on the side next to the curb, and, with his hand out to
+      open the car door&mdash;stopped. Some one had been tampering with it&mdash;it
+      was not quite closed. There was no mistake. Jimmie Dale made no mistakes
+      of that kind, a man whose life hung a dozen times a day on little things
+      could not afford to make them. He had closed it firmly, even with a bang,
+      when he had got out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Instantly suspicious, he wrenched the door wide open, switched on the
+      light under the hood, and, with a sharp exclamation, bent quickly forward.
+      A glove, a woman's glove, a white glove lay on the floor of the car.
+      Jimmie Dale's pulse leaped suddenly into fierce, pounding beats. It was
+      HERS! He KNEW that intuitively&mdash;knew it as he knew that he breathed.
+      And that woman he had so leisurely watched as she had disappeared from
+      sight was, must have been&mdash;she!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He sprang from the car with a jump, his first impulse to dash after her&mdash;and
+      checked himself, laughing a little bitterly. It was too late for that now&mdash;he
+      had already let his chance slip through his fingers. Around the corner was
+      Sixth Avenue, surface cars, the elevated, taxicabs, a multitude of people,
+      any one of a hundred ways in which she could, and would, already have
+      discounted pursuit from him&mdash;and, besides, he would not even have
+      been able to recognise her if he saw her!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's smile was mirthless as he turned back to the car, and picked
+      up the glove. Why had she dropped it there? It could not have been
+      intentional. Why had&mdash;he began to tear suddenly at the glove's little
+      finger, and in another second, kneeling on the car's step, his shoulders
+      inside, he was holding a ring close under the little electric bulb.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a gold seal ring, a small, dainty thing that bore a crest: a bell,
+      surmounted by a bishop's mitre&mdash;the bell, quaint in design, harking
+      the imagination back to some old-time belfry tower. And underneath, in the
+      scroll&mdash;a motto. It was a full minute before Jimmie Dale could
+      decipher it, for the lettering was minute and the words, of course,
+      reversed. It was in French: SONNEZ LE TOCSIN.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He straightened up, the glove and ring in his hand, a puzzled expression
+      on his face. It was strange! Had she, after all, dropped the glove there
+      intentionally; had she at last let down the barriers just a little between
+      them, and given him this little intimate sign that she&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then Jimmie Dale laughed abruptly, self-mockingly. He was only trying
+      to deceive himself, to argue himself into believing what, with heart and
+      soul, he wanted to believe. It was not like her&mdash;and neither was it
+      so! His eyes had fixed on the seat beside the wheel. He had not used the
+      lap rug all that day, he couldn't use a rug and drive, he had left it
+      folded and hanging on the rack in the tonneau&mdash;it was now neatly
+      folded and reposing on the front seat!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, a sort of self-pity in his tones, &ldquo;I might have
+      known.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He lifted the rug. Beneath it on the leather seat lay a white envelope.
+      Her letter! The letter that never came save with the plan of some grim,
+      desperate work outlined ahead&mdash;the call to arms for the Gray Seal.
+      SONNEZ LE TOCSIN! Ring the Tocsin! Sound the alarm! The Tocsin! The words
+      were running through his brain. A strange motto on that crest&mdash;that
+      seemed so strangely apt! The Tocsin! Never once in all the times that he
+      had heard from her, never once in the years that had gone since that
+      initial letter of hers had struck its first warning note, had any
+      communication from her been but to sound again a new alarm&mdash;the
+      Toscin! The Tocsin&mdash;the word seemed to visualise her, to give her a
+      concrete form and being, to breathe her very personality.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Tocsin!&rdquo;&mdash;Jimmie Dale whispered the word softly, a little
+      wistfully. &ldquo;Yes; I shall call you that&mdash;the Tocsin!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He folded the glove very carefully, placed it with the ring in his
+      pocketbook, picked up the letter&mdash;and, with a sharp exclamation,
+      turned it quickly over in his fingers, then bent hurriedly with it to the
+      light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Strange things were happening that night! For the first time, the letter
+      was not even SEALED! That was not like her, either! What did it mean?
+      Quick, alert now, anxious even, he pulled the double, folded sheets from
+      the envelope, glanced rapidly through them&mdash;and, after a moment, a
+      smile, whimsical, came slowly to his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was quite plain now&mdash;all of it. The glove, the ring, and the
+      unsealed letter&mdash;and the postscript held the secret; or, rather, what
+      had been intended for a postscript did, for it comprised only a few words,
+      ending abruptly, unfinished: &ldquo;Look in the cupboard at the rear of the
+      room. The man with the red wig is&mdash;&rdquo; That was all, and the words,
+      written in ink, were badly blurred, as though the paper had been hastily
+      folded before the ink was dry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was quite plain; and, in view of the real explanation of it all,
+      eminently characteristic of her. With the letter already written, she had
+      come there, meaning to place it on the seat and cover it with the rug, as,
+      indeed, she had done; then, deciding to add the postscript, and because
+      she would attract less attention that way than in any other, she had
+      climbed into the car as though it belonged to her, and had seated herself
+      there to write it. She would have been hurried in her movements, of
+      course, and in pulling off her glove to use the fountain pen the ring had
+      come with it. The rest was obvious. She had but just begun to write when
+      he had appeared on the steps. She had slipped instantly down to the floor
+      of the car, probably dropping the glove from her lap, hastily inclosed the
+      letter in the envelope which she had no time to seal, thrust the envelope
+      under the rug, and, forgetting her glove and fearful of risking his
+      attention by attempting to close the door firmly, had stolen along the
+      body of the car, only to be noticed by him too late&mdash;when she was
+      well down the street!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And at that latter thought, once more chagrin seized Jimmie Dale&mdash;then
+      he turned impulsively to the letter. All this was extraneous, apart&mdash;for
+      another time, when every moment was not a priceless asset as it very
+      probably was now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear Philanthropic Crook&rdquo;&mdash;it always began that way, never any other
+      way. He read on more and more intently, crouched there close to the light
+      on the floor of his car, lips thinning as he proceeded&mdash;read it to
+      the end, absorbing, memorising it&mdash;and then the abortive postscript:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look in the cupboard at the rear of the room. The man with the red wig is&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For an instant, as mechanically he tore the letter into little shreds, he
+      held there hesitant&mdash;and the next, slamming the door tight, he flung
+      himself into the seat behind the wheel, and the big, sixty-horse-power,
+      self-starting machine was roaring down the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Tocsin! There was a grim smile on Jimmie Dale's lips now. The alarm!
+      Yes, it was always an alarm, quick, sudden, an emergency to face on the
+      instant&mdash;plans, decisions to be made with no time to ponder them,
+      with only that one fact to consider, staggering enough in itself, that a
+      mistake meant disaster and ruin to some one else, and to himself, if the
+      courts were merciful where he had little hope for mercy, the penitentiary
+      for life!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now to-night again, as it almost always was when these mysterious
+      letters came, every moment of inaction was piling up the odds against him.
+      And, too, the same problem confronted him. How, in what way, in what role,
+      must he play the night's game to its end? As Larry the Bat?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The car was speeding forward. He was heading down Broadway now, lower
+      Broadway, that stretched before him, deserted like some dark, narrow
+      canyon where, far below, like towering walls, the buildings closed
+      together and seemed to converge into some black, impassable barrier. The
+      street lights flashed by him; a patrolman stopped the swinging of his
+      night-stick, and turned to gaze at the car that rushed by at a rate
+      perilously near to contempt of speed laws; street cars passed at
+      indifferent intervals; pedestrians were few and far between&mdash;it was
+      the lower Broadway of night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Larry the Bat? Jimmie Dale shook his head impatiently over the steering
+      wheel. No; that would not do. It would be well enough for this young
+      Burton, perhaps, but not for old Isaac, the East Side fence&mdash;for
+      Isaac knew him in the character of Larry the Bat. His quick, keen brain,
+      weaving, eliminating, devising, scheming, discarded that idea. The final
+      coup of the night, as yet but sensed in an indefinite, unshaped way, if
+      enacted in the person of Larry the Bat would therefore stamp Larry the Bat
+      and the Gray Seal as one&mdash;a contretemps but little less fatal, in
+      view of old Issac, than to bracket the Gray Seal and Jimmie Dale! Larry
+      the Bat was not a character to be assumed with impunity, nor one to
+      jeopardize&mdash;it was a bulwark of safety, at it were, to which more
+      than once he owed escape from capture and discovery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He lifted his shoulders with a sudden jerk of decision as the car swerved
+      to the left and headed for the East Side. There was only one alternative
+      then&mdash;the black silk mask that folded into such tiny compass, and
+      that, together with an automatic and the curious, thin metal case that
+      looked so like a cigarette case, was always in his pocket for an
+      emergency!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The car turned again, and, approaching its destination, Jimmie Dale slowed
+      down the speed perceptibly. It was a strange case, not a pleasant one&mdash;and
+      the raw edges where they showed were ugly in their nakedness. Old Isaac
+      Pelina, young Burton, and Maddon&mdash;K. Wilmington Maddon, the
+      wall-paper magnate! Curious, that of the three he should already know two&mdash;old
+      Isaac and Maddon! Everybody in the East Side, every denizen of the
+      underworld, and many who posed on a far higher plane knew old Isaac&mdash;fence
+      to the most select clientele of thieves in New York, unscrupulous, hand in
+      glove with any rascality or crime that promised profit, a money lender, a
+      Shylock without even a Shylock's humanity as a saving grace! Yes; as Larry
+      the Bat he knew old Isaac, and he knew him not only personally but by
+      firsthand reputation&mdash;he had heard the man cursed in blasphemous,
+      whole-souled abandon by more than one crook who was in the old fence's
+      toils. They dealt with him, the crooks, while they swore to &ldquo;get&rdquo; him
+      because he was &ldquo;safe,&rdquo; but&mdash;Jimmie Dale's lips parted in a mirthless
+      smile&mdash;some day old Isaac would be found in that spiders' den of his
+      back of the dingy loan office with a knife in his heart or a bullet
+      through his head! And K. Wilmington Maddon&mdash;Jimmie Dale's smile grew
+      whimsical&mdash;he had known Maddon quite intimately for years, had even
+      dined with him at the St. James Club only a few nights before. Maddon was
+      a man in his own &ldquo;set&rdquo;&mdash;and Maddon, interfered with, was likely to
+      prove none too tractable a customer to handle. And young Burton, the
+      letter had said, was Maddon's private and confidential secretary. Jimmie
+      Dale's lips thinned again. Well, Burton's acquaintance was still to be
+      made! It was a curious trio&mdash;and it was dirty work, more raw than
+      cunning, more devilish than ingenious; blackmail in its most hellish form;
+      the stake, at the least calculation, a cool half million. A heavy price
+      for a single slip in a man's life!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He brought the car abruptly to a halt at the edge of the curb, and sprang
+      out to the ground. He was in front of &ldquo;The Budapest&rdquo; restaurant, a garish
+      establishment, most popular of all resorts for the moment on the East
+      Side, where Fifth Avenue, in the fond belief that it was seeing the real
+      thing in &ldquo;seamy&rdquo; life, engaged its table a week in advance. Jimmie Dale
+      pushed a bill into the door attendant's hand, accompanied by an injunction
+      to keep an eye on the machine, and entered the cafe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But for a sort of tinselled ostentation the place might well have been the
+      Marlianne's that he had just left&mdash;it was crowded and riot was at its
+      height; a stringed orchestra in Hungarian costume played what purported to
+      be Hungarian airs; shouts, laughter, clatter of dishes, and thump of
+      steins added to the din. He made his way between the close-packed tables
+      to the stairs, and descended to the lower floor. Here, if anything, the
+      confusion was greater than above; but here, too, was an exit through to
+      the rear street&mdash;and a moment later he was sauntering past the front
+      of an unkempt little pawnshop, closed for the night, over whose door, in
+      the murk of a distant street lamp, three balls hung in sagging disarray,
+      tawny with age, and across whose dirty, unwashed windows, letters missing,
+      ran the legend:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      IS AC PELINA Pawn brok r
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The pawnshop made the corner of a very dark and narrow lane&mdash;and,
+      with a quick glance around him to assure himself that he was unobserved,
+      Jimmie Dale stepped into the alleyway, and, lost instantly in the blacker
+      shadows, stole along by the wall of the pawnshop. Old Isaac's business was
+      not all done through the front door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then suddenly Jimmie Dale shrank still closer against the wall. Was it
+      intuition, premonition&mdash;or reality? There seemed an uncanny feeling
+      of PRESENCE around him, as though perhaps he were watched, as though
+      others beside himself were in the lane. Yes; ahead of him a shadow moved&mdash;he
+      could just barely distinguish it now that his eyes had grown accustomed to
+      the darkness. It, like himself, was close against the wall, and now it
+      slunk noiselessly down the length of the lane until he lost sight of it.
+      AND WHAT WAS THAT? He strained his ears to listen. It seemed like a window
+      being opened or closed, cautiously, stealthily, the fraction of an inch at
+      a time. And then he located the sound&mdash;it came from the other side of
+      the lane and very nearly opposite to where, on the second floor, a dull,
+      yellow glow shone out from old Isaac's private den in the rear of the
+      pawnshop's office.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's brows were gathered in sharp furrows. There was evidently
+      something afoot to-night of which the Tocsin had NOT sounded the alarm.
+      And then the frown relaxed, and he smiled a little. Miraculous as was the
+      means through which she obtained the knowledge that was the basis of their
+      strange partnership, it was no more miraculous than her unerring accuracy
+      in the minutest details. The Tocsin had never failed him yet. It was
+      possible that something was afoot around him, quite probable, indeed,
+      since he was in the most vicious part of the city, in the heart of
+      gangland; but whatever it might be, it was certainly extraneous to his
+      mission or she would have mentioned it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The lane was empty now, he was quite sure of that&mdash;and there was no
+      further sound from the window opposite. He started forward once more&mdash;only
+      to halt again for the second time as abruptly as before, squeezing if
+      possible even more closely against the wall. Some one had turned into the
+      lane from the sidewalk, and, walking hurriedly, choosing with evident
+      precaution the exact centre of the alleyway, came toward him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man passed, his hurried stride a half run; and, a few feet beyond,
+      halted at old Isaac's side door. From somewhere inside the old building
+      Jimmie Dale's ears caught the faint ringing of an electric bell; a long
+      ring, followed in quick succession by three short ones&mdash;then the
+      repeated clicking of a latch, as though pulled by a cord from above, and
+      the man passed in through the door, closing it behind him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale nodded to himself in the darkness. It was a spring lock; the
+      signal was one long ring and three short ones&mdash;the Tocsin had not
+      missed even those small details. Also, Burton was late for his
+      appointment, for that must have been Burton&mdash;business such as old
+      Isaac had in hand that night would have permitted the entrance of no other
+      visitor but K. Wilmington Maddon's private secretary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He moved down the lane to the door, and tried it softly. It was locked, of
+      course. The slim, tapering, sensitive fingers, whose tips were eyes and
+      ears to Jimmie Dale, felt over the lock&mdash;and a slender little steel
+      instrument slipped into the keyhole. A moment more and the catch was
+      released, and the door, under his hand, began to open. With it ajar, he
+      paused, his eyes searching intently up and down the lane. There was
+      nothing, no sign of any one, no moving shadows now. His gaze shifted to
+      the window opposite. Directly facing it now, with the dull reflection upon
+      it from the lighted window of old Isaac's den above his head, he could
+      make out that it was open&mdash;but that was all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once more he smiled&mdash;a little tolerantly at himself this time. Some
+      one had been in the lane; some one had opened the window of his or her
+      room in that tenement house across from him&mdash;surely there was nothing
+      surprising, unnatural, or even out of the commonplace in that. He had been
+      a little bit on edge himself, perhaps, and the sudden movement of that
+      shadow, unexpected, had startled him for the moment, as, in all
+      probability, the opening of the window had startled the skulking figure
+      itself into action.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door was open now. He stepped noiselessly inside, and closed it
+      noiselessly behind him. He was in a narrow hall, where a few yards away, a
+      light shone down a stairway at right angles to the hall itself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rear door of pawnshop opens into hall, and exactly opposite very short
+      flight of stairs leading directly to doorway of Isaac's den above.
+      Ramshackle old place, low ceilings. Isaac, when sitting in his den, can
+      look down, and, by means of a transom over the rear door of the shop, see
+      the customers as they enter from the street, while he also keeps an eye on
+      his assistant. Latter always locks up and leaves promptly at six o'clock&mdash;&rdquo;
+       Jimmie Dale was subconsciously repeating to himself snatches from the
+      Tocsin's letter, which, as subconsciously in reading, he had memorised
+      almost word for word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now voices reached him&mdash;one, excited, nervous, as though the
+      speaker were labouring under mental strain that bordered closely on the
+      hysterical; the other, curiously mingling a querulousness with an attempt
+      to pacify, but dominantly contemptuous, sneering, cold.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale moved along the hall&mdash;very slowly&mdash;without a sound&mdash;testing
+      each step before he threw his body weight from one leg to the other. He
+      reached the foot of the stairs. The Tocsin had been right; it was a very
+      short flight. He counted the steps&mdash;there were eight. Above, facing
+      him, a door was open. The voices were louder now. It was a sordid-looking
+      room, what he could see of it, poverty-stricken in its appearance,
+      intentionally so probably for effect, with no attempt whatever at
+      furnishing. He could see through the doorway to the window that opened on
+      the alleyway, or, rather, just glimpse the top of the window at an angle
+      across the room&mdash;that and a bare stretch of floor. The two men were
+      not in the line of vision.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Burton's voice&mdash;it was unquestionably Burton speaking&mdash;came to
+      Jimmie Dale now distinctly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I didn't! I tell you, I didn't! I&mdash;I hadn't the nerve.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale slipped his black silk mask over his face; and with extreme
+      caution, on hands and knees, began to climb the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So!&rdquo; It was old Isaac now, in a half purr, half sneer. &ldquo;And I was so
+      sure, my young friend, that you had. I was so sure that you were not such
+      a fool. Yes; I could even have sworn that they were in your pocket now&mdash;what?
+      It is too bad&mdash;too bad! It is not a pleasant thing to think of, that
+      little chair up the river in its horrible little room where&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For God's sake, Isaac&mdash;not that! Do you hear&mdash;not that! My God,
+      I didn't mean to&mdash;I didn't know what I was doing!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale crept up another step, another, and another. There was silence
+      for a moment in the room; then Burton again, hoarse-voiced:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isaac, I'll make good to you some other way. I swear I will&mdash;I swear
+      it! If I'm caught at this I'll&mdash;I'll get fifteen years for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And which would you rather have?&rdquo; Jimmie Dale could picture the oily
+      smirk, the shrug of his shoulders, the outthrust hands, palms upward,
+      elbows in at the hips, the fingers curved and wide apart&mdash;&ldquo;fifteen
+      years, or what you get&mdash;for murder? Eh, my friend, you have thought
+      of that&mdash;eh? It is a very little price I ask&mdash;yes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Damn you!&rdquo; Burton's voice was shrill, then dropped to a half sob. &ldquo;No,
+      no, Isaac, I didn't mean that. Only, for God's sake be merciful! It is not
+      only the risk of the penitentiary; it's more than that. I&mdash;I tried to
+      play white all my life, and until that cursed night there's no man living
+      could say I haven't. You know that&mdash;you know that, Isaac. I tell you
+      I couldn't do it this afternoon&mdash;I tell you I couldn't. I tried to
+      and&mdash;and I couldn't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale was lying flat on the little landing now, peering into the
+      room. Back a short distance from the doorway, a repulsive-looking little
+      man in unkempt clothes and soiled linen, with yellowish-skinned, parchment
+      face, out of which small black eyes shone cunningly and shrewdly, sat at a
+      bare deal table in a rickety chair; facing him across the table stood a
+      young man of not more than twenty-five, clean cut, well dressed, but whose
+      face was unnaturally white now, and whose hand, as he extended it in a
+      pleading gesture toward the other, trembled visibly. Jimmie Dale's hand
+      made its way quietly to his side pocket and extracted his automatic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Isaac humped his shoulders, and leered at his visitor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We talk a great deal, my young friend. What is the use? A bargain is a
+      bargain. A few rubies in exchange for your life. A few rubies and my mouth
+      is shut. Otherwise&rdquo;&mdash;he humped his shoulders again. &ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Burton drew back, swept his hand in a dazed way across his eyes&mdash;and
+      laughed out suddenly in bitter mirth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A few rubies!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;The most magnificent stones on this side of the
+      water&mdash;a FEW rubies! It's been Maddon's life hobby. Every child in
+      New York knows that! A few&mdash;yes, there's only a few&mdash;but those
+      few are worth a fortune. He trusts me, the man has been like a father to
+      me, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you are the very last to be suspected,&rdquo; observed old Isaac suavely.
+      &ldquo;Have I not told you that? There is nothing to fear. Did we not arrange
+      everything so nicely&mdash;eh, my young friend? See, it was to-night that
+      Maddon gives a little reception to his friends, and did you not say that
+      the rubies would be taken from the safe-deposit vault this afternoon since
+      his friends always clamoured to see them as a very fitting conclusion to
+      an evening's entertainment? And did you not say that you very naturally
+      had access to the safe in the library where you worked, and that he would
+      not notice they were gone until he came to look for them some time this
+      evening? I think you said all that. And what suspicion let alone proof,
+      would attach itself to you? You were out of the room once when he, too,
+      was absent for perhaps half an hour. It is very simple. In that half hour,
+      some one, somehow, abstracted them. Certainly it was not you. You see how
+      little I ask&mdash;and I pay well, do I not? And so I gave you until
+      to-night. Three days have gone, and I have said nothing, and the body has
+      not been found&mdash;eh? But to-night&mdash;eh&mdash;it was understood!
+      The rubies&mdash;or the chair.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Burton's lips moved, but it was a moment before he could speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You wouldn't dare!&rdquo; he whispered thickly. &ldquo;You wouldn't dare! I'd tell
+      the story of&mdash;of what you tried to make me do, and they'd send you up
+      for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Isaac shrugged with pitying contempt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it, after all, a fool I am dealing with!&rdquo; he sneered. &ldquo;And I&mdash;what
+      should I say? That you had stolen the stones from your employer and
+      offered them as a bribe to silence me, and that I had refused. The very
+      act of handing you over to the police would prove the truth of what I said
+      and rob you of even a chance of leniency&mdash;FOR THAT OTHER THING. Is it
+      not so&mdash;eh? And why did I not hand you over at once three nights ago?
+      Believe me, my young friend, I should have a very good reason ready, a
+      dozen, if necessary, if it came to that. But we are borrowing trouble, are
+      we not? We shall not come to that&mdash;eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment it seemed to Jimmie Dale, as he watched, that Burton would
+      hurl himself upon the other. White to the lips, the muscles of his face
+      twitching, Burton clenched his fists and leaned over the table&mdash;and
+      then, with sudden revulsion of emotion, he drew back once more, and once
+      more came that choked sob:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll pay for this, Isaac&mdash;your turn will come for this!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have been threatened very often,&rdquo; snapped the other contemptuously.
+      &ldquo;Bah, what are threats! I laugh at them&mdash;as I always will.&rdquo; Then,
+      with a quick change of front, his voice a sudden snarl: &ldquo;Well, we have
+      talked enough. You have your choice. The stones or&mdash;eh? And it is
+      to-night&mdash;NOW!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old pawnbroker sprawled back in his chair, a cunning leer on his
+      vicious face, a gleam of triumph, greed, in the beady, ratlike eyes that
+      never wavered from the other. Burton, moisture oozing from his forehead,
+      stood there, hesitant, staring back at old Isaac, half in a fascinated
+      gaze, half as though trying to read some sign of weakness in the bestial
+      countenance that confronted him. And then, very slowly, in an automatic,
+      machine-like way, his hand groped into the inside pocket of his vest&mdash;and
+      old Isaac cackled out in derision.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So! You thought you could bluff me, eh&mdash;you thought you could fool
+      old Isaac! Bah! I read you like a book! Did I not tell you a while back
+      that you had them in your pocket? I know your kind, my young friend; I
+      know your kind very well indeed&mdash;it is my business. You would not
+      have dared to come here to-night without the price. So! You took them this
+      afternoon as we agreed. Yes, yes; you did well. You will not regret it.
+      And now let me see them&rdquo;&mdash;his voice rose eagerly&mdash;&ldquo;let me see
+      them now, my young friend.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I took them.&rdquo; Burton spoke listlessly. &ldquo;God help me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Isaac, quivering, excited, like a different creature now, sprang from
+      his chair, and, as Burton drew a long, flat, leather case from his pocket,
+      snatched it from the other's hand. His fingers in their rapacious haste
+      could not at first manipulate the catch, and then finally, with the case
+      open, he bent over the table feverishly. The light reflected back as from
+      some living mass of crimson fire, now shading darkly, now glowing into
+      wondrous, colourful transparency as he moved the case to and fro with
+      jerky motions of his hands&mdash;and he was babbling, crooning to himself
+      like one possessed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, the little beauties! Ah, the pretty little things! Yes, yes; these
+      are the ones! This is the great Aracon&mdash;see, see, the six-sided prism
+      terminated by the six-sided pyramid. But it must be cut&mdash;it must be
+      cut to sell it, eh? Ah, it is too bad&mdash;too bad! And this, this one
+      here, I know them all, this is&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But his sentence was never finished&mdash;it was Jimmie Dale, on his feet
+      now, leaning against the jamb of the door, his automatic covering the two
+      men at the table, who spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite so, Isaac,&rdquo; he said coolly; &ldquo;you know them all! Quite so, Isaac&mdash;but
+      be good enough to DROP them!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The case fell from Isaac's hand, the flush on his cheeks died to a sickly
+      pallor, and, his mouth half open, he stood like a man turned to stone, his
+      hands with curved fingers still outstretched over the table, over the
+      crimson gems that, spilled from the case, lay scattered now on the
+      tabletop. Burton neither spoke nor moved&mdash;a little whiter, the misery
+      in his face almost apathetic, he moistened his lips with the tip of his
+      tongue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale walked across the room, halted at the end of the table, and
+      surveyed the two men grimly. And then, while one hand with revolver
+      extended rested easily on the table, the other gathered up the stones,
+      placed them in the case, and, the case in his pocket, Jimmie Dale's lips
+      parted in an uninviting smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess I'm in luck to-night, eh, Isaac?&rdquo; he drawled. &ldquo;Between you and
+      your young friend, as I believe you call him, it would appear as though I
+      had fallen on my feet. That Aracon's worth&mdash;what would you say?&mdash;a
+      hundred, two hundred thousand alone, eh? A very famous stone, that&mdash;had
+      your eye on it for quite a time, Isaac, you miserable blood leech, eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Isaac did not answer; but, while he still held back from the table, he
+      seemed to be regaining a little of his composure&mdash;burglars of
+      whatever sort were no novelty to him&mdash;and was staring fixedly at
+      Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can't place me&mdash;though there's not many in the profession you don't
+      know? Is that it?&rdquo; inquired Jimmie Dale softly. &ldquo;Well, don't try, Isaac;
+      it's hardly worth your while. I'VE got the stones now, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait! Wait! Listen!&rdquo; It was Burton, speaking for the first time, his
+      words coming in a quick, nervous rush. &ldquo;Listen! You don't&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold your tongue!&rdquo; cried old Isaac, with sudden fierceness. &ldquo;You are a
+      fool!&rdquo; He leaned toward Jimmie Dale, a crafty smile on his face, quite in
+      control of himself once more. &ldquo;Don't listen to him&mdash;listen to me.
+      You're right. I can't place you, and it doesn't make any difference&rdquo;&mdash;he
+      took a step forward&mdash;&ldquo;but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not too close, Isaac!&rdquo; snapped Jimmie Dale sharply. &ldquo;I know YOU!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So!&rdquo; ejaculated old Isaac, rubbing his hands together. &ldquo;So! That is good!
+      That is what I want. Listen, we will make a bargain. We are birds of a
+      feather, eh? All thieves, eh? You've got the drop on us who did all the
+      work, but you'll give us our share&mdash;eh? Listen! You couldn't get rid
+      of those stones alone. You know that; you're not so green at the game, eh?
+      You'd have to go to some one. You know me; you know old Isaac, you say.
+      Well, then, you know there isn't another man in New York could dispose of
+      those rubies and play SAFE doing it except me. I'll make a good bargain
+      with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isaac,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale pensively, &ldquo;you've made a good many 'good'
+      bargains. I wonder when you'll make your last! There's more than one
+      looking for 'interest' on those bargains in a pretty grim sort of way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bah!&rdquo; ejaculated old Isaac. &ldquo;It is an old story. They are all alike. I am
+      afraid of none of them. I hold them all like&mdash;THAT!&rdquo; His hand opened
+      and closed like a taloned claw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you'd add me to the lot, eh?&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale. He lifted the
+      revolver, its muzzle on old Isaac, examined the mechanism thoughtfully,
+      and lowered it again. &ldquo;Very well, I'll make a bargain with you&mdash;providing
+      it is agreeable to your young friend here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; exclaimed old Isaac shrilly. &ldquo;So! That is good! It is done then.&rdquo; He
+      chuckled hoarsely. &ldquo;Any bargain I make he will agree to. Is it not so?&rdquo; He
+      fixed his eyes on Burton. &ldquo;Well, is it not so? Speak up! Say&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stopped&mdash;the words cut short off on his lips. It came without
+      warning&mdash;a crash, a pound on the door below&mdash;another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Burton shrank back against the wall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God! The police!&rdquo; he gasped. &ldquo;Maddon's found out! We're&mdash;we're
+      caught!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's eyes, on old Isaac, narrowed. The pounding in the alleyway
+      grew louder, more insistent. And then his first suspicion passed&mdash;it
+      was no &ldquo;game&rdquo; of Isaac's. Crafty though the old fox was, the other's
+      surprise and agitation was too genuine to be questioned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still the pounding continued&mdash;some one was kicking viciously at the
+      door, and banging a tattoo on the panels with his fists.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Isaac's clawlike hands doubled suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is some drunken sot,&rdquo; he snarled out, &ldquo;that knows no better than to
+      come here and rouse the whole neighbourhood! It is true, in a moment we
+      will have the police running in from the street. But wait&mdash;wait&mdash;I'll
+      teach the fool a lesson!&rdquo; He dashed around the table, ran for the window,
+      wrenched the catch up, flung the window open, and, snarling again, leaned
+      out&mdash;and instantly the knocking ceased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And instantly then, with a sharp cry, as the whole ghastly meaning of it
+      swept upon him, Jimmie sprang after the other&mdash;too late! Came the
+      roar of a revolver shot, a stream of flame cutting the darkness of the
+      alleyway from the window in the house opposite&mdash;and, without a sound,
+      old Isaac crumpled up, hung limply for a moment over the sill, and slid in
+      a heap to the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On his hands and knees, protected from the possibility of another bullet
+      by the height of the sill, Jimmie Dale, quick in every movement now,
+      dragged the inert form toward the table away from the window, and bent
+      hurriedly over the other. A minute perhaps he stayed there&mdash;and then
+      rose slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Burton, horror-stricken, unmanned, beside himself, was hanging, clutching
+      with both hands at the table edge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's dead,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale laconically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Burton flung out his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dead!&rdquo; he whispered hoarsely. &ldquo;I&mdash;I think I'm going mad. Three days
+      of hell&mdash;and now this. We'd&mdash;we'd better get out of here quick&mdash;they'll
+      get us if&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's hand fell with a tight grip on Burton's shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There won't be any more shots fired&mdash;pull yourself together!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Burton stared at him in a demented way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's&mdash;what's it mean?&rdquo; he stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It means that I didn't put two and two together,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale a
+      little bitterly. &ldquo;It means that there's a dozen crooks been dancing old
+      Isaac's tune for a long time&mdash;and that some of them have got him at
+      last.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Burton reached out suddenly and clutched Jimmie Dale's arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I'm safe!&rdquo; He mumbled the words, but there was dawning hope, relief
+      in his white face. &ldquo;Safe! I'm safe&mdash;if you'll only give me back those
+      stones. Give them back to me, for God's sake give them back to me! You
+      don't know&mdash;you don't understand. I stole them because&mdash;because
+      he made me&mdash;because I&mdash;it was the only chance I had. Oh, my God,
+      you don't know what the last three days have been! Give them back to me,
+      won't you&mdash;won't you? You&mdash;you don't know!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't lose your nerve!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale sharply. &ldquo;Sit down!&rdquo; He pushed
+      the other into the chair. &ldquo;There's no one will disturb us here for some
+      time at least. What is it that I don't know? That three nights ago you
+      were in a gambling hell, Sagosto's, to be exact, one of the most
+      disreputable in New York&mdash;and you went there on the invitation of a
+      stray acquaintance, a man named Perley&mdash;shall I describe him for you?
+      A short, slim-built man, black eyes, red hair, beard, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;YOU know that!&rdquo; The misery, the hopelessness was back in Burton's face
+      again&mdash;and suddenly he bent over the table and buried his head in his
+      outflung arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was silence for a moment. Tight-lipped, Jimmie Dale's eyes travelled
+      from Burton's shaking shoulders to the motionless form on the floor. Then
+      he spoke again:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're a bit of a rounder, Burton, but I think you've had a lesson that
+      will last you all your life. You were half-drunk when you and Perley began
+      to hobnob over a downtown bar. He said he'd show you some real life, and
+      you went with him to Sagosto's. He gave you a revolver before you went in,
+      and told you the place wasn't safe for an unarmed man. He introduced you
+      to Sagosto, the proprietor, and you were shown to a back room. You drank
+      quite a little there. You and Perley were alone, throwing dice. You got
+      into a quarrel. Perley tried to draw his revolver. You were quicker. You
+      drew the one he had given you&mdash;and fired. He fell to the floor&mdash;you
+      saw the blood gush from his breast just above the heart&mdash;he was dead.
+      In a panic you rushed from the place and out into the street. I don't
+      think you went home that night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Burton raised his head, showing his haggard face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess it's no use,&rdquo; he said dully. &ldquo;If you know, others must. I thought
+      only Isaac and Sagosto knew. Why haven't I been arrested? I wish to God I
+      had&mdash;I wouldn't have had to-day to answer for.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not through yet,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale gravely. &ldquo;The next day old Isaac
+      here sent for you. He said Sagosto had told him of the murder, and had
+      offered to dispose of the corpse and keep his mouth shut for fifty
+      thousand dollars&mdash;that no one in his place knew of it except himself.
+      Isaac, for his share, wanted considerably more. You told him you had no
+      such sums, that you had no money. He told you how you could get it&mdash;you
+      had access to Maddon's safe, you were Maddon's confidential secretary,
+      fully in your employer's trust, the last man on earth to be suspected&mdash;and
+      there were Maddon's famous, priceless rubies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale paused. Burton made no answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale presently, &ldquo;to save yourself from the death
+      penalty you took them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Burton, scarcely above his breath. &ldquo;Are you an officer? If you
+      are, take me, have done with it! Only for Heaven's sake end it! If you're
+      not&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale was not listening. &ldquo;The cupboard at the rear of the room,&rdquo; she
+      had said. He walked across to it now, opened it, and, after a little
+      search, found a small bundle. He returned with it in his hand, and,
+      kneeling beside the dead man on the floor, his back to Burton, untied it,
+      took out a red wig and beard, and slipped them on to old Isaac's head and
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder,&rdquo; he said grimly, as he stood up, &ldquo;if you ever saw this man
+      before?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God&mdash;PERLEY!&rdquo; With a wild cry, Burton was on his feet, straining
+      forward like a man crazed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, &ldquo;Perley! Sort of an ironic justice in his end as
+      far as you are concerned, isn't there? I think we'll leave him like that&mdash;as
+      Perley. It will provide the police with an interesting little problem&mdash;which
+      they will never solve, and&mdash;STEADY!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Burton was rocking on his feet, the tears were streaming down his face. He
+      lurched heavily&mdash;and Jimmie Dale caught him, and pushed him back into
+      the chair again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought&mdash;I thought there was blood on my hands,&rdquo; said Burton
+      brokenly; &ldquo;that&mdash;that I had taken a man's life. It was horrible,
+      horrible! I've lived through three days that I thought would drive me mad,
+      while I&mdash;I tried to do my work, and&mdash;and talk to people, just as
+      if nothing had happened. And every one that spoke to me seemed so carefree
+      and happy, and I would have sold my soul to have changed places with
+      them.&rdquo; He stared at the form on the floor, and shivered suddenly. &ldquo;It&mdash;it
+      was like that I saw him last!&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;But&mdash;but I do not
+      understand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale smiled a little wearily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was simple enough,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Old Isaac had had his eyes on those
+      rubies for a long time. The easiest way of getting them was through you.
+      The revolver he gave you before you entered Sagosto's was loaded with
+      blank cartridges, the blood you saw was the old, old trick&mdash;a
+      punctured bladder of red pigment concealed under the vest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us get out of here!&rdquo; Burton shuddered again. &ldquo;Let us get out of here&mdash;at
+      once&mdash;now. If we're found here, we'll be accused of&mdash;THAT!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is no hurry,&rdquo; Jimmie Dale answered quietly. &ldquo;I have told you that
+      no one is liable to come here to-night&mdash;and whoever did this
+      certainly will not raise an alarm. And besides, there is still the matter
+      of the rubies&mdash;Burton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Burton, with a quick intake of his breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;the rubies&mdash;what are you going to do with them? I&mdash;I
+      had forgotten them. You'll&mdash;&rdquo; He stopped, stared at Jimmie Dale, and
+      burst into a miserable laugh. &ldquo;I'm a fool, a blind fool!&rdquo; he moaned. &ldquo;It
+      does not matter what you do with them. I forgot Sagosto. When they find
+      Isaac here, Sagosto will either tell his story, which will be enough to
+      convict me of this night's work, the REAL murder, even though I'm
+      innocent; or else he'll blackmail me just as Isaac did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are doing Isaac's cunning an injustice,&rdquo; he said grimly. &ldquo;Sagosto was
+      only a tool, one of many that old Isaac had in his power&mdash;and, for
+      that matter, as likely as any one else to have had a hand in Isaac's
+      murder to-night. Sagosto saw you once when Isaac brought you into his
+      place&mdash;not because Isaac wanted Sagosto to see you, but because he
+      wanted YOU to see Sagosto. Do you understand? It would make the story that
+      Sagosto came to him with the tale of the murder the next day ring true.
+      Sagosto, however, did not go to old Isaac the next day to tell about any
+      fake murder&mdash;naturally. Sagosto would not know you again from Adam&mdash;neither
+      does he know anything about the rubies, nor what old Isaac's ulterior
+      motives were. He was paid for his share in the game in old Isaac's usual
+      manner of payment probably&mdash;by a threat of exposure for some old-time
+      offence, that Isaac held over him, if he didn't keep his mouth shut.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Burton's hand brushed his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;Yes&mdash;I see it now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale stooped down, picked up the paper from the floor in which the
+      wig and beard had been wrapped, walked back with it, and replaced it in
+      the cupboard. And then, with his back to Burton again, he took the case of
+      gems from his pocket, opened it, and laid it on the cupboard shelf. Also
+      from his pocket came that thin metal case, and from the case, with a pair
+      of tweezers that obviated the possibility of telltale finger prints, a
+      gray, diamond-shaped piece of paper, adhesive on one side that, cursed by
+      the distracted authorities in every police headquarters on both sides of
+      the Atlantic, and raved at by a virulent press whose printed reproductions
+      had made it familiar in every household in the land&mdash;was the insignia
+      of the Gray Seal. He moistened the adhesive side, dropped it from the
+      tweezers to his handkerchief, and pressed it down firmly on the inside of
+      the cover of the jewel case. He put both cases back in his pockets, and
+      returned to Burton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Burton,&rdquo; he said a little sharply, &ldquo;while I was outside that doorway
+      there, I heard you beg old Isaac to let you keep the rubies, and three
+      times already you have asked the same of me. What would you do with them
+      if I gave them back to you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Burton did not reply for a moment&mdash;he was gazing at the masked face
+      in a half-eager, half-doubtful way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&mdash;you mean you will give them back!&rdquo; he burst out finally.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Answer my question,&rdquo; prompted Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do with them?&rdquo; Burton repeated slowly. &ldquo;Why, I've told you. They'd go
+      back to Mr. Maddon&mdash;I'd take them back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you?&rdquo; Jimmie Dale's voice was quizzical.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A puzzled expression came to Burton's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know what you mean by that,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Of course, I would!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How?&rdquo; asked Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;Do you know the combination of Mr. Maddon's
+      safe?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Burton
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the safe would be locked, wouldn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite so,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale musingly. &ldquo;Then, granted that Mr. Maddon has
+      not already discovered the theft, how would you replace the stones before
+      he does discover it? And if he already knows that they are gone, how would
+      you get them back into his hands?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; Burton answered a little listlessly. &ldquo;I've thought of that.
+      There's only one way&mdash;to take them back to him myself, and make a
+      clean breast of it, and&mdash;&rdquo; He hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And tell him you stole them,&rdquo; supplied Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Burton nodded his head. &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And then?&rdquo; prodded Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;What will Maddon do? From what I've
+      heard of him, he's not a man to trifle with, nor a man to take an overly
+      complacent view of things&mdash;not the man whose philosophy is 'all's
+      well that ends well.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does it matter?&rdquo; Burton's voice was low. &ldquo;It isn't that so much. I'm
+      ready for that. It's the fact that he trusted me implicitly, and I&mdash;well,
+      I played the fool, or I'd never have got into a mess like this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For an instant Jimmie Dale looked at the other searchingly, and then,
+      smiling strangely, he shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's a better way than that, Burton,&rdquo; he said quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think, as I said before, you've had a lesson to-night that will last
+      you all your life. I'm going to give you another chance&mdash;with Maddon.
+      Here are the stones.&rdquo; He reached into his pocket and laid the case on the
+      table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But now Burton made no effort to take the case&mdash;his eyes, in that
+      puzzled way again, were on Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A better way?&rdquo; he repeated tensely. &ldquo;What do you mean? What way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, say at the expense of another man's reputation&mdash;of mine,&rdquo;
+       suggested Jimmie Dale, with his whimsical smile. &ldquo;You need only say that a
+      man came to you this evening, told you that he stole these rubies from Mr.
+      Maddon during the afternoon, and asked you, as Mr. Maddon's private
+      secretary, to restore them with his compliments to their owner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A slow flush of disappointment, deepening to one of anger dyed Burton's
+      cheeks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you trying to make a fool of me?&rdquo; he cried out. &ldquo;Go to Maddon with a
+      childish tale like that! There's no man living would believe such a
+      cock-and-bull story!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No?&rdquo; inquired Jimmie Dale softly. &ldquo;And yet I am inclined to think there
+      are a good many&mdash;that even Maddon would, hard-headed as he is. You
+      might say that when the man handed you the case you thought it was some
+      practical joke being foisted on you, until you opened the case&rdquo;&mdash;Jimmie
+      Dale pushed it a little farther across the table, and Burton,
+      mechanically, his eyes still on Jimme Dale, loosened the catch with his
+      thumb nail&mdash;&ldquo;until you opened the case, saw the rubies, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Gray Seal!&rdquo; Burton had snatched the case toward him, and was
+      straining his eyes at the inside cover. &ldquo;You&mdash;the Gray Seal!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale whimsically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Motionless, the case held open in his hands, Burton stood there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Gray Seal!&rdquo; he whispered. Then, with a catch in his voice: &ldquo;You mean
+      this? You mean to let me have these back&mdash;you mean&mdash;you mean all
+      you've said? For God's sake, don't play with me&mdash;the Gray Seal, the
+      most notorious criminal in the country, to give back a fortune like this!
+      You&mdash;you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dog with a bad name,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, with a wry smile; then, a little
+      gruffly: &ldquo;Put it in your pocket!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Slowly, almost as though he expected the case to be snatched back from him
+      the next instant, Burton obeyed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't understand&mdash;I CAN'T understand!&rdquo; he murmured. &ldquo;They say that
+      you&mdash;and yet I believe you now&mdash;you've saved me from a ruined
+      life to-night. The Gray Seal! If&mdash;if every one knew what you had
+      done, they&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But every one won't,&rdquo; Jimmie Dale broke in bluntly, &ldquo;Who is to tell them?
+      You? You couldn't very well, when you come to think of it&mdash;could you?
+      Well, who knows, perhaps there have been others like you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean,&rdquo; said Burton excitedly, &ldquo;you mean that all these crimes of
+      yours that have seemed without motive, that have been so inexplicable,
+      have really been like to-night to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't mean anything at all,&rdquo; interposed Jimmie Dale a little hurriedly.
+      &ldquo;Nothing, Burton&mdash;except that there is still one little thing more to
+      do to bolster up that 'childish' story of mine&mdash;and then get out of
+      here.&rdquo; He glanced sharply, critically around the room, his eyes resting
+      for a moment at the last on the form on the floor. Then tersely: &ldquo;I am
+      going to turn out the light&mdash;we will have to pass the window to get
+      to the door, and we will invite no chances. Are you ready?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; not yet,&rdquo; said Burton eagerly. &ldquo;I haven't said what I'd like to say
+      to you, what I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Walk straight to the door,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale curtly. There was the click
+      of an electric-light switch, and the room was in darkness. &ldquo;Now, no
+      noise!&rdquo; he instructed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Burton, perforce, made his way across the room&mdash;and at the door
+      Jimmie Dale joined him and led him down the short flight of stairs. At the
+      bottom, he opened the door leading into the rear of the pawnshop itself,
+      and, bidding Burton follow, entered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We can't risk even a match; it could be seen from the street,&rdquo; he said
+      brusquely, as he fumbled around for a moment in the darkness. &ldquo;Ah&mdash;here
+      it is!&rdquo; He lifted a telephone receiver from its hook, and gave a number.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Burton caught him quickly by the arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good Lord, man, what are you doing?&rdquo; he protested anxiously. &ldquo;That's Mr.
+      Maddon's house!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I believe,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale complacently. &ldquo;Hello! Is Mr. Maddon
+      there? . . . I beg pardon? . . . Personally, yes, if you please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a moment's wait. Burton's hand was still nervously clutching at
+      Jimmie Dale's sleeve. Then:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Maddon?&rdquo; asked Jimmie Dale pleasantly. &ldquo;Yes? . . . I am very sorry to
+      trouble you, but I called you up to inquire if you were aware that your
+      rubies, and among them your Aracon, had been stolen? . . . I beg pardon! .
+      . . Rubies&mdash;yes. . . . You weren't. . . . Oh, no, I am quite in my
+      right mind; if you will take the trouble to open your safe you will find
+      they are gone&mdash;shall I hold the line while you investigate? . . .
+      What? . . . Don't shout, please&mdash;and stand a little farther away from
+      the mouthpiece.&rdquo; Jimmie Dale's tone was one of insolent composure now.
+      &ldquo;There is really no use in getting excited. . . . I beg pardon? . . .
+      Certainly, this is the Gray Seal speaking. . . . What?&rdquo; Jimmie Dale's
+      voice grew plaintive, &ldquo;I really can't make out a word when you yell like
+      that. . . . Yes. . . . I had occasion to use them this afternoon, and I
+      took the liberty of borrowing them temporarily&mdash;are you still there,
+      Mr. Maddon? . . . Oh, quite so! Yes, I hear you NOW. . . . No, that is
+      all, only I am returning them through your private secretary, a very
+      estimable young man, though I fear somewhat excitable and shaky, who is on
+      his way to you with them now. . . . WHAT'S THAT YOU SAY? You repeat that,&rdquo;
+       snapped Jimmie Dale suddenly, icily, &ldquo;and I'll take them from under your
+      nose again before morning! . . . Ah! That is better! Good-night&mdash;Mr.
+      Maddon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale hung up the receiver and shoved Burton toward the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now then, Burton, we'll get out of her&mdash;and the sooner you reach
+      Fifth Avenue and Mr. Maddon's house the better. No; not that way!&rdquo; They
+      had reached the hall, and Burton had turned toward the side door that
+      opened on the alleyway. &ldquo;Whoever they were who settled their last account
+      with Isaac may still be watching. They've nothing against any one else,
+      but they know some one was in here at the time, and, if the police are
+      clever enough ever to get on their track, they might find it very
+      convenient to be able to say WHO was in the room when Isaac was murdered&mdash;there's
+      nothing to show, since Isaac so obligingly opened the window for them,
+      that the shot was fired THROUGH the window and not from the inside of the
+      room. And even if they have already taken to their heels&rdquo;&mdash;Jimmie
+      Dale was leading Burton up the stairs again as he talked&mdash;&ldquo;it might
+      prove exceedingly inconvenient for us if some passer-by should happen to
+      recollect that he saw two men of our general appearance leaving the
+      premises. Now keep close&mdash;and follow me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They passed the door of Isaac's den, turned down a narrow corridor that
+      led to the rear of the house&mdash;Jimmie Dale guiding unerringly, working
+      from the mental map of the house that the Tocsin had drawn for him&mdash;descended
+      another short flight of stairs that gave on the kitchen, crossed the
+      kitchen, and Jimmie Dale opened a back door. He paused here for a moment
+      to listen; then, cautioning Burton to be silent, moved on again across a
+      small back yard and through a gate into a lane that ran at right angles to
+      the alleyway by which both had entered the house&mdash;and, a minute
+      later, they were crouched against a building, a half block away, where the
+      lane intersected the cross street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here Jimmie Dale peered out cautiously. There was no one in sight. He
+      touched Burton's shoulder, and pointed down the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's your way, Burton&mdash;mine's the other. Hurry while you've got
+      the chance. Good-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Burton's hand reached out, caught Jimmie Dale's, and wrung it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God bless you!&rdquo; he said huskily. &ldquo;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Jimmie Dale pushed him out on to the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Burton's steps receded down the sidewalk. Jimmie Dale still crouched
+      against the wall. The steps grew fainter in the distance and died finally
+      away. Jimmie Dale straightened up, slipped the mask from his face to his
+      pocket, stepped out on the street&mdash;and five minutes later was passing
+      through the noisy bedlam of the Hungarian restaurant on his way to the
+      front door and his car.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;SONNEZ LE TOCSIN,&rdquo; Jimmie Dale was saying softly to himself. &ldquo;I wonder
+      what she'll do when she finds I've got the ring?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VIII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE MAN HIGHER UP
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      The Tocsin! By neither act, sign, nor word had she evidenced the slightest
+      interest in that ring&mdash;and yet she must know, she certainly must know
+      that it was now in his possession. Jimmie Dale was disappointed. Somehow,
+      he had counted more than he had cared to admit on developments from that
+      ring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He pulled a little viciously at his cigarette, as he stared out of the St.
+      James Club window. That was how long ago? Ten days? Yes; this would be the
+      eleventh. Eleven days now and no word from her&mdash;eleven days since
+      that night at old Isaac's, since she had last called him, the Gray Seal,
+      to arms. It was a long while&mdash;so long a while even that what had come
+      to be his prerogative in the newspapers, the front page with three-inch
+      type recounting some new exploit of that mysterious criminal the Gray
+      Seal, was being usurped. The papers were howling now about what they, for
+      the lack of a better term, were pleased to call a wave of crime that had
+      inundated New York, and of which, for once, the Gray Seal was not the
+      storm centre, but rather, for the moment, forgotten.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He drew back from the window, and, settling himself again in the big
+      leather lounging chair, resumed the perusal of the evening paper. His eye
+      fell on what was common to every edition now, a crime editorial&mdash;and
+      the paper crackled suddenly under the long, slim, tapering fingers, so
+      carefully nurtured, whose sensitive tips a hundred times had made mockery
+      of the human ingenuity squandered on the intricate mechanism of safes and
+      vaults. No; he was wrong&mdash;the Gray Seal had not been forgotten.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We should not be surprised,&rdquo; wrote the editor virulently, &ldquo;to discover at
+      the bottom of these abominable atrocities that the guiding spirit, in
+      fact, was the Gray Seal&mdash;they are quite worthy even of his diabolical
+      disregard for the laws of God and man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's lips straightened ominously, and an angry glint crept into
+      his dark, steady eyes. There was nothing then, nothing too vile that, in
+      the public's eyes, could not logically be associated with the Gray Seal&mdash;even
+      this! A series of the most cold-blooded, callous murders and robberies,
+      the work, on the face of it, of a well-organized band of thugs, brutal,
+      insensate, little better than fiends, though clever enough so far to have
+      evaded capture, clever enough, indeed, to have kept the police still
+      staggering and gasping after a clew for one murder&mdash;while another was
+      in the very act of being committed! The Gray Seal! What exquisite irony!
+      And yet, after all, the papers were not wholly to blame for what they
+      said; he had invited much of it. Seeming crimes of the Gray Seal had
+      apparently been genuine beyond any question of doubt, as he had intended
+      them to appear, as in the very essence of their purpose they had to be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes; he had invited much&mdash;he and she together&mdash;the Tocsin and
+      himself. He, Jimmie Dale, millionaire, clubman, whose name for generations
+      in New York had been the family pride, was &ldquo;wanted&rdquo; as the Gray Seal for
+      so many &ldquo;crimes&rdquo; that he had lost track of them himself&mdash;but from any
+      one of which, let the identity of the Gray Seal be once solved, there was
+      and could be no escape! What exquisite irony&mdash;yet full, too, of the
+      most deadly consequences!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once more Jimmie Dale's eyes sought the paper, and this time scanned the
+      headlines of the first page:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      BRUTAL MURDER OF MILL PAYMASTER. THE CRIME WAVE STILL AT ITS HEIGHT.
+      HERMAN ROESSLE FOUND DEAD NEAR HIS CAR. ASSASSINS ESCAPE WITH $20,000.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale read on&mdash;and as he read there came again that angry set
+      to his lips. The details were not pleasant. Herman Roessle, the paymaster
+      of the Martindale-Kensington Mills, whose plant was on the Hudson, had
+      gone that morning in his runabout to the nearest town, three miles away,
+      for the monthly pay roll; had secured the money from the bank, a sum of
+      twenty-odd thousand dollars; and had started back with it for the mill. At
+      first, it being broad daylight and a well-frequented road, his
+      nonappearance caused no apprehension; but as early afternoon came and
+      there was still no sign of Roessle the mill management took alarm.
+      Discovering that he had left the bank for the return journey at a few
+      minutes before eleven, and that nothing had been seen of him at his home,
+      the police were notified. Followed then several hours of fruitless search,
+      until finally, with the whole countryside aroused and the efforts of the
+      police augumented by private search parties, the car was found in a
+      thicket at the edge of a crossroad some four miles back from the river,
+      and, a little way from the car, the body of Roessle, dead, the man's head
+      crushed in where it had been fiendishly battered by some blunt, heavy
+      object. There was no clew&mdash;no one could be found who had seen the car
+      on the crossroad&mdash;the murderer, or murderers, and the twenty-odd
+      thousand dollars in cash had disappeared leaving no trace behind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were several columns of this, which Jimmie Dale skimmed through
+      quickly; but at the end he stared for a long time at the last paragraph.
+      Somehow, strange, to relate, the paper had neglected to turn its &ldquo;sob&rdquo;
+       artist loose, and the few words, added almost as though they were an
+      afterthought, for once rang true and full of pathos in their very
+      simplicity&mdash;at the Roessle home, where Mrs. Roessle was prostrated,
+      two little tots of five and seven, too young to understand, had gravely
+      received the reporter and told him that some bad man had hurt their daddy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Dale, sir!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale lowered his paper. A club attendant was standing before him,
+      respectfully extending a silver card tray. From the man, Jimmie Dale's
+      eyes fixed on a white envelope on the tray. One glance was enough&mdash;it
+      was HERS, that letter. The Tocsin again! His brain seemed suddenly to be
+      afire, and he could feel his pulse quicken, the blood begin to pound in
+      fierce throbs at his heart. Life and death lay in that white,
+      innocent-looking, unaddressed envelope, danger, peril&mdash;it was always
+      life and death, for those were the stakes for which the Tocsin played.
+      But, master of many things, Jimmie Dale was most of all master of himself.
+      Not a muscle of his face moved. He reached nonchalantly for the letter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man bowed and started away. Jimmie Dale laid the envelope on the arm
+      of the lounging chair. The man had reached the door when Jimmie Dale
+      stopped him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, by the way,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale languidly, &ldquo;where did this come from?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your chauffeur, sir,&rdquo; replied the other. &ldquo;Your chauffeur gave it to the
+      hall porter a moment ago, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door closed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale glanced around the room. It was the caution of habit, that
+      glance; the habit of years in which his life had hung on little things. He
+      was alone in one of the club's private library rooms. He picked up the
+      envelope, tore it open, took out the folded sheets inside, and began to
+      read. At the first words he leaned forward, suddenly tense in his chair.
+      He read on, turning the pages hurriedly, incredulity, amazement, and,
+      finally, a strange menace mirroring itself in turn upon his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood up&mdash;the letter in his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God!&rdquo; whispered Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a call to arms such as the Gray Seal had never received before&mdash;such
+      as the Tocsin had never made before. And if it were true it&mdash;True! He
+      laughed aloud a little gratingly. True! Had the Tocsin, astounding,
+      unbelievable, mystifying as were the means by which she acquired her
+      knowledge not only of this, but of countless other affairs, ever by so
+      much as the smallest detail been astray. If it were true!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He pulled out his watch. It was half-past nine. Benson, his chauffeur, had
+      sent the letter into the club. Benson had been waiting outside there ever
+      since dinner. Jimmie Dale, for the first time since the first
+      communication that he had ever received from the Tocsin, did not
+      immediately destroy her letter now. He slipped it into his pocket&mdash;and
+      stepped quickly from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the cloakroom downstairs he secured his hat and overcoat, and, though
+      it was a warm evening, put on the latter since he was in evening clothes,
+      then walked leisurely out of the club.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the curb, Benson, the chauffeur, sprang from his seat, and, touching
+      his cap, opened the door of a luxurious limousine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall not keep you waiting any longer, Benson,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You may take
+      the car home, and put it up. I shall probably be late to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very good, sir,&rdquo; replied the chauffeur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You sent in a letter a moment or so ago, Benson?&rdquo; observed Jimmie Dale
+      casually, opening his cigarette case.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said Benson. &ldquo;I hope I didn't do wrong, sir. He said it was
+      important, and that you were to have it at once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He?&rdquo; Jimmie Dale was lighting his cigarette now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A boy, sir,&rdquo; Benson amplified. &ldquo;I couldn't get anything out of him. He
+      just said he'd been told to give it to me, and tell me to see that you got
+      it at once. I hope, sir, I haven't&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at all, Benson,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale pleasantly. &ldquo;It's quite all right.
+      Good-night, Benson.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-night, sir,&rdquo; Benson answered, climbing back to his seat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a queer little smile on Jimmie Dale's lips, as he watched the
+      great car swing around in the street and glide noiselessly away&mdash;a
+      queer little smile that still held there even after he himself had started
+      briskly along the avenue in a downtown direction. It was invariably the
+      same, always the same&mdash;the letters came unexpectedly, when least
+      looked for, now by this means, now by that, but always in a manner that
+      precluded the slightest possibility of tracing them to their source. Was
+      there anything, in his intimate surroundings, in his intimate life, that
+      she did not know about him&mdash;who knew absolutely nothing about her!
+      Benson, for instance&mdash;that the man was absolutely trustworthy&mdash;or
+      else she would never for an instant have risked the letter in his
+      possession. Was there anything that she did not&mdash;yes, one thing&mdash;she
+      did not know him in the role he was going to play to-night. That at least
+      was one thing that surely she did not know about him; the role in which,
+      many times, for weeks on end, he had devoted himself body and soul in an
+      attempt to solve the mystery with which she surrounded herself; the role,
+      too, that often enough had been a bulwark of safety to him when hard
+      pressed by the police; the role out of which he had so carefully, so
+      painstakingly created a now recognised and well-known character of the
+      underworld&mdash;the role of Larry the Bat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale turned from Fifth Avenue into Broadway, continued on down
+      Broadway, across to the Bowery, kept along the Bowery for several more
+      blocks&mdash;and finally headed east into the dimly lighted cross street
+      on which the Sanctuary was located.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now Jimmie Dale became cautious in his movements. As he approached the
+      black alleyway that flanked the miserable tenement, he glanced sharply
+      behind and about him; and, at the alleyway itself, without pause, but with
+      a curious lightning-like side step, no longer Jimmie Dale now, but the
+      Gray Seal, he disappeared from the street, and was lost in the deep
+      shadows of the building.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a moment he was at the side door, listening for any sound from within&mdash;none
+      had ever seen or met the lodger or the first floor either ascending or
+      descending, except in the familiar character of Larry the Bat. He opened
+      the door, closed it behind him, and in the utter blackness went
+      noiselessly up the stairs&mdash;stairs so rickety that it seemed a mouse's
+      tread alone would have set them creaking. There seemed an art in the play
+      of Jimmie Dale's every muscle; in the movements, lithe, balanced, quick,
+      absolutely silent. On the first landing he stopped before another door,
+      there was the faint click of a key turning in the lock; and then this
+      door, too, closed behind him. Sounded the faint click of the key as it
+      turned again, and Jimmie Dale drew a long breath, stepped across the room
+      to assure himself that the window blind was down, and lighted the gas jet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A yellow, murky flame spurted up, pitifully weak, almost as though it were
+      ashamed of its disreputable surroundings. Dirt, disorder, squalour, the
+      evidence of low living testified eloquently enough to any one, the police,
+      for instance, in times past inquisitive until they were fatuously content
+      with the belief that they knew the occupant for what he was, that the
+      place was quite in keeping with its tenant, a mute prototype, as it were,
+      of Larry the Bat, the dope fiend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a little space, Jimmie Dale, immaculate in his evening clothes, stood
+      in the centre of the miserable room, his dark eyes, keen, alert, critical,
+      sweeping comprehensively over every object about him&mdash;the position of
+      a chair, of a cracked drinking glass on the broken-legged table, of an old
+      coat thrown with apparent carelessness on the floor at the foot of the
+      bed, of a broken bottle that had innocently strewn some sort of white
+      powder close to the threshold, inviting unwary foot tracks across the
+      floor. And then, taking out the Tocsin's letter, he laid it upon the
+      table, placed what money he had in his pockets beside it, and began
+      rapidly to remove his clothes. The Sanctuary had not been invaded since
+      his last visit there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned back the oilcloth in the far corner of the room, took up the
+      piece of loose flooring, which, however, strangely enough, fitted so
+      closely as to give no sign of its existence even should it inadvertently,
+      by some curious visitor again be trod upon; and from the aperture beneath
+      lifted out a bundle of clothes and a small box.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Undressed now, he carefully folded the clothes he had taken off, laid them
+      under the flooring, and began to dress again, his wardrobe supplied by the
+      bundle he had taken out in exchange&mdash;an old pair of shoes, the laces
+      broken; mismated socks; patched trousers, frayed at the bottoms; a soiled
+      shirt, collarless, open at the neck. Attired to his satisfaction, he
+      placed the box upon the table, propped up a cracked mirror, sat down in
+      front of it, and, with a deft, artist's touch, began to apply stain to his
+      hands, wrists, neck, throat, and face&mdash;but the hardness, the grim
+      menace that now grew into the dominant characteristic of his features was
+      not due to the stain alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear Philanthropic Crook&rdquo;&mdash;his eyes were on the Tocsin's letter that
+      lay before him. He read on&mdash;for once, even to Jimmie Dale's keen,
+      facile mind, a first reading had failed to convey the full significance of
+      what she had written. It was too amazing, almost beyond belief&mdash;the
+      series of crimes, rampant for the past few weeks, at which the community
+      had stood aghast, the brutal murder of Roessle but a few hours old, lay
+      bare before his eyes. It was all there, all of it, the details, the
+      hellish cleverness, the personnel even of the thugs, all, everything&mdash;except
+      the proof.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get him, Jimmie&mdash;the man higher up. Get him, Jimmie&mdash;before
+      another pays forfeit with his life&rdquo;&mdash;the words seemed to leap out at
+      him from the white page in red, dancing lines&mdash;&ldquo;Get him&mdash;Jimmie&mdash;the
+      man higher up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale finished the second reading of the letter, read it again for
+      the third time, then tore it into tiny fragments. His fingers delved into
+      the box again, and the transformation of Jimmie Dale, member of New York's
+      most exclusive social set, into a low, vicious-featured denizen of the
+      underworld went on&mdash;a little wax applied skilfully behind the ears,
+      in the nostrils and under the upper lip.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was all there&mdash;all except the proof. And the proof&mdash;he
+      laughed aloud suddenly, unpleasantly. There seemed something sardonic in
+      it; ay, more than that, all that was grim in irony. The proof, in
+      Stangeist's own writing, sworn to before witnesses in the presence of a
+      notary, the text of the document, of course, unknown to both witnesses and
+      notary, evidence, absolute and final, that would be admitted in any court,
+      for Stangeist was a lawyer, and would see to that, was in Stangeist's own
+      safe, for Stangeist's own protection&mdash;Stangeist, who was himself the
+      head and brains of this murder gang&mdash;Stangeist, who was the man
+      higher up!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was amazing, without parallel in the history of crime&mdash;and yet
+      ingenious, clever, full of the craft and cunning that had built up the
+      shyster lawyer's reputation below the dead line.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's lips were curiously thin now. So it was Stangeist! A Doctor
+      Jekyll and Mr. Hyde with a vengeance! He knew Stangeist&mdash;not
+      personally; not by the reputation Stangeist held, low even as that was,
+      among his brother members of the profession; but as the man was known for
+      what he really was among the crooks and criminals of the underworld,
+      where, in that strange underground exchange, whispered confidences passed
+      between those whose common enemy was the law, where Larry the Bat himself
+      was trusted in the innermost circles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stangeist was a power in the Bad Lands. There were few among that unholy
+      community that Stangeist, at one time or another, in one way or another,
+      had not rescued from the clutches of the law, resorting to any trick or
+      cunning, but with perjury, that he could handle like the master of it that
+      he was, employed as the most common weapon of defence for his clients&mdash;provided
+      he were paid well enough for it. The man had become more than the attorney
+      for the crime world&mdash;he had become part of it. Cunning, shrewd,
+      crafty, conscienceless, cold-blooded&mdash;that was Stangeist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The form and features of the man pictured themselves in Jimmie Dale's mind&mdash;the
+      six-foot muscular frame, that was invariably clothed in attire of the most
+      fashionable cut; the thin lips with their oily, plausible smile, the
+      straight black hair that straggled into pin point, little black eyes, the
+      dark face with its high cheek bones, which, with the pronounced aquiline
+      nose and the persistent rumour that he was a quarter caste, had led the
+      underworld, prejudiced always in favour of a &ldquo;monaker,&rdquo; to dub the man the
+      &ldquo;Indian Chief.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale laughed again&mdash;still unpleasantly. So Stangeist had taken
+      the plunge at last and branched out into a wider field, had he? Well,
+      there was nothing surprising in that&mdash;except that he had not done it
+      before! The irony of it lay in the fact that at last he had been TOO
+      clever, overstepped himself in his own cleverness, that was all. It was
+      Australian Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane that Stangeist had gathered
+      around him, the Tocsin had said&mdash;and there were none worse in Larry
+      the Bat's wide range of acquaintanceship than those three. Stangeist had
+      made himself master of Australian Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane&mdash;and
+      he had driven them a little too hard on the division of the spoils&mdash;and
+      laughed at them, and cracked the whip much after the fashion that the
+      trainer in the cage handles the growling beasts around him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A dozen of the crimes that had appalled and staggered New York they had
+      committed under his leadership; and then, it seemed, they had quarrelled
+      furiously, the three pitted against Stangeist, threatening him, demanding
+      a more equitable share of the proceeds. None was better aware than
+      Stangeist that threats from men of their calibre were likely to result in
+      a grim aftermath&mdash;and Stangeist, yesterday, the Tocsin said, had
+      answered them as no other man than Stangeist would either have thought of
+      or have dared to do. One by one, at separate times, covering the other
+      with a revolver, Stangeist had permitted them to read a document that was
+      addressed to the district attorney. It was a confession, complete in every
+      detail, of every crime the four together had committed, implicating
+      Stangeist as fully and unreservedly as it did the other three. It required
+      no commentary! If anything happened to Stangeist, a stab in the dark, for
+      instance, a bullet from some dark alleyway, a blackjack deftly wielded, as
+      only Australian Ike, The Mope or Clarie Deane knew how to wield it&mdash;the
+      document automatically became a DEATH SENTENCE for Australian Ike, The
+      Mope, and Clarie Deane!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was very simple&mdash;and, evidently, it had been effective, as witness
+      the renewal of their operations in the murder of Roessle that afternoon.
+      Fear and avarice had both probably played their part; fear of the man who
+      would with such consummate nerve fling his life into the balance to turn
+      the tables upon them, while he jeered at them; avarice that prompted them
+      to get what they could out of Stangeist's brains and leadership, and to be
+      satisfied with what they COULD get&mdash;since they could get no more!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Satisfied? Jimmie Dale shook his head. No; that was hardly the word&mdash;cowed,
+      perhaps, for the moment, would be better. But afterward, with a document
+      like that in existence, when they would never be safe for an instant&mdash;well,
+      beasts in the cages had been known to get the better of the man with the
+      whip, and beasts were gentle things compared with Australian Ike, The
+      Mope, and Clarie Deane! Some day they would reverse the tables on the
+      Indian Chief&mdash;if they could. And if they couldn't it would not be for
+      the lack of trying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There would be another act in that drama of the House Divided before the
+      curtain fell! And there would be a sort of grim, poetic justice in it, a
+      temptation almost to let the play work itself out to its own inevitable
+      conclusion, only&mdash;Jimmie Dale, the final touches given to his
+      features, stood up, and his hands clenched suddenly, fiercely&mdash;it was
+      not just the man higher up alone, there were the other three as well, the
+      whole four of them, all of them, crimes without number at their door,
+      brutal, fiendish acts, damnable outrages, murder to answer for, with which
+      the public now was beginning to connect the name of the Gray Seal! The
+      Gray Seal!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's hands, whose delicate fingers were artfully grimed and
+      blackened now beneath the nails, clenched still tighter&mdash;and then,
+      with a quick shrug of his shoulders, a thinning of the firmly compressed
+      lips, he picked up the coat from where it lay upon the floor, put it on,
+      put the money that was on the table in his pocket, and replaced the box
+      under the flooring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In quick succession, from the same hiding place, an automatic, a black
+      silk mask, an electric flashlight, that thin metal box like a cigarette
+      case, and a half dozen vicious-looking little blued-steel burglar's tools
+      were stowed away in his pockets, the flooring carefully replaced, the
+      oilcloth spread back again; and then, pulling a slouch hat well down over
+      his eyes, he reached up to turn off the gas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For an instant his hand held there, while his eyes, sweeping around the
+      apartment, took in every single detail about him in that same alert,
+      comprehensive way as when he had entered&mdash;then the room was in
+      darkness, and the Gray Seal, as Larry the Bat, a shuffling, unkempt
+      creature of the underworld, alias Jimmie Dale, the lionised of clubs, the
+      matrimonial target of exclusive drawing-rooms, closed the door of the
+      Sanctuary behind him, shuffled down the stairs, shuffled out into the
+      lane, and shuffled along the street toward the Bowery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A policeman on the corner accosted him familiarly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello, Larry!&rdquo; grinned the officer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Ello!&rdquo; returned Jimmie Dale affably through the side of his mouth. &ldquo;Fine
+      night, ain't it?&rdquo;&mdash;and shuffled on along the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now Jimmie Dale began to hurry&mdash;still with that shuffling tread,
+      but covering the ground nevertheless with amazing celerity. He had lost no
+      time since receiving the Tocsin's letter, it was true, but, for all that,
+      it was now after ten o'clock. Stangeist's house was &ldquo;dark&rdquo; that evening,
+      she had said, meaning that the occupants, Stangeist as well as whatever
+      servants there might be, for Stangeist had no family, were out&mdash;the
+      servants in town for a theatre or picture show probably&mdash;and
+      Stangeist himself as yet not back, presumably from that Roessle affair.
+      The stub of an old cigar, unlighted, shifted with a sudden, savage twist
+      of the lips from one side of Jimmie Dale's mouth to the other. There was
+      need for haste. There was no telling when Stangeist might get back&mdash;as
+      for the servants, that did not matter so much; servants in suburban homes
+      had a marked affinity for &ldquo;last trains!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale boarded a cross-town car, effected a transfer, and in a
+      quarter of an hour after leaving the Sanctuary was huddled, an inoffensive
+      heap, like a tired-out workingman, in a corner seat of a Long Island
+      train. From here, there was only a short run ahead of him, and, twenty
+      minutes later, descending from the train at Forest Hills, he had passed
+      through the more thickly settled portion of the little place, and was
+      walking briskly out along the country road.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stangeist's house lay, approximately, a mile and a half from the station,
+      quite by itself, and set well back from the road. Jimmie Dale could have
+      found it with his eyes blindfolded&mdash;the Tocsin's directions had
+      lacked none of their usual explicit minuteness. The road was quite
+      deserted. Jimmie Dale met no one. Even in the houses that he passed the
+      lights were in nearly every instance already out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Something, merciless in its rage, swept suddenly over Jimmie Dale, as,
+      unbidden, of its own volition, the last paragraph he had read in that
+      evening's paper began to repeat itself over and over again in his mind.
+      The two little kiddies&mdash;it seemed as though he could see them
+      standing there&mdash;and from Jimmie Dale's lips, not given to profanity,
+      there came a bitter oath. It might possibly be that, even if he were
+      successful in what was before him to-night, the authors of the Roessle
+      murder would never be known. That confession of Stangeist's was written
+      prior to what had happened that afternoon, and there would be no mention,
+      naturally, of Roessle. And, for a moment, that seemed to Jimmie Dale the
+      one thing paramount to all others, the one thing that was vital; then he
+      shook his head, and laughed out shortly. After all, it did not matter&mdash;whether
+      Stangeist and the blood wolves he had gathered around him paid the penalty
+      specifically for one particular crime or for another could make little
+      difference&mdash;they would PAY, just as surely, just as certainly, once
+      that paper was in his possession!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale was counting the houses as he passed&mdash;they were more
+      infrequent now, farther apart. Stangeist was no fool&mdash;not the fool
+      that he would appear to be for keeping a document like that, once he had
+      had the temerity to execute it, in his own safe; for, in a day or two, the
+      Tocsin had hinted at this, after holding it over the heads of Australian
+      Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane again to drive the force of it a little
+      deeper home, he would undoubtedly destroy it&mdash;and the SUPPOSITION
+      that it was still in existence would have equally the same effect on the
+      minds of the other three! Stangeist was certainly alive to the peril that
+      he ran with such a thing in his possession, only the peril had not
+      appealed to him as imminent either from the three thugs with whom he had
+      allied himself, or, much less, from any one else, that was all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale halted by a low, ornamental stone fence, some three feet high,
+      and stood there for a moment, glancing about him. This was Stangeist's
+      house&mdash;he could just make out the building as it loomed up a shadowy,
+      irregular shape, perhaps two hundred yards back from the fence. The house
+      was quite dark, not a light showed in any window. Jimmie Dale sat down
+      casually on the fence, looked carefully again up and down the road&mdash;then,
+      swinging his legs over, quick now in every action, he dropped to the other
+      side, and stole silently across the grass to the rear of the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here he stopped again, reached up to a window that was about on a level
+      with his shoulders, and tested its fastenings. The window&mdash;it was the
+      window of Stangeist's private sanctum, according to the plan in her letter&mdash;was
+      securely locked. Jimmie Dale's hands went into his pocket&mdash;and the
+      black silk mask was slipped over his face. He listened intently&mdash;then
+      a little steel instrument began to gnaw like a rat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A minute passed&mdash;two of them. Again Jimmie Dale listened. There was
+      not a sound save the night sounds&mdash;the light breeze whispering
+      through the branches of the trees; the far-off rumble of a train; the whir
+      of insects; the hoarse croaking of a frog from some near-by creek or pond.
+      The window sash was raised an inch, another, and gradually to the top.
+      Like a shadow, Jimmie Dale pulled himself up to the sill, and, poised
+      there, his hand parted the heavy portieres that hung within. It was too
+      dark to distinguish even a single object in the room. He lowered himself
+      to the floor, and slipped cautiously between the portieres.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From somewhere in the house, a clock began to strike. Jimmie Dale counted
+      the strokes. Eleven o'clock. It was getting late&mdash;TOO late! Stangeist
+      was likely to be back at any moment. The flashlight, in Jimmie Dale's hand
+      now, circled the room with its little round white ray, lingering an
+      instant in a queer, inquisitive sort of way here and there on this object
+      and that&mdash;and went out. Jimmie Dale nodded&mdash;the flat desk in the
+      centre of the floor, the safe in the corner by the rear wall, the position
+      of everything in the room, even to the chairs, was photographed on his
+      mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stepped from the portieres to the safe, and the flashlight played again&mdash;this
+      time reflecting back from the glistening nickelled knobs. Jimmie Dale's
+      lips tightened. It was a small safe, almost ludicrously small; but to such
+      height as the art of safe design had been carried, that design was
+      embodied in the one before him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Type K-four-two-eight-Colby,&rdquo; muttered Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;A nasty little
+      beggar&mdash;and it's eleven o'clock now! I'd use 'soup' for once, if it
+      weren't that it would put Stangeist wise, and give him a chance to make
+      his get-away before the district attorney got the nippers on the four of
+      them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The light went out. Jimmie Dale dropped to his knees; and, while his left
+      hand passed swiftly, tentatively over dials and handle, he rubbed the
+      fingers of his right hand rapidly to and fro over the carpet. Wonderful
+      finger tips were those of Jimmie Dale, sensitive to an abnormal degree;
+      and now, tingling with the friction, the nerves throbbing at the skin
+      surface, they closed in a light, delicate touch upon the knob of the dial&mdash;and
+      Jimmie Dale's ear pressed close against the face of the safe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Time passed. The silence grew heavy&mdash;seemed to palpitate through the
+      room. Then a deep breath, half like a sigh, half like a fluttering sob as
+      of a strong man taxed to the uttermost of his endurance, came from Jimmie
+      Dale, and his left hand swept away the sweat beads that had spurted to his
+      forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eight&mdash;thirteen&mdash;twenty-two,&rdquo; whispered Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a click, a low metallic thud as the bolts slid back, and the
+      door swung open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now the flashlight again, searching the mechanism of the inner door&mdash;then
+      darkness once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Five minutes, ten minutes went by. The clock struck again&mdash;and the
+      single stroke seemed to boom out through the house in a weird, raucous,
+      threatening note, and seemed to linger, throbbing in the air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The inner door was open&mdash;the flashlight's ray was flooding a nest of
+      pigeonholes and little drawers. The pigeonholes were crammed with papers,
+      as, presumably, too, were the drawers. Jimmie Dale sucked in his breath.
+      He had already been there well over half an hour&mdash;every minute now,
+      every second was counting against him, and to search that mass of papers
+      before Stangeist returned was&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo;&mdash;it came in a fierce little ejaculation from Jimmie Dale. From
+      the centre pigeonhole, almost the first paper he had touched, he drew a
+      long, sealed envelope and at a single swift glance had read the
+      inscription upon it, written in longhand:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      TO THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY, NEW YORK CITY. IMPORTANT. URGENT.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The words in the corners were underscored three times.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Swiftly, deftly, Jimmie Dale's hands rolled the rounded end of one of his
+      collection of the legal instruments under the flap of the envelope, turned
+      the sheets over and drew out the folded document inside. There were eight
+      sheets of legal foolscap, neatly fastened together at the top left-hand
+      corner with green tape. He opened them out, read a few words here and
+      there, and turned the pages hurriedly over to scrutinise the last one&mdash;and
+      nodded grimly. Three witnesses had testified to the signature of
+      Stangeist, and a notary's seal, accompanied by the usual legal formula,
+      was duly affixed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale slipped the document into his pocket, and, with the envelope
+      in his hand, moved to the desk. He opened first one drawer and then
+      another, and finally discovering a pile of blank foolscap, took out four
+      sheets, folded them, and placed them in the envelope, sealing the flap of
+      the latter again. That it did not seal very well now brought a quizzical
+      twitch to Jimmie Dale's lips. Sealed or unsealed, perhaps, it made little
+      difference; but, for all that, he was not through with it yet. Apart from
+      bringing the four to justice, there was, after all, a chance to vindicate
+      the Gray Seal in this matter at least, and repudiate the newspaper theory
+      which the public, to whom the Gray Seal was already a monster of iniquity,
+      would seize upon with avidity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no further need of light now. Jimmie Dale replaced the
+      flashlight in his pocket, took out the thin, metal case, opened it, and
+      with the tiny pair of tweezers that likewise nestled there, lifted out one
+      of the gray, diamond-shaped paper seals. There was no question but that,
+      once under arrest, Stangeist's effects would be immediately and thoroughly
+      searched by the authorities! Jimmie Dale's smile from quizzical became
+      ironic. It would afford the police another little, bewildering reminder of
+      the Gray Seal, and give Carruthers, good old Carruthers of the MORNING
+      NEWS-ARGUS, so innocently ignorant that the Gray Seal was his old college
+      pal, yet the one editor of them all who was not forever barking and
+      yelping at the Gray Seal's heels, a chance to vindicate himself a little,
+      too! Jimmie Dale moistened the adhesive side of the gray seal, and, still
+      mindful of tell-tale finger prints, laid it with the tweezers on the flap
+      of the envelope, and pressed it firmly into place with his elbow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then, suddenly, every faculty instantly on the alert, he snatched up
+      the envelope from the desk, and listened. Was it imagination, a trick of
+      nerves, or&mdash;no, there it was again!&mdash;a footfall on the gravel
+      walk at the front of the house. The sound became louder, clearer&mdash;two
+      footfalls instead of one. It was Stangeist, and somebody was with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In an instant Jimmie Dale was across the room and kneeling again before
+      the safe. His fingers were flying now. The envelope shot back into the
+      pigeonhole from which he had taken it&mdash;the inner door of the safe
+      closed silently and swiftly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A dry chuckle came from Jimmie Dale's lips. It was just like fiction, just
+      precisely time enough to have accomplished what he had come for before he
+      was interrupted, not a second more or less, the villain foiled at the
+      psychological moment! The key was rattling in the front door now&mdash;they
+      were in the hall&mdash;he could hear Stangeist's voice&mdash;there came a
+      dull glow from the hallway, following the click of an electric-light
+      switch. The outer door of the safe swung shut, the bolts slid into place,
+      the dial whirled under Jimmie Dale's fingers. It was only a step to the
+      portieres, the open window&mdash;and escape. He straightened up, stepped
+      back, the portieres closed behind him&mdash;and the chuckle died on Jimmie
+      Dale's lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was trapped&mdash;caught without so much as a corner in which to turn!
+      Stangeist was even then coming into the room&mdash;and OUTSIDE, darkly
+      outlined, two forms stood just beneath the window. Instinctively, quick as
+      a flash, Jimmie Dale crouched below the sill. Who were they? What did it
+      mean? Questions swept in swift sequence through his brain. Had they seen
+      him? It would be very dark against the background of the portieres, but
+      yet if they were watching&mdash;he drew a breath of relief. He had not
+      been seen. Their voices reached him in low, guarded whispers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, youse, Ike, pipe it! Dere's a window open in the snitch's room. Come
+      on, we'll get in dere. It'll make the hair stand up on the back of his
+      neck fer a starter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, ferget it!&rdquo; replied another voice. &ldquo;Can the tee-ayter stunt! Clarie
+      leaves the front door unfastened, don't he? An' dey'll be in dere in a
+      minute now. Wotcher want ter do? Crab the game? He might hear us an' fix
+      Clarie before we had a chanst, the skinny old fox! An' dere's the light
+      now&mdash;see! Beat it on yer toes fer the front of the house!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The room was flooded with light. Through the portieres, that Jimmie Dale
+      parted by the barest fraction of an inch, he could see Stangeist and
+      another man, a thick-set, ugly-faced-looking customer&mdash;Clarie Deane,
+      according to that brief, whispered colloquy that he had heard outside. He
+      looked again through the window. The two dark forms had disappeared now,
+      but they had disappeared just a few seconds too late&mdash;with the two
+      other men now in the room, and one of them so close that Jimmie Dale could
+      almost have reached out and touched him, it was impossible to get through
+      the window without being detected, when the slightest sound would attract
+      instant attention and equally instant suspicion. It was a chance to be
+      taken only as a last resort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's face grew hard, as his fingers closed around his automatic
+      and drew the weapon from his pocket. It was all plain enough. That last
+      act in the drama which he had speculatively anticipated was being staged
+      with little loss of time&mdash;and in a grim sort of way the thought
+      flashed across his mind that, perilous as his own position was, Stangeist
+      at that moment was in even greater peril than himself. Australian Ike, The
+      Mope, and Clarie Deane, given the chance, and they seemed to have made
+      that chance now, were not likely to deal in half measures&mdash;Clarie
+      Deane had dropped into a chair beside the desk; and The Mope and
+      Australian Ike were creeping around to the front door!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The parting in the portieres widened a little more, a very little more,
+      slowly, imperceptibly, until Jimmie Dale, by the simple expedient of
+      moving his head, could obtain an unobstructed view of the entire room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stangeist tossed a bag he had been carrying on the desk, pulled up a chair
+      opposite to Clarie Deane, and sat down. Both men were side face to Jimmie
+      Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You tell the boys,&rdquo; said Stangeist abruptly, &ldquo;to fade away after this for
+      a while. Things are getting too hot. And you tell The Mope I dock him five
+      hundred for that extra crunch on Roessle's skull. That sort of thing isn't
+      necessary. That's the kind of stunt that gets the public sore&mdash;the
+      man was dead enough as it was. See?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure!&rdquo; Clarie Deane's ejaculation was a grunt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stangeist opened the bag, and dumped the contents on the desk&mdash;pile
+      after pile of banknotes, the pay roll of the Martindale-Kensington Mills.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some haul!&rdquo; observed Clarie Deane, with a hoarse chuckle. &ldquo;The papers
+      said over twenty thousand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can't always believe what the papers say,&rdquo; returned Stangeist curtly;
+      and, taking a scribbling pad from the desk, began to check up the
+      packages.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Clarie Deane's cigar had gone out. He rolled the short stub in his mouth,
+      and leaned forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bills were evidently just as they had been delivered to the murdered
+      paymaster at the bank, done up with little narrow paper bands in packages
+      of one hundred notes each, save for a small bundle of loose bills which
+      latter, with the rolls of silver, Stangeist swept to one side of the desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Package by package, Stangeist went on jotting the amounts down on the pad.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nix!&rdquo; growled Clarie Deane suddenly. &ldquo;Cut that out! Them's fivers in that
+      wad. Make that five hundred instead of one&mdash;I'm onter yer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mistake,&rdquo; said Stangeist suavely, changing the figures with his pencil.
+      &ldquo;You're pretty wide awake for this time of night, aren't you, Clarie?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I dunno!&rdquo; responded Clarie Deane gruffly. &ldquo;Not so very!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Stangeist, finished with the packages, picked up the loose bills, and,
+      with a short laugh, tossed them into the bag and followed them with the
+      rolls of silver. He pushed the bag toward Clarie Deane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's a little extra for you,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;The trouble with you fellows is
+      that you don't know when you're well off&mdash;but the sooner you find it
+      out the better, unless you want another lesson like yesterday.&rdquo; He made
+      the addition on the pad. &ldquo;Fifteen thousand, eight hundred dollars,&rdquo; he
+      announced softly. &ldquo;That's seven thousand, nine hundred for the three of
+      you to divide, less five hundred from The Mope.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Clarie Deane's eyes narrowed. His hands were on his knees, hidden by the
+      desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's more'n twenty there,&rdquo; he said sullenly&mdash;and drew a match
+      across the under edge of the desk with a long, crackling noise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stangeist's face lost its suavity, a snarl curled his lips; but, about to
+      reply, he sprang suddenly to his feet instead, his head turned sharply
+      toward the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that!&rdquo; he said hoarsely. &ldquo;It's not the servants, they wouldn't
+      dare to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Stangeist's words ended in a gulp. He was staring into the muzzle of a
+      heavy-calibered revolver that Clarie Deane had jerked up from under the
+      desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You sit down, or I'll blow your block off!&rdquo; said Clarie Deane, with a
+      sudden leer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It happened then almost before Jimmie Dale could grasp the details; before
+      even Clarie Deane himself could interfere. The door burst open, two men
+      rushed in&mdash;and one, with a bound, flung himself at Stangeist. The
+      man's hand, grasping a clubbed revolver, rose in the air, descended on
+      Stangeist's head&mdash;and Stangeist went down in a limp heap, crashed
+      into the chair, and slid from the chair with a thud to the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was an oath from Clarie Deane. He jumped from his seat, and with a
+      violent shove sent the man reeling half across the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Blast you, Mope!&rdquo; he snarled. &ldquo;You're too blamed fly! D'ye wanter queer
+      the whole biz?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, wot's the matter wid youse!&rdquo; The Mope, purple-faced with rage, little
+      black eyes glittering, mouth working under a flattened nose that some
+      previous encounter had broken and bent over the side of his face, advanced
+      belligerently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Australian Ike, who had entered the room with him, pulled him back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ferget it!&rdquo; he flung out. &ldquo;Clarie's dealin' the deck. Ferget it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Mope glared from one to the other; then shook his fist at Stangeist on
+      the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Youse two make me sick!&rdquo; he sneered. &ldquo;Wot's the use of waitin' all night?
+      We was to bump him off, anyway, wasn't we? Dat's wot youse said yerselves,
+      'cause wot was ter stop him writin' out another paper if we didn't fix him
+      fer keeps?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's all right,&rdquo; rejoined Clarie Deane; &ldquo;but that's the second act, you
+      bonehead, see! We ain't got the paper yet, have we? Say, take a look at
+      that safe! It's easier ter scare him inter openin' it than ter crack it,
+      ain't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale, from his crouched position, began to rise to his feet slowly,
+      making but the slightest movement at a time, cautious of the least sound.
+      His lips were like a thin line, his fingers tightly pressed over the
+      automatic in his hand. There was not room for him between the portieres
+      and the window; and, do what he could, the hangings bulged a little. Let
+      one of the three notice that, or inadvertently brush against the
+      portieres, and his life would not be worth an instant's purchase.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were lifting Stangeist up now, propping him up in the chair.
+      Stangeist moaned, opened his eyes, stared in a dazed way at the three
+      faces that leered into his, then dawning intelligence came, and his face,
+      that had been white before, took on a pasty, grayish pallor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&mdash;the three of you!&rdquo; he mumbled. &ldquo;What's this mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And then Clarie Deane laughed in a low, brutal way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wot d'ye think it means? We want that paper, an' we want it damn quick&mdash;see!
+      D'ye think we was goin' ter stand fer havin' a trip ter Sing Sing an' the
+      wire chair danglin' over our heads!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Stangeist closed his eyes. When he opened them again, something of the
+      old-time craftiness was in his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what are you going to do about it?&rdquo; he inquired, almost sharply.
+      &ldquo;You know what will happen to you, if anything happens to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't youse kid yerself!&rdquo; retorted Clarie Deane. &ldquo;D'ye think we're fools?
+      This ain't like it was yesterday&mdash;see! We GETS the paper this time&mdash;so
+      there won't nothin' happen to us. You come across with it blasted quick
+      now, or The Mope'll give you another on the bean that'll put you to sleep
+      fer keeps!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The blood was running down Stangeist's face. He wiped it away from his
+      eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's not here,&rdquo; he said innocently. &ldquo;It's in my box in the safety-deposit
+      vaults.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw,&rdquo; blurted out Australian Ike, pushing suddenly forward, &ldquo;youse can't
+      work dat crawl on&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cut it out, Ike!&rdquo; snapped Clarie Dane. &ldquo;I'm runnin' this! So it's in the
+      vaults, eh?&rdquo; He shoved his face toward Stangeist's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Stangeist easily. &ldquo;You see&mdash;I was looking for something
+      like this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Clarie Deane's fist clenched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You lie!&rdquo; he choked. &ldquo;The Mope, here, was the last of us you showed the
+      paper to yesterday afternoon, an' the vaults was closed then&mdash;an' you
+      ain't been there to-day, 'cause you've been watched. That's why we fixed
+      it fer to-night after the divvy that you've just tried ter do us on again,
+      'cause we knew you had it here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell you, it's not here,&rdquo; said Stangeist evenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You lie!&rdquo; said Clarie Deane again. &ldquo;It's in that safe. The Mope heard you
+      tell the girl in yer office that if anything happened to you she was ter
+      wise up the district attorney that there was a paper in your safe at home
+      fer him that was important. Now then, you beat it over ter that safe, an'
+      open it up&mdash;we'll give you a minute ter do it in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The paper's not there, I tell you,&rdquo; said Stangeist once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's all right,&rdquo; submitted Clarle Deane grimly. &ldquo;There's a quarter of
+      that minute gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I won't!&rdquo; Stangeist flashed out violently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's all right,&rdquo; repeated Clarie Deane. &ldquo;There's half of that minute
+      gone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's eyes, in a fascinated sort of way, were on Stangeist. The
+      man's face was twitching now, moisture began to ooze from his forehead, as
+      the callous brutality of the scowling faces seemed to get him&mdash;and
+      then he lurched suddenly forward in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God!&rdquo; he cried out, a ring of terror in his voice &ldquo;What do you mean to
+      do? You'll pay for it! They'll get you! The servants will be back in a
+      minute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Two skirts!&rdquo; jeered Clarie Deane. &ldquo;We ain't goin' ter run away from them.
+      If they comes before we goes, we'll fix 'em. That minute's up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Stangeist licked his lips with his tongue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose&mdash;suppose I refuse?&rdquo; he said hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can suit yerself,&rdquo; said Clarie Deane, with a vicious grin. &ldquo;We know
+      the paper's there, an' we gets it before we leaves here&mdash;see? You can
+      take yer choice. Either you goes over ter the safe an' opens it yerself,
+      or else&rdquo;&mdash;he paused and produced a small bottle from his pocket&mdash;&ldquo;this
+      is nitro-glycerin', an' we opens it fer you with this. Only if we does the
+      job we does it proper. We ties you up and sets you against the door of the
+      safe before we touches off the 'soup,' an' mabbe if yer a good guesser you
+      can guess the rest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a short, raucous guffaw from The Mope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stangeist turned a drawn face toward the man, stared at him, and stared in
+      a miserable way at the other two in turn. He licked his lips again&mdash;none
+      was in a better position than himself to know that there would be neither
+      scruples nor hesitancy to interfere with carrying out the threat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose,&rdquo; he said, trying to keep his voice steady, &ldquo;suppose I open the
+      safe&mdash;what then&mdash;afterward?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We ain't got the safe open yet,&rdquo; countered Clarie Deane uncompromisingly.
+      &ldquo;An' we ain't got no more time ter fool over it, either. You get a move on
+      before I counts five, or The Mope an' Ike ties you up! One&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Stangeist staggered to his feet, wiped the blood out of his eyes for the
+      second time, and, with lips working, went unsteadily across the room to
+      the safe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knelt before it, and began to manipulate the dial; while the others
+      crowded around behind him. The Mope was fingering his revolver again club
+      fashion. Australian Ike's elbow just grazed the portieres, and Jimmie Dale
+      flattened himself against the window, holding his breath&mdash;a smile on
+      his lips that was mirthless, deadly, cold. The end was not far off now;
+      and then&mdash;WHAT?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stangeist had the outer door of the safe open now&mdash;and now the inner
+      door swung back. He reached in his hand to the pigeonhole, drew out the
+      envelope&mdash;and with a sudden, wild cry, reeled to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God!&rdquo; he screamed out. &ldquo;What's&mdash;what's this!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Clarie Deane snatched the envelope from him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;THE GRAY SEAL!&rdquo;&mdash;the words came with a jerk from his lips. He ripped
+      the envelope open frantically&mdash;and like a man stunned gazed at the
+      four blank sheets, while the colour left his face. &ldquo;IT'S GONE!&rdquo; he cried
+      out hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gone!&rdquo; There was a burst of oaths from Australian Ike. &ldquo;Gone! Den we're
+      nipped&mdash;de lot of us!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Mope's face was like a maniac's as he whirled on Stangeist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure!&rdquo; he croaked. &ldquo;But youse gets yers first, youse&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a cry, Stangeist, to elude the blow, ducked blindly backward&mdash;into
+      the portieres&mdash;and with a rip and tear the hangings were wrenched
+      apart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It came instantaneously&mdash;a yell of mingled surprise and fury from the
+      three&mdash;the crash and spit of Jimmie Dale's revolver as he fired one
+      shot at the floor to stop their rush&mdash;then he flung himself at the
+      window, through it, and dropped sprawling to the ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A stream of flame cut the darkness above him, a bullet whistled by his
+      head&mdash;another&mdash;and another. He was on his feet, quick as a cat,
+      and running close alongside of the wall of the house. He heard a thud
+      behind him, still another, and yet a third&mdash;they were dropping
+      through the window after him. Came another shot, an angry hum of the
+      bullet closer than before&mdash;then the pound of racing feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale swung around the corner of the house, running at top speed.
+      Something that was like a hot iron suddenly burned and seared along the
+      side of his head just above the ear. He reeled, staggered, recovered
+      himself, and dashed on. It nauseated him, that stinging in his head, and
+      all at once seemed to be draining his strength away. The shouts, the
+      shots, the running feet became like a curious buzzing in his ears. It
+      seemed strange that they should have hit him, that he should be wounded!
+      If he could only reach the low stone wall by the road, he could at least
+      make a fight for his life on the other side!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Red streaks swam before Jimmie Dale's eyes. The wall was such a long way
+      off&mdash;a yard or two was a very long way more to go&mdash;the weakness
+      seemed to be creeping up now even to numb his brain. No, here was the wall&mdash;they
+      hadn't hit him again&mdash;he laughed in a demented way&mdash;and rolled
+      his body over, and fell to the other side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;JIMMIE!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cry seemed to reach some inner consciousness, revive him, send the
+      blood whipping through his veins. That voice! It was her&mdash;HERS! The
+      Tocsin! There was an automobile, engine racing, standing there in the
+      road. He won to his feet&mdash;dark, rushing forms were almost at the
+      wall. He fired&mdash;once&mdash;twice&mdash;fired again&mdash;and turned,
+      staggering for the car.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jimmie! Jimmie&mdash;QUICK!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Panting, gasping, he half fell into the tonneau. The car leaped forward,
+      yells filled the air&mdash;but only one thing was dominant in Jimmie
+      Dale's reeling brain now. He pulled himself up to his feet, and leaned
+      over the back of the seat, reaching for the slim figure that was bent over
+      the wheel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's you&mdash;you at last!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Your face&mdash;let me lee your
+      face!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A bullet split the back panel of the car&mdash;little spurting flames were
+      dancing out from the roadway behind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you mad!&rdquo; she shouted back at him. &ldquo;Let me steer&mdash;do you want
+      them to hit me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No-o,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, in a queer singsong sort of way, and his head
+      seemed to spin dizzily around. &ldquo;No&mdash;I guess&mdash;&rdquo; He choked. &ldquo;The
+      paper&mdash;it's in&mdash;my pocket&rdquo;&mdash;and he went down unconscious on
+      the floor of the car.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he recovered his senses he was lying on a couch in a plainly
+      furnished room, and a man, a stranger, red, jovial-faced, farmerish
+      looking, was bending over him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where am I?&rdquo; he demanded finally, propping himself up on his elbow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're all right,&rdquo; replied the man. &ldquo;She said you'd come around in a
+      little while.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who said so?&rdquo; inquired Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She did. The woman who brought you here about five minutes ago. She said
+      she ran you down with her car.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale. He felt his head&mdash;it was bandaged, and it was
+      bandaged, he was quite sure, with a piece of torn underskirt. He looked at
+      the man again. &ldquo;You haven't told me yet where I am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Long Island,&rdquo; the other answered. &ldquo;My name's Hanson. I keep a bit of a
+      truck garden here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man crossed the room, picked up an envelope from the table, and came
+      back to Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She said to give you this as soon as you got your senses, and asked us to
+      put you up for a while, as long as you wanted to stay, and paid us for it,
+      too. She's all right, she is. You don't want to hold the accident up
+      against her, she was mighty sorry about it. And now I'll go and see if the
+      old lady's got your room ready while you're readin' your letter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man left the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale sat up on the couch, and tore the envelope open. The note,
+      scrawled in pencil, began abruptly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You were quite a problem. I couldn't take you HOME&mdash;could I? I
+      couldn't take you to what you call the Sanctuary could I? I couldn't take
+      you to a hospital, nor call in a doctor&mdash;the stain you use wouldn't
+      stand it. But, thank God! I know it's only a flesh wound, and you are all
+      right where you are for the day or two that you must keep quiet and take
+      care of yourself. By the time you read this the paper will be on the way
+      to the proper hands, and by morning the four where they should be. There
+      were a few articles in your clothes I thought it better to take charge of
+      in case&mdash;well, in case of ACCIDENT.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale tore the note up, and smiled wryly at the door. He felt in his
+      pockets. Mask, revolver, burglar's tools, and the thin metal insignia case
+      were gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I had the sublime optimism,&rdquo; murmured Jimmie Dale, &ldquo;to spend months
+      trying to find her as Larry the Bat!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IX
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      TWO CROOKS AND A KNAVE
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      The bullet wound along the side of his head and just above his ear would
+      have been a very awkward thing indeed, in more ways than one, for Jimmie
+      Dale, the millionaire, to have explained at his club, in his social set,
+      or even to his servants, and of these latter to Jason the Solicitous in
+      particular; but for Jimmie Dale as Larry the Bat it was a matter of little
+      moment. There was none to question Larry the Bat, save in a most casual
+      and indifferent way; and a bandage of any description, primarily and above
+      all one that he could arrange himself, with only himself to take note of
+      the incongruous hues of skin where the stain, the grease paint, and the
+      make-up was washed off, would excite little attention in that world where
+      daily affrays were common-place happenings, and a wound, for whatever
+      reason, had long since lost the tang of novelty. Why then should it arouse
+      even a passing interest if Larry the Bat, credited as the most confirmed
+      of dope fiends, should have fallen down the dark, rickety stairs of the
+      tenement in one of his orgies, and, in the expressive language of the Bad
+      Lands, cracked his bean!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so Jimmie Dale had been forced to maintain the role of Larry the Bat
+      for a far longer period than he had anticipated when, ten days before, he
+      had assumed it for the night's work that had so nearly resulted fatally
+      for himself, though it had placed Roessle's murderers behind the bars.
+      For, the next day, unwilling to court the risk of remaining in that
+      neighbourhood, he had left Hanson's, the farmer's, house on Long Island
+      where the Tocsin had carried him in an unconscious state, telephoned Jason
+      that he had been unexpectedly called out of town for a few days, and
+      returned to the Sanctuary in New York. And here, to his grim dismay, he
+      had found the underworld in a state of furious, angry unrest, like a nest
+      of hornets, stirred up, seeking to wreak vengeance on an unseen assailant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For years, as the Gray Seal, Jimmie Dale had lived with the slogan of the
+      police, &ldquo;The Gray Seal dead or alive&mdash;but the Gray Seal!&rdquo; sounding in
+      his ears; with the newspapers screaming their diatribes, arousing the
+      people against him, nagging the authorities into sleepless, frenzied
+      efforts to trap him; with a price upon his head that was large enough to
+      make a man, not too pretentious, rich for life&mdash;but in the
+      underworld, until then, the name of the Gray Seal had been one to conjure
+      with, for the underworld had sworn by the unknown master criminal, and had
+      spoken his name with a reverence that was none the less genuine even if
+      pungently tainted with unholiness. But now it was different. Up and down
+      through the Bad Lands, in gambling hells, in vicious resorts, in the
+      hiding places where thugs and crooks burrowed themselves away from the
+      daylight, through the heart and the outskirts of the underworld travelled
+      the fiat, whispered out of mouths crooked to one side&mdash;DEATH TO THE
+      GRAY SEAL!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gangland differences were forgotten in the larger issue of the common
+      weal. The gang spirit became the spirit of a united whole, and the crime
+      fraternity buzzed and hummed poisonously, spurred on by hatred, thirst for
+      revenge, fear, and, perhaps most potent of all, a hideous suspicion now of
+      each other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The underworld had received a shock at which it stood aghast, and which,
+      with its terrifying possibilities, struck consternation into the soul of
+      every individual of that brotherhood whose bond was crime, who was already
+      &ldquo;wanted&rdquo; for some offence or other, whether it ranged from murder in the
+      first degree to some petty piece of sneak thievery. Stangeist, the Indian
+      chief, the lawyer whose cunning brain had stood as a rampart between the
+      underworld and a prison cell, was himself now in the Tombs with the
+      certainty of the electric chair before him; and with him, the same fate
+      equally assured, were Australian Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane!
+      Aristocrats of the Bad Lands, peers of that inglorious realm were those
+      four&mdash;and the blow had fallen with stunning force, a blow that in
+      itself would have been enough to have stirred the underworld to its
+      depths. But that was not all&mdash;from the cells in the Tombs, from the
+      four came the word, and passed from mouth to mouth in that strange
+      underground exchange until all had heard it, that the Gray Seal had
+      &ldquo;SQUEALED.&rdquo; The Gray Seal who, though unknown, they had counted the most
+      eminent among themselves, had squealed! Who was the Gray Seal? It he had
+      held the secrets of Stangeist and his band, what else might he not know?
+      Who else might not fall next? The Gray Seal had become a snitch, a menace,
+      a source of danger that stalked among them like a ghastly spectre. Who was
+      the Gray Seal? None knew.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Death to the Gray Seal! Run him to earth!&rdquo; went the whisper from lip to
+      lip; and with the whisper men stared uncertainly into each other's faces,
+      fearful that the one to whom they spoke might even be&mdash;the Gray Seal!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's lips twisted queerly as he looked around him at the squalid
+      appointments of the Sanctuary. The police were bad enough, the papers were
+      worse; but this was a still graver peril. With every denizen of the
+      underworld below the dead line suspicious of each other, their lives, the
+      penitentiary, or a prison sentence the stakes against which each one
+      played, the role of Larry the Bat, clever as was the make-up and disguise,
+      was fraught now more than ever before with danger and peril. It seemed as
+      though slowly the net was beginning at last to tighten around him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The murky, yellow flame of the gas jet flickered suddenly, as though in
+      acquiescence with the quick, impulsive shrug of Jimmie Dale's shoulders&mdash;and
+      Jimmie Dale, bending to peer into the cracked mirror that was propped up
+      on the broken-legged table, knotted his dress tie almost fastidiously. The
+      hair, if just a trifle too long, covered the scar on his head now, the
+      wound no longer required a bandage, and Larry the Bat, for the time being
+      at least, had disappeared. Across the foot of the bed, neatly folded, lay
+      his dress coat and overcoat, but little creased for all that they had lain
+      in that hiding-place under the flooring since the night when, hurrying
+      from the club, he had placed them there to assume instead the tatters of
+      Larry the Bat. It was Jimmie Dale in his own person again who stood there
+      now in Larry the Bat's disreputable den, an incongruous figure enough
+      against the background of his miserable surroundings, in perfect-fitting
+      shoes and trousers, the broad expanse of spotless white shirt bosom
+      glistening even in the poverty-stricken flare from the single, sputtering
+      gas jet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale took the watch from his pocket that had not been wound for
+      many days, wound it mechanically, set it by guesswork&mdash;it was not far
+      from eight o'clock&mdash;and replaced it in his pocket. Carefully then,
+      one at a time, he examined his fingers, long, slim, sensitive, tapering
+      fingers, magical masters of safes and locks and vaults of the most
+      intricate and modern mechanism&mdash;no single trace of grime remained,
+      they were metamorphosed hands from the filthy paws of Larry the Bat. He
+      nodded in satisfaction; and picked up the mirror for a final inspection of
+      himself, that, this time, did not miss a single line in his face or neck.
+      Again Jimmie Dale nodded. As though he had vanished into thin air, as
+      though he had never existed, not a trace of Larry the Bat remained&mdash;except
+      the heap of rags upon the floor, the battered slouch hat, the frayed
+      trousers, the patched boots with their broken laces, the mismated socks,
+      the grimy flannel shirt, and the old coat that he had just discarded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The mirror was replaced on the table; and, pushing the heap of clothes
+      before him with his foot, Jimmie Dale knelt down in the corner of the room
+      where the oilcloth had been turned up and the loose planking of the floor
+      removed, and began to pack the articles away in the hole. Jimmie Dale
+      rolled the trousers of Larry the Bat into a compact little bundle, and
+      stuffed them under the flooring. The gas jet seemed to blink again in a
+      sort of confidential approval, as though the secret lay inviolate between
+      itself and Jimmie Dale. Through the closed window, shade tightly drawn,
+      came, low and muffled, the sound of distant life from the Bowery, a few
+      blocks away. The gas jet, suffering from air somewhere within the pipes,
+      hissed angrily, the yellow flame died to a little blue, forked spurt&mdash;and
+      Jimmie Dale was on his feet, his face suddenly hard and white as marble.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      SOME ONE WAS KNOCKING AT THE DOOR!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the fraction of a second Jimmie Dale stood motionless. Found as Jimmie
+      Dale in the den of Larry the Bat, and the consequences required no effort
+      of the imagination to picture them; police or denizen of the underworld
+      who was knocking there, it was all the same, the method of death would be
+      a little different, that was all&mdash;one legalised, the other not.
+      Jimmie Dale, Larry the Bat, the Gray Seal, once uncovered, could expect as
+      much quarter as would be given to a cornered rat. His eyes swept the room
+      with a swift, critical glance&mdash;evidences of Larry the Bat, the
+      clothes, were still about, even if he in the person of Jimmie Dale, alone
+      damning enough, were not standing there himself. And he was even
+      weaponless&mdash;the Tocsin had taken the revolver from his pocket,
+      together with those other telltale articles, the mask, the flashlight, the
+      little blued-steel tools, before she had intrusted him that night, wounded
+      and unconscious, to Hanson's care.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale slipped his feet out of his low evening pumps, snatched up the
+      old coat and hat from the pile, put them on, and, without a sound, reached
+      the gas jet and turned it off. A second had gone by&mdash;no more&mdash;the
+      knocking still sounded insistently on the door. It was dark now, perfectly
+      black. He started across the room, his tread absolutely silent as the
+      trained muscles, relaxing, threw the body weight gradually upon one foot
+      before the next step was taken. It was like a shadow, a little blacker in
+      outline than the surrounding blackness, stealing across the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Halfway to the door he paused. The knocking had ceased. He listened
+      intently. It was not repeated. Instead, his ear caught a guarded step
+      retreating outside in the hall. Jimmie Dale drew a breath of relief. He
+      went on again to the door, still listening. Was it a trap&mdash;that step
+      outside?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the door now, tense, alert, he lowered his ear to the keyhole. There
+      came the faintest creak from the stairs. Jimmie Dale's brows gathered. It
+      was strange! The knocking had not lasted long. Whoever it was was going
+      away&mdash;but it required the utmost caution to descend those stairs,
+      rickety and tumble-down as they were, with no more sound than that! Why
+      such caution? Why not a more determined and prolonged effort at his door&mdash;the
+      visitor had been easily satisfied that Larry the Bat was not within. TOO
+      easily satisfied! Jimmie Dale turned the key noiselessly in the lock. He
+      opened the door cautiously&mdash;half inch&mdash;an inch, there was no
+      sound of footsteps now. Occasionally a lodger moved about on the floor
+      above; occasionally from somewhere in the tenement came the murmur of
+      voices as from behind closed door&mdash;that was all. All else was silence
+      and darkness now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door, on its well-oiled hinges, swung wide open. Jimmie Dale thrust
+      out his head into the hall&mdash;and something fell upon the threshold
+      with a little thud&mdash;but for a moment Jimmie Dale did not move.
+      Listening, trying to pierce the darkness, he was as still as the silence
+      around him; then he stooped and groped along the threshold. His hand
+      closed upon what seemed like a small box wrapped in paper. He picked it
+      up, closed and locked the door again, and retreated back across the room.
+      It was strange&mdash;unpleasantly strange&mdash;a box propped stealthily
+      against the door so that it would fall to the threshold when the door was
+      opened! And why the stealth? What did it mean? Had the underworld with its
+      thousand eyes and ears already succeeded in a few days where the police
+      had failed signally for years&mdash;had they sent him this, whatever it
+      was, as some grim token that they had run Larry the Bat to earth? He shook
+      his head. No; gangland struck more swiftly, with less finesse than that&mdash;the
+      &ldquo;cat-and-mouse&rdquo; act was never one it favoured, for the mouse had been
+      known to get away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale lighted the gas again, and turned the package over in his
+      hands. It was, as he had surmised, a small cardboard box; and it was
+      wrapped in plain paper and tied with a string. He untied the string, and
+      still suspicious, as a man is suspicious in the knowledge that he is
+      stalked by peril at every turn, removed the wrapper a little gingerly. It
+      was still without sign or marking upon it, just an ordinary cardboard box.
+      He lifted off the cover, and, with a short, sudden laugh, stared, a little
+      out of countenance, at the contents.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the top lay a white, unaddressed envelope. HERS! Beneath&mdash;he
+      emptied the box on the table&mdash;his black silk mask, his automatic
+      revolver, the kit of fine, small blued-steel burglar's tools, his pocket
+      flashlight, and the thin metal insignia case. The Tocsin! Impulsively
+      Jimmie Dale turned toward the door&mdash;and stopped. His shoulders lifted
+      in a shrug that, meant to be philosophical, was far from philosophical. He
+      could not, dared not venture far through the tenement dressed as he was;
+      and even if he could there were three exits to the Sanctuary, a fact that
+      now for the first time was not wholly a source of unmixed satisfaction to
+      him; and besides&mdash;she was gone!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale opened the letter, a grim smile playing on his lips. He had
+      forgotten for the moment that the illusion he had cherished for years in
+      the belief that she did not know Larry the Bat as an alias of Jimmie Dale
+      was no more than&mdash;an illusion. Well, it had been a piece of
+      consummate egotism on his part, that was all. But, after all, what did it
+      matter? He had had his innings, tried in the role of Larry the Bat to
+      solve her identity, devoted weeks on end to the attempt&mdash;and failed.
+      Some day, perhaps, his turn would come; some day, perhaps, she would no
+      longer be able to elude him, unless&mdash;the letter crackled suddenly in
+      his fingers&mdash;unless the house that they had built on such strange and
+      perilous foundations crashed at some moment, without an instant's warning,
+      in disaster and ruin to the ground. Who knew but that this letter now,
+      another call to the Gray Seal to act, another peril invited, would be the
+      LAST? There must be an end some day; luck and nerve had their limitations&mdash;it
+      had almost ended last week!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear Philanthropic Crook&rdquo;&mdash;it was the same inevitable beginning.
+      &ldquo;You are well enough again, aren't you, Jimmie?&mdash;I am sending these
+      little things back to you, for you will need them to-night.&rdquo;&mdash;Jimmie
+      Dale read on, muttering snatches of the letter aloud: &ldquo;Michael Breen
+      prospecting in Alaska&mdash;map of location of rich mining claim&mdash;Hamvert,
+      his former partner, had previously fleeced him of fifteen thousand dollars&mdash;his
+      share of a deal together&mdash;Breen was always a very poor man&mdash;Breen
+      later struck a claim alone; but, taking sick, came back home&mdash;died on
+      arrival in New York after giving map to his wife&mdash;wife in very needy
+      circumstances&mdash;lives with little daughter of seven in New Rochelle&mdash;works
+      out by the day at Henry Mittel's house on the Sound near-by&mdash;wife
+      intrusted map for safe-keeping and advice to Mittel&mdash;Hamvert after
+      map&mdash;telephone wires cut&mdash;room one hundred and forty-eight,
+      corner, right, first floor, Palais-Metropole Hotel, unoccupied&mdash;connecting
+      doors&mdash;quarter past nine to-night&mdash;the Weasel&mdash;Mittel's
+      house later&mdash;the police&mdash;look out for both the Weasel and the
+      police, Jimmie&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      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. He had not been
+      far wrong. From what the night promised now, this might well be the last
+      letter. Who knew? There would be need of all the wit and luck and nerve
+      to-night that the Gray Seal had ever had before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a jerk, Jimmie Dale roused himself from the momentary reverie into
+      which he had fallen; and, all action now, stuffed the torn pieces of the
+      letter into his trousers pocket to be disposed of later in the street;
+      took off the old coat and slouch hat again, and resumed the disposal of
+      Larry the Bat's effects under the flooring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This accomplished, he replaced the planking and oilcloth, stood up, put on
+      his dress coat and light overcoat, and, from the table, stowed the black
+      silk mask, the automatic, the little kit of tools, the flashlight, and the
+      thin metal case away in his pockets.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale raised his hand to the gas fixture, circled the room with a
+      glance that missed no single detail&mdash;then the light went out, the
+      door closed behind him, locked, a dark shadow crept silently down the
+      stairs, out through the side door into the alleyway, along the alleyway
+      close to the wall of the tenement where it was blackest, and, satisfied
+      that for the moment there were no passers-by, emerged on the street,
+      walking leisurely toward the Bowery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once well away from the Sanctuary, however, Jimmie Dale quickened his
+      steps; and twenty minutes later, having stopped but once to telephone to
+      his home on Riverside Drive for his touring car, he was briskly mounting
+      the steps of the St. James Club on Fifth Avenue. Another twenty minutes
+      after that, and he had dismissed Benson, his chauffeur, and, at the wheel
+      of his big, powerful machine, was speeding uptown for the Palais-Metropole
+      Hotel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was twelve minutes after nine when he drew up at the curb in front of
+      the side entrance of the hotel&mdash;his watch, set by guesswork, had been
+      a little slow, and he had corrected it at the club. He was replacing the
+      watch in his pocket as he sauntered around the corner, and passed in
+      through the main entrance to the big lobby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale avoided the elevators&mdash;it was only one flight up, and
+      elevator boys on occasions had been known to be observant. At the top of
+      the first landing, a long, wide, heavily carpeted corridor was before him.
+      &ldquo;Number one hundred and forty-eight, the corner room on the right,&rdquo; the
+      Tocsin had said. Jimmie Dale walked nonchalantly along&mdash;past No. 148.
+      At the lower end of the hall a group of people were gathered around the
+      elevator doors; halfway down the corridor a bell boy came out of a room
+      and went ahead of Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then Jimmie Dale stopped suddenly, and began to retrace his steps. The
+      group had entered the elevator, the bell boy had disappeared around the
+      farther end of the hall into the wing of the hotel&mdash;the corridor was
+      empty. In a moment he was standing before the door of No. 148; in another,
+      under the persuasion of a little steel instrument, deftly manipulated by
+      Jimmie Dale's slim, tapering fingers, the lock clicked back, the door
+      opened, and he stepped inside, closing and locking the door again behind
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was already a quarter past nine, but no one was as yet in the
+      connecting room&mdash;the fanlight next door had been dark as he passed.
+      His flashlight swept about him, located the connecting door&mdash;and went
+      out. He moved to the door, tried it, and found it locked. Again the little
+      steel instrument came into play, released the lock, and Jimmie Dale opened
+      the door. Again the flashlight winked. The door opened into a bathroom
+      that, obviously, at will, was either common to the two rooms or could, by
+      the simple expedient of locking one door or the other, be used by one of
+      the rooms alone. In the present instance, the occupant of the adjoining
+      apartment had taken &ldquo;a room with a bath.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale passed through the bathroom to the opposite door. This was
+      already three-quarters open, and swung outward into the bedroom, near the
+      lower end of the room by the window. Through the crack of the door by the
+      hinges, Jimmie Dale flashed his light, testing the radius of vision,
+      pushed the door a few inches wider open, tested it again with the
+      flashlight&mdash;and retreated back into No. 148, closing the door on his
+      side until it was just ajar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood there then silently waiting. It was Hamvert's room next door, and
+      Hamvert and the Weasel were already late. A step sounded outside in the
+      corridor. Jimmie Dale straightened intently. The step passed on down the
+      hallway and died away. A false alarm! Jimmie Dale smiled whimsically. It
+      was a strange adventure this that confronted him, quite the strangest in a
+      way that the Tocsin had ever planned&mdash;and the night lay before him
+      full of peril in its extraordinary complications. To win the hand he must
+      block Hamvert and the Weasel without allowing them an inkling that his
+      interference was anything more than, say, the luck of a hotel sneak thief
+      at most. The Weasel was a dangerous man, one of the slickest second-story
+      workers in the country, with safe cracking as one of his favourite
+      pursuits, a man most earnestly desired by the police, provided the latter
+      could catch him &ldquo;with the goods.&rdquo; As for Hamvert, he did not know Hamvert,
+      who was a stranger in New York, except that Hamvert had fleeced a man
+      named Michael Breen out of his share in a claim they had had together when
+      Breen had first gone to Alaska to try his luck, and now, having discovered
+      that Breen, when prospecting alone somewhere in the interior a month or so
+      ago, had found a rich vein and had made a map or diagram of its location,
+      he, Hamvert, had followed the other to New York for the purpose of getting
+      it by hook or crook. Breen's &ldquo;find&rdquo; had been too late; taken sick, he had
+      never worked his claim, had barely got back home before he died, and only
+      in time to hand his wife the strange legacy of a roughly scrawled little
+      piece of paper, and&mdash;Jimmie Dale straightened up alertly once more.
+      Steps again&mdash;and this time coming from the direction of the elevator;
+      then voices; then the opening of the door of the next room; then a voice,
+      distinctly audible:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pull up a chair, and we'll get down to business. You're late, as it is.
+      We haven't any time to waste, if we're going to wash pay-dirt to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, dat's all right!&rdquo; responded another voice&mdash;quite evidently the
+      Weasel's. &ldquo;Don't youse worry&mdash;de game's cinched to a fadeaway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was the sound of chairs being moved across the floor. Jimmie Dale
+      slipped the black silk mask over his face, opened the door on his side of
+      the bathroom cautiously, and, without a sound, stepped into the bathroom
+      that was lighted now, of course, by the light streaming in through the
+      partially opened door of Hamvert's room. The two were talking earnestly
+      now in lower tones. Jimmie Dale only caught a word here and there&mdash;his
+      faculties for the moment were concentrated on traversing the bathroom
+      silently. He reached the farther door, crouched there, peered through the
+      crack&mdash;and the old whimsical smile flickered across his lips again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Palais-Metropole was high class and exclusive, and the Weasel for once
+      looked quite the gentleman, and, for all his sharp, ferret face, not
+      entirely out of keeping with his surroundings&mdash;else he would never
+      have got farther than the lobby. The other was a short, thickset,
+      heavy-jowled man, with a great shock of sandy hair, and small black eyes
+      that looked furtively out from overhanging, bushy eyebrows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; Hamvert was saying, &ldquo;the details are your concern. What I want is
+      results. We won't waste time. You're to be back here by daylight&mdash;only
+      see that there's no come-back.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Leave it to me!&rdquo; returned the Weasel, with assurance. &ldquo;How's dere goin'
+      ter be any come-back? Mittel keeps it in his safe, don't he? Well,
+      gentlemen's houses has been robbed before&mdash;an' dis job'll be a good
+      one. De geographfy stunt youse wants gets pinched wid de rest, dat's all.
+      It disappears&mdash;see? Who's ter know youse gets yer claws on it? It's
+      just lost in de shuffle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Right!&rdquo; agreed Hamvert briskly&mdash;and from his inside pocket produced
+      a package of crisp new bills, yellow-backs, and evidently of large
+      denominations. &ldquo;Half down and half on delivery&mdash;that's our deal.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dat's wot!&rdquo; assented the Weasel curtly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hamvert began to count the bills.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's hand stole into his pocket, and came out with his
+      handkerchief and the thin metal insignia case. From the latter, with its
+      little pair of tweezers, he took out one of the adhesive gray seals. His
+      eyes warily on the two men, he dropped the seal on his handkerchief,
+      restored the thin metal case to his pocket&mdash;and in its stead the
+      blue-black ugly muzzle of his automatic peeped from between his fingers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Five thousand down,&rdquo; said Hamvert, pushing a pile of notes across the
+      table, and tucking the remainder back into his pocket; &ldquo;and the other
+      five's here for you when you get back with the map. Ordinarily, I wouldn't
+      pay a penny in advance, but since you want it that way and the map's no
+      good to you while the rest of the long green is, I&mdash;&rdquo; He swallowed
+      his words with a startled gulp, clutched hastily at the money on the
+      table, and began to struggle up from his chair to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a swift, noiseless side-step through the open door, Jimmie Dale was
+      standing in the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's tones were conversational. &ldquo;Don't get up,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale
+      coolly. &ldquo;And take your hand off that money!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Weasel, whose back had been to the door, squirmed around in his chair&mdash;and
+      in his turn stared into the muzzle of Jimmie Dale's revolver, while his
+      jaw dropped and sagged.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-evening, Weasel,&rdquo; observed Jimmie Dale casually. &ldquo;I seem to be in
+      luck to-night. I got into that room next door, but an empty room is slim
+      picking. And then it seemed to me I heard some one in here mention five
+      thousand dollars twice, which makes ten thousand, and which happens to be
+      just exactly the sum I need at the present moment&mdash;if I can't get any
+      more! I haven't the honour of your wealthy friend's acquaintance, but I am
+      really charmed to meet him. You&mdash;er&mdash;understand, both of you,
+      that the slightest sound might prove extremely embarrassing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Hamvert's face was white, and he stirred uneasily in his chair; but into
+      the Weasel's face, the first shock of surprised dismay past, came a dull,
+      angry red, and into the eyes a vicious gleam&mdash;and suddenly he laughed
+      shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, youse damned fool,&rdquo; jeered the Weasel, &ldquo;d'youse t'ink youse can get
+      away wid dat! Say, take it from me, youse are a piker! Say, youse make me
+      tired. Wot d'youse t'ink youse are? D'youse t'ink dis is a tee-ayter, an'
+      dat youse are a cheap-skate actor strollin' acrost de stage? Aw, beat it,
+      youse make me sick! Why, say, youse pinch dat money, an' youse have got de
+      same chanst of gettin' outer dis hotel as a guy has of breakin' outer Sing
+      Sing! By de time youse gets five feet from de door of dis room we has de
+      whole works on yer neck.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you think so, Weasel?&rdquo; inquired Jimmie Dale politely. He carried his
+      handkerchief to his mouth to cloak a cough&mdash;and his tongue touched
+      the adhesive side of the little diamond-shaped gray seal. Hand and
+      handkerchief came back to the table, and Jimmie Dale leaned his weight
+      carelessly upon it, while the automatic in his right hand still covered
+      the two men. &ldquo;Do you think so, Weasel?&rdquo; he repeated softly. &ldquo;Well, perhaps
+      you are right; and yet; somehow, I am inclined to disagree with you. Let
+      me see, Weasel&mdash;it was Tuesday night, two nights ago; wasn't it, that
+      a trifling break in Maiden Lane at Thorold and Sons disturbed the police?
+      It was a three-year job for even a first offender, ten for one already on
+      nodding terms with the police and fifteen to twenty for&mdash;well, say,
+      for a man like you, Weasel&mdash;IF HE WERE CAUGHT! Am I making myself
+      quite plain?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The colour in the Weasel's cheeks faded a little&mdash;his eyes were
+      holding in sudden fascination upon Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see that I am,&rdquo; observed Jimmie Dale pleasantly. &ldquo;I said, 'if he were
+      caught,' you will remember. I am going to leave this room in a moment,
+      Weasel, and leave it entirely to your discretion as to whether you will
+      think it wise or not to stir from that chair for ten minutes after I shut
+      the door. And now&rdquo;&mdash;Jimmie Dale nonchalantly replaced his
+      handkerchief in his pocket, nonchalantly followed it with the banknotes
+      which he picked up from the table&mdash;and smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a gasp, both men had strained forward, and were staring, wild-eyed,
+      at the gray seal stuck between them on the tabletop.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Gray Seal!&rdquo; whispered the Weasel, and his tongue circled his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That WAS a bit theatrical, Weasel,&rdquo; he said apologetically; &ldquo;and yet not
+      wholly unnecessary. You will recall Stangeist, The Mope, Australian Ike,
+      and Clarie Deane, and can draw your own inference as to what might happen
+      in the Thorold affair if you should be so ill-advised as to force my hand.
+      Permit me&rdquo;&mdash;the slim, deft fingers, like a streak of lightning, were
+      inside Hamvert's coat pocket and out again with the remainder of the
+      banknotes&mdash;and Jimmie Dale was backing for the door&mdash;not the
+      door of the bathroom by which he had entered, but the door of the room
+      itself that opened on the corridor. There he stopped, and his hand swept
+      around behind his back and turned the key in the locked door. He nodded at
+      the two men, whose faces were working with incongruously mingled
+      expressions of impotent rage, bewilderment, fear, and fury&mdash;and
+      opened the door a little. &ldquo;Ten minutes, Weasel,&rdquo; he said gently. &ldquo;I trust
+      you will not have to use heroic measures to restrain your friend for that
+      length of time, though if it is necessary I should advise you for your own
+      sake to resort almost&mdash;to murder. I wish you good evening,
+      gentlemen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The door opened farther; Jimmie Dale, still facing inward, slipped between
+      it and the jamb, whipped the mask from his face, closed the door softly,
+      stepped briskly but without any appearance of haste along the corridor to
+      the stairs, descended the stairs, mingled with a crowd in the lobby for an
+      instant, walked, seemingly a part of it, with a group of ladies and
+      gentlemen down the hall to the side entrance, passed out&mdash;and a
+      moment later, after drawing on a linen dust coat which he took from under
+      the seat, and exchanging his hat for a tweed cap, the car glided from the
+      curb and was lost in a press of traffic around the corner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale laughed a little harshly to himself. So far, so good&mdash;but
+      the game was not ended yet for all the crackle of the crisp notes in his
+      pocket. There was still the map, still the robbery at Mittel's house&mdash;the
+      ten-thousand-dollar &ldquo;theft&rdquo; would not in any way change that, and it was a
+      question of time now to forestall any move the Weasel might make.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Through the city Jimmie Dale alternately dodged, spurted, and dragged his
+      way, fuming with impatience; but once out on the country roads and headed
+      toward New Rochelle, the big machine, speed limits thrown to the winds,
+      roared through the night&mdash;a gray streak of road jumping under the
+      powerful lamps; a village, a town, a cluster of lights flashing by him,
+      the steady purr of his sixty-horse-power engines; the gray thread of open
+      road again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was just eleven o'clock when Jimmie Dale, the road to himself for the
+      moment at a spot a little beyond New Rochelle, extinguished his lights,
+      and very carefully ran his car off the road, backing it in behind a small
+      clump of trees. He tossed the linen dust coat back into the car, and set
+      off toward where, a little distance away, the slap of waves from the stiff
+      breeze that was blowing indicated the shore line of the Sound. There was
+      no moon, and, while it was not particularly dark, objects and surroundings
+      at best were blurred and indistinct; but that, after all, was a matter of
+      little concern to Jimmie Dale&mdash;the first house beyond was Mittel's.
+      He reached the water's edge and kept along the shore. There should be a
+      little wharf, she had said. Yes; there it was&mdash;and there, too, was a
+      gleam of light from the house itself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale began to make an accurate mental note of his surroundings.
+      From the little wharf on which he now stood, a path led straight to the
+      house, bisecting what appeared to be a lawn, trees to the right, the house
+      to the left. At the wharf, beside him, two motor boats were moored, one on
+      each side. Jimmie Dale glanced at them, and, suddenly attracted by the
+      familiar appearance of one, inspected it a little more closely. His
+      momentarily awakened interest passed as he nodded his head. It had caught
+      his attention, that was all&mdash;it was the same type and design, quite a
+      popular make, of which there were hundreds around New York, as the one he
+      had bought that year as a tender for his yacht.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He moved forward now toward the house, the rear of which faced him&mdash;the
+      light that flooded the lawn came from a side window. Jimmie Dale was
+      figuring the time and distance from New York as he crept cautiously along.
+      How quickly could the Weasel make the journey? The Weasel would
+      undoubtedly come, and if there was a convenient train it might prove a
+      close race&mdash;but in his own favour was the fact that it would probably
+      take the Weasel quite some little time to recover his equilibrium from his
+      encounter with the Gray Seal in the Palais-Metropole, also the further
+      fact that, from the Weasel's viewpoint, there was no desperate need of
+      haste. Jimmie Dale crossed the lawn, and edged along in the shadows of the
+      house to where the light streamed out from what now proved to be open
+      French windows. It was a fair presumption that he would have an hour to
+      the good on the Weasel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sill was little more than a couple of feet from the ground, and, from
+      a crouched position on his knees below the window, Jimmie Dale raised
+      himself slowly and peered guardedly inside. The room was empty. He
+      listened a moment&mdash;the black silk mask was on his face again&mdash;and
+      with a quick, agile, silent spring he was in the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then, in the centre of the room, Jimmie Dale stood motionless, staring
+      around him, an expression, ironical, sardonic, creeping into his face. THE
+      ROBBERY HAD ALREADY BEEN COMMITTED! At the lower end of the room
+      everything was in confusion; the door of a safe swung wide, the drawers of
+      a desk had been wrenched out, even a liqueur stand, on which were
+      well-filled decanters, had been broken open, and the contents of safe and
+      desk, the thief's discards as it were, littered the floor in all
+      directions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For an instant Jimmie Dale, his eyes narrowed ominously, surveyed the
+      scene; then, with a sort of professional instinct aroused, he stepped
+      forward to examine the safe&mdash;and suddenly darted behind the desk
+      instead. Steps sounded in the hall. The door opened&mdash;a voice reached
+      him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The master said I was to shut the windows, and I haven't dast to go in.
+      And he'll be back with the police in a minute now. Come on in with me,
+      Minnie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lord!&rdquo; exclaimed another voice. &ldquo;Ain't it a good thing the missus is
+      away. She'd have highsteericks!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Steps came somewhat hesitantly across the floor&mdash;from behind the
+      desk, Jimmie Dale could see that it was a maid, accompanied by a big,
+      rawboned woman, sleeves rolled to the elbows over brawny arms, presumably
+      the Mittels' cook.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The maid closed the French windows, there were no others in the room, and
+      bolted them; and, having gained a little confidence, gazed about her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My, but wasn't he cute!&rdquo; she ejaculated. &ldquo;Cut the telephone wires, he
+      did. And ain't he made an awful mess! But the master said we wasn't to
+      touch nothing till the police saw it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And to think of it happening in OUR house!&rdquo; observed the cook heavily,
+      her hands on her hips, her arms akimbo. &ldquo;It'll all be in the papers, and
+      mabbe they'll put our pictures in, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I won't get over it as long as I live!&rdquo; declared the maid. &ldquo;The yell Mr.
+      Mittel gave when he came downstairs and put his head in here, and then him
+      shouting and using the most terrible language into the telephone, and then
+      finding the wires cut. And me following him downstairs half dead with
+      fright. And he shouts at me. 'Bella,' he shouts, 'shut those windows, but
+      don't you touch a thing in that room. I'm going for the police.' And then
+      he rushes out of the house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was going to bed,&rdquo; said the cook, picking up her cue for what was
+      probably the twentieth rehearsal of the scene, &ldquo;when I heard Mr. Mittel
+      yell, and&mdash;Lord, Bella, there he is now!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's hands clenched. He, too, had caught the scuffle of
+      footsteps, those of three or four men at least, on the front porch. There
+      was one way, only one, of escape&mdash;through the French windows! It was
+      a matter of seconds only before Mittel, with the police at his heels,
+      would be in the room&mdash;and Jimmie Dale sprang to his feet. There was a
+      wild scream of terror from the maid, echoed by another from the cook&mdash;and,
+      still screaming, both women fled for the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Mittel! Mr. Mittel!&rdquo; shrieked the maid&mdash;she had flung herself
+      out into the hall. &ldquo;He's&mdash;he's back again!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale was at the French windows, tearing at the bolts. They stuck.
+      Shouts came from the front entryway. He wrenched viciously at the
+      fastenings. They gave now. The windows flew open. He glanced over his
+      shoulder. A man, Mittel presumably, since he was the only one not in
+      uniform, was springing into the room. There was a blur of forms and brass
+      buttons behind Mittel&mdash;and Jimmie Dale leaped to the lawn, speeding
+      across it like a deer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But quick as he ran, Jimmie Dale's brain was quicker, pointing the single
+      chance that seemed open to him. The motor boat! It seemed like a God-given
+      piece of luck that he had noticed it was like his own; there would be no
+      blind, and that meant fatal, blunders in the dark over its mechanism, and
+      he could start it up in a moment&mdash;just the time to cast her off, that
+      was all he needed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The shouts swelled behind him. Jimmie Dale was running for his life. He
+      flung a glance backward. One form&mdash;Mittel, he was certain&mdash;was
+      perhaps a hundred yards in the rear. The others were just emerging from
+      the French windows&mdash;grotesque, leaping things they looked, in the
+      light that streamed out behind them from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's feet pounded the planking of the wharf. He stooped and
+      snatched at the mooring line. Mittel was almost at the wharf. It seemed an
+      age, a year to Jimmie Dale before the line was clear. Shouts rang still
+      louder across the lawn&mdash;the police, racing in a pack, were more than
+      halfway from the house. He flung the line into the boat, sprang in after
+      it&mdash;and Mittel, looming over him, grasped at the boat's gunwhale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Both men were panting from their exertions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let go!&rdquo; snarled Jimmie Dale between clenched teeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mittel's answer was a hoarse, gasping shout to the police to hurry&mdash;and
+      then Mittel reeled back, measuring his length upon the wharf from a blow
+      with a boat hook full across the face, driven with a sudden, untamed
+      savagery that seemed for the moment to have mastered Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no time&mdash;not a second&mdash;not the fraction of a second.
+      Desperately, frantically he shoved the boat clear of the wharf. Once&mdash;twice&mdash;three
+      times he turned the engine over without success&mdash;and then the boat
+      leaped forward. Jimmie Dale snatched the mask from his face, and jumped
+      for the steering wheel. The police were rushing out along the wharf. He
+      could just faintly discern Mittel now&mdash;the man was staggering about,
+      his hands clapped to his face. A peremptory order to halt, coupled with a
+      threat to fire, rang out sharply&mdash;and Jimmie Dale flung himself flat
+      in the bottom of the boat. The wharf edge seemed to open in little,
+      crackling jets of flame, came the roar of reports like a miniature battery
+      in action, then the FLOP, FLOP, FLOP, as the lead tore up the water around
+      him, the duller thud as a bullet buried its nose in the boat's side, and
+      the curious rip and squeak as a splinter flew. Then Mittel's voice,
+      high-pitched, as though in pain:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can't any of you run a motor boat? He's got me bad, I'm afraid. That
+      other one there is twice as fast.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure!&rdquo; another voice responded promptly. &ldquo;And if that's right, he's run
+      his head into a trap. Cast loose, there, MacVeay, and pile in, all of you!
+      You go back to the house, Mr. Mittel, and fix yourself up. We'll get him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's lips thinned. It was true! If the other boat had any speed
+      at all, it was only a question of time before he would be overtaken. The
+      only point at issue was how much time. It was dark&mdash;that was in his
+      favour&mdash;but it was not so dark but that a boat could be distinguished
+      on the water for quite a distance, for a longer distance than he could
+      hope to put between them. There was no chance of eluding the police that
+      way! The keen, facile brain that had saved the Gray Seal a hundred times
+      before was weaving, planning, discarding, eliminating, scheming a way out&mdash;with
+      death, ruin, disaster the price of failure. His eyes swept the dim,
+      irregular outline of the shore. To his right, in the opposite direction
+      from where he had left his car, and perhaps a mile ahead, as well as he
+      could judge, the land seemed to run out into a point. Jimmie Dale headed
+      for it instantly. If he could reach it with a little lead to the good,
+      there was a chance! It would take, say, six minutes, granting the boat a
+      speed of ten miles an hour&mdash;and she could do that. The others could
+      hardly overtake him in that time&mdash;they hadn't got started yet. He
+      could hear them still shouting and talking at the wharf. And Mittel's
+      &ldquo;twice as fast&rdquo; was undoubtedly an exaggeration, anyhow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A minute more passed, another&mdash;and then, astern, Jimmie Dale caught
+      the racket from the exhaust of a high-powered engine, and a white streak
+      seemed to shoot out upon the surface of the water from where, obscured
+      now, he placed the wharf. A quarter-mile lead, roughly four hundred yards;
+      yes, he had as much as that&mdash;but that, too, was very little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He bent over his engine, coaxing it, nursing it to its highest efficiency;
+      his eyes strained now upon the point ahead, now upon his pursuers behind.
+      He was running with the wind, thank Heaven! or the small boat would have
+      had a further handicap&mdash;it was rolling up quite a sea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The steering gear, he found, was corded along the side of the boat,
+      permitting its manipulation from almost any position, and, abruptly now,
+      Jimmie Dale left the engine to rummage through the little locker in the
+      stern of the boat. But as he rummaged, his eyes held speculatively on the
+      boat astern. She was gaining unquestionably, steadily, but not as fast as
+      he had feared. He would still have a hundred yards' lead, at least,
+      abreast the point&mdash;and, he was smiling grimly now, a hundred yards
+      there meant life to the Gray Seal! The locker was full of a heterogeneous
+      collection of odds and ends&mdash;a suit of oilskins, tools, tins, and
+      cans of various sizes and descriptions. Jimmie Dale emptied the contents,
+      some sort of powder, of a small, round tin box overboard, and from his
+      pocket took out the banknotes, crammed them into the box, crammed his
+      watch in on top of them, and screwed the cover on tightly. His fingers
+      were flying now. A long strip torn from the trousers' leg of the oilskins
+      was wrapped again and again around the box&mdash;and the box was stuffed
+      into his pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The flash of a revolver shot cut the blackness behind him, then another,
+      and another. They were firing in a continuous stream again. It was fairly
+      long range, but there was always the chance of a stray bullet finding its
+      mark. Jimmie Dale, crouching low, made his way to the bow of the boat
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The point was looming almost abreast now. He edged in nearer, to hug it as
+      closely as he dared risk the depth of the water. Behind, remorselessly,
+      the other boat was steadily closing the gap; and the shots were not all
+      wild&mdash;one struck, with a curious singing sound, on some piece of
+      metal a foot from his elbow. Closer to the shore, running now parallel
+      with the head of the point, Jimmie Dale again edged in the boat, his jaws,
+      clamped, working in little twitches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then suddenly, with a swift, appraising glance behind him, he swerved
+      the boat from her course and headed for the shore&mdash;not directly, but
+      diagonally across the little bay that, on the farther side of the point,
+      had now opened out before him. He was close in with the edge of the point,
+      ten yards from it, sweeping past it&mdash;the point itself came between
+      the two boats, hiding them from each other&mdash;and Jimmie Dale, with a
+      long spring, dove from the boat's side to the water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The momentum from the boat as he sank robbed him for an instant of all
+      control over himself, and he twisted, doubled up, and rolled over and over
+      beneath the water&mdash;but the next moment his head was above the surface
+      again, and he was striking out swiftly for the shore. It was only a few
+      yards&mdash;but in a few SECONDS the pursuing boat, too, would have
+      rounded the point. His feet touched bottom. It was haste now, nothing
+      else, that counted. The drum of the racing engines, the crackling roar of
+      the exhaust from the oncoming boat was in his ears. He flung himself upon
+      the shore and down behind a rock. Around the point, past him, tore the
+      police boat, dark forms standing clustered in the bow&mdash;and then a
+      sudden shout:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There she is! See her? She's heading into the bay for the shore!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's lips relaxed. There was no doubt that they had sighted their
+      quarry again&mdash;a perfect fusillade of revolver shots directed at the
+      now empty boat was quite sufficient proof of that! With something that was
+      almost a chuckle, Jimmie Dale straightened up from behind the rock and
+      began to run back along the shore. The little motor boat would have
+      grounded long before they overtook her, and, thinking naturally enough,
+      that he had leaped ashore from her, they would go thrashing through the
+      woods and fields searching for him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a longer way back by the shore, a good deal longer; now over rough,
+      rocky stretches where he stumbled in the darkness, now through marshy,
+      sodden ground where he sank as in a quagmire time and again over his
+      ankles. It was even longer than he had counted on, and time, with the
+      Weasel on one hand and the return of the police on the other, was a factor
+      to be reckoned with again, as, a half hour later, Jimmie Dale stole across
+      the lawn of Mittel's house for the second time that night, and for the
+      second time crouched beneath the open French windows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Masked again, the water still dripping from what were once immaculate
+      evening clothes but which now sagged limply about him, his collar a pasty
+      string around his neck, the mud and dirt splashed to his knees, Jimmie
+      Dale was a disreputable and incongruous-looking object as he crouched
+      there, shivering uncomfortably from his immersion in spite of his
+      exertions. Inside the room, Mittel passed the windows, pacing the floor,
+      one side of his face badly cut and bruised from the blow with the boat
+      hook&mdash;and as he passed, his back turned for an instant, Jimmie Dale
+      stepped into the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mittel whirled at the sound, and, with a suppressed cry, instinctively
+      drew back&mdash;Jimmie Dale's automatic was dangling carelessly in his
+      right hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid I am a trifle melodramatic,&rdquo; observed Jimmie Dale
+      apologetically, surveying his own bedraggled person; &ldquo;but I assure you it
+      is neither intentional nor for effect. As it is, I was afraid I would be
+      late. Pardon me if I take the liberty of helping myself; one gets a chill
+      in wet clothes so easily&rdquo;&mdash;he passed to the liqueur stand, poured out
+      a generous portion from one of the decanters, and tossed it off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mittel neither spoke nor moved. Stupefaction, surprise, and a very obvious
+      regard for Jimmie Dale's revolver mingled themselves in a helpless
+      expression on his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale set down his glass and pointed to a chair in front of the
+      desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit down, Mr. Mittel,&rdquo; he invited pleasantly. &ldquo;It will be quite apparent
+      to you that I have not time to prolong our interview unnecessarily, in
+      view of the possible return of the police at any moment, but you might as
+      well be comfortable. You will pardon me again if I take another liberty&rdquo;&mdash;he
+      crossed the room, turned the key in the lock of the door leading into the
+      hall, and returned to the desk. &ldquo;Sit down, Mr. Mittel!&rdquo; he repeated, a
+      sudden rasp in his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mittel, none too graciously, now seated himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here, my fine fellow,&rdquo; he burst out, &ldquo;you're carrying things with a
+      pretty high hand, aren't you? You seem to have eluded the police for the
+      moment, somehow, but let me tell you I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; interrupted Jimmie Dale softly, &ldquo;let ME tell you&mdash;all there is
+      to be told.&rdquo; He leaned over the desk and stared rudely at the bruise on
+      Mittel's face. &ldquo;Rather a nasty crack, that,&rdquo; he remarked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mittel's fists clenched, and an angry flush swept his cheeks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd have made it a good deal harder,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, with sudden
+      insolence, &ldquo;if I hadn't been afraid of putting you out of business and so
+      precluding the possibility of this little meeting. Now then&rdquo;&mdash;the
+      revolver swung upward and held steadily on a line with Mittel's eyes&mdash;
+      &ldquo;I'll trouble you for the diagram of that Alaskan claim that belongs to
+      Mrs. Michael Breen!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mittel, staring fascinated into the little, round, black muzzle of the
+      automatic, edged back in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So&mdash;so that's what you're after, is it?&rdquo; he jerked out. &ldquo;Well&rdquo;&mdash;he
+      laughed unnaturally and waved his hand at the disarray of the room&mdash;&ldquo;it's
+      been stolen already.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know that,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale grimly. &ldquo;By&mdash;YOU!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Me!&rdquo; Mittel started up in his chair, a whiteness creeping into his face.
+      &ldquo;Me! I&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit down!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale's voice rang out ominously cold. &ldquo;I haven't any
+      time to spare. You can appreciate that. But even if the police return
+      before that map is in my possession, they will still be TOO LATE as far as
+      you are concerned. Do you understand? Furthermore, if I am caught&mdash;you
+      are ruined. Let me make it quite plain that I know the details of your
+      little game. You are a curb broker, Mr. Mittel&mdash;ostensibly. In
+      reality, you run what is nothing better than an exceedingly profitable
+      bucket shop. The Weasel has been a customer and also a stool for you for
+      years. How Hamvert met the Weasel is unimportant&mdash;he came East with
+      the intention of getting in touch with a slick crook to help him&mdash;the
+      Weasel is the coincidence, that is all. I quite understand that you have
+      never met Hamvert, nor Hamvert you, nor that Hamvert was aware that you
+      and the Weasel had anything to do with one another and were playing in
+      together&mdash;but that equally is unimportant. When Hamvert engaged the
+      Weasel for ten thousand dollars to get the map from you for him, the
+      Weasel chose the line of least resistance. He KNEW you, and approached you
+      with an offer to split the money in return for the map. It was not a
+      question of your accepting his offer&mdash;it was simply a matter of how
+      you could do it and still protect yourself. The Weasel was well qualified
+      to point the way&mdash;a fake robbery of your house would answer the
+      purpose admirably&mdash;you could not be held either legally or morally
+      responsible for a document that was placed, unsolicited by you, in your
+      possession, if it were stolen from you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mittel's face was ashen, colourless. His hands were opening and shutting
+      with nervous twitches on the top of the desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's lips curled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&rdquo;&mdash;Jimmie Dale was clipping off his words now viciously&mdash;&ldquo;neither
+      you nor the Weasel were willing to trust the other implicitly&mdash;perhaps
+      you know each other too well. You were unwilling to turn over the map
+      until you had received your share of the money, and you were equally
+      unwilling to turn it over until you were SAFE; that is, until you had
+      engineered your fake robbery even to the point of notifying the police
+      that it had been committed; the Weasel, on the other hand, had some
+      scruples about parting with any of the money without getting the map in
+      one hand before he let go of the banknotes with the other. It was very
+      simply arranged, however, and to your mutual satisfaction. While you
+      robbed your own house this evening, he was to get half the money in
+      advance from Hamvert, giving Hamvert to understand that HE had planned to
+      commit the robbery himself to-night. He was to come out here then, receive
+      the map from you in exchange for your share of the money, return to
+      Hamvert with the map, and receive in turn his own share. I might say that
+      Hamvert actually paid down the advance&mdash;and it was perhaps
+      unfortunate for you that you paid such scrupulous attention to details as
+      to cut your own telephone wires! I had not, of course, an exact knowledge
+      of the hour or minute in which you proposed to stage your little play
+      here. The object of my first visit a little while ago was to forestall
+      your turning the diagram over to the Weasel. Circumstances favoured you
+      for the moment. I am back again, however, for the same purpose&mdash;the
+      map!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mittel, in a cowed way, was huddled back in his chair. He smiled miserably
+      at Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;QUICK!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale flung out the word in a sharp, peremptory bark. &ldquo;Do
+      you need to be told that the CARTRIDGES are dry?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mittel's hand, trembling, went into his pocket and produced an envelope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Open it!&rdquo; commanded Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;And lay it on the desk, so that I can
+      read it&mdash;I am too wet to touch it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mittel obeyed&mdash;like a dog that has been whipped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A glance at the paper, and Jimmie Dale's eyes lifted again&mdash;to sweep
+      the floor of the room. He pointed to a pile of books and documents in one
+      corner that had been thrown out of the safe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go over there and pick up that check book!&rdquo; he ordered tersely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What for?&rdquo; Mittel made feeble protest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind what for!&rdquo; snapped Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;Go and get it&mdash;and
+      HURRY!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Once more Mittel obeyed&mdash;and dropped the book hesitantly on the desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale stared silently, insolently, contemptuously at the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mittel stirred uneasily, sat down, shifted his feet, and his fingers
+      fumbled aimlessly over the top of the desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Compared with you,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, in a low voice, &ldquo;the Weasel, ay,
+      and Hamvert, too, crooks though they are, are gentlemen! Michael Breen, as
+      he died, told his wife to take that paper to some one she could trust, who
+      would help her and tell her what to do; and, knowing no one to go to, but
+      because she scrubbed your floors and therefore thought you were a fine
+      gentleman, she came timidly to you, and trusted you&mdash;you cur!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale laughed suddenly&mdash;not pleasantly. Mittel shivered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hamvert and Breen were partners out there in Alaska when Breen first went
+      out,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale slowly, pulling the tin can wrapped in oilskin from
+      his pocket. &ldquo;Hamvert swindled Breen out of the one strike he made, and
+      Mrs. Breen and her little girl back here were reduced to poverty. The
+      amount of that swindle was, I understand, fifteen thousand dollars. I have
+      ten of it here, contributed by the Weasel and Hamvert; and you will, I
+      think, recognise therein a certain element of poetic justice&mdash;but I
+      am still short five thousand dollars.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale removed the cover from the tin can. Mittel gazed at the
+      contents numbly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You perhaps did not hear me?&rdquo; prompted Jimmie Dale coldly. &ldquo;I am still
+      short five thousand dollars.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mittel circled his lips with the tip of his tongue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you want?&rdquo; he whispered hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The balance of the amount.&rdquo; There was an ominous quiet in Jimmie Dale's
+      voice. &ldquo;A check payable to Mrs. Michael Breen for five thousand dollars.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I haven't got that much in the bank,&rdquo; Mittel fenced, stammering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No? Then I should advise you to see that you have by ten o'clock
+      to-morrow morning!&rdquo; returned Jimmie Dale curtly. &ldquo;Make out that check!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mittel hesitated. The revolver edged insistently a little farther across
+      the desk&mdash;and Mittel, picking up a pen, wrote feverishly. He tore the
+      check from its stub, and, with a snarl, pushed it toward Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fold it!&rdquo; instructed Jimmie Dale, in the same curt tones. &ldquo;And fold that
+      diagram with it. Put them both in this box. Thank you!&rdquo; He wrapped the
+      oilskin around the box again, and returned the box to his pocket. And
+      again with that insolent, contemptuous stare, he surveyed the man at the
+      desk&mdash;then he backed to the French windows. &ldquo;It might be as well to
+      remind you, Mittel,&rdquo; he cautioned sternly, &ldquo;that if for any reason this
+      check is not honoured, whether through lack of funds or an attempt by you
+      to stop payment, you'll be in a cell in the Tombs to-morrow for this
+      night's work&mdash;that is quite understood, isn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mittel was on his feet&mdash;sweat glistened on his forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God!&rdquo; he cried out shrilly. &ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Jimmie Dale smiled and stepped out on the lawn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ask the Weasel,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale&mdash;and the next instant, lost in the
+      shadows of the house, was running for his car.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER X
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE ALIBI
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      DEATH TO THE GRAY SEAL!&rdquo;&mdash;through the underworld, in dens and dives
+      that sheltered from the law the vultures that preyed upon society,
+      prompted by self-fear, by secret dread, by reason of their very inability
+      to carry out their purpose, the whispered sentence grew daily more
+      venomous, more insistent. THE GRAY SEAL, DEAD OR ALIVE&mdash;BUT THE GRAY
+      SEAL!&rdquo; It was the &ldquo;standing orders&rdquo; of the police. Railed at by a populace
+      who angrily demanded at its hands this criminal of criminals, mocked at
+      and threatened by a virulent press, stung to madness by the knowledge of
+      its own impotence, flaunted impudently to its face by this mysterious Gray
+      Seal to whose door the law laid a hundred crimes, for whom the bars of a
+      death cell in Sing Sing was the certain goal could he but be caught, the
+      police, to a man, was like an uncaged beast that, flicked to the raw by
+      some unseen assailant and murderous in its fury, was crouched to strike.
+      Grim paradox&mdash;a common bond that linked the hands of the law with
+      those that outraged it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Death to the Gray Seal! Was it, at last, the beginning of the end? Jimmie
+      Dale, as Larry the Bat, unkempt, disreputable in appearance, supposed dope
+      fiend, a figure familiar to every denizen below the dead line, skulked
+      along the narrow, ill-lighted street of the East Side that, on the corner
+      ahead, boasted the notorious resort to which Bristol Bob had paid the
+      doubtful, if appropriate, compliment of giving his name. From under the
+      rim of his battered hat, Jimmie Dale's eyes, veiled by half-closed,
+      well-simulated drug-laden lids, missed no detail either of his
+      surroundings or pertaining to the passers-by. Though already late in the
+      evening, half-naked children played in the gutters; hawkers of
+      multitudinous commodities cried their wares under gasoline banjo torches
+      affixed to their pushcarts; shawled women of half a dozen races, and men
+      equally cosmopolitan, loitered at the curb, or blocked the pavement, or
+      brushed by him. Now a man passed him, flinging a greeting from the corner
+      of his mouth; now another, always without movement of the lips&mdash;and
+      Jimmie Dale answered them&mdash;from the corner of his mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But while his eyes were alert, his mind was only subconsciously attune to
+      his surroundings. Was it indeed the beginning of the end? Some day, he had
+      told himself often enough, the end must come. Was it coming now, surely,
+      with a sort of grim implacability&mdash;when it was too late to escape!
+      Slowly, but inexorably, even his personal freedom of action was narrowing,
+      being limited, and, ironically enough, through the very conditions he had
+      himself created as an avenue of escape.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not only the police now; it was, far more to be feared, the
+      underworld as well. In the old days, the role of Larry the Bat had been
+      assumed at intervals, at his own discretion, when, in a corner, he had no
+      other way of escape; now it was forced upon him almost daily. The
+      character of Larry the Bat could no longer be discarded at will. He had
+      flung down the gauntlet to the underworld when, as the Gray Seal, he had
+      closed the prison doors behind Stangeist, The Mope, Australian Ike, and
+      Clarie Deane, and the underworld had picked the gauntlet up. Betrayed, as
+      they believed, by the one who, though unknown to them; they had counted
+      the greatest among themselves, and each one fearful that his own betrayal
+      might come next, every crook, every thug in the Bad Lands now eyed his
+      oldest pal with suspicion and distrust, and each was a self-constituted
+      sleuth, with the prod of self-preservation behind him, sworn to the
+      accomplishment of that unhallowed slogan&mdash;death to the Gray Seal.
+      Almost daily now he must show himself as Larry the Bat in some gathering
+      of the underworld&mdash;a prolonged absence from his haunts was not merely
+      to invite certain suspicion, where all were suspicious of each other, it
+      was to invite certain disaster. He had now either to carry the role like a
+      little old man of the sea upon his back, or renounce it forever. And the
+      latter course he dared not even consider&mdash;the Sanctuary was still the
+      Sanctuary, and the role of Larry the Bat was still a refuge, the trump
+      card in the lone hand he played.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He reached the corner, pushed open the door of Bristol Bob's, and shuffled
+      in. The place was a glare of light, a hideous riot of noise. On a polished
+      section of the floor in the centre, a turkey trot was in full swing;
+      laughter and shouting vied raucously with an impossible orchestra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale slowly made the circuit of the room past the tables, that,
+      ranged around the sides, were packed with occupants who thumped their
+      glasses in tempo with the music and clamoured at the rushing waiters for
+      replenishment. A dozen, two dozen, men and women greeted him. Jimmie Dale
+      indifferently returned their salutes. What a galaxy of crooks&mdash;the
+      cream of the underworld! His eyes, under half-closed lids, swept the faces&mdash;lags,
+      dips, gatmen, yeggs, mob stormers, murderers, petty sneak thieves, stalls,
+      hangers-on&mdash;they were all there. He knew them all; he was known to
+      all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He shuffled on to the far end of the room, his leer a little arrogant, a
+      certain arrogance, too, in the tilt of his battered hat. He also was quite
+      a celebrity in that gathering&mdash;Larry the Bat was of the aristocracy
+      and the elite of gangland. Well, the show was over; he had stalked across
+      the stage, performed for his audience&mdash;and in another hour now, free
+      until he must repeat the same performance the next day in some other
+      equally notorious dive, he would be sitting in for a rubber of bridge at
+      that most exclusive of all clubs, the St. James, where none might enter
+      save only those whose names were vouched for in the highest and most
+      select circles, and where for partners he would possibly have a justice of
+      the supreme court, or mayhap an eminent divine! He looked suddenly around
+      him, as though startled. It always startled him, that comparison. There
+      was something too stupendous to be simply ironical in the incongruity of
+      it. If&mdash;if he were ever run to earth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His eyes met those of a heavy-built, coarse-featured man, the chewed end
+      of a cigar in his mouth, who stepped from behind the bar, carrying a tin
+      tray with two full glasses upon it. It was Bristol Bob, ex-pugilist, the
+      proprietor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How're you, Larry?&rdquo; grunted the man, with what he meant to be a smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale was standing in the doorway of a passage that prefaced a rear
+      exit to the lane. He moved aside to allow the other to pass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Ello, Bristol,&rdquo; he returned dispassionately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bristol Bob went on along down the passage, and Jimmie Dale shuffled
+      slowly after him. He had intended to leave the place by the rear door&mdash;it
+      obviated the possibility of an undesirable acquaintance joining company
+      with him if he went out by the main entrance. But now his eyes were fixed
+      on the proprietor's back with a sort of speculative curiosity. There was a
+      private room off the passage, with a window on the lane; but they must be
+      favoured customers indeed that Bristol Bob would condescend to serve
+      personally&mdash;any one who knew Bristol Bob knew that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale slowed his shuffling gait, then quickened it again. Bristol
+      Bob opened the door and passed into the private room&mdash;the door was
+      just closing as Jimmie Dale shuffled by. He had had only a glance inside&mdash;but
+      it was enough. They were favoured customers indeed! It was no wonder that
+      Bristol Bob himself was on the job! Two men were in the room: Lannigan of
+      headquarters, rated the smartest plain-clothes man in the country&mdash;and,
+      across the table from Lannigan, Whitey Mack, as clever, finished and
+      daring a crook as was to be found in the Bad Lands, whose particular
+      &ldquo;line&rdquo; was diamonds, or, in the vernacular of his ilk, &ldquo;white stones,&rdquo;
+       that had earned him the sobriquet of &ldquo;Whitey.&rdquo; Lannigan of headquarters,
+      Whitey Mack of the underworld, sworn enemies those two&mdash;in secret
+      session! Bristol Bob might well play the part of outer guard. If a choice
+      few of those outside in the dance hall could get a glimpse into that
+      private room it would be &ldquo;good-night&rdquo; to Whitey Mack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's eyes were narrowed a little as he shuffled on down the
+      passage. Lannigan and Whitey Mack with their heads together! What was the
+      game? There was nothing in common between the two men. Lannigan, it was
+      well known, could not be &ldquo;reached.&rdquo; Whitey Mack, with his ingenious
+      cleverness, coupled with a cold-blooded fearlessness that had made him an
+      object of unholy awe and respect in the eyes of the underworld, was a
+      thorn that was sore beyond measure in the side of the police. Certainly,
+      it was no ordinary thing that had brought these two together; especially,
+      since, with the unrest and suspicion that was bubbling and seething below
+      the dead line, and with which there was none more intimate than Whitey
+      Mack, Whitey Mack was inviting a risk in &ldquo;making up&rdquo; with the police that
+      could only be accounted for by some urgent and vital incentive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale pushed open the door that gave on the lane. Behind him,
+      Bristol Bob closed the door of the private room and retreated back along
+      the passage. Jimmie Dale stepped out into the lane&mdash;and instinctively
+      his eyes sought the window of the private room. The shade was drawn, only
+      a yellow murk filtered out into the black, unlighted lane, but suddenly he
+      started noiselessly toward it. The window was open a bare inch or so at
+      the bottom!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sill was just shoulder high, and, placing his ear to the opening, he
+      flattened himself against the wall. He could not see inside, for the shade
+      was drawn well to the bottom; but he could hear as distinctly as though he
+      were at the table beside the two men&mdash;and at the first words, the
+      loose, disjointed frame of Larry the Bat seemed to tauten curiously and
+      strain forward lithe and tense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This Gray Seal dope listens good, Whitey; but, coming from you, I'm
+      leery. You've got to show me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you want him?&rdquo; There was a nasty laugh from Whitey Mack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You BET I want him!&rdquo; returned the headquarters man with a suppressed
+      savagery that left no doubt as to his earnestness. &ldquo;I want him fast
+      enough, but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then, blast him, so do I!&rdquo; Whitey Mack rapped out with a vicious snarl.
+      &ldquo;So does every guy in the fleet down here. We got it in for him. You get
+      that, don't you? He's got Stangeist and his gang steered for the electric
+      chair now; he put a crimp in the Weasel the other night&mdash;get that?
+      He's like a blasted wizard with what he knows. And who'll he deal the icy
+      mitt to next? Me&mdash;damn him&mdash;me, for all I know!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's all right,&rdquo; observed Lannigan coolly. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Show you!&rdquo; echoed Whitey Mack passionately. &ldquo;Sure, I'll show you! That's
+      what I'm going to do&mdash;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!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a tense silence. It seemed to Jimmie Dale as though cold fingers
+      were clutching at his heart, stifling its beat&mdash;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&mdash;Lannigan
+      leaning suddenly forward&mdash;Lannigan and Whitey Mack staring tensely
+      into each other's eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&mdash;WHAT!&rdquo; It came low and grim from Lannigan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's what!&rdquo; asserted Whitey Mack bluntly. &ldquo;You heard me! That's what I
+      said! I know who the Gray Seal is&mdash;and I'm the only guy that's wise
+      to him. Am I letting you in right?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're sure?&rdquo; demanded Lannigan hoarsely. &ldquo;You're sure? Who is he, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a half laugh, half snarl from Whitey Mack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, you don't!&rdquo; he growled. &ldquo;Nix on that! What do you take me for&mdash;a
+      fool? You beat it out of here and round him up&mdash;eh&mdash;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.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again that silence. Then Lannigan spoke slowly, in a puzzled way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't get you, Whitey,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; Then, a little
+      sharply: &ldquo;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&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can that!&rdquo; snapped Whitey Mack threateningly. &ldquo;Can that sort of spiel
+      right now&mdash;or quit! I ain't telling you his name&mdash;yet. BUT I'LL
+      TAKE YOU TO HIM TO-NIGHT&mdash;and you and me nabs him together. Is that
+      straight enough goods for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't get sore,&rdquo; said Lannigan, more pacifically. &ldquo;Yes, if you'll do that
+      it's good enough for any man. But lay your cards on the table face up,
+      Whitey&mdash;I want to see what you opened the pot on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've seen 'em,&rdquo; Whitey Mack answered ungraciously. &ldquo;I've told you
+      already. The Gray Seal goes out for keeps&mdash;curse him for a snitch! If
+      I bumped him off, or wised up any of the guys to it, and we was caught,
+      we'd get the juice for it even if it was the Gray Seal, wouldn't we? Well,
+      what's the use! If one of you dicks get him, he gets bumped off just the
+      same, only regular, up in the wire parlour at Sing Sing. I ain't looking
+      for that kind of trouble when I can duck it. See?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure,&rdquo; said Lannigan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Besides, and moreover,&rdquo; continued Whitey Mack, &ldquo;there's SOME reward hung
+      out for him that I'm figuring to born in on. I'd swipe it all myself,
+      don't you make any mistake about that, and you'd never get a look-in,
+      only, sore as the mob is on the Gray Seal, it ain't healthy for any guy
+      around these parts to get the reputation of being a snitch, no matter who
+      he snitches on. Bump him off&mdash;sure! Snitching&mdash;well, you get the
+      idea, eh? I'm ducking that too. Get me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I get you,&rdquo; said Lannigan, with a short, pleased laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then,&rdquo; announced Whitey Mack, &ldquo;here's my proposition, and it's my
+      turn to hand out the 'look-out-for-your-self' dope. I'm busting the game
+      wide open for you to play, but you throw me down, and&rdquo;&mdash;his voice
+      sank into a sullen snarl again&mdash;&ldquo;you can take it from me, I'll get
+      you for it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; responded Lannigan soberly. &ldquo;Let's hear it. If I agree to it,
+      I'll stick to it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe you,&rdquo; said Whitey Mack curtly. &ldquo;That's why I picked you out for
+      the medal they'll pin on you for this. And here's getting down to tacks!
+      I'll lead you to the Gray Seal to-night and help you nab him and stay with
+      you to the finish, but there's to be nobody but you and me on the job.
+      When it's done I fade away, and nobody's to know I snitched, and no
+      questions asked as to how I found out about the Gray Seal. I ain't looking
+      for any of the glory&mdash;you can fix that up to suit yourself. The cash
+      is different&mdash;you come across with half the reward the day they pay
+      it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll get it!&rdquo; There was savage elation in Lannigan's voice, the
+      emphatic smash of a fist on the table. &ldquo;You're on, Whitey. And if we get
+      the Gray Seal to-night, I'll do better by you than that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll get him!&rdquo; said Whitey Mack, with a vicious oath. &ldquo;And&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale crouched suddenly low down, close against the wall. The crunch
+      of a footstep sounded from the end of the lane. Some one had turned in
+      from the cross street, some fifty yards away, and was heading evidently
+      for the back entrance to Bristol Bob's. Jimmie Dale edged noiselessly,
+      cautiously back past the doorway, kept on, pressed close against the wall,
+      and finally paused. He had not been seen. The back door of Bristol Bob's
+      opened and closed. The man had gone in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment Jimmie Dale stood hesitant. There was a wild surging in his
+      brain, something like a myriad batteries of trip hammers seemed to be
+      pounding at his temples. Then, almost blindly, he kept on down the lane in
+      the same direction in which he had started to retreat&mdash;as well one
+      cross street as another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned into the cross street, went along it&mdash;and presently emerged
+      into the full tide of the Bowery. It was garishly lighted; people swarmed
+      about him. Subconsciously, there were crowded sidewalks; subconsciously,
+      he was on the Bowery&mdash;that was all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ruin, disaster, peril faced him&mdash;faced him, and staggered him with
+      the suddenness of the shock. Was it true? No; it could not be true! It was
+      a bluff&mdash;Whitey Mack was bluffing. Jimmie Dale's lips grew thin in a
+      mirthless smile as he shook his head. Neither Whitey Mack nor any other
+      man would dare to bluff like that. It was too straight, too open-handed,
+      Whitey Mack had laid his cards too plainly on the table. Whitey Mack's
+      words rang in his ears: &ldquo;I'll LEAD you to the Gray Seal to-night and help
+      you nab him and stay with you to the finish.&rdquo; The man meant what he said,
+      meant what he said, too, about the &ldquo;finish&rdquo; of the Gray Seal; not a man in
+      the Bad Lands but meant&mdash;death to the Gray Seal! But how, by what
+      means, when, where had Whitey Mack got his information? &ldquo;I'm the only one
+      that's wise,&rdquo; Whitey Mack had said. It seemed impossible. It WAS
+      impossible! Whitey Mack was sincere enough probably in what he had said,
+      but the man simply could not know. Whitey Mack could only have spotted
+      some one that, for some reason or other, he IMAGINED was the Gray Seal.
+      That was it&mdash;must be it! Whitey Mack had made a mistake. What clew
+      could he have obtained to&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Over the unwashed face of Larry the Bat a gray pallor spread slowly. His
+      fingers were plucking at the frayed edge of his inside vest pocket. The
+      dark eyes seemed to turn coal-black. A laugh, like the laugh of one
+      damned, rose to his lips, and was choked back. It was gone! GONE! That
+      thin metal case, like a cigarette case, that, between the little sheets of
+      oil paper, held those diamond-shaped, gray-coloured, adhesive seals, the
+      insignia of the Gray Seal&mdash;was gone! Clew! It seemed as though there
+      were an overpowering nausea upon him. CLEW! That little case was not a
+      clew&mdash;it was a death warrant!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His hands clenched fiercely. If he could only think for a moment! The
+      lining of his pocket had given away. The case had dropped out. But there
+      was nothing about the case to identify any one as the Gray Seal unless it
+      were found in one's actual possession. Therefore Whitey Mack, to have
+      solved his identity, must have seen him drop the case. There could be no
+      question about that. It was equally obvious then that Whitey Mack would
+      know the Gray Seal as Larry the Bat. Did he also know him as Jimmie Dale?
+      Yes, or no? It was a vital question. His life hung on it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That keen, facile brain, numbed for the moment, was beginning to work with
+      lightning speed. It was four o'clock that afternoon when he had assumed
+      the character of Larry the Bat&mdash;some time between four o'clock and
+      the present, it was now well after eleven, the case had dropped from his
+      pocket. There had been ample time then for Whitey Mack to have made that
+      appointment with Lannigan&mdash;and ample time to have made a
+      surreptitious visit to the Sanctuary. Had Whitey Mack gone there? Had
+      Whitey Mack found that hiding place in the flooring under the oilcloth?
+      Had Whitey Mack discovered that the Gray Seal was not only Larry the Bat&mdash;but
+      Jimmie Dale?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale swept his hand across his forehead. It was damp from little
+      clinging beads of moisture. Should he go to the Sanctuary and change&mdash;become
+      Jimmie Dale again? Was it the safest thing to do&mdash;or the most
+      dangerous? Even if Whitey Mack had been there and discovered the dual
+      personality of Larry the Bat, how would he, Jimmie Dale, know it? The man
+      would have been crafty enough to have left no sign behind him. Was it to
+      the Sanctuary that Whitey Mack meant to lead Lannigan that evening&mdash;or
+      did Whitey Mack know him as Jimmie Dale, and to make it the more
+      sensational, plan to carry out the coup, say, at the St. James Club?
+      Whitey Mack and Lannigan were still at Bristol Bob's; he had probably
+      time, if he so elected, to reach the Sanctuary, change, and get away
+      again. But every minute was priceless now. What should he do? Run from the
+      city as he was for cover&mdash;or take the gambler's chance? Whitey Mack
+      knew him as Larry the Bat&mdash;it was not certain that Whitey Mack knew
+      him as Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had halted, absorbed, in front of a moving-picture theatre. Great
+      placards, at first but a blur of colour, suddenly forced themselves in
+      concrete form upon his consciousness. Letters a foot high leaped out at
+      him: &ldquo;THE DOUBLE LIFE.&rdquo; There was the picture of a banker in his private
+      office hastily secreting a forged paper as the hero in the guise of a
+      clerk entered; the companion picture was the banker in convict stripes
+      staring out from behind the barred doors of a cell. There seemed a ghastly
+      augury in the coincidence. Why should a thing like that be thrust upon him
+      to shake his nerve when he needed nerve now more than he had ever needed
+      it in his life before?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He raised his hand to jerk aimlessly at the brim of his hat, dropped his
+      hand abruptly to his side again, and started quickly, hurriedly away
+      through the throng around him. A sort of savagery had swept upon him. In a
+      flash he had made his decision. He would take the gambler's chance! And
+      afterward&mdash;Jimmie Dale's lips were like a thin, straight line&mdash;it
+      was Whitey Mack's life or his own! Whitey Mack had said he was the only
+      one that was wise&mdash;and Whitey Mack had not told Lannigan yet,
+      wouldn't tell Lannigan until the show-down. If he, Jimmie Dale, got to the
+      Sanctuary, became Jimmie Dale and got away again, even if Whitey Mack knew
+      him as Jimmie Dale, there was still a chance. It was his life or Whitey
+      Mack's&mdash;Whitey Mack, with his lean-jawed, clean-shaven wolf's face!
+      If he could get Whitey Mack before the other was ready to tell Lannigan!
+      Surely he had the right of self-preservation! Surely his life was as
+      valuable as Whitey Mack's, as valuable as a man's who, as those in the
+      secrets of the underworld knew well enough, had blood upon his hands, who
+      lived by crime, who was a menace to the community! Had he not the right to
+      preserve his own life at the expense of one such as that? He had never
+      taken life&mdash;the thought was abhorrent! But was there any other way in
+      event of Whitey Mack knowing him as Jimmie Dale? His back was against the
+      wall; he was trapped; certain death, and, worse, dishonour stared him in
+      the face. Lannigan and Whitey Mack would be together&mdash;the odds would
+      be two to one against him&mdash;and he had no quarrel with Lannigan&mdash;somehow
+      he must let Lannigan out of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The other side of the street was less crowded. He crossed over, and, still
+      with the shuffling tread that dozens around him knew as the characteristic
+      gait of Larry the Bat, but covering the ground with amazing celerity, he
+      hurried along. It was only at the end of the block, that cross street from
+      the Bowery that led to the Sanctuary. How much time had he? He turned the
+      corner into the darker cross street. Whitey Mack would have learned from
+      Bristol Bob that Larry the Bat had just been there; that is, that Larry
+      the Bat was not at the Sanctuary. Whitey Mack would probably be in no
+      hurry&mdash;he and Lannigan might wait until later, until Whitey Mack
+      should be satisfied that Larry the Bat had gone home. It was the line of
+      least resistance; they would not attempt to scour the city for him. They
+      might even wait in that private room at Bristol Bob's until they decided
+      that it was time to sally out. He might perhaps still find them there when
+      he got back; at any rate, from there he must pick up their trail again. On
+      the other hand&mdash;all this was but supposition&mdash;they might make at
+      once for the Sanctuary to lie in wait for him. In any case there was need,
+      desperate need, for haste.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He glanced sharply around him; and, by the side of the tenement house now
+      that bordered on the alleyway, with a curious, swift, gliding motion, he
+      seemed to blend into the shadow and darkness. It was the Sanctuary, that
+      room on the first floor of the tenement, the tenement that had three
+      entrances, three exits&mdash;a passageway through to the saloon on the
+      next street that abutted on the rear, the usual front door, and the side
+      door in the alleyway. Gone was the shuffling gait. Quick, alert, he ran,
+      crouching, bent down, along the alleyway, reached the side door, opened it
+      stealthily, closed it behind him with equal caution, and, in the dark
+      entry, stood motionless, listening intently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no sound. He began to mount the rickety, dilapidated stairs;
+      and, where it seemed that the lightest tread must make them creak out in
+      blatant protest, his trained muscles, delicately compensating his body
+      weight, carried him upward with a silence that was almost uncanny. There
+      was need of silence, as there was need of haste. He was not so sure now of
+      the time at his disposal&mdash;that he had even reached the Sanctuary
+      FIRST. How long had he loitered in that half-dazed way on the Bowery? He
+      did not know&mdash;perhaps longer than he had imagined. There was the
+      possibility that Whitey Mack and Lannigan were already above, waiting for
+      him; but, even if they were not already there and he got away before they
+      came, it was imperative that no one should know that Larry the Bat had
+      come and gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He reached the landing, and paused again, his right hand, with a vicious
+      muzzle of his automatic peeping now from between his fingers, thrown a
+      little forward. It was black, utterly black, around him. Again that
+      stealthy, catlike tread&mdash;and his ear was at the keyhole of the
+      Sanctuary door. A full minute, priceless though it was, passed; then,
+      satisfied that the room was empty, he drew his head back from the keyhole,
+      and those slim, tapering fingers, that in their tips seemed to embody all
+      the human senses, felt over the lock. Apparently it had been undisturbed;
+      but that was no proof that Whitey Mack had not been there after finding
+      the metal case. Whitey Mack was known to be clever with a lock&mdash;clever
+      enough for that, anyhow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He slipped in the key, turned it, and, on hinges that were always oiled,
+      silently pushed the door open and stepped across the threshold. He closed
+      the door until it was just ajar, that any sound might reach him from
+      without&mdash;and, whipping off his coat, began to undress swiftly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no light. He dared not use the gas; it might be seen from the
+      alleyway. He was moving now quickly, surely, silently here and there. It
+      was like some weird spectre figure, a little blacker than the surrounding
+      darkness, flitting about the room. The oilcloth in the corner was turned
+      back, the loose flooring lifted, the clothes of Jimmie Dale taken out, the
+      rags of Larry the Bat put in. The minutes flew by. It was not the change
+      of clothing that took long&mdash;it was the eradication of Larry the Bat's
+      make-up from his face, throat, neck, wrists, and hands. Occasionally his
+      head was turned in a tense, listening attitude; but always the fingers
+      were busy, working with swift deftness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was done at last. Larry the Bat had vanished, and in his place stood
+      Jimmie Dale, the young millionaire, the social lion of New York,
+      immaculate in well-tailored tweeds. He stooped to the hole in the
+      flooring, and, his fingers going unerringly to their hiding place, took
+      out a black silk mask and an electric flashlight&mdash;his automatic was
+      already in his possession. His lips parted grimly. Who knew what part a
+      flashlight might not play&mdash;and he would need the mask for Lannigan's
+      benefit, even if it did not disguise him from Whitey Mack. Had he left any
+      telltale evidence of his visit? It was almost worth the risk of a light to
+      make sure. He hesitated, then shook his head, and, stooping again,
+      carefully replaced the flooring and laid the oilcloth over it&mdash;he
+      dared not show a light at any cost.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But now even more caution than before was necessary. At times, the lodgers
+      had naturally enough seen their fellow lodger, Larry the Bat, enter and
+      leave the tenement&mdash;none had ever seen Jimmie Dale either leave or
+      enter. He stole across the room to the door, halted to assure himself that
+      the hall was empty, slipped out into the hall, and locked the door behind
+      him. Again that trained, long-practiced, silent tread upon the stairs. It
+      seemed as though an hour passed before he reached the bottom, and his
+      brain was shrieking at him to hurry, hurry, HURRY! The entryway at last,
+      the door, the alleyway, a long breath of relief&mdash;and he was on the
+      cross street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A step, two, he took in the direction of the Bowery&mdash;and he was
+      bending down as though to tie his shoe, his automatic, from his side
+      pocket, concealed in his hand. WAS THAT SOME ONE THERE? He could have
+      sworn he saw a shadow-like form start out from behind the steps of the
+      house on the opposite side of the street as he had emerged from the
+      alleyway. In his bent posture, without seemingly turning his head, his
+      eyes swept sharply up and down the other side of the ill-lighted street.
+      Nothing! There was not even a pedestrian in sight on the block from there
+      to the Bowery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale straightened up nonchalantly, and stooped almost instantly
+      again, as though the lace were still proving refractory. Again that sharp,
+      searching glance. Again&mdash;nothing! He went forward now in apparent
+      unconcern; but his right hand, instead of being buried in his coat pocket,
+      swung easily at his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was strange! His ineffective ruse to the contrary, he was certain that
+      he had not been mistaken. Was it Whitey Mack? Was the question answered?
+      Was the Gray Seal known, too, as Jimmie Dale? Were they trailing him now,
+      with the climax to come at the club, at his own palatial home, wherever
+      the surroundings would best lend themselves to assuaging that inordinate
+      thirst for the sensational that was so essentially a characteristic of the
+      confirmed criminal? What a headline in the morning's papers it would make!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the corner he loitered by the curb to light a cigarette&mdash;still not
+      a soul in sight on either side of the street behind him, except a couple
+      of Italians who had just passed by. Strange again! The intuition, if it
+      were only intuition, was still strong. He swung abruptly on his heel,
+      mingled with the passers-by on the Bowery, walked a rapid half dozen steps
+      until the building hid the cross street, then ran across the road to the
+      opposite side of the Bowery, and, in a crowd now, came back to the corner.
+      He crossed from curb to curb slowly, sheltered by a fringe of people that,
+      however, in no way obstructed his view down the side street. And then
+      Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders. He had evidently been mistaken, after
+      all. He was overexcited; his nerves were raw&mdash;that, perhaps, was the
+      solution. Meanwhile, every minute was counting, if Whitey Mack and
+      Lannigan should still be at Bristol Bob's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He kept on down the Bowery, hurrying with growing impatience through the
+      crowds that massed in front of various places of amusement. He had not
+      intended to come along the Bowery, and, except for what had occurred,
+      would have taken a less frequented street. He would turn off at the next
+      block.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was in front of that moving-picture theatre again. &ldquo;THE DOUBLE LIFE&rdquo;&mdash;his
+      eyes were attracted involuntarily to the lurid, overdone display. It
+      seemed to threaten him; it seemed to dangle before him a premonition as it
+      were, of what the morning held in store; but now, too, it seemed to feed
+      into flame that smouldering fury that possessed him. His life&mdash;or
+      Whitey Mack's! Men, women, and the children who turned night into day in
+      that quarter of the city were clustered thick around the signs, hiving
+      like bees to the bald sensationalism. Almost savagely he began to force
+      his way through the crowd&mdash;and the next instant, like a man stunned,
+      had stopped in his tracks. His fingers had closed in a fierce, spasmodic
+      clutch over an envelope that had been thrust suddenly into his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;JIMMIE!&rdquo; from somewhere came a low, quick voice. &ldquo;Jimmie, it is half-past
+      eleven now&mdash;HURRY.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He whirled, scanning wildly this face, then that. It was her voice&mdash;HER
+      voice! The Tocsin! The sensitive fingers were telegraphing to his brain,
+      as they always did, that the texture of the envelope, too, was hers. Her
+      voice; yes, anywhere, out of a thousand voices, he would distinguish hers&mdash;but
+      her face, he had never seen that. Which, out of all the crowd around him,
+      was hers? Surely he could tell her by her dress; she would be different;
+      her personality alone must single her out. She&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, have youse got de pip, or do youse t'ink youse owns de earth!&rdquo; a man
+      flung at him, heaving and pushing to get by.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a start, though he scarcely heard the man, Jimmie Dale moved on. His
+      brain was afire. All the irony of the world seemed massed in a sudden,
+      overwhelming attack upon him. It was useless&mdash;intuitively he had
+      known it was useless from the instant he had heard her voice. It was
+      always the same&mdash;always! For years she had eluded him like that, come
+      upon him without warning and disappeared, but leaving always that tangible
+      proof of her existence&mdash;a letter, the call of the Gray Seal to arms.
+      But to-night it was as it had never been before. It was not alone baffled
+      chagrin now, not alone the longing, the wild desire to see her face, to
+      look into her eyes&mdash;it was life and death. She had come at the very
+      moment when she, perhaps alone of all the world, could have pointed the
+      way out, when life, liberty, everything that was common to them both was
+      at stake, in deadly peril&mdash;and she had gone, ignorant of it all,
+      leaving him staggered by the very possibility of the succour that was held
+      up before his eyes only to be snatched away without power of his to grasp
+      it. His intuition had not been at fault&mdash;he had made no mistake in
+      that shadow across the street from the Sanctuary. It had been the Tocsin.
+      He had been followed; and it was she who had followed him, until, in a
+      crowd, she had seized the opportunity of a moment ago. Though ultimately,
+      perhaps, it changed nothing, it was a relief in a way to know that it was
+      she, not Whitey Mack, who had been lurking there; but her persistent,
+      incomprehensible determination to preserve the mystery with which she
+      surrounded herself was like now to cost them both a ghastly price. If he
+      could only have had one word with her&mdash;just one word!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The letter in his hand crackled under his clenched fist. He stared at it
+      in a half-blind, half-bitter way. The call of the Gray Seal to arms!
+      Another coup, with its incident danger and peril, that she had planned for
+      him to execute! He could have laughed aloud at the inhuman mockery of it.
+      The call of the Gray Seal to arms&mdash;NOW! When with every faculty
+      drained to its last resource, cornered, trapped, he was fighting for his
+      very existence!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jimmie, it is half-past eleven now&mdash;HURRY!&rdquo; The words were jangling
+      discordantly in his brain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now he laughed outright, mirthlessly. A young girl hanging on her
+      escort's arm, passing, glanced at him and giggled. It was a different
+      Jimmie Dale for the moment. For once his immobility had forsaken him. He
+      laughed again&mdash;a sort of unnatural, desperate indifference to
+      everything falling upon him. What did it matter, the moment or two it
+      would take to read the letter? He looked around him. He was on the corner
+      in front of the Palace Saloon, and, turning abruptly, he stepped in
+      through the swinging doors. As Larry the Bat, he knew the place well. At
+      the rear of the barroom and along the side of the wall were some half
+      dozen little stalls, partitioned off from each other. Several of these
+      were unoccupied, and he chose the one farthest from the entrance. It was
+      private enough; no one would disturb him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the aproned individual who presented himself he ordered a drink. The
+      man returned in a moment, and Jimmie Dale tossed a coin on the table,
+      bidding the other keep the change. He wanted no drink; the transaction was
+      wholly perfunctory. The waiter was gone; he pushed the glass away from
+      him, and tore the envelope open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A single sheet, closely written on both sides of the paper, was in his
+      hand. It was her writing; there was no mistaking that, but every word,
+      every line bore evidence of frantic haste. Even that customary formula,
+      &ldquo;dear philanthropic crook,&rdquo; that had prefaced every line she had ever
+      written him before, had been omitted. His eyes traversed the first few
+      lines with that strange indifference that had settled upon him. What,
+      after all, did it matter what it was; he could do nothing&mdash;not even
+      save himself probably. And then, with a little start, he read the lines
+      over again, muttering snatches from them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;. . . Max Diestricht&mdash;diamonds&mdash;the Ross-Logan stones&mdash;wedding&mdash;sliding
+      panel in wall of workshop&mdash;end of the room near window&mdash;ten
+      boards to the right from side wall&mdash;press small knot in the wood in
+      the centre of the tenth board&mdash;to-night . . .&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It brought a sudden thrill of excitement to Jimmie Dale that, impossible
+      as he would have believed it an instant ago, for the moment overshadowed
+      the realisation of his own peril. A robbery such as that, if it were ever
+      accomplished, would stir the country from end to end; it would set New
+      York by the ears; it would loose the police in full cry like a pack of
+      bloodhounds with their leashes slipped. The society columns of the
+      newspapers had been busy for months featuring the coming marriage of the
+      Ross-Logans' daughter to one of the country's young merchant princes. The
+      combined fortunes of the two families would make the young couple the
+      richest in America. The prospective groom's wedding gift was to be a
+      diamond necklace of perfectly matched, large stones that would eclipse
+      anything of the kind in the country. Europe, the foreign markets, had been
+      literally combed and ransacked to supply the gems. The stones had arrived
+      in New York the day before, the duty on them alone amounting to over fifty
+      thousand dollars. All this had appeared in the papers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's brows drew together in a frown. On just exactly what
+      percentage the duty was figured he did not know; but it was high enough on
+      the basis of fifty thousand dollars to assume safely that the assessed
+      value of the stones was not less than four times that amount. Two hundred
+      thousand dollars&mdash;laid down, a quarter of a million! Well, why not?
+      In more than one quarter diamonds were ranked as the soundest kind of an
+      investment. Furthermore, through personal acquaintance with the &ldquo;high
+      contracting parties,&rdquo; who were in his own set, he knew it to be true.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He shrugged his shoulders. The papers, too, had thrown the limelight on
+      Max Diestricht, who, though for quite a time the fashion in the social
+      world, had, up to the present, been comparatively unknown to the average
+      New Yorker. His own knowledge of Max Diestricht went deeper than the
+      superficial biography furnished by the newspapers&mdash;the old Hollander
+      had done more than one piece of exquisite jewelry work for him. The old
+      fellow was a character that beggared description, eccentric to the point
+      of extravagance, and deaf as a post; but, in craftmanship, a modern
+      Cellini. He employed no workmen, lived alone over his shop on one of the
+      lower streets between Fifth and Sixth Avenues near Washington Square&mdash;and
+      possessed a splendid contempt for such protective contrivances as safes
+      and vaults. If his prospective patrons expostulated on this score before
+      intrusting him with their valuables, they were at liberty to take their
+      work elsewhere. It was Max Diestricht who honoured you by accepting the
+      commission; not you who honoured Max Diestricht by intrusting him with it.
+      &ldquo;Of what use is it to me, a safe!&rdquo; he would exclaim. &ldquo;It hides nothing; it
+      only says, 'I am inside; do not look farther; come and get me!' Yes? It is
+      to explode with the nitro-glycerin&mdash;POUF!&mdash;and I am deaf and I
+      hear nothing. It is a foolishness, that&rdquo;&mdash;he had a habit of prodding
+      at one with a levelled fore-finger&mdash;&ldquo;every night somewhere they are
+      robbed, and have I been robbed? HEIN, tell me that; have I been robbed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was true. In ten years, though at times having stones and precious
+      metal aggregating large amounts deposited with him by his customers, Max
+      Diestricht had never lost so much as the gold filings. There was a queer
+      smile on Jimmie Dale's lips now. The knot in the tenth board was
+      significant! Max Diestricht was scrupulously honest, a genius in
+      originality and conception of design, a master in the perfection and
+      delicacy of his finished work&mdash;he had been commissioned to design and
+      set the Ross-Logan necklace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The brain works quickly. All this and more had flashed almost
+      instantaneously through Jimmie Dale's mind. His eyes fell to the letter
+      again, and he read on. Halfway through, a sudden whiteness blanched his
+      face, and, following it, a surging tide of red that mounted to his
+      temples. It dazed him; it seemed to rob him for the moment of the power of
+      coherent thought. He was wrong; he had not read aright. It was incredible,
+      dare-devil beyond belief&mdash;and yet in its very audacity lay success.
+      He finished the letter, read it once more&mdash;and his fingers
+      mechanically began to tear it into little shreds. His brain was in a
+      whirl, a vortex of conflicting emotions. Had Whitey Mack and Lannigan left
+      Bristol Bob's yet? Where were they now? Was there time for&mdash;this? He
+      was staring at the little torn scraps of paper in his hand. He thrust them
+      suddenly into his pocket, and jerked out his watch. It was nearly
+      midnight. The broad, muscular shoulders seemed to square back curiously,
+      the jaws to clamp a little, the face to harden and grow cold until it was
+      like stone. With a swift movement he emptied his glass into the cuspidor,
+      set the glass back on the table, and stepped out from the stall. His
+      destination was Max Diestricht's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Palace Saloon was near the upper end of the Bowery, and, failing a
+      taxicab, of which none was in sight, his quickest method was to walk, and
+      he started briskly forward. It was not far; and it was barely ten minutes
+      from the time he had left the Palace Saloon when he swung through
+      Washington Square to Fifth Avenue, and, a moment later, turned from that
+      thoroughfare, heading west toward Sixth Avenue, along one of those streets
+      which, with the city's northward trend, had quite lost any distinctive
+      identity, and from being once a modestly fashionable residential section
+      had now become a conglomerate potpourri of small tradesmen's stores, shops
+      and apartments of the poorer class. He knew Max Diestricht's&mdash;he
+      could well have done without the aid of the arc lamp which, even if dimly,
+      indicated that low, almost tumble-down, two-story structure tucked away
+      between the taller buildings on either side that almost engulfed it. It
+      was late. The street was quiet. The shops and stores had long since been
+      closed, Max Diestricht's among them&mdash;the old Hollanders' name in
+      painted white letters stood out against the background of a darkened
+      workshop window. In the story above, the lights, too, were out; Max
+      Diestricht was probably fast asleep&mdash;and he was stone deaf!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A glance up and down the street, and Jimmie Dale was standing, or, rather,
+      leaning against Max Diestricht's door. There was no one to see, and if
+      there were, what was there to attract attention to a man standing
+      nonchalantly for a moment in a doorway? It was only for a moment. Those
+      master fingers of Jimmie Dale were working surely, swiftly, silently. A
+      little steel instrument that was never out of his possession was in the
+      lock and out again. The door opened, closed; he drew the black silk mask
+      from his pocket and slipped it over his face. Immediately in front of him
+      the stairs led upward; immediately to his right was the door into the shop&mdash;the
+      modest street entrance was common to both.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door into the workshop was not locked. He opened it, stepped inside,
+      and closed it quietly behind him. The place was in blackness. He stood for
+      a moment silent, straining his ears to catch the slightest sound,
+      reconstructing the plan of his surroundings in his mind as he remembered
+      it. It was a narrow, oblong room, running the entire depth of the
+      building, a very long room, blank walls on either side, a window in the
+      middle of the rear wall that gave on a back yard, and from the back yard
+      there was access to the lane; also, as he remembered the place, it was a
+      riot of disorder, with workbenches and odds and ends strewn without system
+      or reason in every direction&mdash;one had need of care to negotiate it in
+      the dark. He took his flashlight from his pocket, and, preliminary to a
+      more intimate acquaintance with the interior, glanced out through the
+      front window near which he stood&mdash;and, with a suppressed cry, shrank
+      back instinctively against the wall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Two men were crossing the street, heading directly for the shop door. The
+      arc lamp lighted up their faces. IT WAS INSPECTOR LANNIGAN OF HEADQUARTERS
+      AND WHITEY MACK! The quick intake of Jimmie Dale breath was sucked through
+      clenched teeth. They were close on his heels then&mdash;far closer than he
+      had imagined. It would take Whitey Mack scarcely any longer to open that
+      front door than it had taken him. Close on his heels! His face was rigid.
+      He could hear them now at the door. The flashlight in his hand winked down
+      the length of the room. If was a dangerous thing to do, but it was still
+      more dangerous to stumble into some object and make a noise. He darted
+      forward, circuiting a workbench, a stool, a small hand forge. Again the
+      flashlight gleamed. Against the side wall, near the rear, was another
+      workbench, with a sort of coarse canvas curtain hanging part way down in
+      front of it, evidently to protect such things as might be stored away
+      beneath it from dust, and Jimmie Dale sprang for it, whipped back the
+      canvas, and crawled underneath. He was not an instant too soon. As the
+      canvas fell back into place, the shop door opened, closed, and the two men
+      had stepped inside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whitey Mack's voice, in a low whisper though it was, seemed to echo
+      raucously through the shop.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mabbe we'll have a sweet wait, but I got the straight dope on this. He's
+      going to make a try for Dutchy's sparklers to-night. We'll let him go the
+      limit, and we don't either of us make a move till he's pinched them, and
+      then we get him with the goods on him. He can't get away; he hasn't a
+      hope! There's only two ways of getting in here or getting out&mdash;this
+      door and window here, and a window that's down there at the back. You
+      guard this, and I'll take care of the other end. Savvy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Right!&rdquo; Lannigan answered grimly. &ldquo;Go ahead!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was the sound of footsteps moving forward, then a vicious bump, the
+      scraping of some object along the floor, and a muffled curse from Whitey
+      Mack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Use your flashlight!&rdquo; advised the inspector, in a guarded voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't got one, damn it!&rdquo;, growled Whitey Mack. &ldquo;It's all right. I'll
+      get along.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again the steps, but more warily now, as though the man were cautiously
+      feeling ahead of him for possible obstacles. Jimmie Dale for a moment held
+      his breath. He could have reached out and touched the man as the other
+      passed. Whitey Mack went on until he had taken up a position against the
+      rear wall. Jimmie Dale heard him as he brushed against it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then silence fell. He was between them now. Stretched full length on the
+      floor, Jimmie Dale raised the lower portion of the canvas away from in
+      front of his face. He could see nothing; the place was in Stygian
+      blackness; but it had been close and stifling, and, at least, it gave him
+      more air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The minutes dragged by&mdash;each more interminable than the one that had
+      gone before. Not a movement, not a sound, and then, through the stillness,
+      very faint at first, came the regular, repressed breathing of Whitey Mack,
+      who was much the nearer of the two men. And, once noticeable, almost
+      imperceptible as it was it seemed to pervade the room and fill it with a
+      strange, ominous resonance that rose and fell until the blackness
+      palpitated with it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Slowly, very slowly, Jimmie Dale's hand crept into his pocket&mdash;and
+      crept out again with his automatic. He lay motionless once more. Time in
+      any concrete sense ceased to exist. Fancied shapes began to assume form in
+      the darkness. By the door, Lannigan stirred uneasily, shifting his
+      position slightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Was it hours&mdash;was it only minutes? It seemed to ring through the
+      nerve-racking stillness like the shriek of a hurtling shell&mdash;and it
+      was only a whisper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Watch yourself, Lannigan,&rdquo; whispered Whitey Mack. &ldquo;He's coming now
+      through the yard! Don't move till I start something. Let him get his paws
+      on the sparklers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Silence again. And then a low rasping at the window, like the gnawing of a
+      rat; then, inch by inch, the sash was lifted. There was the sound as of a
+      body forcing its way over the sill cautiously, then a step upon the floor
+      inside, another, and still another. The figure of a man loomed up suddenly
+      against the glow of a flashlight as he threw the round, white ray
+      inquisitively here and there over the rear wall. And now he appeared to be
+      counting the boards. One, two, three&mdash;ten. His hand ran up and down
+      the tenth board. Again and again he repeated the operation, and something
+      like the snarl of a baited beast echoed through the room. He half turned
+      to snatch at something in his pocket, and the light for a moment showed a
+      black-bearded, lowering face, partially hidden by a peaked cap that was
+      pulled far down over his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was the rip and tear of rending wood, as a steel jimmy, in lieu of
+      the spring the man evidently could not find, bit in between the boards, a
+      muttered oath of satisfaction, and a portion of the wall slid back,
+      disclosing what looked like a metal-lined cupboard. He reached in, seized
+      one of a dozen little boxes, and wrenched off the cover. A blue,
+      scintillating gleam seemed to leap out to meet the white ray of the
+      flashlight. The man chuckled hoarsely, and began to cram the rest of the
+      boxes into his pockets.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale stirred. On hands and knees he was creeping now from beneath
+      the workbench. Something caught and tore behind him&mdash;the canvas
+      curtain. And at the sound, with a sharp cry, the man at the wall whirled,
+      the light went out, and he sprang toward the window. Jimmie Dale gained
+      his feet and leaped forward. A revolver shot cut a lane of fire through
+      the blackness; and, above the roar of the report, Whitey Mack's voice in a
+      fierce yell:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's all right, Lannigan! I got him! No&mdash;HELL!&rdquo; There was a terrific
+      crash of breaking glass. &ldquo;He's got away!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not yet, he hasn't!&rdquo; gritted Jimmie Dale between his teeth, and his
+      clubbed revolver swung crashing to the head of a dark form in front of
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a half sigh, half moan. The form slid limply to the floor.
+      Lannigan was floundering down the shop, leaping obstacles in a mad rush,
+      his flashlight picking out the way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale stepped swiftly backward, and his hand groped out for the
+      droplight, over the end of the bench, that he had knocked against in his
+      own rush. His fingers clutched it&mdash;and the lower end of the shop was
+      flooded with light. Except for his felt hat that lay a little distance
+      away, there was no sign of Whitey Mack; the huddled form of the man, who
+      but a moment since had chuckled as he pocketed old Max Diestricht's gems,
+      lay sprawled, inert, upon the floor, and Lannigan was staring into the
+      muzzle of Jimmie Dale's automatic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drop that gun, Lannigan!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale coolly. &ldquo;And I'll trouble you
+      not to make a noise; it might attract attention from the street; there's
+      been too much already. DROP THAT GUN!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The revolver clattered from Lannigan's hand to the floor. A step forward,
+      and Jimmie Dale's toe sent it spinning under a bench. Another step, and,
+      his revolver still covering the other, he had whipped a pair of handcuffs
+      from the officer's side pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lannigan, as though the thought had never occurred to him, offered no
+      resistance. He was staring in a dazed sort of way back and forth from
+      Jimmie Dale to the man on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's this mean?&rdquo; he burst out suddenly, &ldquo;Where's&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your wrist, please!&rdquo; requested Jimmie Dale pleasantly. &ldquo;No&mdash;the left
+      one. Thank you&rdquo;&mdash;as the handcuff snapped shut. &ldquo;Now go over there and
+      sit down on the floor beside that fellow. QUICK!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale's voice
+      rasped suddenly, imperatively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still bewildered, but a little sullen now, Lannigan obeyed. Jimmie Dale
+      stooped quickly, and snapped the other link of the handcuff over the
+      unconscious man's right wrist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's the approved way of taking your man, isn't it? Left wrist to the
+      prisoner's right. He's only stunned; he'll be around in a moment. Know
+      him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lannigan shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take a good look at him,&rdquo; invited Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;You ought to know most of
+      them in the business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lannigan bent over a little closer, and then, with an amazed cry, his free
+      hand shot forward and tore away the other's beard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      IT WAS WHITEY MACK!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God!&rdquo; gasped Lannigan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite so!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale evenly. &ldquo;You'll find the diamonds in his
+      pockets, and, excuse me&rdquo;&mdash;his fingers were running through Whitey
+      Mack's clothes&mdash;&ldquo;ah, here it is&rdquo;&mdash;the thin metal case was in his
+      hand&mdash;&ldquo;a little article that belongs to me, and whose loss, I am free
+      to admit, caused me considerable concern until I was informed that he had
+      only found it without having the slightest idea as to whom it belonged. It
+      made quite a difference!&rdquo; He had opened the case carelessly before
+      Lannigan's eyes. &ldquo;'The Gray Seal!' I'll say it for you,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale
+      whimsically. &ldquo;This is what probably put the idea into his head, after
+      first, in some way, having discovered old Max Diestricht's hiding place;
+      and, if I had given him time enough, he would probably have stuck one of
+      these seals, in clumsy imitation of that little eccentricity of mine, on
+      the wall over there to stamp the job as genuine. You begin to get it,
+      don't you Lannigan? Pretty sure-fire as an alibi, eh? And he'd have got
+      away with it, too, as far as you were concerned. He had only to fire that
+      shot, smash the window, tuck his false beard, mustache, and peaked cap
+      into his pocket, put on his own hat that you see there on the floor&mdash;and
+      yell that the man had escaped. He'd help you chase the thief, too! Rather
+      neat, don't you think, Lannigan? And worth the risk, too, considering the
+      howl that would go up at the theft of those stones, and that, known as the
+      slickest diamond thief in the country, he would be the first to be
+      suspected&mdash;except that the police themselves, in the person of
+      Inspector Lannigan of headquarters, would be prepared to prove a perfectly
+      good alibi for him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lannigan's head was thrust forward; his eyes, hard, were riveted on Whitey
+      Mack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God!&rdquo; he said again under his breath. Then fiercely: &ldquo;He'll get his
+      for this!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a moment before Jimmie Dale spoke; he was musingly examining the
+      automatic in his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am going now, Lannigan,&rdquo; he observed quietly. &ldquo;I require, say, fifteen
+      minutes in which to effect my escape. It is, of course, obvious that an
+      alarm raised by you might prove extremely awkward, but a piece of canvas
+      from that bench there, together with a bit of string, would make a most
+      effective gag. I prefer, however, not to submit you to that indignity.
+      Instead, I offer you the alternative of giving me your word to remain
+      quietly where you are for&mdash;fifteen minutes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lannigan hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I agree,&rdquo; said Lannigan shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale stepped back. The electric-light switch clicked. The place was
+      in darkness. There was a moment, two, of utter stillness; then softly,
+      from the front end of the shop, a whisper:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I were you, Lannigan, I'd take that gun from Whitey's pocket before he
+      comes round and beats you to it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the door had closed silently behind Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XI
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE STOOL-PIGEON
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      In the subway, ten minutes before, a freckled-faced messenger boy had
+      squeezed himself into a seat beside Jimmie Dale, yanked a dime novel from
+      a refractory pocket, and, blissfully lost to all the world, had buried his
+      head in its pages. Jimmie Dale's glance at the youngster had equally,
+      perforce, embraced the lurid title of the thriller, &ldquo;Dicing with Death,&rdquo;
+       so imperturbably thrust under his nose. At the time, he had smiled
+      indulgently; but now, as he left the subway and headed for his home on
+      Riverside Drive, the words not only refused to be ignored, but had
+      resolved themselves into a curiously persistent refrain in his mind. They
+      were exactly what they purported to be, dime-novelish, of the deepest hue
+      of yellow, melodramatic in the extreme; but also, to him now, they were
+      grimly apt and premonitorily appropriate. &ldquo;Dicing with Death&rdquo;&mdash;there
+      was not an hour, not a moment in the day, when he was not literally dicing
+      with death; when, with the underworld and the police allied against him, a
+      single false move would lose him the throw that left death the winner!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The risk of the dual life enforced upon him grew daily greater, and in the
+      end there must be the reckoning. He would have been a madman to have shut
+      his eyes in the face of what was obvious&mdash;but it was worth it all,
+      and in his soul he knew that he would not have had it otherwise even now.
+      To-night, to-morrow, the day after, would come another letter from the
+      Tocsin, and there would be another &ldquo;crime&rdquo; of the Gray Seal's blazoned in
+      the press&mdash;would that be the last affair, or would there be another&mdash;or
+      to-night, to-morrow, the day after, would he be trapped before even one
+      more letter came!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He shrugged his shoulders, as he ran up the steps of his house. Those were
+      the stakes that he himself had laid on the table to wager upon the game,
+      he had no quarrel there; but if only, before the end came, or even with
+      the end itself, he could find&mdash;HER!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With his latchkey he let himself into the spacious, richly furnished,
+      well-lighted reception hall, and, crossing this, went up the broad
+      staircase, his steps noiseless on the heavy carpet. Below, faintly, he
+      could hear some of the servants&mdash;they evidently had not heard him
+      close the door behind him. Discipline was relaxed somewhat, it was quite
+      apparent, with Jason, that peer of butlers, away. Jason, poor chap, was in
+      the hospital. Typhoid, they had thought it at first, though it had turned
+      out to be some milder form of infection. He would be back in a few days
+      now; but meanwhile he missed the old man sorely from the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He reached the landing, and, turning, went along the hall to the door of
+      his own particular den, opened the door, closed it behind him&mdash;and in
+      an instant the keen, agile brain, trained to the little things that never
+      escaped it, that daily held his life in the balance, was alert. The room
+      was unusually dark, even for night-time. It was as though the window
+      shades had been closely drawn&mdash;a thing Jason never did. But then
+      Jason wasn't there! Jimmie Dale, smiling then a little quizzically at
+      himself, reached up for the electric-light switch beside the door, pressed
+      it&mdash;and, his finger still on the button, whipped his automatic from
+      his pocket with his other hand. THE ROOM WAS STILL IN DARKNESS.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The smile on Jimmie Dale's lips was gone, for his lips now had closed
+      together in a tight, drawn line. The lights in the rest of the house, as
+      witness the reception hall, were in order. This was no ACCIDENT! Silent,
+      motionless, he stood there, listening. Was he trapped at last&mdash;in his
+      own house! By whom? The police? The thugs of the underworld? It made
+      little difference&mdash;the end would differ only in the method by which
+      it was attained! What was that! Was there a slight stir, a movement at the
+      lower end of the room&mdash;or was it his imagination? His hand fell from
+      the electric-light switch to the doorknob behind his back. Slowly, without
+      a sound, it began to turn under his slim, tapering fingers, whose deft,
+      sensitive touch had made him known and feared as the master cracksman of
+      them all; and, as noiselessly, the door began to open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was like a duel&mdash;a duel of silence. What was the intruder, whoever
+      he might be, waiting for? The abortive click of the electric-light switch,
+      to say nothing of the opening of the door when he had entered, was
+      evidence enough that he was there. Was the other trying to place him
+      exactly through the darkness to make sure of his attack! The door was open
+      now. And suddenly Jimmie Dale laughed easily aloud&mdash;and on the
+      instant shifted his position.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; inquired Jimmie Dale coolly from the other side of the threshold.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed like a long-drawn sigh fluttering through the room, a gasp of
+      relief&mdash;and then the blood was pounding madly at his temples, and he
+      was back in the room again, the door closed once more behind him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Jimmie&mdash;why didn't you speak? I had to be sure that it was you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was her voice! HERS! The Tocsin! HERE! She was here&mdash;here in his
+      house!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;You&mdash;here!&rdquo; He was pressing the electric-light
+      switch frantically, again and again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her voice came out of the darkness from across the room:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why are you doing that, Jimmie? You know already that I have turned off
+      the lights.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At the sockets&mdash;of course!&rdquo; He laughed out the words almost
+      hysterically. &ldquo;Your face&mdash;I have never seen your face, you know.&rdquo; He
+      was moving quickly toward the reading lamp on his desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a quick, hurried swish of garments, and she was blocking his
+      way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said, in a low voice; &ldquo;you must not light that lamp.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed again, shortly, fiercely now. She was close to him, his hands
+      reached out for her, touched her, and thrilling at the touch, swept her
+      toward him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jimmie&mdash;Jimmie&mdash;are you mad!&rdquo; she breathed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mad! Yes&mdash;he was mad with the wildest, most passionate exhilaration
+      he had ever known. He found his voice with an effort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;These months and years that I have tried until my soul was sick to find
+      you!&rdquo; he cried out. &ldquo;And you are here now! Your face&mdash;I must see your
+      face!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She had wrenched herself away from him. He could hear her breath coming
+      sharply in little gasps. He groped his way onward toward the desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;WAIT!&rdquo;&mdash;her tones seemed to ring suddenly vibrant through the room.
+      &ldquo;Wait, before you touch that lamp! I&mdash;I put you on your honour not to
+      light it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stopped abruptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My&mdash;honour?&rdquo; he repeated mechanically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes! I came here to-night because there was no other way. No other way&mdash;do
+      you understand? I came, trusting to your honour not to take advantage of
+      the conditions that forced me to do this. I had no fear that I was wrong&mdash;I
+      have no fear now. You will not light that lamp, and you will not make any
+      attempt to prevent my going away as I came&mdash;unknown. Is there any
+      question about it, Jimmie? I am in YOUR house.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't know what you are saying!&rdquo; he burst out wildly. &ldquo;I've risked my
+      life for a chance like this again and again; I've gone through hell,
+      living in squalour for a month on end as Larry the Bat in the hope that I
+      might discover who you are&mdash;and do you think I'll let anything stop
+      me now! I tell you, no&mdash;a thousand times no!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She made no answer. There was only her low, quick breathing coming from
+      somewhere near him. He made another step toward the lamp&mdash;and
+      stopped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell you, no!&rdquo; he said again, and took another step forward&mdash;and
+      stopped once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still she made no answer. A minute passed&mdash;another. His hand lifted
+      and swept across his forehead in an agitated way. Still silence. She
+      neither moved nor spoke. His hand dropped slowly to his side. There was a
+      queer, twisted smile upon his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You win!&rdquo; he said hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, Jimmie,&rdquo; she said simply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And your name, who you are&rdquo;&mdash;he was speaking, but he did not seem to
+      recognise his own voice&mdash;&ldquo;the hundred other things I've sworn I'd
+      make you explain when I found you, are all taboo as well, I suppose!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed bitterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you know,&rdquo; he cried out, &ldquo;that between the police and the
+      underworld, our house of cards is likely to collapse at any minute&mdash;that
+      they are hunting the Gray Seal day and night! Is it to be always like this&mdash;that
+      I am never to know&mdash;until it is too late!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She came toward him out of the darkness impulsively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They will never get you, Jimmie,&rdquo; she said, in a suppressed voice. &ldquo;And
+      some day, I promise you now, you shall have your reward for to-night. You
+      shall know&mdash;everything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When?&rdquo; The word came from him with fierce eagerness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not know,&rdquo; she answered gently. &ldquo;Soon, perhaps&mdash;perhaps sooner
+      than either of us imagine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And by that you mean&mdash;what?&rdquo; he asked, and his hand reached out for
+      her again through the blackness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This time she did not draw away. There was an instant's hesitation; then
+      she spoke again hurriedly, a note of anxiety in her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are beginning all over again, aren't you, Jimmie? And I have told you
+      that to-night I can explain nothing. And, besides, it is what has brought
+      me here that counts now, and every moment is of&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I know,&rdquo; he interposed; &ldquo;but, then, at least you will tell me one
+      thing: Why did you come to-night, instead of sending me a letter as you
+      always have before?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because it is different to-night than it ever was before,&rdquo; she replied
+      earnestly. &ldquo;Because there is something in what has happened that I cannot
+      explain myself; because there is danger, and where I could not see clearly
+      I feared a trap, and so I dared not send what, in a letter, could at best
+      be only vague and incomplete details. Do you see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale&mdash;but he was only listening in an abstracted
+      way. If he could only see that face, so close to his! He had yearned for
+      that with all his soul for years now! And she was here, standing beside
+      him, and his hand was upon her arm; and here, in his own den, in his own
+      house, he was listening to another call to arms for the Gray Seal from her
+      own lips! Honour! Was he but a poor, quixotic fool! He had only to step to
+      the desk and switch on the light! Why should&mdash;he steadied himself
+      with a jerk, and drew away his hand. She was in HIS house. &ldquo;Go on,&rdquo; he
+      said tersely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know, or did you ever hear of old Luther Doyle?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know a man, then, named Connie Myers?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Connie Myers! Who in the Bad Lands did not know Connie Myers, who boasted
+      of the half dozen prison sentences already to his credit? Yes; he knew
+      Connie Myers! But, strangely enough, it was not in the Bad Lands or as
+      Larry the Bat that he knew the man, or that the other knew him&mdash;it
+      was as Jimmie Dale. Connie Myers had introduced himself one night several
+      years ago with a blackjack that had just missed its mark as the man had
+      jumped out from a dark alleyway on the East Side, and he, Jimmie Dale, had
+      thrashed the other to within an inch of his life. He had reason to know
+      Connie Myers&mdash;and Connie Myers had reason to remember him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said, with a grim smile; &ldquo;I know Connie Myers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the tenement across the street from where you live as Larry the Bat&mdash;that,
+      of course, you know.&rdquo; He leaned toward her wonderingly now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course!&rdquo; he ejaculated. &ldquo;Naturally!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen, then, Jimmie!&rdquo; She was speaking quickly now. &ldquo;It is a strange
+      story. This Luther Doyle was already over fifty, when, some eight or nine
+      years ago, his parents died within a few months of each other, and he
+      inherited somewhere in the neighbourhood of a hundred thousand dollars;
+      but the man, though harmless enough, was mildly insane, half-witted,
+      queer, and the old couple, on account of their son's mental defects, took
+      care to leave the money securely invested, and so that he could only touch
+      the interest. During these eight or nine years he has lived by himself in
+      the same old family house where he had lived with his parents, in a lonely
+      spot near Pelham. And he has lived in a most frugal, even miserly, manner.
+      His income could not have been less than six thousand dollars a year, and
+      his expenditures could not have been more than six hundred. His dementia,
+      ironically enough from the day that he came into his fortune, took the
+      form of a most pitiable and abject fear that he would die in poverty,
+      misery, and want; and so, year after year, cashing his checks as fast as
+      he got them, never trusting the bank with a penny, he kept hiding away
+      somewhere in his house every cent he could scrape and save from his income&mdash;which
+      to-day must amount, at a minimum calculation, to fifty thousand dollars.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And,&rdquo; observed Jimmie Dale quietly. &ldquo;Connie Myers robbed him of it, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No!&rdquo; Her voice was quivering with passion, as she caught up his words.
+      &ldquo;Twice in the last month Connie Myers TRIED to rob him, but the money was
+      too securely hidden. Twice he broke into Doyle's house when the old man
+      was out, but on both occasions was unsuccessful in his search, and was
+      interrupted and forced to make his escape on account of Doyle's return.
+      To-night, an hour ago, in an empty room on the second floor of that
+      tenement, in the room facing the landing, old Luther Doyle was MURDERED!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was silence for an instant. Her hand had closed in a tight pressure
+      on his arm. The darkness seemed to add a sort of ghastly significance to
+      her words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In God's name, how do you know all this?&rdquo; he demanded wildly. &ldquo;How do you
+      know all these things?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does that matter now?&rdquo; she answered tensely. &ldquo;You will know that when you
+      know the rest. Oh, don't you understand, Jimmie, there is not a moment to
+      lose now? It was easy to lure a half-witted creature like that anywhere;
+      it was Connie Myers who lured him to the tenement and murdered him there&mdash;but
+      from that point, Jimmie, I am not sure of our ground. I do not know
+      whether Connie Myers is alone in this or not; but I do know that he is
+      going to Doyle's house again to-night to make another search for the
+      money. There is no question but that old Doyle was murdered to give Connie
+      Myers and his accomplices, if there are any, a chance to tear the house
+      inside out to find the money, to give them the whole night to work in
+      without interruption if necessary&mdash;but Doyle dead in his own house
+      could have interfered no more with them than Doyle dead in that tenement!
+      Why was he lured to the tenement by Connie Myers when he could much more
+      easily have been put out of the way in his own house? Jimmie, there is
+      something behind this, something more that you must find out. There may be
+      others in this besides Connie Myers, I do not know; but there is something
+      here that I am afraid of. Jimmie, you must get that man, you must get the
+      others if there are others, and you must stop them from getting the money
+      in that house to-night! Do you understand now why I have come here? I
+      could not explain in a letter; I do not quite seem to be explaining now.
+      It would seem as though there were no need for the Gray Seal&mdash;that
+      simply the police should be notified. But I KNOW, Jimmie, call it
+      intuition, what you will, I know that there is need for us, for you
+      to-night&mdash;that behind all this is a tragedy, deeper, blacker, than
+      even the brutal, cold-blooded murder that is already done.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her voice, in its passionate earnestness, died away; and an anger, cold,
+      grim, remorseless, settled upon Jimmie Dale&mdash;settled as it always
+      settled upon him at her call to arms. His brain was already at work in its
+      quick, instant way, probing, sifting, planning. She was right! It was
+      strange, it was more than strange that, with the added risk, the danger,
+      the difficulty, the man should have been brought miles to be done away
+      with in that tenement! Why? Connie Myers took form before him&mdash;the
+      coarse features, the tawny hair that straggled across the low forehead,
+      the shifty eyes that were an indeterminate colour between brown and gray,
+      the thin lips that seemed to draw in and give the jaw a protruding,
+      belligerent effect. And Connie Myers knew him as Jimmie Dale&mdash;it
+      would have to be then as Larry the Bat that the Gray Seal must work. That
+      meant time&mdash;to go to the Sanctuary and change.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The police,&rdquo; he asked suddenly, aloud, &ldquo;they have not yet discovered the
+      body?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not yet,&rdquo; she replied hurriedly. &ldquo;And that is still another reason for
+      haste&mdash;there is no telling when they will. See&mdash;here!&rdquo; She
+      thrust a paper into his hand. &ldquo;Here is a plan of old Doyle's house, and
+      directions for finding it. You must get Connie Myers red-handed, you must
+      make him convict himself, for the evidence through which I know him to be
+      guilty can never be used against him. And, Jimmie, be careful&mdash;I know
+      I am not wrong, that there is still something more behind all this. And
+      now go, Jimmie, go! There is no time to lose!&rdquo; She was pushing him across
+      the room toward the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Go! The word seemed suddenly to bring dismay. It was she again who was
+      dominant now in his mind. Who knew if to-night, when he was taking his
+      life in his hands again, would not be the last! And she was here now, here
+      beside him&mdash;where she might never be again!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She seemed to divine his thoughts, for she spoke again, a strange new note
+      of tenderness in her voice that thrilled him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must never let them get you, Jimmie&mdash;for my sake. It will not
+      last much longer&mdash;it is near the end&mdash;and I shall keep my
+      promise. But go, now, Jimmie&mdash;go!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go?&rdquo; he repeated numbly. &ldquo;Go? But&mdash;but you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I?&rdquo; She slipped suddenly away from him, retreating back down the room. &ldquo;I
+      will go&mdash;as I came.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait! Listen!&rdquo; he pleaded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was there&mdash;somewhere back there in the darkness still. He stood
+      hesitant at the door. It seemed that every faculty he possessed urged him
+      back there again&mdash;to her. Could he let her escape him now when she
+      was so utterly in his power, she who meant everything in his life! And
+      then, like a cold shock, came that other thought&mdash;she who had trusted
+      to his honour! With a jerk, his hand swept out, felt for the doorknob, and
+      closed upon it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-night!&rdquo; he said heavily, and stepped out into the hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed for a while, even after he had gained the street and made his
+      way again to the subway, that nothing was concrete around him, that he was
+      living through some fantastical dream. His head whirled, and he could not
+      think rationally&mdash;and then slowly, little by little, his grip upon
+      himself came back. She had come&mdash;and gone! With the roar of the
+      subway in his ears, its raucous note seeming to strike so perfectly in
+      consonance with the turmoil within him, he smiled mirthlessly. After all,
+      it was as it always was! She was gone&mdash;and ahead of him lay the
+      chances of the night!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dicing with death!&rdquo; The words, unbidden, came back once more. If they
+      were true before, they were doubly applicable now. It was different
+      to-night from what it had ever been before, as she had said. Usually, to
+      the smallest detail, everything was laid open, clear before him in those
+      astounding letters. To-night, it was vague at best. A man had been
+      murdered. Connie Myers had committed the murder under circumstances that
+      pointed strongly to some hidden motive behind and beyond the mere chance
+      it afforded him to search his victim's house for the hidden cash. What was
+      it?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale stared out at the black subway walls. The answer would not
+      come. Station after station passed. At Fourteenth Street he changed from
+      the express to a local, got out at Astor Place, and a few minutes later
+      was walking rapidly down the upper end of the Bowery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The answer would not come&mdash;only the fact itself grew more and more
+      deeply significant. The ghastly, callous fiendishness that lured an old,
+      half-witted man to his death had Jimmie Dale in that grip of cold,
+      merciless anger again, and there was a dull flush now upon his cheeks.
+      Whatever it meant, whatever was behind it, one thing at least was certain&mdash;HE
+      WOULD GET CONNIE MYERS!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was close to the Sanctuary now&mdash;it was down the next cross street.
+      He reached the corner and turned it, heading east; but his brisk walk had
+      changed to a nonchalant saunter&mdash;there were some people coming toward
+      him. It was the Gray Seal now, alert and cautious. The little group passed
+      by. Ahead, the tenement bordering on the black alleyway loomed up&mdash;the
+      Sanctuary, with its three entrances and exits; the home of Larry the Bat.
+      And across from it was that other tenement, that held a new interest for
+      him now, where, in an empty room on the second floor, she had said, old
+      Doyle still lay. Should he go there? He was thinking quickly now, and
+      shook his head. It would take what he did not have to spare&mdash;time. It
+      was already ten o'clock; and, granted that Connie Myers had committed the
+      crime only a little over an hour ago, the man by this time would certainly
+      be on his way to Doyle's house near Pelham, if, indeed, he were not
+      already there. No, there was no time to spare&mdash;the question resolved
+      itself simply into how long, since he had already searched twice and
+      failed on both occasions, it would take Connie Myers to unearth old
+      Doyle's hiding place for the money.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale glanced sharply around him, slipped into the alleyway, and,
+      crouching against the tenement wall, moved noiselessly along to the side
+      entrance. A moment more, and he had negotiated the rickety stairs with
+      practiced, soundless tread, was inside the squalid quarters of Larry the
+      Bat, and the door of the Sanctuary was locked and bolted behind him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Perhaps five minutes passed&mdash;and then, where Jimmie Dale, the
+      millionaire, had entered, there emerged Larry the Bat, of the aristocracy
+      and the elite of the Bad Lands. But instead of leaving by the side door
+      and the alleyway, as he had entered, he went along the lower hallway to
+      the front entrance. And here, instinctively, he paused a moment at the top
+      of the steps, as his eyes rested upon the tenement on the opposite side of
+      the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was strange that the crime should have been committed there! Something
+      again seemed to draw him toward that empty room on the second story. He
+      had decided once that he would not go, that there was not time; but, after
+      all, it would not take long, and there was at least the possibility of
+      gaining something more valuable even than time from the scene of the crime
+      itself&mdash;there might even be the evidence he wanted there that would
+      disclose the whole of Connie Myers' game.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went down the steps, and started across the street; but halfway over,
+      he hesitated uncertainly, as a child's cry came petulantly from the
+      doorway. It was dark in the street; and, likewise, it was one of those
+      hot, suffocating evenings when, in the crowded tenements of the poorer
+      class, miserable enough in any case, misery was added to a hundredfold for
+      lack of a single God-given breath of air. These two facts, apparently
+      irrelevant, caused Jimmie Dale to change his mind again. He had not
+      noticed the woman with the baby in her arms, sitting on the doorstep; but
+      now, as he reached the curb, he not only saw, but recognised her&mdash;and
+      he swung on down the street toward the Bowery. He could not very well go
+      in without passing her, without being recognised himself&mdash;and that
+      was a needless risk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He smiled a little wanly. Once the crime was discovered, she would not
+      have hesitated long before informing the police that she had seen him
+      enter there! Mrs. Hagan was no friend of his! One could not live as he had
+      lived, as Larry the Bat, and not see something in an intimate way of the
+      pitiful little tragedies of the poor around him; for, bad, tough, and
+      dissolute as the quarter was, all were not degraded there, some were
+      simply&mdash;poor. Mrs. Hagan was poor. Her husband was a day labourer,
+      often out of a job&mdash;and sometimes he drank. That was how he, Jimmie
+      Dale, or rather, Larry the Bat, had come to earn Mrs. Hagan's enmity. He
+      had found Mike Hagan drunk one night, and in the act of being arrested,
+      and had wheedled the man away from the officer on the promise that he
+      would take Hagan home. And he was Larry the Bat, a dope fiend, a character
+      known to all the neighbourhood, and Mrs. Hagan had laid her husband's
+      condition to HIS influence and companionship! He had taken Mike Hagan home&mdash;and
+      Mrs. Hagan had driven Larry the Bat from the door of her miserable
+      one-room lodging in that tenement with the bitter words on her tongue that
+      only a woman can use when shame and grief and anger are breaking her
+      heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He shrugged his shoulders, as, back along the Bowery, he retraced his
+      steps, but now, with the hurried shuffle of Larry the Bat where before had
+      been the brisk, athletic stride of Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At Astor Place again, he took the subway, this time to the Grand Central
+      Station&mdash;and, well within an hour from the time he had left the
+      Sanctuary, including the train journey to Pelham, he was standing in a
+      clump of trees that fringed a deserted roadway. He had passed but few
+      houses, once he was away from Pelham, and, as well as he could judge,
+      there was none now within a quarter of a mile of him&mdash;except this one
+      of old Luther Doyle's that showed up black and shadowy just beyond the
+      trees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the place. It was little wonder
+      that, known to have money, an attempt to rob old Doyle should have been
+      made in a place like this! It was even more grimly significant than ever
+      of some deeper meaning that, in its loneliness an ideal place for a
+      murder, the man should have been lured from there for that purpose to a
+      crowded tenement in the city instead! What did it mean? Why had it been
+      done? He shook his head. The answer would not come now any more than it
+      had come before in the subway, or in the train on the way out, when he had
+      set his brain so futilely to solve the problem.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From a survey of the house, Jimmie Dale gave attention to the details of
+      his surroundings: the trees on either side; the open space in front, a
+      distance of fifty yards to the road; the absence of any fence. And then,
+      abruptly, he stole forward. There was no light to be seen anywhere about
+      the house. Was it possible that Connie Myers was not yet there? He shook
+      his head again impatiently. Connie Myers would not have wasted any time&mdash;as
+      the Tocsin had said, there was always present the possibility that the
+      crime in that tenement might be discovered at ANY moment. Connie Myers
+      would have lost no time; for, let the discovery be made, let the police
+      identify the body, as they most certainly would, and they would be out
+      here hotfoot. Jimmie Dale stood suddenly still. What did it mean! He had
+      not thought of that before! If old Doyle had been murdered HERE, there
+      would not have been even the possibility of discovery until the morning at
+      the earliest, and Connie Myers would have had all the time he wanted!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      WHAT WAS THAT SOUND! A low, muffled tapping, like a succession of hammer
+      blows, came from within the house. Jimmie Dale darted forward, reached the
+      side of the house, and dropped on hands and knees. One question at least
+      was answered&mdash;Connie Myers was inside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The plan that she had given him showed an old-fashioned cellarway, closed
+      by folding trapdoors, that was located a little toward the rear and, in a
+      moment, creeping along, he came upon it. His hands felt over it. It was
+      shut, fastened by a padlock on the outside. Jimmie Dale's lips thinned a
+      little, as he took a small steel instrument from his pocket. Either
+      through inadvertence or by intention, Connie Myers had passed up an almost
+      childishly simple means of entrance into the house! One side of the
+      trapdoor was lifted up silently&mdash;and silently closed. Jimmie Dale was
+      in the cellar. The hammering, much more distinct now, heavy, thudding
+      blows, came from a room in the front&mdash;the connection between the
+      cellar and the house, as shown on the Tocsin's plan, was through another
+      trapdoor in the floor of the kitchen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's flashlight played on a short, ladderlike stairway, and in an
+      instant he was climbing upward. The sounds from the front of the house
+      continued now without interruption; there was little fear that Connie
+      Myers would hear anything else&mdash;even the protesting squeak of the
+      hinges as Jimmie Dale cautiously pushed back the trapdoor in the flooring
+      above his head. An inch, two inches he lifted it; and, his eyes on a level
+      with the opening now, he peered into the room. The kitchen itself was
+      intensely dark; but through an open doorway, well to one side so that he
+      could not see into the room beyond, there struggled a curiously faint, dim
+      glimmer of light. And then Jimmie Dale's form straightened rigidly on the
+      stairs. The blows stopped, and a voice, in a low growl, presumably Connie
+      Myers', reached him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here, take a drive at it from the lower edge!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no answer&mdash;save that the blows were resumed again. Jimmie
+      Dale's face had set hard. Connie Myers was not alone in this, then! Well,
+      the odds were a little heavier, DOUBLED&mdash;that was all! He pushed the
+      trapdoor wide open, swung himself up through the opening to the floor; and
+      the next instant, back a little from the connecting doorway, his body
+      pressed closely against the kitchen wall, he was staring, bewildered and
+      amazed, into the next room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the floor, presumably to lessen the chance of any light rays stealing
+      through the tightly drawn window shades, burned a small oil lamp. The
+      place was in utter confusion. The right-hand side of a large fireplace,
+      made of rough, untrimmed stone and cement, and which occupied almost the
+      entire end of the room, was already practically demolished, and the
+      wreckage was littered everywhere; part of the furniture was piled
+      unceremoniously into one corner out of the way; and at the fireplace
+      itself, working with sledge and bar, were two men. One was Connie Myers.
+      An ironical glint crept into Jimmie Dale's eyes. The false beard and
+      mustache the man wore would deceive no one who knew Connie Myers! And that
+      he should be wearing them now, as he knelt holding the bar while the other
+      struck at it, seemed both uncalled for and absurd. The other man, heavily
+      built, roughly dressed, had his back turned, and Jimmie Dale could not see
+      his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The puzzled frown on Jimmie Dale's forehead deepened. Somewhere in the
+      masonry of the fireplace, of course, was where old Luther Doyle had hidden
+      his money. That was quite plain enough; and that Connie Myers, in some way
+      or other, had made sure of that fact was equally obvious. But how did old
+      Luther Doyle get his money IN there from time to time, as he received the
+      interest and dividends whose accumulation, according to the Tocsin,
+      comprised his hoard! And how did he get it OUT again?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, that'll do!&rdquo; grunted Connie Myers suddenly. &ldquo;We can pry this
+      one out now. Lend a hand on the bar!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The other dropped his sledge, turned sideways as he stooped to help Connie
+      Myers, his face came into view&mdash;and, with an involuntary start,
+      Jimmie Dale crouched farther back against the wall, as he stared at the
+      other. It was Hagan! Mrs. Hagan's husband! Mike Hagan!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God!&rdquo; whispered Jimmie Dale, under his breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So that was it! That the murder had been committed in the tenement was not
+      so strange now! A surge of anger swept Jimmie Dale&mdash;and was engulfed
+      in a wave of pity. Somehow, the thin, tired face of Mrs. Hagan had risen
+      before him, and she seemed to be pleading with him to go away, to leave
+      the house, to forget that he had ever been there, to forget what he had
+      seen, what he was seeing now. His hands clenched fiercely. How
+      realistically, how importunately, how pitifully she took form before him!
+      She was on her knees, clasping his knees, imploring him, terrified.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From Jimmie Dale's pocket came the black silk mask. Slowly, almost
+      hesitantly, he fitted it over his face&mdash;Mike Hagan knew Larry the
+      Bat. Why should he have pity for Mike Hagan? Had he any for Connie Myers?
+      What right had he to let pity sway him! The man had gone the limit; he was
+      Connie Myers' accomplice&mdash;a murderer! But the man was not a hardened,
+      confirmed criminal like Connie Myers. Mike Hagan&mdash;a murderer! It
+      would have been unbelievable but for the evidence before his own eyes now.
+      The man had faults, brawled enough, and drank enough to have brought him
+      several times to the notice of the police&mdash;but this!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's eyes had never left the scene before him. Both men were
+      throwing their weight upon the bar, and the stone that they were trying to
+      dislodge&mdash;they were into the heart of the masonry now&mdash;seemed to
+      move a little. Connie Myers stood up, and, leaning forward, examined the
+      stone critically at top and bottom, prodding it with the bar. He turned
+      from his examination abruptly, and thrust the bar into Hagan's hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold it!&rdquo; he said tersely. &ldquo;I'll strike for a turn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Crouched, on his hands and knees, Hagan inserted the point of the bar into
+      the crevice. Connie Myers picked up the sledge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lower! Bend lower!&rdquo; he snapped&mdash;and swung the sledge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed to go black for a moment before Jimmie Dale's eyes, seemed to
+      paralyse all action of mind and body. There was a low cry that was more a
+      moan, the clang of the iron bar clattering on the floor, and Mike Hagan
+      had pitched forward on his face, an inert and huddled heap. A half laugh,
+      half snarl purled from Connie Myers' lips, as he snatched a stout piece of
+      cord from his pocket and swiftly knotted the unconscious man's wrists
+      together. Another instant, and, picking up the bar, prying with it again,
+      the loosened stone toppled with a crash into the grate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It had come sudden as the crack of doom, that blow&mdash;too quick, too
+      unexpected for Jimmie Dale to have lifted a finger to prevent it. And now
+      that the first numbed shock of mingled horror and amazement was past, he
+      fought back the quick, fierce impulse to spring out on Connie Myers.
+      Whether the man was killed or only stunned, he could do no good to Mike
+      Hagan now, and there was Connie Myers&mdash;he was staring in a fascinated
+      way at Connie Myers. Behind the stone that the other had just dislodged
+      was a large hollow space that had been left in the masonry, and from this
+      now Connie Myers was eagerly collecting handfuls of banknotes that were
+      rolled up into the shape of little cylinders, each one grotesquely tied
+      with a string. The man was feverishly excited, muttering to himself,
+      running from the fireplace to where the table had been pushed aside with
+      the rest of the furniture, dropping the curious little rolls of money on
+      the table, and running back for more. And then, having apparently emptied
+      the receptacle, he wriggled his body over the dismantled fireplace, stuck
+      his head into the opening, and peered upward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kinks in his nut, kinks in his nut!&rdquo; Connie Myers was muttering. &ldquo;I'll
+      drop the bar through from the top, mabbe there's some got stuck in the
+      pipe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He regained his feet, picked up the bar, and ran with it into what was
+      evidently the front hall&mdash;then his steps sounded running upstairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like a flash, Jimmie Dale was across the room and at the fireplace. Like
+      Connie Myers, he, too, put his head into the opening; and then, a queer,
+      unpleasant smile on his lips, he bent quickly over the man on the floor.
+      Hagan was no more than stunned, and was even then beginning to show signs
+      of returning consciousness. There was a rattle, a clang, a thud&mdash;and
+      the bar, too long to come all the way through, dropped into the opening
+      and stood upright. Connie Myers' footsteps sounded again, returning on the
+      run&mdash;and Jimmie Dale was back once more on the other side of the
+      kitchen doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was all simple enough&mdash;once one understood! The same queer smile
+      was still flickering on Jimmie Dale's lips. There was no way to get the
+      money out, except the way Connie Myers had got it out&mdash;by digging it
+      out! With the irrational cunning of his mad brain, that had put the money
+      even beyond his own reach, old Doyle had built his fireplace with a hollow
+      some eighteen inches square in a great wall of solid stonework, and from
+      it had run a two-inch pipe up somewhere to the story above; and down this
+      pipe he had dropped his little string-tied cylinders of banknotes,
+      satisfied that his hoard was safe! There seemed something pitifully ironic
+      in the elaborate, insane craftiness of the old man's fear-twisted,
+      demented mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now Connie Myers was back in the room again&mdash;and again a puzzled
+      expression settled upon Jimmie Dale's face as he watched the other. For
+      perhaps a minute the man stood by the table sifting the little rolls of
+      money through his fingers gloatingly&mdash;then, impulsively, he pushed
+      these to one side, produced a revolver, laid it on the table, and from
+      another pocket took out a little case which, as he opened it, Jimmie Dale
+      could see contained a hypodermic syringe. One more article followed the
+      other two&mdash;a letter, which Connie Myers took out of an unsealed
+      envelope. He dropped this suddenly on the table, as Mike Hagan, three feet
+      away on the floor, groaned and sat up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hagan's eyes swept, bewildered, confused, around him, questioningly at
+      Connie Myers&mdash;and then, resting suddenly on his bound wrists, they
+      narrowed menacingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Damn you, you smashed me with that sledge on PURPOSE!&rdquo; he burst out&mdash;and
+      began to struggle to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a brutal chuckle, Connie Myers pushed Hagan back and shoved his
+      revolver under the other's nose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure!&rdquo; he admitted evenly. &ldquo;And you keep quiet, or I'll finish you now&mdash;instead
+      of letting the police do it!&rdquo; He laughed out jarringly. &ldquo;You're under
+      arrest, you know, for the murder of Luther Doyle, and for robbing the poor
+      old nut of his savings in his house here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Hagan wrenched himself up on his elbow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&mdash;what do you mean?&rdquo; he stammered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, don't worry!&rdquo; said Connie Myers maliciously. &ldquo;I'M not making the
+      arrest, I'd rather the police did that. I'm not mixing up in it, and by
+      and by&rdquo;&mdash;he lifted up the hypodermic for Hagan to see&mdash;&ldquo;I'm
+      going to shoot a little dope into you that'll keep you quiet while I get
+      away myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Hagan's face had gone a grayish white&mdash;he had caught sight of the
+      money on the table, and his eyes kept shifting back and forth from it to
+      Myers' face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Murder!&rdquo; he said huskily. &ldquo;There is no murder. I don't know who Doyle is.
+      You said this house was yours&mdash;you hired me to come here. You said
+      you were going to tear down the fireplace and build another. You said I
+      could work evenings and earn some extra money.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure, I did!&rdquo; There was a vicious leer now on Connie Myers' lips. &ldquo;But
+      you don't think I picked you out by ACCIDENT, do you? Your reputation, my
+      bucko, was just shady enough to satisfy anybody that it wouldn't be beyond
+      you to go the limit. Sure, you murdered Doyle! Listen to this.&rdquo; He took up
+      the letter:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;TO THE POLICE: Luther Doyle was murdered this evening in the tenement at
+      67 &mdash;&mdash; Street. You'll find his body in a room on the second
+      floor. If you want to know who did it, look in Mike Hagan's room on the
+      floor above. There's a paper stuck under the edge of Hagan's table with a
+      piece of chewing gum, where he hid it. You'll know what it is when you go
+      out and take a look at Doyle's house in Pelham. Yours truly, A FRIEND.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mike Hagan did not speak&mdash;his lips were twitching, and there was
+      horror creeping into his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;D'ye get me!&rdquo; sneered Connie Myers. &ldquo;Tell your story&mdash;who'd believe
+      it! I got you cinched. Twice I tried to get this old dub's coin out here,
+      and couldn't find it. But the second time I found something else&mdash;a
+      piece of paper with a drawing of the fireplace on it, and a place in the
+      drawing marked with an X. That was good enough, wasn't it? That's the
+      paper I stuck under your table this afternoon when your wife was out&mdash;see?
+      Somebody's got to stand for the job, and if it's somebody else it won't be
+      me&mdash;get me! When I had a look at that fireplace I knew I couldn't do
+      the job alone in a week, and I didn't dare blast it with 'soup' for fear
+      of spoiling what was inside. And since I had to have somebody to help me,
+      I thought I might as well let him help me all the way through&mdash;and
+      stand for it. I picked you, Mike&mdash;that's why I croaked old Doyle in
+      your tenement to-night. I wrote this letter while I was waiting for you to
+      show up at the station to come out here with me, and I'm going to see that
+      the police get it in the next hour. When they find Doyle in the room below
+      yours, and that paper in your room, and the busted fireplace here&mdash;I
+      guess they won't look any farther for who did it. And say&rdquo;&mdash;he leaned
+      forward with an ugly grin&mdash;&ldquo;mabbe you think I'm soft to be telling
+      you all this? But don't you fool yourself. You don't know me&mdash;you
+      don't know who I am. So tell 'em the TRUTH! They won't believe you anyway
+      with evidence like that against you&mdash;and the neater the story the
+      more they'll think it shows brains enough on your part to have pulled a
+      job like this!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God!&rdquo; Hagan was rocking on his knees, beads of sweat were starting out
+      on his forehead. &ldquo;You wouldn't plant a man like that!&rdquo; he cried brokenly.
+      &ldquo;You wouldn't do it, would you? My God&mdash;you wouldn't do that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's face under his mask was white and rigid. There was something
+      primal, elemental in the savagery that was sweeping upon him. He had it
+      all now&mdash;ALL! She had been right&mdash;there was need to-night for
+      the Gray Seal. So that was the game, inhuman, hellish, the whole of it, to
+      the last filthy dregs&mdash;Connie Myers, to protect himself, was
+      railroading an innocent man to death for the crime that he himself had
+      committed! There was a cold smile on Jimmie Dale's lips now, as he took
+      his automatic from his pocket. No, it wasn't quite all the game&mdash;there
+      was still HIS hand to play! He edged forward a little nearer to the door&mdash;and
+      halted abruptly, listening. An automobile had stopped outside on the road.
+      Hagan was still pleading in a frenzied way; Connie Myers was callously
+      folding his letter, while he watched the other warily&mdash;neither of the
+      men had heard the sound.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then, quick, almost on the instant, came a rush of feet, a crash upon
+      the front door&mdash;an imperative command to open in the name of the law.
+      THE POLICE! Jimmie Dale's brain was working now with lightning speed.
+      Somehow the police had stumbled upon the crime in that tenement; and, as
+      he had foreseen in such an event, had identified Doyle. But they could not
+      be sure that any one was present here in the house now&mdash;they could
+      not see a light any more than he had. He must get Mike Hagan away&mdash;must
+      see that Connie Myers did NOT get away. Myers was on his feet now, fear
+      struck in his turn, the letter clutched in a tight-closed fist, his
+      revolver swung out, poised, in the other hand. Hagan, too, was on his
+      feet, and, unheeded now by Connie Myers, was wrenching his wrists apart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another crash upon the door&mdash;another. Another demand in a harsh voice
+      to open it. Then some one running around to the window at the side of the
+      house&mdash;and Jimmie Dale sprang forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was the roar of a report, a blinding flash almost in Jimmie Dale's
+      eyes, as Connie Myers, whirling instantly at his entrance, fired&mdash;and
+      missed. It happened quick then, in the space of the ticking of a watch&mdash;before
+      Jimmie Dale, flinging himself forward, had reached the man. Like a defiant
+      challenge to their demand it must have seemed to the officers outside,
+      that shot of Connie Myers at Jimmie Dale, for it was answered on the
+      instant by another through the side window. And the shot, fired at random,
+      the interior of the room hidden from the officers outside by the drawn
+      shades, found its mark&mdash;and Connie Myers, a bullet in his brain,
+      pitched forward, dead, upon the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;QUICK!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale flung at Hagan. &ldquo;Get that letter out of his hand!&rdquo; He
+      jumped for the lamp on the floor, extinguished it, and turned again toward
+      Hagan. &ldquo;Have you got it?&rdquo; he whispered tensely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Hagan, in a numbed way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This way, then!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale caught Hagan's arm, and pulled the other
+      across the room and into the kitchen to the trapdoor. &ldquo;Quick!&rdquo; he breathed
+      again. &ldquo;Get down there&mdash;quick! And no noise! They don't know how many
+      are in the house. When they find HIM they'll probably be satisfied.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Hagan, stupefied, dazed, obeyed mechanically&mdash;and, in an instant, the
+      trapdoor closed behind them, Jimmie Dale was standing beside the other in
+      the cellar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not a sound now!&rdquo; he cautioned once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His flashlight winked, went out, winked again; then held steadily, in
+      curious fascination it seemed, as, in its circuit, the ray fell upon Hagan&mdash;FELL
+      UPON THE TORN, RAGGED EDGE OF A PAPER IN HAGAN'S HAND! With a suppressed
+      cry, Jimmie Dale snatched it away from the other. It was but a torn HALF
+      of the letter! &ldquo;The other half! The other half, Hagan&mdash;where is it?&rdquo;
+       he demanded hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hagan, almost in a state of collapse, muttered inaudibly. The crash of a
+      toppling door sounded from above. Jimmie Dale shook the man desperately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is it?&rdquo; he repeated fiercely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He&mdash;he was holding it tight, it&mdash;it tore in his hand,&rdquo; Hagan
+      stammered. &ldquo;Does it make any difference? Oh, let's get out of here,
+      whoever you are&mdash;for God's sake let's get out of here!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Any difference! Jimmie Dale's jaws were clamped like a steel vise. Any
+      difference! The difference between life and death for the man beside him&mdash;that
+      was all! He was reading the portion in his hand. It was the last part of
+      the letter, beginning with: &ldquo;There's a paper stuck under the edge of
+      Hagan's table&mdash;&rdquo; From above, from the floor of the front room now,
+      came the rush and trample of feet. He could not go back for the other
+      half. And any attempt to conceal the fact that Connie Myers had been alone
+      in the house was futile now. They would find the torn letter in the dead
+      man's hand, proof enough that some one else had been there. What was in
+      that part of the letter that was still clutched in that death grip
+      upstairs? A sentence from it, that he had heard Connie Myers read, seemed
+      to burn itself into his brain. &ldquo;IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHO DID IT, LOOK IN
+      MIKE HAGAN'S ROOM ON THE FLOOR ABOVE.&rdquo; And then, suddenly, like light
+      through the darkness, came a ray of hope. He pulled Hagan to the
+      cellarway, and stealthily lifted one side of the double trapdoor. There
+      was a chance, desperate enough, one in a thousand&mdash;but still a
+      chance!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Voices from the house came plainly now, but there was no one in sight. The
+      police, to a man, were evidently all inside. From the road in front showed
+      the lamp glare of their automobile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Run for the car!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale jerked out from between set teeth&mdash;and
+      with Hagan beside him, steadying the man by the arm, dashed across the
+      intervening fifty yards.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They had not been seen. A minute more, and the car, evidently belonging to
+      the local police, for it was headed in the direction of New York, and as
+      though it had come from Pelham, swept down the road, swept around a turn,
+      and Jimmie Dale, with a gasp of relief, straightened up a little from the
+      wheel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How much time had he? The police must have heard the car; but, equally,
+      occupied as they were, they might well give it no thought other than that
+      it was but another car passing by. There was no telephone in the house;
+      the nearest house was a quarter of a mile away, and that might or might
+      not have a telephone. Could he count on half an hour? He glanced anxiously
+      at the crouched figure beside him. He would have to! It was the only
+      chance. They would telephone the contents of the dead man's half of the
+      letter to the New York police. Could he get to Hagan's room FIRST! &ldquo;Look
+      in Hagan's room,&rdquo; their part of the letter read&mdash;but it did not say
+      for WHAT, or exactly WHERE! If they found nothing, Hagan was safe. Connie
+      Myers' reputation, the fact that he was found in disguise at Doyle's
+      house, was, barring any incriminating evidence, quite enough to let Hagan
+      out. There would only remain in the minds of the police the question of
+      who, beside Connie Myers, had been in old Doyle's house that night? And
+      now Jimmie Dale smiled a little whimsically. Well, perhaps he could answer
+      that&mdash;and, if not quite to the satisfaction of the police, at least
+      to the complete vindication of Mike Hagan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he could not drive through towns and villages with a mask on his face;
+      and there, ahead now, lights were beginning to show. And more than ever
+      now, with what was before him, it was imperative that Mike Hagan should
+      not recognise Larry the Bat. Jimmie Dale glanced again at Hagan&mdash;and
+      slowed down the car. They were on the outskirts of a town, and off to the
+      right he caught the twinkling lights of a street car.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hagan,&rdquo; he said sharply, &ldquo;pull yourself together, and listen to me! If
+      you keep your mouth shut, you've nothing to fear; if you let out a word of
+      what's happened to-night, you'll probably go to the chair for a crime you
+      know nothing about. Do you understand?&mdash;keep your mouth shut!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The car had stopped. Hagan nodded his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, then. You get out here, and take a street car into New York,&rdquo;
+       continued Jimmie Dale crisply. &ldquo;But when you get there, keep away from
+      your home for the next two or three hours. Hang around with some of the
+      boys you know, and if you're asked anything afterward, say you were
+      batting around town all evening. Don't worry&mdash;you'll find you're out
+      of this when you read the morning papers. Now get out&mdash;hurry!&rdquo; He
+      pushed Hagan from the car. &ldquo;I've got to make my own get-away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Hagan, standing in the road, brushed his hand bewilderingly across his
+      eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;but you&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind about that!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale leaned out, and gripped Hagan's arm
+      impressively. &ldquo;There's only one thing you've got to think of, or remember.
+      Keep your mouth shut! No matter what happens, keep your mouth shut&mdash;if
+      you want to save your neck! Good-night, Hagan!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The car was racing forward again. It shot streaking through the streets of
+      the town ahead, and, dully, over its own inferno, echoed shouts, cries,
+      and execrations of an outraged populace&mdash;then out into the night
+      again, roaring its way toward New York.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had half an hour&mdash;perhaps! It was a good thing Hagan did not know,
+      or had not grasped the significance of that torn letter&mdash;the man
+      would have been unmanageable with fear and excitement. It would puzzle
+      Hagan to find no paper stuck under his table when he came to look for it!
+      But that was a minor consideration, that mattered not at all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half an hour! On roared the car&mdash;towns, black roads, villages, wooded
+      lands were kaleidoscopic in their passing. Half an hour! Had he done it?
+      Had he come anywhere near doing it? He did not know. He was in the city at
+      last&mdash;and now he had to moderate his speed; but, by keeping to the
+      less frequented streets, he could still drive at a fast pace. One piece of
+      good fortune had been his&mdash;the long motor coat he had found in the
+      car with which to cover the rags of Larry the Bat, and without which he
+      would have been obliged to leave the car somewhere on the outskirts of the
+      city, and to trust, like Mike Hagan, to other and slower means of
+      transportation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Blocks away from Hagan's tenement, he ran the car into a lane, slipped off
+      the motor coat, and from his pocket whipped out the little metal insignia
+      case&mdash;and in another moment a diamond-shaped gray seal was neatly
+      affixed to the black ebony rim of the steering wheel. He smiled
+      ironically. It was necessary, quite necessary that the police should have
+      no doubt as to who had been in Doyle's house with Connie Myers that night,
+      or to whom they had so considerately loaned their automobile!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was running now&mdash;through lanes, dodging down side streets, taking
+      every short cut he knew. Had he beaten the police to Mike Hagan's room? It
+      would be easy then. If they were ahead of him, then, by some means or
+      other, he must still get that paper first.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was at the tenement now&mdash;shuffling leisurely up the steps. The
+      front door was open. He entered, and went up the first flight of stairs,
+      then along the hall, and up the next flight. He had half expected the
+      place to be bustling with excitement over the crime; but the police
+      evidently had kept the affair quiet, for he had seen no one since he had
+      entered. But now, as he began to mount the third flight, he went more
+      slowly&mdash;some one was ahead of him. It was very dark&mdash;he could
+      not see. The steps above died away. He reached the landing, started along
+      for Hagan's room&mdash;and a light blazed suddenly in his face, and a
+      hard, quick grip on his shoulder forced him back against the wall. Then
+      the flashlight wavered, glistened on brass buttons went out, and a voice
+      laughed roughly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's only Larry the Bat!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Larry the Bat, eh?&rdquo; It was another voice, harsh and curt. &ldquo;What are you
+      doing here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was not first, after all! The telephone message from Pelham&mdash;it
+      was almost certainly that&mdash;had beaten him! They were ahead of him,
+      just ahead of him, they had only been a few steps ahead of him going up
+      the stairs, just a second ahead of him on their way to Hagan's room!
+      Jimmie Dale was thinking fast now. He must go, too&mdash;to Hagan's room
+      with them&mdash;somehow&mdash;there was no other way&mdash;there was
+      Hagan's life at stake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, I ain't done nothin'!&rdquo; he whined. &ldquo;I was just goin' ter borrow the
+      price of a feed from Mike Hagan&mdash;lemme go!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hagan, eh!&rdquo; snapped the questioner. &ldquo;Are you a friend of his?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure, I am!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The officers whispered for a moment together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll try it,&rdquo; decided the one who appeared to be in command. &ldquo;We're in
+      the dark, anyhow, and the thing may be only a steer. Mabbe it'll work&mdash;anyway,
+      it won't do any harm.&rdquo; His hand fell heavily on Jimmie Dale's shoulder.
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Hagan know you?&rdquo; brusquely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure she does!&rdquo; sniffled Larry the Bat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good!&rdquo; rasped the officer. &ldquo;Well, we'll make the visit with you. And you
+      do what you're told, or we'll put the screws on you&mdash;see? We're after
+      something here, and you've blown the whole game&mdash;savvy? You've
+      spilled the gravy&mdash;understand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the darkness, Jimmie Dale smiled grimly. It was far more than he had
+      dared to hope for&mdash;they were playing into his hands!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I don't know 'bout any game,&rdquo; grovelled Larry the Bat piteously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who in hell said you did!&rdquo; growled the officer. &ldquo;You're supposed to have
+      snitched the lay to us, that's all&mdash;and mind you play your part! Come
+      on!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was two doors down the hall to Mike Hagan's room, and there one of the
+      officers, putting his shoulder to the door, burst it open and sprang in.
+      The other shoved Jimmie Dale forward. It was quickly done. The three were
+      in the room. The door was closed again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Came a cry of terror out of the darkness, a movement as of some one rising
+      up hurriedly in bed; and then Mrs. Hagan's voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it! Who is it! Mike!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The table&mdash;it was against the right-hand wall, Jimmie Date
+      remembered. He sidled quickly toward it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Strike a light!&rdquo; ordered the officer in charge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's fingers were feeling under the edge of the table&mdash;a
+      quick sweep along it&mdash;NOTHING! He stooped, reaching farther in&mdash;another
+      sweep of his arm&mdash;and his fingers closed on a sheet of paper and a
+      piece of hard gum. In an instant they were in his pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A match crackled and flared up. A lamp was lighted. Larry the Bat sulked
+      sullenly against the wall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Terror-stricken, wide-eyed, Mrs. Hagan had clutched the child lying beside
+      her to her arms, and was sitting bolt upright in bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now then, no fuss about it!&rdquo; said the officer in charge, with brutal
+      directness. &ldquo;You might as well make a clean breast of Mike's share in that
+      murder downstairs&mdash;Larry the Bat, here, has already told us the whole
+      story. Come on, now&mdash;out with it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Murder!&rdquo;&mdash;her face went white. &ldquo;My Mike&mdash;MURDER!&rdquo; She seemed
+      for an instant stunned&mdash;and then down the worn, thin, haggard face
+      gushed the tears. &ldquo;I don't believe it!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I don't believe it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on now, cut that out!&rdquo; prodded the officer roughly. &ldquo;I tell you
+      Larry the Bat, here, has opened everything up wide. You're only making it
+      worse for yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Him!&rdquo; She was staring now at Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;Oh, God!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;So
+      that's what you are, are you&mdash;a stool-pigeon for the cops? Well,
+      whatever you told them, you lie! You're the curse of this neighbourhood,
+      you are, and if my Mike is bad at all, it's you that's helped to make him
+      bad. But murder&mdash;you LIE!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She had risen slowly from the bed&mdash;a gaunt, pitiful figure, pitifully
+      clothed, the black hair, gray-streaked, streaming thinly over her
+      shoulders, still clutching the baby that, too, was crying now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The officers looked at one another and nodded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Guess she's handing it straight&mdash;we'll have a look on our own hook,&rdquo;
+       the leader muttered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She paid no attention to them&mdash;she was walking straight to Jimmie
+      Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's you, is it,&rdquo; she whispered fiercely through her sobs &ldquo;that would
+      bring more shame and ruin here&mdash;you that's selling my man's life away
+      with your filthy lies for what they're paying you&mdash;it's you, is it,
+      that&mdash;&rdquo; Her voice broke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a frightened, uneasy look in Larry the Bat's eyes, his lips were
+      twitching weakly, he drew far back against the wall&mdash;and then,
+      glancing miserably at the officers, as though entreating their permission,
+      began to edge toward the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment she watched him, her face white with outrage, her hand
+      clenched at her side&mdash;and then she found her voice again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get out of here!&rdquo; she said, in a choked, strained way pointing to the
+      door. &ldquo;Get out of here&mdash;you dirty skate!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure!&rdquo; mumbled Larry the Bat, his eyes on the floor. &ldquo;Sure!&rdquo; he mumbled&mdash;and
+      the door closed behind him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      PART TWO: THE WOMAN IN THE CASE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER I
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      BELOW THE DEAD LINE
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Whisperings! Always whisperings, low, sibilant, floating errantly from all
+      sides, until they seemed a component part of the drug-laden atmosphere
+      itself. And occasionally another sound: the soft SLAP-SLAP of
+      loose-slippered feet, the faint rustle of equally loose-fitting garments.
+      And everywhere the sweet, sickish smell of opium. It was Chang Foo's,
+      simply a cellar or two deeper in Chang Foo's than that in which Dago Jim
+      had quarrelled once&mdash;and died!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Larry the Bat, vicious-faced, unkempt, disreputable, lay sprawled out on
+      one of the dive's bunks, an opium pipe beside him. But Larry the Bat was
+      not smoking; instead, his ear was pressed closely against the boarding
+      that formed the rather flimsy partition at the side of the bunk. One heard
+      many things in Chang Foo's if one cared to listen&mdash;if one could first
+      win one's way through the carefully guarded gateway, that to the
+      uninitiated offered nothing more interesting than the entrance to a
+      Chinese tea-shop, and an uninviting one at that!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      HAD HE BEEN FOLLOWED IN HERE? He had been shadowed for the last hour; of
+      that, at least, he was certain. Why? By whom? For an hour he had dodged in
+      and out through the dens of the underworld, as only one who was at home
+      there and known to all could do&mdash;and at last he had taken refuge in
+      Chang Foo's like a fox burrowing deep into its hole.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Few could find their way into the most infamous opium den in all New York,
+      where not only the poppy ruled as master, but where crime was hatched, ay,
+      and carried to its ghastly consummation, sometimes, as well; and of those
+      few, not one but was of the underworld itself. And it was that fact which
+      held his muscles strained and rigid now under the miserable rags that
+      covered them, and it was that which kept the keen, quick brain alert and
+      active, every faculty keyed up and tense. If it were the police, he had
+      little to fear, for they could not force their way in without warning; but
+      if it were the underworld, he was in imminent peril, and had done little
+      better than run himself into a trap from which there was no escape.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;DEATH TO THE GRAY SEAL!&rdquo;&mdash;he had heard that whispered more than once
+      in this very place. Who knew at what moment the role of Larry the Bat
+      would be uncovered, and the underworld, where now he held so high a place,
+      would be at his throat like a pack of snarling wolves! Who had been
+      shadowing him during the last hour?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whisperings! Nothing tangible! He could catch no words. Only the
+      never-ending whisperings of gathered groups here and there&mdash;and
+      sometimes the clink of coin where some game was in progress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The curtain before his bunk was drawn suddenly aside&mdash;and Larry the
+      Bat's fingers, where his hand was carelessly hidden by his body tightened
+      upon his automatic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Smokee some more?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The fingers relaxed. It was only Sam Wah, one of the attendants.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nix!&rdquo; said Larry the Bat, in a slightly muddled tone. &ldquo;Got enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The curtain fell into place again. Larry the Bat's lips set in a thin
+      smile. Ultimately it made little difference whether it was the police or
+      the underworld! The smile grew thinner. It was the flip of a coin, that
+      was all! With one there was the death house at Sing Sing for the Gray
+      Seal; with the other&mdash;well, there were many ways, from a shot or a
+      knife thrust in the open street, to his murder in some hidden dive like
+      this of Chang Foo's, for instance, where he now was&mdash;the Gray Seal
+      was responsible for the occupancy of too many penitentiary cells by those
+      of the underworld to look for any other fate!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He raised himself up sharply on his elbow. A shrill, high note, like the
+      scream of a parrakeet, rang out a second time. He tore the curtain aside,
+      and jumped to his feet. All around him, in the twinkling of an eye,
+      Chinamen in fluttering blouses, chattering like magpies, mingled with
+      snarling, cursing whites, were running madly. A voice, prefaced with an
+      oath, bawled out behind him, as he sprang forward and joined the rush:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Beat it! De cops! Beat it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The police! A raid! Was it for HIM? From rooms, an amazing number of them,
+      more forms rushed out, joined, divided, separated, and dashed, some this
+      way, some that, along branching passageways. There had been raids before,
+      the police had begun to change their minds about Chang Foo's, but Chang
+      Foo's was not an easy place to raid. House after house in that quarter of
+      Chinese laundries, of tea shops, of chop-suey joints, opened one into the
+      other through secret passages in the cellars. Larry the Bat plunged down a
+      staircase, and halted in the darkness of a cellar, drawing back against
+      the wall while the flying feet of his fellow fugitives scurried by him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Was it for HIM, this raid? If not, the police had not a hope of getting
+      him if he kept his head; for back in Chang Foo's proper, which would be
+      quite closed off now, Chang Foo would be blandly submitting to arrest,
+      offering himself as a sort of glorified sacrifice while the police
+      confiscated opium and fan-tan layouts. If the police had no other purpose
+      than that in mind, Chang Foo would simply pay a fine; the next night the
+      place would be in full blast again; and Chang Foo, higher than ever in the
+      confidence of the underworld's aristocracy, would reap his reward&mdash;and
+      that would be all there was to it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But was that all? The raid had followed significantly close upon the heels
+      of his entry into Chang Foo's. Larry the Bat began to move forward again.
+      He dared not follow the others, and, later on, when quiet was restored,
+      issue out into the street from any one of the various houses in which he
+      might temporarily have taken refuge. There was a chance in that, a chance
+      that the police might be more zealous than usual, even if he particularly
+      was not their game&mdash;and he could take no chance. Arrest for Larry the
+      Bat, even on suspicion, could have but one conclusion&mdash;not a pleasant
+      one&mdash;the disclosure that Larry the Bat was not Larry the Bat at all,
+      but Jimmie Dale, the millionaire club-man, and, to complete a fatal
+      triplication, that Larry the Bat and Jimmie Dale was the Gray Seal upon
+      whose head was fixed a price!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All was silence around him now, except that from overhead came
+      occasionally the muffled tread of feet. He felt his way along into a
+      black, narrow passage, emerged into a second cellar, swept the place with
+      a single, circling gleam from a pocket flashlight, passed a stairway that
+      led upward, reached the opposite wall, and, dropping on hands and knees,
+      crawled into what, innocently enough, appeared to be the opening of a coal
+      bin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew Chang Foo's well&mdash;as he knew the ins and outs of every den
+      and place he frequented, knew them as a man knows such things when his
+      life at any moment might hang upon his knowledge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was in another passage now, and this, in a few steps, brought him to a
+      door. Here he halted, and stood for a full five minutes, absolutely
+      motionless, absolutely still, listening. There was nothing&mdash;not a
+      sound. He tried the door cautiously. It was locked. The slim, sensitive,
+      tapering fingers of Jimmie Dale, unrecognisable now in the grimy digits of
+      Larry the Bat, felt tentatively over the lock. To fingers that seemed in
+      their tips to possess all the human senses, that time and again in their
+      delicate touch upon the dial of a safe had mocked at human ingenuity and
+      driven the police into impotent frenzy, this was a pitiful thing. From his
+      pocket came a small steel instrument that was quickly and deftly inserted
+      in the keyhole. There was a click, the door swung open, and Jimmie Dale,
+      alias Larry the Bat, stepped outside into a back yard half a block away
+      from the entrance to Chang Foo's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again he listened. There did not appear to be any unusual excitement in
+      the neighbourhood. From open windows above him and from adjoining houses
+      came the ordinary, commonplace sounds of voices talking and laughing, even
+      the queer, weird notes of a Chinese chant. He stole noiselessly across the
+      yard, out into the lane, and made his way rapidly along to the cross
+      street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a measure, now, he was safe; but one thing, a very vital thing,
+      remained to be done. It was absolutely necessary that he should know
+      whether he was the quarry that the police had been after in the raid, if
+      it was the police who had been shadowing him all evening. If it was the
+      police, there was but one meaning to it&mdash;Larry the Bat was known to
+      be the Gray Seal, and a problem perilous enough in any aspect confronted
+      him. Dare he risk the Sanctuary&mdash;for the clothes of Jimmie Dale? Or
+      was it safer to burglarise, as he had once done before, his own mansion on
+      Riverside Drive?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His thoughts were running riot, and he frowned, angry with himself. There
+      was time enough to think of that when he knew that it was the police
+      against whom he had to match his wits.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well in the shadow of the buildings, he moved swiftly along the side
+      street until he came to the corner of the street on which, halfway down
+      the block, fronted Chang Foo's tea-shop. A glance in that direction, and
+      Jimmie Dale drew a breath of relief. A patrol wagon was backed up to the
+      curb, and a half dozen officers were busy loading it with what was
+      evidently Chang Foo's far from meagre stock of gambling appurtenances;
+      while Chang Foo himself, together with Sam Wah and another attendant, were
+      in the grip of two other officers, waiting possibly for another patrol
+      wagon. There was a crowd, too, but the crowd was at a respectful distance&mdash;on
+      the opposite side of the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale still hugged the corner. A man swaggered out from a doorway,
+      quite close to Chang Foo's, and came on along the street. As the other
+      reached the corner, Jimmie Dale sidled forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Ello, Chick!&rdquo; he said, out of the corner of his mouth. &ldquo;Wot's de lay?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Ello, Larry!&rdquo; returned the other. &ldquo;Aw, nuthin'! De nutcracker on Chang,
+      dat's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I t'ought mabbe dey was lookin' for some guy dat was in dere,&rdquo; observed
+      Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nuthin' doin'!&rdquo; the other answered. &ldquo;I was in dere meself. De whole mob
+      beat it clean, an' de bulls never batted an eye. Didn't youse pipe me make
+      me get-away outer Shanghai's a minute ago? De bulls never went nowhere
+      except into Chang's. Dere's a new lootenant in de precinct inaugeratin'
+      himself, dat's all. S'long, Larry&mdash;I gotta date.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;S'long, Chick!&rdquo; responded Jimmie Dale&mdash;and started slowly back along
+      the cross street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not the police, then, who were interested in his movements! Then
+      who? He shook his head with a little, savage, impotent gesture. One thing
+      was clear: it was too early to risk a return to the Sanctuary and attempt
+      the rehabilitation of Jimmie Dale. If any one was on the hunt for Larry
+      the Bat, the Sanctuary would be the last place to be overlooked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned the next corner, hesitated a moment in front of a garishly
+      lighted dance hall, and finally shuffled in through the door, made his way
+      across the floor, nodding here and there to the elite of gangland, and,
+      with a somewhat arrogant air of proprietorship, sat down at a table in the
+      corner. Little better than a tramp in appearance, certainly the most
+      disreputable-looking object in the place, even the waiter who approached
+      him accorded him a certain curious deference&mdash;was not Larry the Bat
+      the most celebrated dope fiend below the dead line?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gimme a mug o' suds!&rdquo; ordered Jimmie Dale, and sprawled royally back in
+      his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Under the rim of his slouch hat, pulled now far over his eyes, he searched
+      the faces around him. If he had been asked to pick the actors for a revel
+      from the scum of the underworld, he could not have improved upon the
+      gathering. There were perhaps a hundred men and women in the room, the
+      majority dancing, and, with the exception of a few sight-seeing slummers,
+      they were men and women whose acquaintance with the police was intimate
+      but not cordial&mdash;far from cordial.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders, and sipped at the glass that had been
+      set before him. It was grimly ironic that he should be, not only there,
+      but actually a factor and a part of the underworld's intimate life! He,
+      Jimmie Dale, a wealthy man, a member of New York's exclusive clubs, a
+      member of New York's most exclusive society! It was inconceivable. He
+      smiled sardonically. Was it? Well, then, it was none the less true. His
+      life unquestionably was one unique, apart from any other man's, but it
+      was, for all that, actual and real.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There had been three years of it now&mdash;since SHE had come into his
+      life. Jimmie Dale slouched down a little in his chair. The ice was thin,
+      perilously thin, that he was skating on now. Each letter, with its demand
+      upon him to match his wits against police or underworld, or against both
+      combined, perhaps, made that peril a little greater, a little more
+      imminent&mdash;if that were possible, when already his life was almost
+      literally carried, daily, hourly, in his hand. Not that he rebelled
+      against it; it was worth the price that some day he expected he must pay&mdash;the
+      price of honour, wealth, a name disgraced, ruin, death. Was he quixotic?
+      Immoderately so? He smiled gravely. Perhaps. But he would do it all over
+      again if the choice were his. There were those who blessed the name of the
+      Gray Seal, as well as those who cursed it. And there was the Tocsin!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Who was she? He did not know, but he knew that he had come to love her,
+      come to care for her, and that she had come to mean everything in life to
+      him. He had never seen her, to know her face. He had never seen her face,
+      but he knew her voice&mdash;ay, he had even held her for a moment, the
+      moment of wildest happiness he had ever known, in his arms. That night
+      when he had entered his library, his own particular den in his own house,
+      and in the darkness had found her there&mdash;found her finally through no
+      effort of his own, when he had searched so fruitlessly for years to find
+      her, using every resource at his command to find her! And she, because she
+      had come of her own volition, relying upon him, had held him in honour to
+      let her go as she had come&mdash;without looking upon her face! Exquisite
+      irony! But she had made him a promise then&mdash;that the work of the Gray
+      Seal was nearly over&mdash;that soon there would be an end to the mystery
+      that surrounded her&mdash;that he should know all&mdash;that he should
+      know HER.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He smiled again, but it was a twisted smile on the mechanically misshapen
+      lips of Larry the Bat. NEARLY over! Who knew? That &ldquo;nearly&rdquo; might be too
+      late! Even tonight he had been shadowed, was skulking even now in this
+      place as a refuge. Who knew? Another hour, and the newsboys might be
+      shrieking their &ldquo;Uxtra! Uxtra! De Gray Seal caught! De millionaire Jimmie
+      Dale de Jekyll an' Hyde of real life!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale straightened up suddenly in his seat. There was a shout, an
+      oath bawled out high above the riot of noise, a chorus of feminine shrieks
+      from across the room. What was the matter with the underworld to-night? He
+      seemed fated to find nothing but centres of disturbance&mdash;first a raid
+      at Chang Foo's, and now this. What was the matter here? They were
+      stampeding toward him from the other side of the room. There was the roar
+      of a revolver shot&mdash;another. Black Ike! He caught an instant's
+      glimpse of the gunman's distorted face through the crowd. That was it
+      probably&mdash;a row over some moll.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then, as Jimmie Dale lunged up from his chair to his feet to escape
+      the rush, pandemonium itself seemed to break loose. Yells, shots, screams,
+      and oaths filled the air. The crowd surged this way and that. Tables were
+      overturned and sent crashing to the floor. And then came sudden darkness,
+      as some one of the attendants in misguided excitability switched off the
+      lights.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The darkness but served to increase the panic, not allay it. With a savage
+      snap of his jaws, Jimmie Dale swung from his table in the corner with the
+      intention of making his way out by a side door behind him&mdash;it was a
+      case of the police again, and the patrolman outside would probably be
+      pulling a riot call by now. And the police&mdash;He stopped suddenly, as
+      though he had been struck. An envelope, thrust there out of the darkness,
+      was in his hand; and her voice, HERS, the Tocsin's, was sounding in his
+      ears:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jimmie! Jimmie! I've been trying all evening to catch you! Quick! Get to
+      the Sanctuary and change your clothes. There's not an instant to lose!
+      It's for my sake to-night!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And then a surging mob was around him on every side, and, pushing,
+      jostling, half lifting him at times from his feet, carried him forward
+      with its rush, and with him in its midst burst through the door and out
+      into the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER II
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE CALL TO ARMS
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Not a sound as the key turned in the lock; not a sound as the door swung
+      back on its carefully oiled hinges; not a sound as Larry the Bat slipped
+      like a shadow into the blackness of the room, closing the door behind him
+      again. With a tread as noiseless as a cat's, he was across the room to
+      satisfy himself that the shutters were tightly closed; and then the single
+      gas jet flared up, murky, yellow, illuminating the miserable, squalid room&mdash;the
+      Sanctuary&mdash;the home of Larry the Bat. There was need for silence,
+      need for caution. In five minutes, ten at the outside, he must emerge
+      again&mdash;as Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a smile on his lips that mingled curiously chagrin and
+      self-commiseration, he took the letter from his pocket and tore it open.
+      It was she, then, who had been following him all evening, and, like a
+      blundering idiot, he had wasted precious, perhaps irreparable, hours! What
+      had she meant by &ldquo;It's for my sake to-night&rdquo;? The words had been ringing
+      in his ears since the moment she had whispered them in that panic-stricken
+      crowd. Was it not always for her sake that he answered these calls to
+      arms? Was it not always for her sake that he, as the Gray Seal, was&mdash;The
+      mental soliloquy came to an abrupt end. He had subconsciously read the
+      first sentence of the letter, and now, with sudden feverish eagerness and
+      excitement, he was reading it to the last word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;DEAR PHILANTHROPIC CROOK: In an hour after you receive this, if all goes
+      well, you shall know everything&mdash;everything. Who I am&mdash;yes, and
+      my name. It has been more than three years now, hasn't it? It has been
+      incomprehensible to you, but there has been no other way. I dared not take
+      the chance of discovery by any one; I dared not expose you to the risk of
+      being known by me. Your life would not have been worth a moment's
+      purchase. Oh, Jimmie, am I only making the mystery more mystifying? But
+      to-night, I think, I hope, I pray that it is all at an end: though against
+      me, and against you to-night when you go to help me, is the most powerful
+      and pitiless organisation of criminals that the world has ever known; and
+      the stake we are playing for is a fortune of millions&mdash;and my life.
+      And yet somehow I am afraid now, just because the end is so near, and the
+      victory seems so surely won. And so, Jimmie, be careful; use all that
+      wonderful cleverness of yours as you have never used it before, and&mdash;But
+      there should be no need for that, it is so simple a thing that I am going
+      to ask you to do. Why am I writing so illogically! Nothing, surely, can
+      possibly happen. This is not like one of my usual letters, is it? I am
+      beside myself to-night with hope, anxiety, fear, and excitement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen, then, Jimmie: Be at the northeast corner of Sixth Avenue and
+      Waverly Place at exactly half-past ten. A taxicab will drive up, as though
+      you had signalled it in passing, and the chauffeur will say: 'I've another
+      fare, in half an hour, sir, but I can get you most anywhere in that time.'
+      You will be smoking a cigarette. Toss it out into the street, make any
+      reply you like, and get into the cab. Give the chauffeur that little ring
+      of mine with the crest of the bell and belfry and the motto, 'Sonnez le
+      Tocsin,' that you found the night old Isaac Pelina was murdered, and the
+      chauffeur will give you in exchange a sealed packet of papers. He will
+      drive you to your home, and I will telephone to you there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I need not tell you to destroy this. Keep the appointment in your proper
+      person&mdash;as Jimmie Dale. Carry nothing that might identify you as the
+      Gray Seal if any accident should happen. And, lastly, trust the pseudo
+      chauffeur absolutely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no signature. Her letters were never signed. He stood for a
+      moment staring at the closely written sheets in his hand, a heightened
+      colour in his cheeks, his lips pressed tightly together&mdash;and then his
+      fingers automatically began to tear the letter into pieces, and the pieces
+      again into little shreds. To-night! It was to be to-night, the end of all
+      this mystery. To-night was to see the end of this dual life of his, with
+      its constant peril! To-night the Gray Seal was to exit from the stage
+      forever! To-night, a wonderful climax of the years, he was to see HER!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His blood was quickened now, his heart pounding in a faster beat; a mad
+      elation, a fierce uplift was upon him. He thrust the torn bits of paper
+      into his pocket hurriedly, stepped across the room to the corner, rolled
+      back the oilcloth, and lifted up the loose plank in the flooring, so
+      innocently dustladen, as, more than once, to have eluded the eyes of
+      inquisitive visitors in the shape of police and plain clothes men from
+      headquarters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the space beneath he removed a neatly folded pile of clothes, laid
+      these on the bed, and began to undress. He was working rapidly now. Tiny
+      pieces of wax were removed from his nostrils, from under his lips, from
+      behind his ears; water from a cracked pitcher poured into a battered tin
+      basin, and mixed with a few drops of some liquid from a bottle which he
+      procured from its hiding place under the flooring, banished the make-up
+      stain from his face, his neck, his wrists, and hands as if by magic. It
+      was a strange metamorphosis that had taken place&mdash;the coarse,
+      brutal-featured, blear-eyed, leering countenance of Larry the Bat was
+      gone, and in its place, clean-cut, square-jawed, clear-eyed, was the face
+      of Jimmie Dale. And where before had slouched a slope-shouldered,
+      misshapen, flabby creature, a broad-shouldered form well over six feet in
+      height now stood erect, and under the clean white skin the muscles of an
+      athlete, like knobs of steel played back and forth with every movement of
+      his body.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the streaked and broken mirror Jimmie Dale surveyed himself critically,
+      methodically, and, with a nod of satisfaction, hastily donned the
+      fashionably cut suit of tweeds upon the bed. He rummaged then through the
+      ragged garments he had just discarded, transferred to his pockets a roll
+      of bills and his automatic, and paused hesitantly, staring at the thin
+      metal case, like a cigarette case, that he held in the palm of his hand.
+      He shrugged his shoulders a little whimsically; it seemed strange indeed
+      that he was through with that! He snapped it open. Within, between sheets
+      of oil paper, lay the scores of little diamond-shaped, gray-coloured,
+      adhesive paper seals&mdash;the insignia of the Gray Seal. Yes, it seemed
+      strange that he was never to use another! He closed the case, gathered up
+      the clothes of Larry the Bat, tucked the case in among them, and shoved
+      the bundle into the hole under the flooring. All these things would have
+      to be destroyed, but there was not time to-night; to-morrow, or the next
+      day, would do for that. What would it be like to live a normal life again,
+      without the menace of danger lurking on every hand, without that grim
+      slogan of the underworld, &ldquo;Death to the Gray Seal!&rdquo; or that savage fiat of
+      the police, &ldquo;The Gray Seal, dead or alive&mdash;but the Gray Seal!&rdquo;
+       forever ringing in his ears? What would it be like, this new life&mdash;with
+      her?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The thought was thrilling him again, bringing again that eager, exultant
+      uplift. In an hour, ONE hour, and the barriers of years would be swept
+      away, and she would be in his arms!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's for my sake to-night!&rdquo; His face grew suddenly tense, as the words
+      came back to him. That &ldquo;hour&rdquo; wasn't over yet! It was no hysterical
+      exaggeration that had prompted her to call her enemies the most powerful
+      and pitiless organisation of criminals that the world had ever known. It
+      was not the Tocsin's way to exaggerate. The words would be literally true.
+      The very life she had led for the three years that had gone stood out now
+      as a grim proof of her assertion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale replaced the flooring, carefully brushed the dust back into
+      the cracks, spread the oilcloth into place, and stood up. Who and what was
+      this organisation? What was between it and the Tocsin? What was this
+      immense fortune that was at stake? And what was this priceless packet that
+      was so crucial, that meant victory now, ay, and her life, too, she had
+      said?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The questions swept upon him in a sort of breathless succession. Why had
+      she not let him play a part in this? True, she had told him why&mdash;that
+      she dared not expose him to the risk. Risk! Was there any risk that the
+      Gray Seal had not taken, and at her instance! He did not understand, he
+      smiled a little uncertainly, as he reached up to turn out the gas. There
+      were a good many things that he did not understand about the Tocsin!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The room was in darkness, and with the darkness Jimmie Dale's mind centred
+      on the work immediately before him. To enter the tenement where he was
+      known and had an acknowledged right as Larry the Bat was one thing; for
+      Jimmie Dale to be discovered there was quite another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He crossed the room, opened the door silently, stood for a moment
+      listening, then stepped out into the black, musty, ill-smelling hallway,
+      closing the door behind him. He stooped and locked it. The querulous cry
+      of a child reached him from somewhere above&mdash;a murmur of voices,
+      muffled by closed doors, from everywhere. How many families were housed
+      beneath that sordid roof he had never known, only that there was miserable
+      poverty there as well as vice and crime, only that Larry the Bat, who
+      possessed a room all to himself, was as some lordly and super-being to
+      these fellow tenants who shared theirs with so many that there was not air
+      enough for all to breathe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had no doors to pass&mdash;his was next to the staircase. He began to
+      descend. They could scream and shriek, those stairs, like aged humans,
+      twisted and rheumatic, at the least ungentle touch. But there was no sound
+      from them now. There seemed something almost uncanny in the silent tread.
+      Stair after stair he descended, his entire weight thrown gradually upon
+      one foot before the other was lifted. The strain upon the muscles, trained
+      and hardened as they were, told. As he moved from the bottom step, he
+      wiped little beads of perspiration from his forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door, now, that gave on the alleyway! He opened it, slipped outside,
+      darted across the narrow lane, stole along where the shadows of the fence
+      were blackest, paused, listening, as he reached the end of the alleyway,
+      to assure himself that there was no near-by pedestrian&mdash;and stepped
+      out into the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He kept on along the block, turned into the Bowery, and, under the first
+      lamp, consulted his watch. It was a quarter past ten. He could make it
+      easily in a leisurely walk. He continued on up the Bowery, finally crossed
+      to Broadway, and shortly afterward turned into Waverly Place. At the
+      corner of Fifth Avenue he consulted his watch again&mdash;and now he
+      lighted a cigarette. Sixth Avenue was only a block away. At precisely
+      half-past ten, to the second, he halted on the designated corner, smoking
+      nonchalantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A taxicab, coincidentally coming from an uptown direction, swung in to the
+      curb.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Taxi, sir? Yes, sir?&rdquo; Then, with an admirable mingling of eagerness to
+      secure the fare and a fear that his confession might cause him the loss of
+      it: &ldquo;I've another fare in half an hour, sir, but I can get you most
+      anywhere in that time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's cigarette was tossed carelessly into the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;St. James Club!&rdquo; he said curtly, and stepped into the cab.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cab started forward, turned the corner, and headed along Waverly Place
+      toward Broadway. The chauffeur twisted around in his seat in a
+      matter-of-fact way, as though to ask further directions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you anything for me?&rdquo; he inquired casually.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It lay where it always lay, that ring, between the folds of that little
+      white glove in his pocketbook. Jimmie Dale took it out now, and handed it
+      silently to the chauffeur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The other's face changed instantly&mdash;composure was gone, and a quick,
+      strained look was in its place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid I've been watched,&rdquo; he said tersely. &ldquo;Look behind you, will
+      you, and tell me if you see anything?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale glanced backward through the little window in the hood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's another taxi just turned in from Sixth Avenue,&rdquo; he reported the
+      next instant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep your eye on it!&rdquo; instructed the chauffeur shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The speed of the cab increased sensibly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a curious tightening of his lips, Jimmie Dale settled himself in his
+      seat so that he could watch the cab behind. There was trouble coming,
+      intuitively he sensed that; and, he reflected bitterly, he might have
+      known! It was too marvellous, too wonderful ever to come to pass that this
+      one hour, the thought of which had fired his blood and made him glad
+      beyond any gladness life had ever held for him before, should bring its
+      promised happiness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where's the cab now?&rdquo; the chauffeur flung back over his shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They had passed Fifth Avenue, and were nearing Broadway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About the same distance behind,&rdquo; Jimmie Dale answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That looks bad!&rdquo; the chauffeur gritted between his teeth. &ldquo;We'll have to
+      make sure. I'll run down Lower Broadway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you think we're followed,&rdquo; suggested Jimmie Dale quietly, &ldquo;why not run
+      uptown and give them the slip somewhere where the traffic is thick? Lower
+      Broadway at this time of night is as empty and deserted as a country
+      road.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The chauffeur's sudden laugh was mirthless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God, you don't know what you are talking about!&rdquo; he burst out. &ldquo;If
+      they're following, all hell couldn't throw them off the track. And I've
+      got to know, I've got to be SURE before I dare make a move to-night. I
+      couldn't tell up in the crowded districts if I was followed, could I? They
+      won't come out into the open until their hands are forced.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The car swerved sharply, rounded the corner, and, speeding up faster and
+      faster, began to tear down Lower Broadway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Watch! WATCH!&rdquo; cried the chauffeur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no word between them for a moment; then Jimmie Dale spoke
+      crisply:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's turned the corner! It's coming this way!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The taxicab was rocking violently with the speed; silent, empty, Lower
+      Broadway stretched away ahead. Apart from an occasional street car,
+      probably there would be nothing between them and the Battery. Jimmie Dale
+      glanced at his companion's face as a light, flashing by, threw it into
+      relief. It was set and stern, even a little haggard; but, too, there was
+      something else there, something that appealed instantly to Jimmie Dale&mdash;a
+      sort of bulldog grit that dominated it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he holds our speed, we'll know!&rdquo; the chauffeur was shouting now to
+      make himself heard over the roar of the car. &ldquo;Look again! Where is it
+      now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Once more Jimmie Dale looked through the little rear window. The cab had
+      been a block behind them when it had turned the corner, and he watched it
+      now in a sort of grim fascination. There was no possible doubt of it! The
+      two bobbing, bouncing headlights were creeping steadily nearer. And then a
+      sort of unnatural calm settled upon Jimmie Dale, and his hand went
+      mechanically to his pocket to feel his automatic there, as he turned again
+      to the chauffeur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you've got any more speed, you'd better use it!&rdquo; he said
+      significantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man shot a quick look at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They are following us? You are SURE?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The chauffeur laughed again in that mirthless, savage way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lean over here, where I can talk to you!&rdquo; he rasped out. &ldquo;The game's up,
+      as far as I am concerned, I guess! But there's a chance for you. They
+      don't know you in this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give her more speed&mdash;or dodge into a cross street!&rdquo; suggested Jimmie
+      Dale coolly. &ldquo;They haven't got us yet, by a long way!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The other shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's not only that cab behind,&rdquo; he answered, through set lips. &ldquo;You don't
+      know what we're up against. If they're really after us, there's a trap
+      laid in every section of this city&mdash;the devils! It's the package they
+      want. Thank God for the presentiment that made me leave it behind! I was
+      going back for it, you understand, if I was satisfied that we weren't
+      followed. Listen! There's a chance for you&mdash;there's none for me. That
+      package&mdash;remember this!&mdash;no one else knows where it is, and it's
+      life and death to the one who sent you here. It's in Box 428 at&mdash;My
+      God, LOOK! Look there!&rdquo; he yelled, and, with a wrench at the wheel, sent
+      the taxi lurching and staggering for the car tracks in the centre of the
+      street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The scene, fast as thought itself, was photographing itself in every
+      detail upon Jimmie Dale's brain. From the cross street ahead, one from
+      each corner, two motor cars had nosed out into Broadway, blocking the road
+      on both sides. And now the car on the left-hand side was moving forward
+      across the tracks to counteract the chauffeur's move, deliberately
+      insuring a collision. There was no chance, no further room to turn, no
+      time to stop&mdash;the man driving the other car jumped for safety&mdash;they
+      would be into it in an instant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Box 428!&rdquo; Jimmie pleaded fiercely. &ldquo;Go on, man! Go on! FINISH!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes!&rdquo; cried the chauffeur. &ldquo;John Johansson, at&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Jimmie Dale heard no more. There was the crash of impact as the
+      taxicab plowed into the car that had been so craftily manoeuvered in front
+      of it, and Jimmie Dale, lifted from his feet, was hurled violently forward
+      with the shock, and all went black before his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER III
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE CRIME CLUB
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      For what length of time he had remained unconscious, Jimmie Dale had not
+      the slightest idea. He regained his senses to find himself lying on a
+      couch in a strange room that had a most exquisitely brass-wrought dome
+      light in the ceiling. That was what attracted his attention, because the
+      light hurt his eyes, and his head was already throbbing as though a
+      thousand devils were beating a diabolical tattoo upon it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He closed his eyes against the light. Where was he? What had happened? Oh,
+      yes, he remembered now! That smash on Lower Broadway! He had been hurt. He
+      moved first one limb and then another tentatively, and was relieved to
+      find that, though his body ached as if it had been severely shaken, and
+      his head was bad, he had apparently escaped without serious injury.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where was he? In a hospital? His fingers, resting at his side upon the
+      couch, supplied him with the information that it was a very expensive
+      couch, upholstered in finest leather. If he were in a hospital, he would
+      be in a cot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He opened his eyes again to glance curiously around him. The room was
+      quite in keeping with the artistic lighting fixture and the refined, if
+      expensive, taste that was responsible for the couch. A heavy velvet rug of
+      rich, dark green was bordered by a polished hardwood floor; panellings of
+      dark-green frieze and beautifully grained woodwork made the lower walls;
+      while above, on a background of some soft-toned paper, hung a few, and
+      evidently choice, oil paintings. There was a big, inviting lounging chair;
+      a massive writing table, or more properly, a desk of walnut; and behind
+      the desk, his back half turned, apparently intent upon a book, sat a man
+      in immaculate evening dress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale closed his eyes again. There was something reassuring about it
+      all, comfortably reassuring. Though why there should be any occasion for a
+      feeling of reassurance at all, he could not for the moment make out. And
+      then, in a sudden flash, the details of the night came back to him. The
+      Tocsin's letter&mdash;the package he was to get&mdash;the taxicab&mdash;the
+      chauffeur, who was not a chauffeur&mdash;the chase&mdash;the trap. He lay
+      perfectly still. It was the professional Jimmie Dale now whose brain, in
+      spite of the throbbing, brutally aching head, was at work, keen, alert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The chauffeur! What had happened to him? Had the man been killed in the
+      auto smash; or, less fortunate than himself, fallen into the hands of
+      those whose power he seemed both to fear and rate so highly? And that
+      package! Box&mdash;what was the number?&mdash;yes, 428. What did that
+      mean? What box? Where was it? Who was John Johansson? He hadn't heard any
+      more than that; the smash had come then. And lastly, he was back again to
+      the same question he had begun with: Where was he now himself? It looked
+      as though some good Samaritan had picked him up. Who was this gentleman so
+      quietly reading there at the desk?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale opened his eyes for the third time. How still, how absolutely
+      silent the room was! He studied the man's back speculatively for a moment,
+      then his gaze travelled on past the man to the wall, riveted there, and
+      his fingers, without movement of his arm, pressed against the outside of
+      his coat pocket. He thought as much! His automatic was gone!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not a muscle of Jimmie Dale's face moved. His eyes shifted to a picture on
+      the wall. THE MAN WAS WATCHING HIM&mdash;NOT READING! Just above the level
+      of the desk, a small mirror held the couch in focus&mdash;but, equally, it
+      held the man in focus, and Jimmie Dale had seen the other's eyes, through
+      a black mask that covered the face to the top of the upper lip, fixed
+      intently upon him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a chill now where before there had been reassurance, something
+      ominous in the very quiet and refinement of the room; and Jimmie Dale
+      smiled inwardly in bitter irony&mdash;his good Samaritan wore a mask! His
+      self-congratulations had come too soon. Whatever had happened to the
+      chauffeur, it was evident enough that he himself was caught! What was it
+      the chauffeur had said? Something about a chance through being unknown.
+      Was it to be a battle of wits, then? God, if his head did not ache so
+      frightfully! It was hard to think with the brain half sick with pain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Those two eyes shining in that mirror! There seemed something horribly
+      spectre-like about it. He did not look again, but he knew they were there.
+      It was like a cat watching a mouse. Why did not the man speak, or move, or
+      do something, and&mdash;He turned his head slowly; the man was laughing in
+      a low, amused way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You appear to be taken with that picture,&rdquo; observed a pleasant voice.
+      &ldquo;Perhaps you recognise it from there? It is a Corot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale, with a well-simulated start, sat up&mdash;and, with another
+      quite as well simulated, stared at the masked man. The other had laid down
+      his book, and swung around in his chair to face the couch. Jimmie Dale
+      stood up a little shakily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here!&rdquo; he said awkwardly. &ldquo;I&mdash;I don't quite understand. I
+      remember that my taxi got into a smash-up, and I suppose I have to thank
+      you for the assistance you must have rendered me; only, as I say&rdquo;&mdash;he
+      looked in a puzzled way around the room, and in an even more perplexed way
+      at the mask on the other's face&mdash;&ldquo;I must confess I am at a loss to
+      understand quite the meaning of this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Suppose that instead of trying to understand you simply accept things as
+      you find them.&rdquo; The voice was soft, but there was a finality in it that
+      its blandness only served to make the more suggestive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale drew himself up, and bowed coldly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg your pardon,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I did not mean to intrude. I have only to
+      thank you again, then, and bid you good-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lips beneath the mask parted slightly in a politely deprecating smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is no hurry,&rdquo; said the man, a sudden sharpness creeping into his
+      tones. &ldquo;I am sorry that the rule I apply to you does not work both ways.
+      For instance, I might be quite at a loss to account for your presence in
+      that taxicab.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's smile was equally polite, equally deprecating.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I fail to see how it could be of the slightest possible interest to you,&rdquo;
+       he replied. &ldquo;However, I have no objection to telling you. I hailed the
+      taxi at the corner of Sixth Avenue and Waverly Place, told the chauffeur
+      to drive me to the St. James Club, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The St. James Club,&rdquo; broke in the other coldly, &ldquo;is, I believe, north,
+      not SOUTH of Waverly Place&mdash;and on Broadway not at all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale stared at the other for an instant in patient annoyance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am quite well aware of that,&rdquo; he said stiffly. &ldquo;Nevertheless I told the
+      man to drive me to the St. James Club. We came across Waverly Place, but
+      on reaching Broadway, instead of turning uptown, he suddenly whirled in
+      the other direction and sent the car flying at full speed down Lower
+      Broadway. I shouted at the man. I don't know yet whether he was drunk or
+      crazy or&rdquo;&mdash;Jimmie Dale's eyes fixed disdainfully on the other's mask&mdash;&ldquo;whether
+      there might not, after all, have been method in his madness. I can only
+      say that before we had gone more than two or three blocks, a wild effort
+      on his part to avoid a collision with an auto swinging out from a side
+      street resulted in an even more disastrous smash with another on the other
+      side, and I was knocked senseless.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Victim,' I presume, is the idea you desire to convey,&rdquo; observed the
+      other evenly. &ldquo;You were quite the victim of circumstances, as it were!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's eyebrows lifted slightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It would appear to be fairly obvious, I should say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very clever!&rdquo; commented the man. &ldquo;But now suppose we remove the buttons
+      from the foils!&rdquo; His voice rasped suddenly. &ldquo;You are quite as well aware
+      as I am that what has happened to-night was not an accident. Nor&mdash;in
+      case the possibility may have occurred to you&mdash;are the police any the
+      wiser, save for the existence of two wrecked cars on Lower Broadway, and
+      another which escaped, and for which doubtless they are still searching
+      assiduously. The ownership of the taxicab you so inadvertently entered
+      they will have no difficulty in establishing&mdash;you, perhaps, however,
+      are in a better position than I am to appreciate the fact that the
+      establishment of its ownership will lead them nowhere. As I understand it,
+      the man who drove you to-night obtained the loan of the cab from one of
+      the company's chauffeur's in return for a hundred-dollar bill. Am I
+      right?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In view of what has happened,&rdquo; admitted Jimmie Dale simply, &ldquo;I should not
+      be surprised.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a sort of sardonic admiration in the other's laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As for the other car,&rdquo; he went on, &ldquo;I can assure you that its ownership
+      will never be known. When the nearest patrolman rushed up, there were no
+      survivors of the disaster, save those in the third car which he was
+      powerless to stop&mdash;which accounts for your presence here. You will
+      admit that I have been quite frank.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, quite!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, a little wearily. &ldquo;But would you mind
+      telling me what all this is leading to?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man had been leaning forward in his chair, one hand, palm downward,
+      resting lightly on the desk. He shifted his hand now suddenly to the arm
+      of his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;THIS!&rdquo; he said, and on the desk where his hand had been lay the Tocsin's
+      gold signet ring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's face expressed mild curiosity. He could feel the other's
+      eyes boring into him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We were speaking of ownership,&rdquo; said the man, in a low, menacing tone. &ldquo;I
+      want to know where the woman who owns this ring can be found to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no play, no trifling here; the man was in deadly earnest. But it
+      seemed to Jimmie Dale, even with the sense of peril more imminent with
+      every instant, that he could have laughed outright in savage mockery at
+      the irony of the question. Where was she? Even WHO was she? And this was
+      the hour in which he was to have known!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I look at it?&rdquo; he requested calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The other nodded, but his eyes never left Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It will give you an extra moment or so to frame your answer,&rdquo; he said
+      sarcastically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale ignored the thrust, picked up the ring, examined it
+      deliberately, and set it back again on the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Since I do not know who owns it,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I cannot answer your
+      question.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No! Well, then, there is still another matter&mdash;a little package that
+      was in the taxicab with you. Where is that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See here!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale irritably. &ldquo;This has gone far enough! I have
+      seen no package, large or small, or of any description whatever. You are
+      evidently mistaking me for some one else. You have only to telephone to
+      the St. James Club.&rdquo; He reached toward his pocket for his cardcase. &ldquo;My
+      name is&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dale,&rdquo; supplied the other curtly. &ldquo;Don't bother about the card, Mr. Dale.
+      We have already taken the liberty of searching you.&rdquo; He rose abruptly from
+      his chair. &ldquo;I am afraid you do not quite realise your position, Mr. Dale,&rdquo;
+       he said, with an ominous smile. &ldquo;Let me make it clear. I do not wish to be
+      theatrical about this, but we do not temporise here. You will either
+      answer both of those questions to my satisfaction, OR YOU WILL NEVER LEAVE
+      THIS PLACE ALIVE.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's face hardened. His eyes met the other's steadily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, I think I begin to see!&rdquo; he said caustically. &ldquo;When I have been
+      thoroughly frightened I shall be offered my freedom at a price. A sort of
+      up-to-date game of holdup! The penalty of being a wealthy man! If you had
+      named your figure to begin with, we would have saved a lot of idle talk,
+      and you would have had my answer the sooner: NOTHING!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know,&rdquo; said the other, in a grimly musing way, &ldquo;there has always
+      been one man, but only one until now, that I have wished I might add to my
+      present associates. I refer to the so-called Gray Seal. To-night there are
+      two. I pay you the compliment of being the other. But&rdquo;&mdash;he was
+      smiling ominously again&mdash;&ldquo;we are wasting time, Mr. Dale. I am willing
+      to expose my hand to the extent of admitting that the information you are
+      withholding is infinitely more valuable to me than the mere wreaking of
+      reprisal upon you for a refusal to talk. Therefore, if you will answer, I
+      pledge you my word you will be free to leave here within five minutes. If
+      you refuse, you are already aware of the alternative. Well, Mr. Dale?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Who was this man? Jimmie Dale was studying the other's chin, the lips, the
+      white, even teeth, the jet-black hair. Some day the tables might be
+      turned. Could he recognise again this cool, imperturbable ruffian who so
+      callously threatened him with murder?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Mr. Dale? I am waiting!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not a magician,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale contemptuously. &ldquo;I could not
+      answer your questions if I wanted to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The other's hand slid instantly to a row of electric buttons on the desk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, Mr. Dale!&rdquo; he said quietly. &ldquo;You do not believe, I see, that I
+      would dare to carry my threat into execution; you perhaps even doubt my
+      power. I shall take the trouble to convince you&mdash;I imagine it will
+      stimulate your memory.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The door opened. Two men were standing on the threshold, both in evening
+      dress, both masked. The man behind the desk came forward, took Jimmie
+      Dale's arm almost courteously, and led him from the room out into a
+      corridor, where he halted abruptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to call your attention first, Mr. Dale, to the fact that as far as
+      you are concerned you neither have now, nor ever will have, any idea
+      whether you are in the heart of New York or fifty miles away from it. Now,
+      listen! Do you hear anything?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was nothing. Only the strange silence of that other room was
+      intensified now. There was not a sound; stillness such as it seemed to
+      Jimmie Dale he had never experienced before was around him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may possibly infer from the silence that you are NOT in the city,&rdquo;
+       suggested the other, after a moment's pause. &ldquo;I leave you to your own
+      conclusions in that respect. The cause, however, of the silence is
+      internal, not external; we had sound-proof principles in mind to a perhaps
+      exaggerated degree when this building was constructed. If you care to do
+      so, you have my permission to shout, say, for help, to your heart's
+      content. We shall make no effort to stop you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders. He was staring down a brilliantly
+      lighted, richly carpeted corridor. There were doors on one side, windows
+      on the other, the windows all hung with heavy, closely drawn portieres.
+      The corridor was certainly not on the ground floor, but whether it was on
+      the second or third, or even above that again, he had no means of knowing.
+      From appearances, though, the place seemed more like a large, private
+      mansion than anything else.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just one word more before we proceed,&rdquo; continued the other. &ldquo;I do not
+      wish you to labour under any illusion. Here we are frankly criminals. This
+      is our home. It should have some effect in impressing you with the power
+      and resource at our command, and also with the class of men with whom you
+      are dealing. There is not one among us whose education is not fully equal
+      to your own; not one, indeed, but who is chosen, granting first his
+      criminal tendencies, because he is a specialist in his own particular
+      field&mdash;in commerce, in the government diplomatic service, in the
+      professions of law and medicine, in the ranks of pure science. We are
+      bordering on the fantastical, are we not? Dreaming, you will probably say,
+      of the Utopian in crime organisation. Quite so, Mr. Dale. I only ask you
+      to consider the POSSIBILITIES if what I say is true. Now let us proceed. I
+      am going to take you into three rooms&mdash;the three whose doors you see
+      ahead of you. You will notice that, including the one you have just left,
+      there are four on this corridor. I do not wish to strain your credulity,
+      or play tricks upon you; so I am going to ask you to fix an approximate
+      idea of the length of the corridor in your mind, as it will perhaps enable
+      you to account more readily for what may appear to be a discrepancy in the
+      corresponding size of the rooms.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      One of the men opened the door ahead. Jimmie Dale, at a sign from his
+      conductor, moved forward and entered. Just what he had expected to find he
+      could not have told; his brain was whirling, partly from his aching head,
+      partly from his desperate effort to conceive some way of escape from the
+      peril which, for all his nonchalance, he knew only too well was the
+      gravest he had ever faced; but what he saw was simply a cozily furnished
+      bedroom. There was nothing peculiar about it; nothing out of the way,
+      except perhaps that it was rather narrow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then suddenly, rubbing his eyes involuntarily, he was staring in a
+      dazed way before him. The whole right-hand side of the wall was sinking
+      without a sound into the floor, increasing the width of the room by some
+      five or six feet&mdash;and in this space was disclosed what appeared to be
+      a sort of chemical laboratory, elaborately equipped, extending the entire
+      length of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The wall is purely a matter of mechanical construction, operated
+      hydraulically.&rdquo; The man was speaking softly at Jimmie Dale's side. &ldquo;The
+      room beneath is built to correspond; the base, ceiling, and wall mouldings
+      here do not have to be very ingenious to effect a disguise. I might say,
+      however, that few visitors, other than yourself, have ever seen anything
+      here but a bedroom.&rdquo; He waved his hand toward the retorts, the racks of
+      test tubes, the hundred and one articles that strewed the laboratory
+      bench. &ldquo;As for this, its purpose is twofold. We, as well, as the police,
+      have often need of analysis. We make it. If we require a drug, a poison,
+      say, we compound it from its various ingredients, or, as the case may be,
+      distil it, perhaps&mdash;it is, you will agree, somewhat more difficult to
+      trace to its source if procured that way. And speaking of poisons&rdquo;&mdash;he
+      stepped forward, and lifted a glass-stoppered bottle containing a
+      colourless liquid from a shelf&mdash;&ldquo;in a modest way we have even done
+      some original research work here. This, for instance, is as Utopian from
+      our standpoint as the formation, and personnel of the organisation I have
+      briefly outlined to you. It possesses very essential qualities. It is
+      almost instantaneous in its action, requires a very small quantity, and
+      defies detection even by autopsy.&rdquo; He uncorked the bottle, and dipped in a
+      long glass rod. &ldquo;Will you watch the experiment?&rdquo; he invited, with a sort
+      of ghastly pleasantry. &ldquo;I do not want you to accept anything on trust.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a start, Jimmie Dale swung around. He had heard no sound, but another
+      man was at his elbow now&mdash;and, struggling in the man's hand, was a
+      little white rabbit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was over in an instant. A single drop in the rabbit's mouth, and the
+      animal had stiffened out, a lifeless thing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is quite as effective on the human organism,&rdquo; continued the other,
+      &ldquo;only, instead of one drop, three are required. If I make it ten&rdquo;&mdash;he
+      was carefully measuring the liquid into two wineglasses&mdash;&ldquo;it is only
+      that even you may be satisfied that the quantity is fatal.&rdquo; He filled up
+      the glasses with what was apparently wine of some description, which he
+      poured from a decanter, and held out the glasses in front of him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And again Jimmie Dale started, again he had heard no one enter, and yet
+      two men had stepped forward from behind him and had taken the glasses from
+      their leader's hands. He glanced around him, counting quickly&mdash;they
+      were surely the two who had entered with him from the corridor. No!
+      Including the leader, there were now six men, all in evening dress, all
+      masked, in the room with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A wave of the leader's hand, and the two men holding the glasses left the
+      room. The man turned to Jimmie Dale again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall we proceed to the second room, Mr. Dale?&rdquo; he asked politely. &ldquo;I
+      think it is now prepared for us&mdash;I do not wish to bore you with a
+      repetition of magical sliding walls.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was something now that numbed the ache in Jimmie Dale's brain&mdash;a
+      sense of some deadly, remorseless thing that seemed to be constantly
+      creeping closer to him, clutching at him&mdash;to smother him, to choke
+      him. There was something absolutely fiendish, terrifying, in the veneer of
+      culture around him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They had entered the second room. This, like the other, was a
+      pseudo-bedroom; but here the movable wall was already down. Ranged along
+      the right-hand side were a great number of cabinets that slid in and out,
+      much after the style and fashion used by clothing dealers to stock and
+      display their wares. These cabinets were now all open, displaying hundreds
+      of costumes of all kinds and descriptions, and evidently complete to the
+      minutest detail. The cabinets were flanked by full-length mirrors at each
+      end of the room, and on little tables before the mirrors was an
+      assortment, that none better than Jimmie Dale himself could appreciate, of
+      make-up accessories.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man smiled apologetically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am afraid this is rather uninteresting,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I have shown it to
+      you simply that you may understand that we are alive to the importance of
+      detail. Disguise, that is daily vital to us, is an art that depends
+      essentially on detail. I venture to say we could impersonate any character
+      or type or nationality or class in the United States at a moment's notice.
+      But&rdquo;&mdash;he took Jimmie Dale's arm again and conducted him out into the
+      corridor, while the two men who were evidently acting the role of guards
+      followed closely behind&mdash;&ldquo;there is still the third room&mdash;here.&rdquo;
+       He halted Jimmie Dale before the door. &ldquo;I have asked you to answer two
+      questions, Mr. Dale,&rdquo; he said softly. &ldquo;I ask you now to remember the
+      alternative.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They still stood before the door. There was that uncanny silence again&mdash;it
+      seemed to Jimmie Dale to last interminably. Neither of the three men
+      surrounding him moved nor spoke. Then the door before him was opened on an
+      unlighted room, and he was led across the threshold. He heard the door
+      close behind him. The lights came on. And then it seemed as though he
+      could not move, as though he were rooted to the spot&mdash;-and the colour
+      ebbed from his face. Three figures were before him: the two men who had
+      carried the glasses from the first room, and the chauffeur who had driven
+      him in the taxicab. The two men still held the glasses&mdash;the chauffeur
+      was bound hand and foot in a chair. One of the glasses was EMPTY; the
+      other was still significantly full.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale, with a violent effort at self-control, leaned forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man in the chair was dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IV
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE INNOCENT BYSTANDER
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      There was not a sound. That stillness, weird, unnerving, that permeated,
+      as it were, everywhere through that mysterious house, was, if that were
+      possible, accentuated now. The four masked men in evening dress, five
+      including their leader, for the man who had appeared in that other room
+      with the rabbit was not here, were as silent, as motionless, as the dead
+      man who was lashed there in the chair. And to Jimmie Dale it seemed at
+      first as though his brain, stunned and stupefied at the shock, refused its
+      functions, and left him groping blindly, vaguely, with only a sort of
+      dull, subconscious realisation of menace and a deadly peril, imminent,
+      hanging over him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He tried to rouse himself mentally, to prod his brain to action, to pit it
+      in a fight for life against these self-confessed criminals and murderers
+      with their mask of culture, who surrounded him now. Was there a way out?
+      What was it the Tocsin had said&mdash;&ldquo;the most powerful and pitiless
+      organisation of criminals the world has ever known&mdash;the stake a
+      fortune of millions&mdash;her life!&rdquo; There had, indeed, been no
+      overemphasis in the words she had used! They had taken pains themselves to
+      make that ominously clear, these men! Every detail of the strange house,
+      with its luxurious furnishings, its cleverly contrived appointments,
+      breathed a horribly suggestive degree of power, a deadly purpose, and an
+      organisation swayed by a master mind; and, grim evidence of the merciless,
+      inexorable length to which they would go, was the ghastly white face of
+      the dead chauffeur, bound hand and foot, in the chair before him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That EMPTY glass in the hand of one of the men! He could not take his eyes
+      from it&mdash;except as his eyes were drawn magnetically to that FULL
+      glass in the hand of one of the others. What height of sardonic irony! He
+      was to drink that other glass, to die because he refused to answer
+      questions that for years, with every resource at his command, risking his
+      liberty, his wealth, his name, his life, with everything that he cared for
+      thrown into the scales, he had struggled to solve&mdash;and failed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then the leader spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Dale,&rdquo; he said, with cold significance, &ldquo;I regret to admit that your
+      pseudo taxicab driver was so ill-advised as to refuse to answer the SAME
+      questions that I have put to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Five to one! That was the only way out&mdash;and it was hopeless. It was
+      the only way out, because, convinced that he could answer those questions
+      if he wanted to, these men were in deadly earnest; it was hopeless,
+      because they were&mdash;five to one! And probably there were as many more,
+      twice or three times as many more within call. But what did it matter how
+      many more there were! He could fight until he was overpowered, that was
+      all he could do, and the five could accomplish that. Still, if he could
+      knock the full glass out of that man's hand, and gain the door, then
+      perhaps&mdash;he turned quickly, as the door opened. It was as though they
+      had read his thoughts. A number of men were grouped outside in the
+      corridor, then the door closed again with a cordon ranged against it
+      inside the room; and at the same instant his arms and wrists were caught
+      in a powerful grasp by the two men immediately behind him, who all along
+      had enacted the role of guards.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again the leader spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will repeat the questions,&rdquo; he said sharply. &ldquo;Where is the woman whose
+      ring was found on that man there in the chair? And where is the package
+      that you two men had with you in the taxicab to-night?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale glanced from the tall, straight, immaculately clothed figure
+      of the speaker, from the threatening smile on the set lips that just
+      showed under the edge of the mask, to the dead man in the chair. He had
+      faced the prospect of death before many times, but it had come with the
+      heat of passion accompanying it, it had come quickly, abruptly, with every
+      faculty called into action to combat it, without time to dwell upon it, to
+      sift, weigh, or measure its meaning, and if there had been fear it had
+      been subordinate to other emotions. But it was different now. He could
+      not, of course, answer those questions; nor, he was doggedly conscious,
+      would he have answered them if he could&mdash;and there was no middle
+      course.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Death, within the next few moments, stared him in the face; and it seemed
+      curiously irrelevant that, in a sort of unnatural calmness, he should be
+      attempting to analyse his feelings and emotions concerning it. All his
+      life it had seemed to him that the acme of human mental torture was the
+      cell of a condemned criminal, with the horror of its hopelessness, with
+      the time to dwell upon it; and that the acme of that torture itself must
+      be that awful moment immediately preceding execution, when anticipation at
+      last was to merge into soul-sickening reality.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Strange that thought should come! Strange that he should be framing a
+      brain picture of such a scene, vivid, minute in detail! No&mdash;not
+      strange. He was picturing himself. The analogy was not perfect, it was
+      true, he had not had the months, weeks, days and hours of suspense; but it
+      was perfect enough to bring home to him with appalling force the
+      realisation of his position. He was standing as a condemned man might
+      stand in those last, final moments, those moments which he had imagined
+      must be the most terrible that could exist in life; but that dismay of
+      soul, the horror, the terror were not his&mdash;there was, instead, a
+      smouldering fury, a passionate amazement that it was his own life that was
+      threatened. It seemed impossible that it could be his voice that was
+      speaking now in such quiet, measured tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it worth while, will it convince you now, any more than before, to
+      repeat that there is some mistake here? I am no more able to answer your
+      questions than you are yourselves. I never saw that man in the chair there
+      in my life until the moment that I hailed him in his cab to-night. I do
+      not know who the woman is to whom that ring belongs, much less do I know
+      where she is. And if there was a package of any sort in the taxicab, as
+      you state, I never saw it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lips under the mask curved into a lupine smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Think well, Mr. Dale!&rdquo; The man's voice was low, menacing. &ldquo;Ethically, if
+      you so choose to consider it, your refusal may be the act of a brave man;
+      practically, it is the act of&mdash;a fool. Now&mdash;your answer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have answered you,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale&mdash;and, relaxing the muscles in
+      his arms, let them hang limply for an instant in the grip of the two men
+      behind him. &ldquo;I have no other answer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was only a sign, a motion of the leader's hand&mdash;but with it, quick
+      as a lightning flash, Jimmie Dale was in action. The limp arms tautened
+      into steel as he wrenched them loose, and, whirling around, he whipped his
+      fist to the chin of one of the two guards.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In an instant, with the blow, as the man staggered backward, the room was
+      in pandemonium. There was a rush from the door, and two, three, four
+      leaping forms hurled themselves upon Jimmie Dale. He shook them off&mdash;and
+      they came again. There was no chance ultimately, he knew that; it was only
+      the elemental within him that rose in fierce revolt at the thought of tame
+      submission, that bade him sell his life as dearly as he could. Panting,
+      gasping for breath, dragging them by sheer strength as they clung to him,
+      he got his back to the wall, fighting with the savage fury and abandon of
+      a wild cat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it could not last. Where one man went down before him, two
+      remorselessly appeared&mdash;the room seemed filled with men&mdash;they
+      poured in through the door&mdash;he laughed at them in a half-demented way&mdash;more
+      and more of them came&mdash;there was no play for his arms, no room to
+      fight&mdash;they seemed so close around him, so many of them upon him,
+      that he could not breathe&mdash;and he was bending, being crushed down as
+      by an intolerable weight. And then his feet were jerked from beneath him,
+      he crashed to the floor, and, in another moment, bound hand and foot, he
+      was tied into a chair beside that other chair whose grim occupant sat in
+      such ghastly apathy of the scene.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The room cleared instantly of all but the original five. His head was
+      drawn suddenly, violently backward, and clamped in that position; and a
+      metal instrument, forced into his mouth, while his lips bled in their
+      resistance, pried jaws apart and held them open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One drop!&rdquo; the leader ordered curtly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man with the full glass bent over him, and dipped a glass rod into the
+      liquid. The drop glistened a ruby red on the end of the rod&mdash;and fell
+      with a sharp, acrid, burning sensation upon Jimmie Dale's tongue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment Jimmie Dale's animation, mental and physical, seemed swept
+      away from him in, as it were, a hiatus of hideous suspense. What was it to
+      be like this passing? Why did it not act at once, as it had acted on the
+      rabbit they had showed him in the other room? Yes, he remembered! It took
+      more than one drop for a man; and besides, this was diluted. One drop had
+      no effect on a man; it required&mdash;Good God, ONE DROP EVEN OF THIS WAS
+      ENOUGH? He strained forward in the chair until the sweat in great beads
+      sprang from his forehead, strained and fought and tore at his bonds in a
+      paroxysm of madness to free himself while there still remained a little
+      strength. There was something filming before his eyes, a numbed feeling
+      was creeping through his limbs, robbing them, sapping them of their
+      vitality and power. He felt himself slipping away into a state of utter
+      weakness, and his brain began to grow confused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A voice seemed to float in the air near him: &ldquo;For the last time&mdash;will
+      you answer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a supreme effort, Jimmie Dale strove to rally his tottering senses.
+      Did they not understand the stupendous mockery of their questions? Did
+      they not understand that he did not know? He had told them so&mdash;perhaps
+      he had better tell them so again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;&rdquo; He tried to speak, and found the words thick upon his tongue.
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;do not&mdash;know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The glass itself was thrust abruptly between his lips. Some of the
+      contents spilled and trickled upon his chin, and then a flood of it,
+      burning, fiery, poured down his throat. A flood of it&mdash;and it needed
+      but THREE drops and there had been TEN in the glass!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So this was death&mdash;a hazy, nebulous thing! There was no pain. It was
+      like&mdash;like&mdash;nothingness. And out of the nothingness SHE came.
+      Strange that she should come! Alone she had fought these fiends and
+      outwitted them for&mdash;how long was it? Three years! She would be more
+      than ever alone now. Pray God she did not finally fall into their
+      clutches!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How it burned now, that fatal draught they had forced down his throat, and
+      how it gripped at him and seemed to eat and bore its way into the very
+      tissues! It was the end, and&mdash;no! It was STIMULATING him! Strength
+      seemed to be returning to his limbs; it seemed as though he were being
+      carried, as though the bonds about him were being loosened; and now his
+      brain seemed to be growing clearer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He roused up with a startled exclamation. He was back in the same room in
+      which he had first returned to consciousness after the accident. He was on
+      the same couch. The same masked figure was at the same desk. Had he been
+      dreaming? Was this then only some horrible, ghastly nightmare through
+      which he had passed?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No, it had been real enough; his clothes, rent and torn, and the blood
+      upon his hands, where the skin had been scraped from his knuckles in the
+      fight, bore evidence to that. He must then have lost consciousness for a
+      while, though it seemed to him that at no moment, hazy, irrational though
+      his brain might have been, had he become entirely oblivious to what was
+      taking place around him. And yet it must have been so!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The eyes from behind the mask were fixed steadily upon him, and below the
+      mask there was the hard, unpleasant set to the lips that Jimmie Dale had
+      grown accustomed to expect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man spoke abruptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That you find yourself alive, Mr. Dale,&rdquo; he said grimly, &ldquo;is no
+      confession of weakness upon the part of those with whom you have had to
+      deal here. To bear witness to that there is one who is not alive, as you
+      have seen. That man we knew. With you it was somewhat different. Your
+      presence in the taxicab was only suspicious. There was always the
+      possibility that you might be one of those ubiquitous 'innocent
+      bystanders.' Your name, your position, the improbability that you could
+      have anything in common with&mdash;shall we say, the matter that so deeply
+      interests us?&mdash;was all in your favour. However, presumption and
+      probability are the tools of fools. We do not depend upon them&mdash;we
+      apply the test. And having applied the test, we are convinced that you
+      have told the truth&mdash;that is all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose from his chair brusquely. &ldquo;I shall not apologise to you for what
+      has happened. I doubt very much if you are in a frame of mind to accept
+      anything of the sort. I imagine, rather, that you are promising yourself
+      that we shall pay, and pay dearly, for this&mdash;that, among other
+      things, we shall answer for the murder of that man in the other room. All
+      this will be quite within your province, Mr. Dale&mdash;and quite
+      fruitless. To-morrow morning the story that you are preparing to tell now
+      would sound incredible even in your own ears; furthermore, as we shall
+      take pains to see that you leave this place with as little knowledge of
+      its location as you obtained when you arrived, your story, even if
+      believed, would do little service to you and less harm to us. I think of
+      nothing more, Mr. Dale, except&mdash;&rdquo; There was a whimsical smile on the
+      lips now. &ldquo;Ah, yes, the matter of your clothes. We can, and shall be glad
+      to make reparation to you to the slight extent of offering you a new suit
+      before you go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale scowled. Sick, shaken, and weak as he was, the cool,
+      imperturbable impudence of the man was fast growing unbearable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man laughed. &ldquo;I am sure you will not refuse, Mr. Dale&mdash;since we
+      insist. The condition of the clothes you have on at present might&mdash;I
+      say 'might'&mdash;in a measure support your story with some degree of
+      tangible evidence. It is not at all likely, of course; but we prefer to
+      discount even so remote a possibility. When you have changed, you will be
+      motored back to your home. I bid you good-night, Mr. Dale.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale rubbed his eyes. The man was gone&mdash;through a door at the
+      rear of the desk, a door that he had not noticed before, that was not even
+      in evidence now, that was simply a movable section of the wall panelling&mdash;and
+      for an instant Jimmie Dale experienced a sense of sickening impotence. It
+      was as though he stood defenceless, unarmed, and utterly at the mercy of
+      some venomous power that could crush what it would remorselessly and at
+      will in its might.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The place was a veritable maze, a lair of hellish cleverness. He had no
+      illusions now, he laboured under no false estimate of either the ingenuity
+      or the resources of this inhuman nest of vultures to whom murder was no
+      more than a matter of detail. And it was against these men that henceforth
+      he was to match his wits! There could be no truce, no armistice. It was
+      their lives, or hers, or his! Well, he was alive now, the first round was
+      over, and so far he had won. His brows furrowed suddenly. Had he? He was
+      not so sure, after all. He was conscious of a disquieting, premonitory
+      intuition that, in some way which he could not explain, the honours were
+      not entirely his.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was apparently&mdash;the &ldquo;apparently&rdquo; was a mental reservation&mdash;quite
+      alone in the room. He got up from the couch and walked shakily across the
+      floor to the desk. A revolver lay invitingly upon the blotting pad. It was
+      his own, the one they had taken from him after the accident. Jimmie Dale
+      picked it up, examined it&mdash;and smiled a little sarcastically at
+      himself for his trouble. It was unloaded, of course. He was twirling it in
+      his hand, as a man, masked as every one in the house was masked, and
+      carrying a neatly folded suit over his arm, entered from the corridor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The car is ready as soon as you are dressed,&rdquo; announced the other
+      briefly. He laid the clothes upon the couch&mdash;and settled himself
+      significantly in a chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale hesitated. Then, with a shrug of his shoulders, recrossed the
+      room, and began to remove his torn garments. What was the use! They would
+      certainly have their own way in the end. It wasn't worth another fight,
+      and there was nothing to be gained by a refusal except to offer a sop to
+      his own exasperation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He dressed quickly, in what proved to be an exceedingly well-fitting suit;
+      and finally turned tentatively to the man in the chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The other stood up, and produced a heavy black silk scarf.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you have no objections,&rdquo; he said curtly, &ldquo;I'll tie this over your
+      eyes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am glad enough to get out on any conditions,&rdquo; he answered caustically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Fortunate' would be the better word,&rdquo; rejoined the other meaningly&mdash;and,
+      deftly knotting the scarf, led Jimmie Dale blindfolded from the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER V
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      ON GUARD
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Was he in the city? In a suburban town? On a country road? It seemed
+      childishly absurd that he could not at least differentiate to that extent;
+      and yet, from the moment he had been placed in the automobile in which he
+      now found himself, he was forced to admit that he could not tell. He had
+      started out with the belief that, knowing New York and its surroundings as
+      minutely as he knew them, it would be impossible, do what they would to
+      prevent it, that at the end of the journey he should be without a clew,
+      and a very good clew at that, to the location of what he now called,
+      appropriately enough it seemed, the Crime Club.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he had never ridden blindfolded in a car before! He could see
+      absolutely nothing. And if that increased or accentuated his sense of
+      hearing, it helped little&mdash;the roar of the racing car beat upon his
+      eardrums the more heavily, that was all. He could tell, of course, the
+      nature of the roadbed. They were running on an asphalt road, that was
+      obvious enough; but city streets and suburban streets and hundreds of
+      miles of country road around New York were of asphalt!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Traffic? He was quite sure, for he had strained his ears in an effort to
+      detect it, that there was little or no traffic; but then, it must be one
+      or two o'clock in the morning, and at that hour the city streets,
+      certainly those that would be chosen by these men, would be quite as
+      deserted as any country road! And as for a sense of direction, he had none
+      whatever&mdash;even if the car had not been persistently swerving and
+      changing its course every little while. If he had been able to form even
+      an approximate idea of the compass direction in which they had started, he
+      might possibly have been able in a general way to counteract this further
+      effort of theirs to confuse him; but without the initial direction he was
+      essentially befogged.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With these conclusions finally thrust home upon him, Jimmie Dale
+      philosophically subordinated the matter in his mind, and, leaning back,
+      composed himself as comfortably as he could upon his seat. There was a man
+      beside him, and he could feel the legs of two men on the seat facing him.
+      These, with the driver, would make four. He was still well guarded! The
+      car itself was a closed car&mdash;not hooded, the sense of touch told him&mdash;therefore
+      a limousine of some description. These facts, in a sense inconsequential,
+      were absorbed subconsciously; and then Jimmie Dale's brain, remorselessly
+      active, in spite of the pain from his throbbing head, was at work again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed as though a year had passed since, in the early evening, as
+      Larry the Bat, he had burrowed so ironically for refuge in Chang Foo's den&mdash;from
+      her! It seemed like some mocking unreality, some visionary dream that, so
+      short a while before, he had read those words of hers that had sent the
+      blood coursing and leaping through his veins in mad exultation at the
+      thought that the culmination of the years had come, that all he longed
+      for, hoped for, that all his soul cried out for was to be his&mdash;&ldquo;in an
+      hour.&rdquo; An HOUR&mdash;and he was to have seen her, the woman whose face he
+      had never seen, the woman whom he loved! And the hour instead, the hours
+      since then, had brought a nightmare of events so incredible as to seem but
+      phantoms of the imagination.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Phantoms! He sat up suddenly with a jerk. The face of the dead chauffeur,
+      the limp form lashed in that chair, the horrible picture in its entirety,
+      every detail standing out in ghastly relief, took form before him. God
+      knew there was no phantom there!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man beside him, at the sudden start, lifted a hand and felt hurriedly
+      over the bandage across Jimmie Dale's eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale was scarcely conscious of the act. With that face before him,
+      with the scene re-enacting itself in his mind again, had come another
+      thought, staggering him for a moment with the new menace that it brought.
+      He had had neither time nor opportunity to think before; it had been all
+      horror, all shock when he had entered that room. But now, like an
+      inspiration, he saw it all from another angle. There was a glaring fallacy
+      in the game these men had played for his benefit to-night&mdash;a fallacy
+      which they had counted on glossing over, as it had, indeed, been glossed
+      over, by the sudden shock with which they had forced that scene upon him;
+      or, failing in that, they had counted on the fact that his, or any other
+      man's nerve would have failed when it came to open defiance based on a
+      supposition which might, after all, be wrong, and, being wrong, meant
+      death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it was not supposition. Either he was right now, or these men were
+      childish, immature fools&mdash;and, whatever else they might be, they were
+      not that! NOT A SINGLE DROP OF POISON HAD PASSED THE CHAUFFEUR'S LIPS. The
+      man had not been murdered in that room. He had not, in a sense, been
+      murdered at all. The man, absolutely, unquestionably, without a loophole
+      for doubt, had either been killed outright in the automobile accident, or
+      had died immediately afterward, probably without regaining consciousness,
+      certainly without supplying any of the information that was so
+      determinedly sought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes, he saw it now! Their backs were against the wall, they were at their
+      wits' end, these men! The knowledge that the chauffeur possessed, that
+      they KNEW he possessed, was evidently life and death to them. To kill the
+      man before they had wormed out of him what they wanted to know, or, at
+      least, until, by holding him a prisoner, they had exhausted every means at
+      their command to make him speak, was the last thing they would do!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale sat for a long time quite motionless. The car was speeding at
+      a terrific rate along a straight stretch of road. He could almost have
+      sworn, guided by some intuitive sense, that they were in the country.
+      Well, even if it were so, what did that prove! They might have started
+      FROM New York itself&mdash;only to return to it when they had satisfied
+      themselves that he was sufficiently duped. Or they might have started
+      legitimately from outside New York, and be going toward the city now.
+      Since the ultimate destination was New York, and they had made no attempt
+      to hide that from him, it was useless to speculate&mdash;for at best it
+      could be only speculation. He had decided that once before! The man at his
+      side felt again over the scarf to see that it was in place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Curiously now Jimmie Dale recalled the inward monitor that had warned him
+      the honours had not all been his in this first round with the Crime Club
+      to-night. If they had deliberately murdered the chauffeur because of a
+      refusal to answer, they would equally have done the same to him. Fool that
+      he had been not to have seen that before! And yet would it have made any
+      difference? He shook his head. He could not have acted to any better
+      advantage than he had done. He could not&mdash;his lips curled in grim
+      derision&mdash;have been any more convincing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Convincing! It was all clear enough now! If the chauffeur had suffered
+      death rather than talk, even admitting the fact that they had more grounds
+      for suspecting the chauffeur's complicity, would his, Jimmie Dale's, mere
+      denial, his choice, too, of death, have been any the more convincing, or
+      have saved his life where it had not saved the other's? A certain added
+      respect for these men, against whom, until the end now, his victory or
+      theirs, he realised he was fighting for his life, came over him as he
+      recognised the touch of a master hand. They did not know where to find the
+      Tocsin; the package that she had said was vital to them was still beyond
+      their reach; the chauffeur was dead; and he, Jimmie Dale, alone remained&mdash;a
+      clew that they had still to prove valid or invalid it was true, but the
+      only clew in their possession. And, gaining nothing from him by a show of
+      force, to throw him off his guard, they had let him go&mdash;meaning him
+      to believe they were convinced he knew nothing, and that the episode, the
+      adventure of the night, was, as far as they were concerned, ended,
+      finished, and done with!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Time passed, a very long time, as he sat there. It might have been an hour&mdash;he
+      could only hazard a guess. Not one of the men in the car had spoken a
+      word. But to Jimmie Dale, the car itself, the ride, its duration, these
+      three strange companions, were for the time being extraneous. Even that
+      sick giddiness in his head had, at least temporarily, gone from him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so, all unsuspectingly, he was to lead them to the Tocsin and fall
+      into the trap himself! His hands, thrust deep in his pockets, were tightly
+      clenched. They were clever enough, ingenious enough, powerful enough to
+      watch him henceforth at every turn&mdash;and from now on, day and night,
+      they were to be reckoned with. Suppose that in some way, as it might well
+      have happened, for it was now vitally necessary that she should
+      communicate with him and he with her, he had played blindly into their
+      hands, and through him she should have fallen into their power! It brought
+      a sickening chill, a sort of hideous panic to Jimmie Dale&mdash;and then
+      fury, anger, in a torrent, surged upon him, and there came a merciless
+      desire to crush, to strangle, to stamp out this inhuman band of criminals
+      that, with intolerable effrontery to the laws of God and man, were so
+      elaborately and scientifically equipped for their monstrous purposes!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then Jimmie Dale, in the darkness, smiled again grimly as the leader's
+      reference to the Gray Seal recurred to him. Well, perhaps, who knew, they
+      would have reason more than they dreamed of to wish the Gray Seal enrolled
+      in their own ranks! It was strange, curious! He had thought all that was
+      ended. Only a few short hours before he had hidden away all, everything
+      that was incident to the life of the Gray Seal, the clothes of Larry the
+      Bat, that little metal case with the gray-coloured, adhesive seals, a
+      dozen other things, believing that it only remained for him to return and
+      destroy them at his leisure as a finishing touch to the Gray Seal's career&mdash;and
+      now, instead, he was face to face with the gravest and most dangerous
+      problem that she had ever called upon him to undertake!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well, at least, the odds were not all in the Crime Club's favour. Where
+      they now certainly believed him to be entirely off his guard, he was
+      thoroughly on his guard; and where they might suspect him, watch him, they
+      would suspect and watch only the character, the person of Jimmie Dale, and
+      count not at all upon either Larry the Bat or&mdash;the Gray Seal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A sort of savage elation fell upon Jimmie Dale. His brain, that had been
+      stagnant, confused, physically sick with pain and suffering, was working
+      now with its old-time vigour and ease, mapping, planning, scheming the way
+      ahead. To strike, and strike quickly&mdash;to strike FIRST! It must be his
+      move next&mdash;not theirs! And he must act to-night at once, the moment
+      he was given this pretence to liberty that they had in store for him,
+      before they had an opportunity of closing down around him with a network
+      of spies that he could not elude. By morning, Jimmie Dale would be Larry
+      the Bat, and inhabiting the Sanctuary again. And a tip to Jason, his old
+      butler, to the effect, say, that he had gone away for a trip, would
+      account for his disappearance satisfactorily enough; it would not
+      necessarily arouse their suspicions when they eventually discovered he was
+      gone, for against that was always the possible, and quite likely
+      presumption that, where they had succeeded in nothing else, they had at
+      least succeeded in frightening him thoroughly and to the extent of imbuing
+      him with a hasty desire to put a safe distance between himself and them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now, with his mind made up to his course of action, an intense
+      impatience to put his plan into effect, an irritation at the useless
+      twistings and turnings of the car that had latterly become more frequent,
+      took hold upon him. How much longer was this to last! They must have been
+      fully an hour and a half on the road already, and&mdash;ah, the car was
+      stopping now!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He straightened up in his seat as the machine came to a halt&mdash;but the
+      man at his side laid a restraining hand upon him. The car door opened, and
+      one of the men got out. Jimmie Dale caught an indistinct murmur of voices
+      from without, then the man returned to his seat, and the car went on
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another half hour passed, that, curbing his irritation and impatience, was
+      filled with the conjectures and questions that anew came crowding in upon
+      his mind. Why had the car made that stop? It was rather curious. It was
+      certainly a prearranged meeting place. Why? And these clothes that he now
+      wore&mdash;why had they made him change? His own had not been very badly
+      torn. The reason given him was, on the face of it now, in view of what he
+      now knew, mere pretence. What was the ulterior motive behind that
+      pretence? What did this package, that had already cost a man his life
+      to-night, contain? Who was the chauffeur? What was this death feud between
+      the Tocsin and these men? Did she know where the Crime Club was? Who and
+      where was John Johansson? What was this box that was numbered 428? Could
+      she supply the links that would forge the chain into an unbroken whole?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then for the second time the car slowed down&mdash;and this time the
+      man on the seat beside Jimmie Dale reached up and untied the scarf.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You get out here,&rdquo; said the man tersely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VI
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE TRAP
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Had it not been for the stop the car had previously made, for the
+      possibility that he might have obtained a glimpse outside when the door
+      had been opened, the scarf over his eyes would have been superfluous; for
+      now, with it removed, he could scarcely distinguish the forms of the three
+      men around him, since the window curtains of the car were tightly drawn.
+      Nor was he given the opportunity to do more, even had it been possible.
+      The car stopped, the door was opened, he was pushed toward it&mdash;and
+      even as he reached the ground, the door was closed behind him, and the car
+      was speeding on again. But where he could not see before, it took now but
+      a glance to obtain his bearings&mdash;he was standing on a corner on
+      Riverside Drive, within a few doors of his own house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale stood still for a moment, watching the car as it disappeared
+      rapidly up the Drive. And with a sort of grim facetiousness his brain
+      began to correlate time and distance. Where had he come from? Where was
+      this Crime Club? They had been, as nearly as he could estimate, two hours
+      in making the journey; and, as nearly as he could estimate, in their
+      turnings and twistings had covered at least twice the distance that would
+      be represented by a direct route. Granting, then, an average speed of
+      forty miles an hour, which was overgenerous to be on the safe side, and
+      the fact that they certainly had not crossed the Hudson, which now lay
+      before him, flanking the Drive, the Crime Club was somewhere within the
+      area of a semicircle, whose centre was the corner on which he now stood,
+      and whose radius was forty miles&mdash;OR FORTY YARDS! He forced a laugh.
+      It was just that, no more, no less&mdash;he was as likely to have started
+      on his ride from within a biscuit throw of where he now stood, as to have
+      started on it from miles away!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But&mdash;he aroused himself with a start&mdash;he was wasting time! It
+      must be very late, near morning, and he would have need for every moment
+      that was left between now and daylight. He turned, walked quickly to his
+      house, mounted the steps, and with his latch-key&mdash;they had at least
+      permitted him to retain the contents of his pockets when they had forced
+      him to change his clothes&mdash;opened the front door softly, and,
+      stepping inside, closed the door as silently as he had opened it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He paused for an instant to listen. There was not a sound. The servants,
+      naturally, would have been in bed hours ago. Even old Jason&mdash;Jimmie
+      Dale smiled, half whimsically, half affectionately&mdash;whose paternal
+      custom it was to sit up for his Master Jim, who, as he was fond of saying,
+      he had dandled as a baby on his knee, had evidently given it up as a bad
+      job on this occasion and had turned in himself. Jason, however, had left
+      the light burning here in the big reception hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale stepped to the switch and turned off the light; then stood
+      hesitant in the darkness. Was there anything to be gained by rousing Jason
+      now and telling him what he intended to do&mdash;to instruct him to answer
+      any inquiries by the statement that &ldquo;Mr. Dale had gone away for a trip&rdquo;?
+      He could trust Jason; Jason already knew much&mdash;more than one of those
+      mysterious letters of the Tocsin's had passed through Jason's hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale shook his head. No; he could communicate with Jason from
+      downtown in the morning. He had half expected to find Jason up, and, in
+      that case, would have taken the other, as far as necessary, into his
+      confidence; but it was not a matter that pressed for the moment. He could
+      get into touch with Jason at any time readily enough. Was there anything
+      else before he went? He would not be able to get back as easily as he got
+      out! Money! He shook his head again&mdash;a little grimly this time. He
+      had been caught once before as Larry the Bat without funds! There was
+      plenty of money now hidden in the Sanctuary, enough for any emergency,
+      enough to last him indefinitely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stepped forward along the hall, his tread noiseless on the rich, heavy
+      rug, passed into the rear of the house, descended the back stairs, and
+      reached the cellar. It was below the level of the ground, of course; but a
+      narrow window here, though quite large enough to permit of egress, gave on
+      the driveway at the side of the house that led to the garage in the rear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cautiously now, for the cement flooring was, in the stillness, little less
+      than a sounding board, Jimmie Dale reached the wall and felt along it to
+      the window, the lower edge of whose sill was just slightly below the level
+      of his shoulder. It opened inward, if he remembered correctly. His fingers
+      were feeling for the fastenings. It was too dark to see a thing. He
+      muttered in annoyance. Where were the fastenings! At the sides, or at the
+      bottom? His hand began to make a circuit of the sill&mdash;and then
+      suddenly, with a low, sharp cry, he leaned forward!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      WHAT DID THIS MEAN? Wires! No wires had ever been there before! His
+      fingers were working now with feverish haste, telegraphing their message
+      to his brain. The wires ran through the sill close to the corner of the
+      wall&mdash;tiny fragments of wood, as from an auger, were still on the
+      sill&mdash;and here was a small particle of wire insulation that, those
+      sensitive finger tips proclaimed, was FRESH.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A cold thrill ran through Jimmie Dale; and there came again that sickening
+      sense of impotency in the face of the malignant, devilish cunning arrayed
+      against him, that once before he had experienced, that night. He had
+      thought to forestall them&mdash;and he had been forestalled himself! This
+      could only have been done&mdash;they had had no interest in him before
+      then&mdash;while they held him at the Crime Club, while he was spending
+      that two hours in the car! Was that why they had taken so long in coming?
+      Was that why the car had stopped that time&mdash;that those with him might
+      be told that the work here had been completed, and he need no longer be
+      kept away?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He edged away from the window, and, as cautiously as he had come, retraced
+      his steps across the cellar and up the stairs&mdash;and then, the
+      possibility of being heard from without gone, he broke into a run. There
+      was no need to wonder long what those wires meant. They could mean only
+      one of two things&mdash;and the Crime Club would have little concern in
+      his electric light! THEY HAD TAPPED HIS TELEPHONE. The mains, he knew, ran
+      into the cellar from the underground service in the street. He was racing
+      like a madman now. How long ago, how many hours ago, had they done that!
+      Great Scott, SHE was to have telephoned! Had she done so? Was the game,
+      all, everything, she herself, at their mercy already? If she had
+      telephoned, Jason would have left a message on his desk&mdash;he would
+      look there first&mdash;afterward he would waken Jason.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He gained the door of his den on the first landing, a room that ran the
+      entire length of one side of the house from front to rear, burst in,
+      switched on the light&mdash;-and stood stock-still in amazement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jason!&rdquo; he cried out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old butler, fully dressed, rubbing and blinking his eyes at the light,
+      and with a startled cry, rose up from the depths of a lounging chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jason!&rdquo; exclaimed Jimmie Dale again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I beg pardon, sir, Master Jim,&rdquo; stammered the man. &ldquo;I&mdash;I must have
+      fallen asleep, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jason, what are you doing here?&rdquo; Jimmie Dale demanded sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, sir,&rdquo; said Jason, still fumbling for his words, &ldquo;it&mdash;it was
+      the telephone, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The&mdash;TELEPHONE!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir. A woman, begging your pardon, Master Jim, a lady, sir, has been
+      telephoning every hour or so, and she&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;YES!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale had jumped across the room and had caught the other
+      fiercely by the shoulder. &ldquo;Yes&mdash;yes! What did she say? QUICK, man!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good Lord, Master Jim!&rdquo; faltered Jason. &ldquo;I&mdash;she&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jason,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, suddenly as cold as ice, &ldquo;what did she say?
+      Think, man! Every word!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She didn't say anything, Master Jim. Nothing at all, sir&mdash;except to
+      keep asking each time if she could speak to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing else, Jason?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are SURE?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sure, Master Jim. Not another thing but that, sir, just as I've told
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank God!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, in a low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said Jason mechanically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How long ago was it since she telephoned last?&rdquo; asked Jimmie Dale
+      quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, sir, I couldn't rightly say. You see, as I said, Master Jim, I must
+      have gone to sleep, but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They were staring tensely into each other's face. The telephone on the
+      desk was ringing vibrantly, clamourously, through the stillness of the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jason, white, frightened, bewildered, touched his lips with the tip of his
+      tongue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That'll be her again, sir,&rdquo; he said hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale tersely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was trying to think, to think faster than he had ever thought before.
+      He could not tell Jason to say that he had not yet come in&mdash;THEY knew
+      he was in, it would be but showing his hand to that &ldquo;some one&rdquo; who would
+      be listening now on the wire. He dared not speak to her, or, above all,
+      allow her to expose herself by a single inadvertent word. He dared not
+      speak to her&mdash;and she was here now, calling him! He could not speak
+      to her&mdash;and it was life and death almost that she should know what
+      had happened; life and death almost for both of them that he should know
+      all and everything she could tell him. True, it would take but a minute to
+      run to the cellar and cut those wires, while Jason held her on the
+      pretence of calling him, Jimmie Dale, to the 'phone; only a minute to cut
+      those wires&mdash;and in so doing advertise to these fiends the fact that
+      he had discovered their trick; admit, as though in so many words, that
+      their suspicions of him were justified; lay himself open to some new move
+      that he could not hope to foresee; and, paramount to all else, rob her and
+      himself of this master trump the Crime Club had placed in his hands, by
+      means of which there was a chance that he could hoist them with their own
+      petard!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The telephone rang again&mdash;imperatively, persistently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen, Jason.&rdquo; Jimmie Dale was speaking rapidly, earnestly. &ldquo;Say that
+      I've come in and have gone to bed&mdash;in a vile humour. That you told me
+      a lady had been calling, but that I said if she called again I wasn't to
+      be disturbed if it was the Queen of Sheba herself&mdash;that I wouldn't
+      answer any 'phone to-night for anybody. Do you understand? No argument
+      with her&mdash;just that. Now, answer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jason lifted the receiver from the hook.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;hello!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Yes, ma'am, Mr. Dale has come in, but he has
+      retired. . . . Yes, I told him; but, begging your pardon, ma'am, he was in
+      what I might say was a bit of a temper, and said he wasn't to be disturbed
+      by any one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale snatched the receiver from Jason, and put it to his own ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Kindly tell Mr. Dale that unless he comes to the 'phone now,&rdquo; a feminine
+      voice, her voice, in well-simulated indignation, was saying, &ldquo;it will be a
+      very long day before I shall trouble myself to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale clapped his hand firmly over the mouthpiece of the instrument.
+      Thank God for that clever brain of hers! She understood!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Repeat what you said before, Jason,&rdquo; he instructed hurriedly. &ldquo;Then say
+      'Good-night.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He removed his hand from the mouthpiece.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's quite useless, ma'am,&rdquo; said Jason apologetically. &ldquo;In the rare
+      temper he was in, he wouldn't come, to use his own words, ma'am, not for
+      the Queen of Sheba herself, ma'am. Good-night, ma'am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale hung the receiver back on the hook&mdash;and with his hand
+      flirted away a bead of moisture that had sprung to his forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good Lord, Master Jim, what's wrong, sir? What's happened, sir? And&mdash;and
+      those clothes, Master Jim, sir! They aren't the ones you went out in, sir&mdash;they
+      aren't yours at all, sir!&rdquo; Jason ventured anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jason,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, &ldquo;switch off the light, and go to the front
+      window and look out. Keep well behind the curtains. Don't show yourself.
+      Tell me if you see anything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said Jason obediently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The light went out. Jimmie Dale moved to the rear of the room&mdash;to the
+      window overlooking the garage and yard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't see anything, sir,&rdquo; Jason called.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Watch!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A minute passed&mdash;two&mdash;three. Jimmie Dale was staring down into
+      the black of the yard. She understood! She knew, of course, before she
+      'phoned that something had gone wrong to-night. She knew that only peril
+      of the gravest moment would have kept him from the 'phone&mdash;and her.
+      She knew now, as a logical conclusion, that it was dangerous to attempt to
+      communicate with him at his home. Those wires! Where did they lead to? Not
+      far away&mdash;that would be almost a mechanical impossibility. Was it
+      into the Crime Club itself&mdash;near at hand? Or the basement, say, of
+      that apartment house across the driveway? Or&mdash;where?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then Jimmie Dale spoke again:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you see anything, Jason?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not sure, sir,&rdquo; Jason answered hesitantly. &ldquo;I thought I saw a man
+      move behind a tree out there across the road a minute ago, sir. Yes, sir&mdash;there
+      he is again!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a thin, mirthless smile on Jimmie Dale's lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Below, in the shadow of the garage, a dark form, like a deeper shadow,
+      stirred&mdash;and was still again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What time is it, Jason?&rdquo; Jimmie Dale asked presently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It'll be about half-past four, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go to bed, Jason.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir; but&rdquo;&mdash;Jason's voice, low, troubled, came through the
+      darkness from the upper end of the room&mdash;&ldquo;Master Jim, sir, I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go to bed, Jason&mdash;and not a word of this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir. Good-night, Master Jim.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-night, Jason.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale groped his way to the big lounging chair in which he had found
+      Jason asleep, and flung himself into it. They had struck quickly, these
+      ingenious, dress-suited murderers of the Crime Club! The house was already
+      watched, would be watched now untiringly, unceasingly; not a movement of
+      his henceforth but would be under their eyes!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His hands, resting on the arms of the chair, closed slowly until they
+      became tight-clenched, knotted fists. What was he to do? It was not only
+      the Crime Club, it was not only the Tocsin and her peril&mdash;there was
+      the underworld snapping and snarling at his heels, there was the police,
+      dogged and sullen, ever on the trail of the Gray Seal! His life, even
+      before this, in his fight against the underworld and the police, had
+      depended upon his freedom of action&mdash;and now, at one and the same
+      time, that freedom was cut away from beneath his feet, as it were, and a
+      third foe, equally as deadly as the others, was added to the list!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For months, to preserve and sustain the character of Larry the Bat, he had
+      been forced to assume the role almost daily; for, in that sordid empire
+      below the dead line, whose one common bond and aim was the Gray Seal's
+      death, where suspicion, one of the other, was rampant and extravagant,
+      where each might be the one against whom all swore their vengeance, Larry
+      the Bat could not mysteriously disappear from his accustomed haunts
+      without inviting suspicion in an active and practical form&mdash;an
+      inquisitorial visit to his squalid lodgings, the Sanctuary&mdash;and the
+      end of Larry the Bat!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If, as he had thought only a few hours before, he was through forever with
+      his dual life, that would not have mattered, the underworld would have
+      been welcome to make what it chose of it&mdash;but now the preservation of
+      the character of Larry the Bat was more vital and necessary to him than it
+      had ever been before. It was a means of defense and offense against these
+      men who lurked now outside his doors. It was the sole means now of
+      communication with her; for, warned both by Jason's words, and what must
+      be an obvious fact to her, that their plans had miscarried, that it was
+      dangerous to communicate with him as Jimmie Dale, she would expect him,
+      count on him to make that move. There would be no longer either reason or
+      attempt on her part to maintain the mystery with which she had heretofore
+      surrounded herself, the crisis had come, she would be watching, waiting,
+      hoping, seeking for him more anxiously and with far more at stake than he
+      had ever sought for her&mdash;until now!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He got up impulsively from his chair, and, in the blackness, began to pace
+      the room. The next move was clear, pitifully clear; it had been clear from
+      the first, it had been clear even in that ride in the car&mdash;it was so
+      clear that it seemed veritably to mock him as he prodded his brains for
+      some means of putting it into execution. He must get to the Sanctuary,
+      become Larry the Bat&mdash;but how? HOW! The question seemed at last to
+      become resonant, to ring through the room with the weight of doom upon it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Schemes, plans, ideas came, bringing a momentary uplift&mdash;only to be
+      discarded the next instant with a sort of bitter, desperate regret. These
+      men were not men of mere ordinary intelligence; their cleverness, their
+      power, the amazing scope of their organisation, all bore grim witness to
+      the fact that they would be blinded not at all by any paltry ruse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He could walk out of the house in the morning as Jimmie Dale without
+      apparent hindrance&mdash;that was obvious enough. And so long as he
+      pursued the usual avocations of Jimmie Dale, he would not be interfered
+      with&mdash;only WATCHED. It was useless to consider that plan for a
+      moment. It would not help him to reach the Sanctuary&mdash;without leading
+      them there behind him! True, there was always the chance that he might
+      shake them off his trail, but he could hardly hope to accomplish anything
+      like that without their knowing that it was done DELIBERATELY&mdash;and
+      that he dared not risk. The strongest weapon in his hands now was his
+      secret knowledge that he was being watched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That telephone there, for instance, that most curiously kept on insisting
+      in his mind that it, and it alone was the way out, was the last thing he
+      could place in jeopardy. Besides, there was another reason why such a plan
+      would not do; for, granting even that he succeeded in eluding them on the
+      way, and managed to reach the Sanctuary, his freedom of action would be so
+      restricted and limited as to be practically worthless&mdash;he would have
+      to return to his home here again within a reasonable time as Jimmie Dale,
+      within a few hours at most&mdash;or again they would be in possession of
+      the fact that he had discovered their surveillance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That, it was true, had been his original plan when he had entered the
+      house half an hour previously, but it was an entirely different matter
+      now. Then, he had counted on GETTING AWAY without their knowing it, before
+      they, as he had fondly thought, would have had a chance to establish their
+      espionage, and when they would have had no reason to suspect, for a time
+      at least, that he was not still within the house, when they would have
+      been watching, as it were, an empty cage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stopped in his walk, and, after a moment, dropped down into the
+      lounging chair again. That was it, of course. An empty cage! If he could
+      escape from the house! Not so much without their seeing him; that was more
+      or less a mechanical detail. But escape&mdash;and leave them in possession
+      of a sort of guarantee or assurance that he was still there! That would
+      give him the freedom of action that he must have. He smiled with bitter
+      irony. That solved the problem! That was all there was to it&mdash;just
+      that! It was very simple, exceedingly simple; it was only&mdash;impossible!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The smile left his lips, and once more his hands, clenched fiercely. No;
+      it was not impossible! It MUST be done&mdash;if he was to win through, if
+      he was even to save himself! It must be done&mdash;or FAIL her! It COULD
+      be done; there was a way&mdash;if he could only see it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE &ldquo;HOUR&rdquo;
+     </h3>
+    <p>
+      As the minutes passed, many of them, Jimmie Dale sat there motionless,
+      staring before him at the desk that was faintly outlined in the unlighted
+      room. Then somewhere in the house a clock struck the hour. Five o'clock!
+      He raised his head. YES! It could be done! There was a way! He had the
+      germ of it now. And now the plan began to grow, to take form and shape in
+      his mind, to dovetail, to knit the integral parts into a comprehensive
+      whole. There was a way&mdash;but he must have assistance. Jason&mdash;yes,
+      assuredly. Benson, his chauffeur&mdash;yes, equally as trustworthy as
+      Jason. Benson was devoted to him; and moreover Benson was young, alert,
+      daring, cool. He had had more than one occasion to test Benson's
+      resourcefulness and nerve!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale rose abruptly, went to the rear window, and, parting the
+      curtains cautiously, stood peering down into the courtyard. Yes, it was
+      feasible; even a little more than feasible. The garage fronted the
+      driveway, of course, to give free entrance and egress to the cars, but
+      where the wall of the garage and the rear wall of the house overlapped, as
+      it were, the space between them was not much more than ten yards; and here
+      the shadows of the two walls, mingling, lay like a black, impenetrable
+      pathway&mdash;not like that other shadow he had seen moving at the side of
+      the garage, and that, if not for the moment discernible, was none the less
+      surely still lurking there!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Satisfied, Jimmie Dale swung briskly from the window, and, going now to
+      his bedroom across the hall, undressed and went to bed&mdash;but not to
+      sleep. There would be time enough to sleep, all day, if he wished; now,
+      there were still the little details to be thought out that, more than
+      anything else, could make or wreck his plans. A point overdone, the
+      faintest suggestion of a false note where men of the calibre of those
+      against whom he was now fighting for his life were concerned, would not
+      only make his scheme abortive, but would place him utterly at their mercy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was nine o'clock when he rang for Jason.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jason,&rdquo; he said abruptly, as the other entered, &ldquo;I want you to telephone
+      for Doctor Merlin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The doctor, sir!&rdquo; exclaimed the old man anxiously. &ldquo;You're&mdash;you're
+      not ill, Master Jim, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do I look ill, Jason?&rdquo; inquired Jimmie Dale gravely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, sir,&rdquo; admitted Jason, in concern; &ldquo;a bit done up, sir, perhaps. A
+      little pale, sir; though I'm sure&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm glad to hear it,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, sitting up in bed. &ldquo;The worse I
+      look, the better!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I beg pardon, sir?&rdquo; stammered Jason.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jason,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, gravely again, &ldquo;you have had reason to know
+      that on several occasions my life has been threatened. It is threatened
+      now. You know from last night that this house is now watched. You may, or
+      you may not have surmised&mdash;that our telephone wires have been
+      tapped.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tapped, sir!&rdquo;&mdash;Jason's face had gone a little gray.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; a party line, so to speak,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale grimly. &ldquo;Do you
+      understand? You must be careful to say no more, no less than exactly what
+      I tell you to say. Now go and telephone! Ask the doctor to come over and
+      see me this morning. Simply say that I am not feeling well; but that,
+      apart from being apparently in a very nervous condition, you do not know
+      what is the matter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir&mdash;good Lord, sir!&rdquo; gasped Jason&mdash;and left the room to
+      carry out his orders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An hour later, Doctor Merlin had been and gone&mdash;and had left two
+      prescriptions; one written, the other verbal. With the written one,
+      Benson, in his chauffeur's livery, was dispatched to the drug store; the
+      verbal one was precisely what Jimmie Dale had expected from the fussy old
+      family physician: &ldquo;Two or three days of quiet in the house James; and if
+      you need me again, let me know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Jason,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, when the old man had returned from
+      ushering Doctor Merlin from the house, &ldquo;our friends out there will be
+      anxious to learn the verdict. I was to dine with the Ross-Hendersons
+      to-morrow night, was I not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir; I think so, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Make sure!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;Look in my engagement book there on the
+      table.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jason looked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir, that's right,&rdquo; he announced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very good,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale softly. &ldquo;Now go and telephone again, Jason.
+      Present my regrets and excuses to the Ross-Hendersons, and say that under
+      the doctor's orders I am confined to the house for the next few days&mdash;and,
+      Jason!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When Benson returns with the medicine let him bring it here himself&mdash;and
+      I shall want you as well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale propped himself up a little wearily on the pillows, as Jason
+      went out of the room. After all, his condition was not entirely feigned.
+      He was, as a matter of fact, pretty well played out, both mentally and
+      physically. Certainly, that he should require a doctor and be confined to
+      the house could not arouse suspicion even in the minds of those alert,
+      aristocratic thugs of the Crime Club, prone as they would be to suspect
+      anything&mdash;a man who had been knocked unconscious in an automobile
+      smash the night before, had been in a fight, had been subjected to a
+      terrific mental shock, to say nothing of the infernal drug that had been
+      administered to him, might well be expected to be indisposed the next
+      morning, and for several mornings following that! It might, indeed, even
+      cause them to relax their vigilance for the time being&mdash;though he
+      dared build nothing on that. Well, he had only to coach Benson and Jason
+      in the parts they were to play, and the balance of the morning and all the
+      afternoon was his in which to rest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He reached over to the table, picked up a pencil and paper, and began to
+      jot down memoranda. He had just tossed the pencil back on the table as the
+      two men entered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jason, at a sign, closed the door quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale looked at Benson half musingly, half whimsically, for a moment
+      before he spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Benson,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;the back seat of the large touring car is hinged and
+      lifts up, once the cushion is removed, doesn't it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; Benson answered promptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And there's space enough for, say, a man inside, isn't there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, sir; I suppose so&mdash;at a squeeze&rdquo;&mdash;Benson stared
+      blankly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite so!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale calmly. &ldquo;Now, another matter, Benson: I
+      believe some chauffeurs have a habit, when occasion lends itself, of
+      taking, shall we say, their 'best girl' out riding in their masters'
+      machines?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;SOME might,&rdquo; Benson replied, a little stiffly. &ldquo;I hope you don't think,
+      sir, that&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One moment, Benson. The point is, it's done&mdash;quite generally?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you have a 'best girl,' or at least could find one for such a
+      purpose, if you were so inclined?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said Benson; &ldquo;but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very good!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale interrupted. &ldquo;Then to-night, Benson, taking
+      advantage of my illness, and to-morrow night, and the nights after that
+      until further notice, you will acquire and put into practice that
+      reprehensible habit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I don't understand, Mr. Dale.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; I dare say not,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale&mdash;and then the whimsicality
+      dropped from him. &ldquo;Benson,&rdquo; he said slowly, &ldquo;do you remember a night,
+      nearly four years ago, the first night you ever saw me? You had,
+      indiscreetly, I think, displayed more money than was wise in that East
+      Side neighbourhood.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I remember,&rdquo; said Benson, with a sudden start; then simply: &ldquo;I wouldn't
+      be here now, sir, if it hadn't been for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale quietly, &ldquo;the tables are turned to-day, Benson.
+      As Jason already knows, this house is watched. For reasons that I cannot
+      explain, I am in great danger. Bluntly, I am putting my life in your hands&mdash;and
+      Jason's.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Benson looked for an instant from Jimmie Dale to Jason, caught the
+      strained, troubled expression on the old man's face, then back again at
+      Jimmie Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;D'ye mean that, sir!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Then you can count on me, Mr. Dale, to
+      the last ditch!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know that, Benson,&rdquo; Jimmie Dale said softly. &ldquo;And now, both of you,
+      listen! It is imperative that I should get away from the house; and
+      equally imperative that those watching should believe that I am still
+      here. Not even the servants are to be permitted a suspicion that I am not
+      here in my bed, ill. That, Jason, is your task. You will allow no one to
+      wait on me but yourself; you will bring the meal trays up regularly&mdash;and
+      eat the food yourself. You will answer all inquiries, telephone and
+      otherwise, in person&mdash;I am not seeing any one. You understand
+      perfectly, Jason?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I understand, Master Jim. You need have no fear, sir, on that score.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, you, Benson,&rdquo; Jimmie Dale went on. &ldquo;A few minutes ago I sent you out
+      in your chauffeur's togs with that prescription. You were undoubtedly
+      observed. I wanted you to be. It was quite necessary that they should know
+      and be able to recognise you again&mdash;to disabuse their minds later on
+      of the possibility that I might be masquerading in your clothes; and also,
+      of course, that they should know who you were, and what your position was
+      in the household. Very well! To-night, at eight o'clock exactly, you are
+      to go out from the back door of the house to the garage. On the way out&mdash;it
+      will be quite dark then&mdash;I want you to drop something, say, a bunch
+      of keys that you had been jingling in your hand. You are to experience
+      some difficulty in finding it again, move about a little to force any one
+      that may be lurking by the garage to retreat around the corner. Grumble a
+      bit and make a little noise; but you are not to overdo it&mdash;a couple
+      of minutes at the outside is enough, by that time I shall be under the car
+      seat. You will then run the machine out to the street and stop at the
+      curb, jump out, and, as though you had forgotten something, hurry back to
+      the garage. You must not be away long&mdash;enough only to permit, say, a
+      passer-by to glance into the car and satisfy himself that it is empty. You
+      understand, of course, Benson, that the hood must be down&mdash;no closed
+      car to invite even the suggestion of concealment&mdash;that would be a
+      fatal blunder. Drive then to the young lady's home by as direct a route as
+      you can&mdash;give no appearance of being aware that you are followed, as
+      you will be, and much less the appearance of attempting to elude pursuit.
+      Act naturally. Between here and your destination I will manage readily
+      enough to leave the car. You will then take the young lady for her drive&mdash;that
+      is what they will be interested in&mdash;your motive for going out
+      to-night. And, as I said, take her driving again on each succeeding night&mdash;establish
+      the HABIT to their satisfaction.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale paused, glanced at the paper which he still held in his hand,
+      then handed it to Benson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just one thing more, Benson,&rdquo; he said: &ldquo;Listed on that paper you will
+      find a different rendezvous for each night for the next five nights,
+      excluding to-night, which, after you have returned the young lady to her
+      home, you are to pass by on your way back here. See that your drive is
+      always over in time for you to pass each night's rendezvous at half past
+      eleven sharp. Don't stop unless I signal you. If I am not there, go right
+      on home, and be at the next place on the following night. I am fairly well
+      satisfied they will not bother about you after to-night, or to-morrow
+      night at the most; but, for all that, you must take no chances, so, except
+      in the route you take in going to the young lady's, always avoid covering
+      the same ground twice, which might give the appearance of having some
+      ulterior purpose in view&mdash;even in your drives, vary your runs. Is
+      this clear, Benson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said Benson earnestly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well, then,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;Eight o'clock to the dot, Benson&mdash;compare
+      your time with Jason's. And now, Jason, see that I get a chance to sleep
+      until dinner time to-night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The hours that followed were hours of sound and much-needed sleep for
+      Jimmie Dale, and from which he awoke only on Jason's entrance that evening
+      with the dinner tray.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've slept like a log, Jason!&rdquo; he cried briskly, as he leaped out of bed.
+      &ldquo;Anything new&mdash;anything happened?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sir; not a thing,&rdquo; Jason answered. &ldquo;Only, Master Jim, sir&rdquo;&mdash;the
+      old man twisted his hands nervously&mdash;&ldquo;I&mdash;you'll excuse my saying
+      so, sir&mdash;I do hope you'll be careful to-night, sir. I can't help
+      being afraid that something'll happen to you, Master Jim.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense, Jason!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale laughed cheerfully. &ldquo;There's nothing going
+      to happen&mdash;to me! You go ahead now and stay with the servants, and
+      get them out of the road at the proper time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He bathed, dressed, ate his dinner, and was slipping cartridges into the
+      magazine of his automatic when, within a minute or two of eight o'clock,
+      Jason's whisper came from the doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's all clear now, Master Jim, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Right!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale responded&mdash;and followed Jason down the stairway,
+      and to the head of the cellar stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here Jason halted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God keep you, Master Jim!&rdquo; said the old man huskily. &ldquo;Good-night, Jason,&rdquo;
+       Jimmie Dale answered softly; and, with a reassuring squeeze on the other's
+      arm, went on down to the cellar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here he moved quickly, noiselessly across to the window&mdash;not the
+      window of the night before, but another of the same description, almost
+      directly beneath the one in his den above, that faced the garage and lay
+      in the line of that black shadow path between the two buildings. Deftly,
+      cautiously without sound, a half inch, an inch at a time he opened it. He
+      stood listening, then. A minute passed. Then he heard Benson open and shut
+      the back door; then Benson in the yard; and then Benson's voice in a
+      muttered and irritable growl, talking to himself, as he stamped around on
+      the ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a lithe, agile movement, Jimmie Dale pulled himself up and through
+      the window&mdash;and began to creep rapidly on hands and knees toward the
+      garage. It was dark, intensely dark. He could barely distinguish Benson's
+      form, though, as he passed the other, the slight sounds he made drowned
+      out by the chauffeur's angry mumblings, he could have reached out and
+      touched Benson easily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He gained the interior of the garage, and, as Benson, came on again,
+      stepped lightly into the car, lifted the seat, and wriggled his way
+      inside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was close, stuffy, abominably cramped, but Jimmie Dale was smiling
+      grimly now. Thanks to Benson, there wasn't a possibility that he had been
+      seen. He both felt and heard Benson start the car. Then the car moved
+      forward, ran the length of the driveway, bumped slightly as it made the
+      street&mdash;and stopped. He heard Benson jump out and run back&mdash;and
+      then he listened intently, and the grim smile flickered on his lips again.
+      Came the sound of a footstep on the sidewalk close beside the car&mdash;then
+      silence&mdash;the car shook a little as though some one's weight was on
+      the step&mdash;then the footsteps receded&mdash;Benson returned on the run&mdash;and
+      the car started forward once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Perhaps ten minutes passed. Three times the car had swerved sharply,
+      making a corner turn. Then Jimmie Dale pushed up the seat, and, protected
+      from observation from behind by the back of the car itself, crawled out
+      and crouched down on the floor of the tonneau.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't look around, Benson,&rdquo; he said calmly. &ldquo;Are we followed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo; Benson answered. &ldquo;At least, there's always been a car behind
+      us, though not the same one. They're pretty clever. There must be three or
+      four, each following the other. Every time I turn a corner it's a
+      different car that turns it behind me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How far behind?&rdquo; Jimmie Dale asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Half a block.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Slow down a little,&rdquo; instructed Jimmie Dale; &ldquo;and don't turn another
+      corner until they've had a chance to accommodate themselves to your new
+      speed. You are going too fast for me to jump, and I don't want them to
+      notice any change in speed, except what is made in plain sight. Yes;
+      that's better. Where are we, Benson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's Amsterdam Avenue ahead,&rdquo; replied Benson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale quietly. &ldquo;Turn into it. The more people the
+      better. Tell me just as you are about to turn.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said Benson; then, almost on the instant, &ldquo;All ready, sir!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's hand reached out for the door catch, edged the door ajar,
+      the car swerved, took the corner&mdash;and Jimmie Dale stepped out on the
+      running board, hung there negligently for a moment as though chatting with
+      Benson, and then with an airy &ldquo;good-night&rdquo; dropped nonchalantly to the
+      ground, and the next instant had mingled with the throng of pedestrians on
+      the sidewalk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A half minute later, a large gray automobile turned the corner and
+      followed Benson&mdash;and Jimmie Dale, stepping out into the street again,
+      swung on a downtown car. The road to the Sanctuary was open!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In his impatience, now, the street car seemed to drag along every foot of
+      the way; but a glance at his watch, as he finally reached the Bowery, and,
+      walking then, rapidly approached the cross street a few steps ahead that
+      led to the Sanctuary, told him that it was still but a quarter to nine.
+      But even at that he quickened his steps a little. He was free now! There
+      was a sort of savage, elemental uplift upon him. He was free! He could
+      strike now in his own defense&mdash;and hers! In a few moments he would be
+      at the Sanctuary; in a few more he would be Larry the Bat, and by
+      to-morrow at the latest he would see&mdash;The Tocsin. After all, that
+      &ldquo;hour&rdquo; was not to be taken from him! It was not, perhaps, the hour that
+      she had meant it should be, thought and prayed, perhaps, that it might be!
+      It was not the hour of victory. But it was the hour that meant to him the
+      realisation of the years of longing, the hour when he should see her, see
+      her for the first time face to face, when there should be no more barriers
+      between them, when&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fer Gawd's sake, mister, buy a pencil!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A hand was plucking at his sleeve, the thin voice was whining in his ear.
+      He halted mechanically. A woman, old, bedraggled, ragged, was thrusting a
+      bunch of cheap pencils imploringly toward him&mdash;and then, with a
+      stifled cry, Jimmie Dale leaned forward. The eyes that lifted to his for
+      an instant were bright and clear with the vigor of youth, great eyes of
+      brown they were, and trouble, hope, fear, wistfulness, ay, and a glorious
+      shyness were in their depths. And then the voice he knew so well, the
+      Tocsin's was whispering hurriedly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will be waiting here, Jimmie&mdash;for Larry the Bat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VIII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE TOCSIN
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      It was only a little way back along the street from the Sanctuary to the
+      corner on the Bowery where as Jimmie Dale he had left her, where as Larry
+      the Bat now he was going to meet her again; it would take only a moment or
+      so, even at Larry the Bat's habitual, characteristic, slouching, gait&mdash;but
+      it seemed that was all too slow, that he must throw discretion to the
+      winds and run the distance. His blood was tingling; there was elation upon
+      him, coupled with an almost childlike dread that she might be gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Tocsin! The Tocsin!&rdquo; he kept saying to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yes; she was still there, still whiningly imploring those who passed to
+      buy her miserable pencils&mdash;and then, with a quick-flung whisper to
+      him to follow as he slouched up close to her, she had started slowly down
+      the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Tocsin! The Tocsin! The Tocsin!&rdquo;&mdash;his brain seemed to be ringing
+      with the words, ringing with them in a note clear as a silver bell. The
+      Tocsin&mdash;at last! The woman who so strangely, so wonderfully, so
+      mysteriously had entered into his life, and possessed it, and filled it
+      with a love and yearning that had come to mold and sway and actuate his
+      very existence&mdash;the woman for whom he had fought; for whom he had
+      risked, and gladly risked, his wealth, his name, his honour&mdash;everything;
+      the woman for whose sake he, the Gray Seal, was sought and hounded as the
+      most notorious criminal of the age; she whose cleverness, whose
+      resourcefulness, whose amazing intimacy with the hidden things of the
+      underworld had seemed, indeed, to border on the supernatural; she, the
+      Tocsin&mdash;the woman whose face he had never seen before! The woman
+      whose face he had never seen before&mdash;and who now was that wretched
+      hag that hobbled along the street before him, begging, whining, and
+      importuning the passers-by to purchase of her pitiful wares!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed a little&mdash;buoyantly. He had never pictured a first meeting
+      such as this! A hag? Yes! And one as disreputable in appearance as he
+      himself, as Larry the Bat, was disreputable! But he had seen her eyes!
+      Inimitable as was her disguise, she could not hide her eyes, or hide the
+      pledge they held of the beauty of form and feature beneath the tattered
+      rags and the touch of a master in the make-up that brought haggard want
+      and age into the face&mdash;and dimly he began to divine the source, the
+      means by which she had acquired the information that for years had enabled
+      her to plan their coups, that had enabled him to execute them under the
+      guise of crime, that for years had seemed beyond all human reach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where was she going? Where was she taking him? But what did it matter! The
+      years of waiting were at an end&mdash;the years of mystery in a few
+      moments now would be mystery no more!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah! She had turned from the Bowery, and was heading east. He shuffled on
+      after her, guardedly, a half block behind. It was well that Jimmie Dale
+      had disappeared, that he was Larry the Bat again&mdash;the neighbourhood
+      was growing more and more one that Jimmie Dale could not long linger in
+      without attracting attention; while, on the other hand, it was the natural
+      environment of such as Larry the Bat and such as she, who was leading him
+      now to the supreme moment of his life. Yes, it was that&mdash;the
+      fulfillment of the years! The thought of it alone filled his mind, his
+      soul; it brushed aside, it blotted out for the time being the danger, the
+      peril, the deadly menace that hung over them both. It was only that she,
+      the Tocsin, was here&mdash;only that at last they would be together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On she went, traversing street after street, the direction always trending
+      toward the river&mdash;until finally she halted before what appeared to
+      be, as nearly as he could make out in the almost total darkness of the
+      ill-lighted street, a small and tumble-down, self-contained dwelling that
+      bordered on what seemed to be an unfenced store yard of some description.
+      He drew his breath in sharply. She had halted&mdash;waiting for him to
+      come up with her. She was waiting for him&mdash;WAITING for him! It seemed
+      as though he drank of some strange, exhilarating elixir&mdash;he reached
+      her side eagerly&mdash;and then&mdash;and then&mdash;her hand had caught
+      his, and she was leading him into the house, into a black passage where he
+      could see nothing, into a room equally black over whose threshold he
+      stumbled, and her voice in a low, conscious way, with a little tremour, a
+      half sob in it that thrilled him with its promise, was in his ears:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We are safe here, Jimmie, for a little while&mdash;but, oh, Jimmie, what
+      have I done! What have I done to bring you into this&mdash;only&mdash;only&mdash;I
+      was so sure, so sure, Jimmie, that there was nothing more to fear!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The blood was beating in hammer blows at his temples. It seemed all
+      unreal, untrue that this moment could be his, that it was not a dream&mdash;a
+      dream which was presently to be snatched from him in a bitter awakening.
+      And then he laughed out wildly, passionately. No&mdash;it was true, it was
+      real! Her breath was on his cheek, it was a living, pulsing hand that was
+      still in his&mdash;and then soul and mind and body seemed engulfed and
+      lost in a mad ecstasy&mdash;and she was in his arms, crushed to him, and
+      he was raining kisses upon her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I love you! I love you!&rdquo; he was crying hoarsely; and over and over again:
+      &ldquo;I love you! I love you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not struggle. The warm, rich lips were yielding to his; he could
+      feel the throb, the life in the young, lithe form against his own. She was
+      his&mdash;his! The years, the past, all were swept away&mdash;and she was
+      his at last&mdash;his for always. And there came a mighty sense of
+      kingship upon him, as though all the world were at his feet, and virility,
+      and a great, glad strength above all other men's, and a song was in his
+      soul, a song triumphant&mdash;for she was his!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You!&rdquo; he cried out&mdash;and strained her to him. &ldquo;You!&rdquo; he cried again&mdash;and
+      kissed her lips and her eyelids and her lips again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then her head was buried on his shoulder, and she was crying softly;
+      but after a moment she raised her hands and laid them upon his face, and
+      held them there, and because it was dark, dared to raise her head as well,
+      and her eyes to look into his.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then for a long time they stood there so, and for a long time neither
+      spoke&mdash;and then with a little startled, broken cry, as though the
+      peril and the menace hanging over them, forgotten for the moment, were
+      thrust like a knife stab suddenly upon her, she drew herself away, and ran
+      from him, and went and got a lamp, and lighted it, and set it upon the
+      table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Jimmie Dale, still standing there, watched her. How gloriously her
+      eyes shone, dimmed and misty with the tears that filled them though they
+      were! And there was nothing incongruous in the rags that clothed her, in
+      the squalour and poverty of the bare room, in the white furrows that the
+      tears had plowed through the grime and make-up on her cheeks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You wonderful, wonderful woman!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head as though almost in self-reproach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am not wonderful, Jimmie,&rdquo; she said, in a low voice. &ldquo;I&rdquo;&mdash;and then
+      she caught his arm, and her voice broke a little&mdash;&ldquo;I've brought you
+      into this&mdash;probably to your death. Jimmie, tell me what happened last
+      night, and since then. I&mdash;I've thought at times to-day I should go
+      mad. Oh, Jimmie, there is so much to say to-night, so much to do if&mdash;if
+      we are ever to be together for&mdash;for always. Last night, Jimmie&mdash;the
+      telephone&mdash;I knew there was danger&mdash;that all had gone wrong&mdash;what
+      was it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His arms were around her shoulders, drawing her close to him again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I found the wires tapped,&rdquo; he said slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and&mdash;and the man you met&mdash;the chauffeur?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is dead,&rdquo; Jimmie Dale answered gently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt her hand close with a quick, spasmodic clutch upon his arm; her
+      face grew white&mdash;and for a moment she turned away her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And&mdash;and the package?&rdquo; she asked presently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not know,&rdquo; replied Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;He did not have it with him; he&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait!&rdquo; she interrupted quickly. &ldquo;We are only wasting time like this! Tell
+      me everything, everything just as it happened, everything from the moment
+      you received my letter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And, holding her there in his arms, softening as best he could the more
+      brutal details, he told her. And, at the end, for a little while she was
+      silent; then in a strained, impulsive way she asked again:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The chauffeur&mdash;you are sure&mdash;you are positive that he is dead?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale grimly; &ldquo;I am sure.&rdquo; And then the pent-up flood of
+      questions burst from his lips. Who was the chauffeur? The package, the box
+      numbered 428, and John Johansson? And the Crime Club? And the issue at
+      stake? The danger, the peril that surrounded her? And she&mdash;above all&mdash;more
+      than anything else&mdash;about herself&mdash;her strange life, its
+      mystery?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She checked him with a strangely wistful touch of her finger upon his
+      lips, with a queer, pathetic shake of her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Jimmie; not that way. You would never understand. I cannot&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I am to know&mdash;now! Surely I am to know NOW!&rdquo; he cried, a sudden
+      sense of dismay upon him. Three years! Three years&mdash;and always the
+      &ldquo;next&rdquo; time! &ldquo;I must know now, if I am to help you!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She smiled a little wanly at him, as she drew herself away, and, dropping
+      into a chair, placed her elbows on the rickety table, cupping her chin in
+      her hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; you are to know now,&rdquo; she said, almost as though she were talking to
+      herself; then, with a swift intake of her breath, impulsively: &ldquo;Jimmie!
+      Jimmie! I had thought that it would be all so different when&mdash;when
+      you came. That&mdash;that I would have nothing to fear&mdash;for you&mdash;for
+      me&mdash;because&mdash;it would be all over. And now you are here, Jimmie&mdash;and,
+      oh, thank God for you!&mdash;but I feel to-night almost&mdash;almost as
+      though it were hopeless, that&mdash;that we were beaten.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Beaten!&rdquo; He stepped quickly to the table, and sat down, and took one of
+      her hands away from her face to hold it in both his own. &ldquo;Beaten!&rdquo; he
+      laughed out defiantly; then, playfully, soothingly, to reassure her:
+      &ldquo;Jimmie Dale and Larry the Bat and the Gray Seal and the Tocsin&mdash;BEATEN!
+      And after we have just scored the last trick!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But we do not hold many trumps, Jimmie,&rdquo; she answered gravely. &ldquo;You have
+      seen something of this Crime Club's power, its methods, its merciless,
+      cruel, inhuman cunning, and you, perhaps, think that you understand&mdash;but
+      you have not begun to grasp the extent of either that power or cunning.
+      This horrible organisation has been in existence for many years. I do not
+      know how many. I only know that the men of whom it is composed are not
+      ordinary criminals, that they do not work in the ordinary way&mdash;to-day,
+      they set the machinery of fraud, deception, robbery, and murder in motion
+      that ten years from now, and, perhaps, only then, will culminate in the
+      final success of their schemes&mdash;and they play only for enormous
+      stakes. But&rdquo;&mdash;her lips grew set&mdash;&ldquo;you will see for yourself. I
+      must not talk any longer than is necessary; we must not take too much
+      time. You count on three days before they begin to suspect that all is not
+      right with Jimmie Dale&mdash;I know them better than you, and I give you
+      two days, forty-eight hours at the outside, and possibly far less. Jimmie&rdquo;&mdash;abruptly&mdash;&ldquo;did
+      you ever hear of Peter LaSalle?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The capitalist? Yes!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;He died a few years ago. I know
+      his brother Henry well&mdash;at the club, and all that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you!&rdquo; she said evenly. &ldquo;Well, the man you know is not Peter LaSalle's
+      brother; he is an impostor&mdash;and one of the Crime Club.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not&mdash;Peter LaSalle's brother!&rdquo;&mdash;Jimmie Dale repeated the words
+      mechanically. And suddenly his brain was whirling. Vaguely, dimly, in
+      little memory snatches, events, not pertinent then, vitally significant
+      now, came crowding upon him. Peter LaSalle had come from somewhere in the
+      West to live in New York; and very shortly afterward had died. The estate
+      had been worth something over eleven millions. And there had been&mdash;he
+      leaned quickly, tensely forward over the table, staring at her. &ldquo;My God!&rdquo;
+       he whispered hoarsely. &ldquo;You are not, you cannot be&mdash;the&mdash;the
+      daughter&mdash;Peter LaSalle's daughter, who disappeared strangely!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said quietly. &ldquo;I am Marie LaSalle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IX
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE TOCSIN'S STORY
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      LaSalle! The old French name! That old French inscription on the ring:
+      &ldquo;SONNEZ LE TOCSIN!&rdquo; Yes; he began to understand now. She was Marie
+      LaSalle! He began to remember more clearly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marie LaSalle! They had said she was one of the most beautiful girls who
+      had ever made her entree into New York society. But he had never met her&mdash;as
+      Marie LaSalle; never met her&mdash;until now, as the Tocsin, in this bare,
+      destitute, squalid hovel, here at bay, both of them, for their lives.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had been away when she had come with her father to New York; and on his
+      return there had only been the father's brother in the father's place&mdash;and
+      she was gone. He remembered the furor her disappearance had caused; the
+      enormous rewards her uncle had offered in an effort to trace her; the
+      thousand and one speculations as to what had become of her; and that then,
+      gradually, as even the most startling and mystifying of events and
+      happenings always do, the affair had dropped into oblivion and had been
+      forgotten by the public at least. He began to count back. Yes, it must
+      have been nearly five years ago; two years before she, as the Tocsin, and
+      he, as the Gray Seal, had formed their amazing and singular partnership,
+      that&mdash;he started suddenly, as she spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to tell you in as few words as I can,&rdquo; she said abruptly, breaking
+      the silence. &ldquo;Listen, then, Jimmie. My mother died ten years ago. I was
+      little more than a child then. Shortly after her death, father made a
+      business trip to New York, and, on the advice of some supposed friends, he
+      had a new will drawn up by a lawyer whom they recommended, and to whom
+      they introduced him. I do not know who those men were. The lawyer's name
+      was Travers, Hilton Travers.&rdquo; She glanced curiously at Jimmie Dale, and
+      added quickly: &ldquo;He was the chauffeur&mdash;the man who was killed last
+      night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean,&rdquo; Jimmie Dale burst out, &ldquo;you mean that he was&mdash;but, first,
+      the will! What was in the will?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was a very simple will,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;And from the nature of it, it
+      was not at all strange that my father should have been willing to have had
+      it drawn by a comparative stranger, if that is what you are thinking.
+      Summarised in a few words, the will left everything to me, and appointed
+      my Uncle Henry as my guardian and the sole executor of the estate until I
+      should have reached my twenty-fifth birthday. It provided for a certain
+      sum each year to be paid to my uncle for his services as executor; and at
+      the expiration of the trust period&mdash;that is, when I was twenty-five&mdash;bequeathed
+      to him the sum of one hundred thousand dollars.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale nodded. &ldquo;Go on!&rdquo; he prompted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is hard to tell it in logical sequence,&rdquo; she said, hesitating a
+      moment. &ldquo;So many things seem to overlap each other. You must understand a
+      little more about Hilton Travers. During the five years following the
+      signing of the will father came frequently to New York, and became, not
+      only intimate with Travers, but so much impressed with the other's
+      cleverness and ability that he kept putting more and more of his business
+      into Travers' hands. At the end of that five years, we moved to New York,
+      and father, who was then quite an old man, retired from all active
+      business, and turned over a great many of his personal affairs to Travers
+      to look after for him, giving Travers power of attorney in a number of
+      instances. So much for Travers. Now about my uncle. He was my father's
+      only brother; in fact, they were the only surviving members of their
+      family, apart from very distant connections in France, from where,
+      generations back, the family originally came.&rdquo; Her hand touched Jimmie
+      Dale's for an instant. &ldquo;That ring, Jimmie, with its crest and inscription,
+      is the old family coat of arms.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said briefly; &ldquo;I surmised as much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Strange as it may seem, in view of the fact that they had not seen each
+      other for twenty years,&rdquo; she went on hurriedly &ldquo;my father and my uncle
+      were more than ordinarily attached to each other. Letters passed regularly
+      between them, and there was constant talk of one paying the other a visit&mdash;but
+      the visit never materialised. My uncle was somewhere in Australia, my
+      father was here, and consequently I never saw my uncle. He was quite a
+      different type of man from father&mdash;more restless, less settled, more
+      rough and ready, preferring the outdoor life of the Australian bush to the
+      restrictions of any so-called civilisation, I imagine. Financially, I do
+      not think he ever succeeded very well, for twice, in one way or another,
+      he lost every sheep on his ranch and father set him up again; and I do not
+      think he could ever have had much of a ranch, for I remember once, in one
+      of the letters he wrote, that he said he had not seen a white man in
+      weeks, so he must have lived a very lonely life. Indeed, at about the time
+      father drew the new will, my uncle wrote, saying that he had decided to
+      give up sheep running on his own account as it did not pay, and to accept
+      a very favourable offer that had been made to him to manage a ranch in New
+      Zealand; and his next letter was from the latter country, stating that he
+      had carried out his intentions, and was well satisfied with the change he
+      had made. The long-proposed visit still continued to occupy my father's
+      thoughts, and on his retirement from business he definitely made up his
+      mind to go out to New Zealand, taking me with him. In fact, the plans were
+      all arranged, my uncle expressed unbounded delight in his letters, and we
+      were practically on the eve of sailing, when a cable came from my uncle,
+      telling us to postpone the visit for a few months, as he was obliged to
+      make a buying trip for his new employer that would keep him away that
+      length of time&mdash;and then&rdquo;&mdash;her fingers, that had been
+      abstractedly picking out the lines formed by the grain of the wood in the
+      table top, closed suddenly into tight-clenched fists&mdash;&ldquo;and then&mdash;my
+      father died.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale turned away his head. There were tears in her eyes. The old
+      sense of unreality was strong upon him again. He was listening to the
+      Tocsin's story. It was strange that he should be doing that&mdash;that it
+      could be really so! It seemed as though magically he had been transported
+      out of the world where for years past he had lived with danger lurking at
+      every turn, where men set watch about his house to trap him, where the
+      denizens of the underworld yowled like starving beasts to sink their fangs
+      in him, where the police were ceaselessly upon his trail to wreak an
+      insensate vengeance upon him; it seemed as though he had been transported
+      away from all that to something that he had dreamed might, perhaps,
+      sometime happen, that he had hoped might happen, that he had longed for
+      always, but now that it was his, that it also was full of the sense of the
+      unreal. And yet as his mind followed the thread of her story, and leaped
+      ahead and vaguely glimpsed what was to come, he was conscious in a sort of
+      premonitory way of a vaster peril than any he had ever known, as though
+      forces, for the moment masked, were arrayed against him whose strength and
+      whose malignity were beyond human parallel. In what a strange, almost
+      incoherent way his brain was working! He roused himself a little and
+      looked around him&mdash;and, with a shock, the starkness of the room, the
+      abject, pitiful air of destitution brought home to him with terrific,
+      startling force the significance of the scene in which he was playing a
+      part. His face set suddenly in hard lines. That she should have been
+      brought to assume such a life as this&mdash;forced out of her environment
+      of wealth and refinement, forced in her purity to rub shoulders with the
+      vile, the dissolute, forced to exist as such a creature amid the crime and
+      vice, the wretched horror of the underworld that swirled around her! There
+      was anger now upon him, burning, hot&mdash;a merciless craving that was a
+      savage, hungry lust for vengeance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then she was speaking again:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father's death occurred very shortly after my uncle's message advising us
+      to postpone our trip was received. On his death, Travers, very naturally,
+      as father's lawyer, cabled my uncle to come to New York at once; and my
+      uncle replied, saying that he was coming by the first steamer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She paused again&mdash;but only for an instant, as though to frame her
+      thoughts in words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have told you that I had never seen my uncle, that even my father had
+      not seen him for twenty years; and I have told you that the man you know
+      as Henry LaSalle is an impostor&mdash;I am using the word 'uncle' now when
+      I refer to him simply to avoid confusion. You are, perhaps, expecting me
+      to say that I took a distinctive dislike to him from the moment he
+      arrived? On the contrary, I had every reason to be predisposed toward him;
+      and, indeed, was rather agreeably surprised than otherwise&mdash;he was
+      not nearly so uncouth and unpolished as, somehow, I had pictured his life
+      would have made him. Do you understand, Jimmie? He was kind, sympathetic;
+      and, in an apathetic way, I liked him. I say 'apathetic' because I think
+      that best describes my own attitude toward every one and everything
+      following father's death until&mdash;THAT NIGHT.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She rose abruptly from her chair, as though a passive position of any kind
+      had suddenly become intolerable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why tell you what my father and I were to each other!&rdquo; she cried out in a
+      low, passionate voice. &ldquo;It seemed as though everything that meant anything
+      had gone out of my life. I became worn out, nervous; and though the days
+      were bad enough, the nights were a source of dread. I began to suffer from
+      insomnia&mdash;I could not sleep. This was even before my supposed uncle
+      came. I used to read for hours and hours in my room after I had gone to
+      bed. But&rdquo;&mdash;she flung out her hand with an impatient gesture&mdash;&ldquo;there
+      is no need to dwell on that. One night, about a week after that man had
+      arrived, and a little over a month after father had died, I was in my room
+      and had finished a book I was reading. I remember that it was well after
+      midnight. I had not the slightest inclination to sleep. I picked up
+      another book&mdash;and after that another. There were plenty in my room;
+      but, irrationally, of course, none pleased me. I decided to go down to the
+      library&mdash;not that I think I really expected to find anything that I
+      actually wanted, but more because it was an impulse, and furnished me for
+      the moment with some definite objective, something to do. I got up,
+      slipped on a dressing gown, and went downstairs. The lights were all out.
+      I was just on the point of switching on those in the reception hall, when
+      suddenly it seemed as though I had not strength to lift my hand, and I
+      remember that for an instant I grew terribly cold with dread and fear.
+      From the room on my right a voice had reached me. The door was closed, but
+      the voice was raised in an outburst of profanity. I&mdash;I could hear
+      every word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'If she's out of the way, there's no come-back,' the voice snarled. 'I
+      won't listen to anything else! Do you hear! Why, you fool, what are you
+      trying to do&mdash;hand me one! Turn everything into cash, and divvy, and
+      beat it&mdash;eh? And I'm the goat, and I get caught and get twenty years
+      for stealing trust funds&mdash;and the rest of you get the coin!' He swore
+      terribly again. 'Who's taken the risk in this for the last five years!
+      There'll be no smart Aleck lawyer tricks&mdash;there'll be no halfway
+      measures! And who are you to dictate! She goes out&mdash;that's safe&mdash;I
+      inherit as next of kin, with no one to dispute it, and that's all there is
+      to it!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I stood there and could not move. It was the voice of the man I knew as
+      my uncle! My heart seemed to have stopped beating. I tried to tell myself
+      that I was dreaming, that it was too horrible, too incredible to be real;
+      that they could not really mean to&mdash;to MURDER me. And then I
+      recognised Hilton Travers' voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'I am not dictating, and you are not serious, of course,' he said, with
+      what seemed an uneasy laugh. 'I am only warning you that you are
+      forgetting to take the real Henry LaSalle into account. He is bound to
+      hear of this eventually, and then&mdash;'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Another voice broke in&mdash;one I did not recognise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'You're talking too loud, both of you! Travers doesn't understand, but
+      he's to be wised up to-night, according to orders, and&mdash;'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The voice became inaudible, muffled&mdash;I could not hear any more. I
+      suppose I remained there another three or four minutes, too stunned to
+      know what to do; and then I ran softly along the hall to the library door.
+      The library, you understand, was at the rear of the room they were in, and
+      the two rooms were really one; that is, there was only an archway between
+      them. I cannot tell you what my emotions were&mdash;I do not know. I only
+      know that I kept repeating to myself, 'they are going to kill me, they are
+      going to kill me!' and that it seemed I must try and find out everything,
+      everything I could.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned away from the table, and began to pace nervously up and down
+      the miserable room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale rose impulsively from his chair&mdash;but she waved him back
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; wait!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Let me finish. I crept into the library. It took me
+      a long time, because I had to be so careful not to make the slightest
+      noise. I suppose it was fully six or seven minutes from the time I had
+      first heard my supposed uncle's voice until I had crept far enough forward
+      to be able to see into the room beyond. There were three men there. The
+      man I knew as my uncle was sitting at one end of the table; another had
+      his back toward me; and Travers was facing in my direction&mdash;and I
+      think I never saw so ghastly a face as was Hilton Travers' then. He was
+      standing up, sort of swaying, as he leaned with both hands on the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Now then, Travers,' the man whose back was turned to me was saying
+      threateningly, 'you've got the story now&mdash;sign those papers!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It seemed as though Travers could not speak for a moment. He kept looking
+      wildly from one to the other. He was white to the lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'You've let me in for&mdash;THIS!' he said hoarsely, at last, 'You devils&mdash;you
+      devils&mdash;you devils! You've let me in for&mdash;murder! Both of them!
+      Both Peter and his brother&mdash;MURDERED!'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stopped abruptly before Jimmie Dale, and clutched his arm tightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jimmie, I don't know why I did not scream out. Everything went black for
+      a moment before my eyes. It was the first suspicion I had had that my
+      father had met with foul play, and I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But now Jimmie Dale swayed up from his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Murdered!&rdquo; he exclaimed tensely. &ldquo;Your father! But&mdash;but I remember
+      perfectly, there was no hint of any such thing at the time, and never has
+      been since. He died from quite natural causes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at him strangely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He died from&mdash;inoculation,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Did&mdash;did you not see
+      something of that laboratory in the Crime Club yourself the night before
+      last&mdash;enough to understand?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good God!&rdquo; muttered Jimmie Dale, in a startled way then: &ldquo;Go on! Go on!
+      What happened then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She passed her hand a little wearily across her eyes&mdash;and sank down
+      into her chair again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Travers,&rdquo; she continued, picking up the thread of her story, &ldquo;had raised
+      his voice, and the third man at the table leaned suddenly, aggressively
+      toward him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Hold your tongue!' he growled furiously. 'All you're asked to do is sign
+      the papers&mdash;not talk!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Travers shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'I won't!' he cried out. 'I won't have any hand in another murder&mdash;in
+      hers! My God, I won't&mdash;I won't, I tell you! It's horrible!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Look here, you fool!' the man who was posing as my uncle broke in then.
+      'You're in this too deep to get out now. If you know what's good for you,
+      you'll do as you're told!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jimmie, I shall never forget Travers' face. It seemed to have changed
+      from white to gray, and there was horror in his eyes: and then he seemed
+      to lose all control of himself, shaking his fists in their faces, cursing
+      them in utter abandon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'I'm bad!' he cried. 'I've gone everything, everything but the limit&mdash;everything
+      but murder. I stop there! I'll have no more to do with this. I'm through!
+      You&mdash;you pulled me into this, and&mdash;and I didn't know!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Well, you know now!' the third man sneered. 'What are you going to do
+      about it?'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'I'm going to see that no harm comes to Marie LaSalle,' Travers answered
+      in a dull way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The other man now was on his feet&mdash;and, I do not know quite how to
+      express it, Jimmie, he seemed ominously quiet in both his voice and his
+      movements.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'You'd better think that over again, Travers!' he said. 'Do you mean it?'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'I mean it,' Travers said. 'I mean it&mdash;God help me!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'You may well add that!' returned the other, with an ugly laugh. He
+      reached out his hand toward the telephone on the table. 'Do you know what
+      will happen to you if I telephone a certain number and say that you have
+      turned&mdash;traitor?'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'I'll have to take my chances,' Travers replied doggedly. 'I'm through!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Take them, then!' flung out the other. 'You'll have little time given
+      you to do us any harm!'
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Travers did not answer. I think he almost expected an attack upon him
+      then from the two men. He hesitated a moment, then backed slowly toward
+      the door. What happened in the next few moments in that room, I do not
+      know. I stole out of the library. I was obsessed with the thought that I
+      must see Travers, see him at all costs, before he got away from the house.
+      I reached the end of the hall as the room door opened, and he came out. It
+      was dark, as I said, and I could not see distinctly, but I could make out
+      his form. He closed the door behind him&mdash;and then I called his name
+      in a whisper. He took a quick step toward me, then turned and hurried
+      toward the front door, and I thought he was going away&mdash;but the next
+      instant I understood his ruse. He opened the front door, shut it again
+      quite loudly, and crept back to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Take me somewhere where we will be safe&mdash;quick!' he whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was only one place where I was sure we would be safe. I led him to
+      the rear of the house and up the servants' stairs, and to my boudoir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She broke off abruptly, and once more rose from her chair, and once more
+      began to pace the room. Back in his chair, Jimmie Dale, tense and
+      motionless now, watched her without a word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It would take too long to tell you all that passed between us,&rdquo; she went
+      on hurriedly. &ldquo;The man was frankly a criminal&mdash;but not to the extent
+      of murder. And in that respect, at least, he was honest with himself.
+      Almost the first words he said to me were: 'Miss LaSalle, I am as good as
+      a dead man if I am caught by the devils behind those two men downstairs.'
+      And then he began to plead with me to make my own escape. He did not know
+      who the man was that was posing as my uncle, had never seen him before
+      until he presented himself as Henry LaSalle; the other man he knew as
+      Clarke, but knew also that 'Clarke' was merely an assumed name. He had
+      fallen in with Clarke almost from the time that he had begun to practise
+      his profession, and at Clarke's instigation had gone from one crooked deal
+      to another, and had made a great deal of money. He knew that behind Clarke
+      was a powerful, daring, and unscrupulous band of criminals, organised on a
+      gigantic scale, of which he himself was, in a sense&mdash;a probationary
+      sense, as he put it&mdash;a member; but he had never come into direct
+      contact with them&mdash;he had received all his orders and instructions
+      through Clarke. He had been told by Clarke that he was to cultivate father
+      following the introduction, to win father's confidence, to get as many of
+      father's affairs into his hands as possible, to reach the position, in
+      fact, of becoming father's recognised attorney&mdash;and all this with the
+      object, as he supposed of embezzling from father on a large scale. Then
+      father died, and Travers was instructed to cable my uncle. He knew that
+      the man who answered that summons was an impostor; but he did not know,
+      until they had admitted it to him that night, that both my father and my
+      uncle had been murdered, and that I, too, was to be made away with.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at Jimmie Dale, and suddenly laughed out bitterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No; you don't understand, even yet, the patient, ingenious deviltry of
+      those fiends. It was they, at the time the new will was drawn, who offered
+      to buy out my real uncle's sheep ranch in that lonely, unsettled district
+      in Australia, and offered him that new position in New Zealand. My uncle
+      never reached New Zealand. He was murdered on his way there. And in his
+      place, assuming his name, appeared the man who has been posing as my uncle
+      ever since. Do you begin to see! For five years they were patiently
+      working out their plans, for five years before my father's death that man
+      lived and became known and accepted, and ESTABLISHED himself as Henry
+      LaSalle. Do you see now why he cabled us to postpone our visit? He ran
+      very little risk. The chances were one in a thousand that any of his few
+      acquaintances in Australia would ever run across him in New Zealand; and
+      besides, he was chosen because it seems there was a slight resemblance
+      between him and the real Henry LaSalle&mdash;enough, with his changed mode
+      of living and more elaborate and pretentious surroundings, to have enabled
+      him to carry through a bluff had it become necessary. He had all of my
+      uncle's papers; and the Crime Club furnished him with every detail of our
+      lives here. I forgot to say, too, that from the moment my uncle was
+      supposed to have reached New Zealand all his letters were typewritten&mdash;an
+      evidence in father's eyes that his brother had secured a position of some
+      importance; as, indeed, from apparently unprejudiced sources, they took
+      pains to assure father was a fact. This left them with only my uncle's
+      signature to forge to the letters&mdash;not a difficult matter for them!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Believing that they had Travers so deeply implicated that he could do
+      nothing, even if he had the inclination, which they had not for a moment
+      imagined, and arrogant in the belief in their own power to put him out of
+      the way in any case if he proved refractory, they admitted all this to him
+      that night when he brought up the issue of the real Henry LaSalle putting
+      in an appearance sooner or later, and when they wanted him to smooth their
+      path by releasing all documents where his power of attorney was involved.
+      Do you see now the part they gave Travers to play? It was to put the stamp
+      of genuineness upon the false Henry LaSalle. Not but that they were
+      prepared with what would appear to be overwhelmingly convincing evidence
+      to prove it if it were necessary; but if the man were accepted by the
+      estate's lawyer there was little chance of any one else questioning his
+      identity.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She halted again by the table&mdash;and forced a smile, as her eyes met
+      Jimmie Dale's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am almost through, Jimmie. That night was a terrible one for both of
+      us. Travers' life was not worth a moment's purchase once they found him&mdash;and
+      mine was only under reprieve until sufficient time to obviate suspicion
+      should have elapsed after father's death. We had no proof that would stand
+      in any court&mdash;even if we should have been given the chance to adopt
+      that course. And without absolute, irrefutable proof, it was all so
+      cleverly woven, stretched over so many years, that our charge must have
+      been held to be too visionary and fantastic to have any basis in fact.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All Travers would have been able to advance was the statement that the
+      supposed Henry LaSalle had admitted being an impostor and a murderer to
+      him! Who would believe it! On the face of it, it appeared to be an
+      absurdity. And even granted that we were given an opportunity to bring the
+      charge, they would be able to prove by a hundred influential and
+      well-known men in New Zealand that the impostor was really Henry LaSalle;
+      and were we able to find any of my uncle's old acquaintances in Australia,
+      it would be necessary to get them here&mdash;and not one of them would
+      have reached America alive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But there was not a chance, not a chance, Jimmie, of doing that&mdash;they
+      would have killed Travers the moment he showed himself in the open. The
+      only thing we could do that night was to try and save our own lives; the
+      only thing we could look forward to was acquiring in some way, unknown to
+      them, the proof, fully established, with which we could crush them in a
+      single stroke, and before they would have time to strike back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The vital thing was proof of my uncle's death. That, if it could be
+      obtained at all, could only be obtained in Australia. Travers was obliged
+      to go somewhere, to disappear from that moment if he wanted to save his
+      life, and he volunteered to go out there. He left the house that night by
+      the back entrance in an old servant's suit, which I found for him&mdash;and
+      I never heard from him again until a month ago in the 'personal' column of
+      the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, through which we had agreed to communicate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As for myself, I left the house the next morning, telling my pseudo uncle
+      that I was going to spend a few days with a friend. And this I actually
+      did; but in those few days I managed to turn all my own securities, that
+      had been left me by my mother and which amounted to a considerable sum,
+      into cash. And then, Jimmie, I came to&mdash;this, I have lived like this
+      and in different disguises, as a settlement worker, as a widow of means in
+      a fashionable uptown apartment, but mostly as you see me now&mdash;for
+      five years. For five years I have watched my supposed uncle, hoping,
+      praying that through him I could get to know the others associated with
+      him; hoping, praying that Travers would succeed; hoping, praying that we
+      would get them all&mdash;and watching day after day, and year after year
+      the 'personal' column of the paper, until at last I began to be afraid
+      that it was all useless. And there was nothing, Jimmie, nothing anywhere,
+      and I had no success&rdquo;&mdash;her voice choked a little. &ldquo;Nothing! Even
+      Clarke never went again to the house. You can understand now how I came to
+      know the strange things that I wrote to the Gray Seal, how the life that I
+      have led, how this life here in the underworld, how the constant search
+      for some clew on my own account brought them to my knowledge; and you can
+      understand now, too, why I never dared to let you meet me, for I knew well
+      enough that, while I worked to undermine my father's and my uncle's
+      murderers, they were moving heaven and earth to find me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is all, Jimmie. The day before yesterday, a month after Travers'
+      first message to let me know that he was coming, there was another
+      'personal' giving me an hour and a telephone number. He was back! He had
+      everything&mdash;everything! We dared not meet; he was afraid, suspicious
+      that they had got track of him again. You know the rest. That package
+      contained the proof that, with Travers' death, can probably never be
+      obtained again. Do you understand why THEY want it&mdash;why it is life
+      and death to me? Do you understand why my supposed uncle offered huge
+      rewards for me, why secretly every resource of that hideous organisation
+      has been employed to find me&mdash;that it is only by my DEATH the estate
+      can pass into their hands, and now&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She flung out her hands suddenly toward Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;Oh, Jimmie, Jimmie,
+      I've&mdash;I've fought so long alone! Jimmie, what are we to do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He came slowly to his feet. She had fought so long&mdash;alone. But now&mdash;now
+      it was his turn to fight&mdash;for her. But how? She had not told him all&mdash;surely
+      she had not told him all, for everything depended upon that package. There
+      had been so much to tell that she had not thought of all, and she had not
+      told him the details about that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That box&mdash;No. 428!&rdquo; he cried quickly. &ldquo;What is that? What does it
+      mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not know,&rdquo; she answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then who is this John Johansson?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do not know,&rdquo; she said again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor where the Crime Club is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&rdquo;&mdash;dully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stared at her for a moment in a dazed way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My God!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale murmured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then she turned away her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's&mdash;it's pretty bad, isn't it, Jimmie? I&mdash;I told you that we
+      did not hold many trumps.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER X
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      SILVER MAG
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      There was silence between them. Minute after minute passed. Neither spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale dropped back into his chair again, and stared abstractedly
+      before him. &ldquo;We do not hold many trumps, Jimmie&mdash;we do not hold many
+      trumps&rdquo;&mdash;her words were repeating themselves over and over in his
+      mind. They seemed to challenge him mockingly to deny what was so obviously
+      a fact, and because he could not deny it to taunt and jeer at him&mdash;to
+      jeer at him, when all that was held at stake hung literally upon his next
+      move!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked up mechanically as the Tocsin walked to a broken mirror at the
+      rear of the miserable room; nodded mechanically in approval as she began
+      deftly to retouch the make-up on her face where the tears had left their
+      traces&mdash;and resumed his abstracted gaze before him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Box number four-two-eight&mdash;John Johansson&mdash;the Crime Club&mdash;the
+      identity of the man who was posing as Henry LaSalle! If only he could hit
+      upon a clew to the solution of a single one of those things, or a single
+      phase of one of them&mdash;if only he could glimpse a ray of light that
+      would at least prompt action, when every moment of inaction was
+      multiplying the odds against them!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were the men who were watching his house at that moment on Riverside
+      Drive&mdash;he, as Larry the Bat, might in turn keep watch on them. He had
+      though of that. In time, perhaps, he might, by so doing, discover the
+      whereabouts of the Crime Club. In time! It was just that&mdash;he had no
+      time! Forty-eight hours, the Tocsin insisted, was all the time that he
+      could count upon before they would become suspicious of Jimmie Dale's
+      &ldquo;illness,&rdquo; before they would discover that they were watching an empty
+      house!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He might&mdash;though this was even more hazardous&mdash;make an attempt
+      to trace the wires that tapped those of his telephone through the basement
+      window that gave on the garage driveway. And what then? True, they could
+      not lead very far away; but, even if successful, what then? They would not
+      lead him to the Crime Club, but simply to some confederate, to some man or
+      woman playing the part of a servant, perhaps, in the house next door, who,
+      in turn, would have to be shadowed and watched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale shook his head. Better, of the two, to start in at once and
+      shadow those who were shadowing his house. But that was not the way! He
+      knew that intuitively. He hated to eliminate it from consideration, for he
+      had no other move to take its place&mdash;but such a move was almost
+      suicide in itself. Time, and time alone, was the vital factor. They, the
+      Tocsin and he, must act quickly&mdash;and STRIKE that night if they were
+      to win. His fingers, the grimy fingers, dirty-nailed, of Larry the Bat,
+      that none now would recognise as the slim tapering, wonderfully sensitive
+      fingers of Jimmie Dale, the fingers that had made the name of the Gray
+      Seal famous, whose tips mocked at bars and safes and locks, and seemed to
+      embody in themselves all the human senses, tightened spasmodically on the
+      edge of the table. Time! Time! Time! It seemed to din in his ears. And
+      while he sat there powerless, impotent, the Crime Club was moving heaven
+      and earth to find what HE must find&mdash;that package&mdash;if he was to
+      save this woman here, the woman whom he loved, she who had been forced,
+      through the machinations of these hell fiends, to adopt the life of a
+      wretched hag, to exist among the dregs of the underworld, whose squalour
+      and vice and wantonness none knew better than he!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's face set grimly. Somewhere&mdash;somewhere in the past five
+      years of this life of hers in which she had been fighting the Crime Club,
+      pitting that clever brain of hers against it, MUST lie a clew. She had
+      told him her story only in baldest outline, with scarcely a reference to
+      her own personal acts, with barely a single detail. There must be
+      something, something that perhaps she had overlooked, something, just the
+      merest hint of something that would supply a starting point, give him a
+      glimmer of light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She came back from across the room, and sank down in her chair again. She
+      did not speak&mdash;the question, that meant life and death to them both,
+      was in her eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie answered the mute interrogation tersely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not yet!&rdquo; he said. Then, almost curtly, in a quick, incisive way, as the
+      keen, alert brain began to delve and probe: &ldquo;You say this man Clarke never
+      returned to the house after that night?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She nodded her head quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are sure of that?&rdquo; he insisted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I am sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you say that all these years you have kept a watch on the man who is
+      posing as your uncle, and that he never went anywhere, or associated with
+      any one, that would afford you a clew to this Crime Club?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a moment before Jimmie Dale spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's very strange!&rdquo; he said musingly, at last. &ldquo;So strange, in fact, that
+      it's impossible. He must have communicated with the others, and
+      communicated with them often. The game they were playing was too big, too
+      full of details, to admit of any other possibility. And the telephone as
+      an explanation isn't good enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And yet,&rdquo; she said earnestly, &ldquo;possible or impossible, it is nevertheless
+      true. That he might have succeeded in eluding me on occasions was perhaps
+      to be expected; but that in all those years I should not catch him once in
+      what, if you are correct, must have been many and repeated conferences
+      with the same men is too improbable to be thought of seriously.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale shook his head again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you had been able to watch him night and day, that might be so,&rdquo; he
+      said crisply. &ldquo;But, at best, you could only watch him a very small portion
+      of the time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She smiled at him a little wanly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you think, Jimmie, from what you, as the Gray Seal, know of me, that I
+      would have watched in any haphazard way like that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He glanced at her with a sudden start.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; he asked quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look at me!&rdquo; she said quietly. &ldquo;Have you ever seen me before? I mean as I
+      am now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he answered, after an instant. &ldquo;Not that I know of.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And yet&rdquo;&mdash;she smiled wanly again&mdash;&ldquo;you have not lived, or made
+      the place you hold in the underworld, without having heard of Silver Mag.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You!&rdquo; exclaimed Jimmie Dale. &ldquo;You&mdash;Silver Mag!&rdquo; He stared at her
+      wonderingly, as, crouch-shouldered now, the hair, gray-threaded,
+      straggling out from under the hood of a faded, dark-blue, seam-worn cloak,
+      she sat before him, a typical creature of the underworld, her role an art
+      in its conception, perfect in its execution. Silver Mag! Yes, he had heard
+      of Silver Mag&mdash;as every one in the Bad Lands had heard of her. Silver
+      Mag and her pocketful of coin! Always a pocketful of silver, so they said,
+      that was dispensed prodigally to the wives and children temporarily
+      deprived of support by husbands and fathers unfortunate enough in their
+      clashes with the law to be doing &ldquo;spaces&rdquo; up the river&mdash;and therefore
+      the underworld swore by Silver Mag. Always silver, never a bill; Silver
+      Mag had never been seen with a banknote&mdash;that was her eccentricity.
+      Much or little, she gave or paid out of her pocketful of jangling silver.
+      She was credited with being a sworn enemy of the police, and&mdash;yes, he
+      remembered, too&mdash;with having done &ldquo;time&rdquo; herself. &ldquo;I don't quite
+      understand,&rdquo; he said, in a puzzled way. &ldquo;I haven't run across you
+      personally because you probably took care to see that I shouldn't; but&mdash;it's
+      no secret&mdash;every one says you've served a jail sentence yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is simply enough explained,&rdquo; she answered gravely. &ldquo;The story is of
+      my own making. When I decided to adopt this life, both for my own safety
+      and as the best means of keeping a watch on that man, I knew that I must
+      win the confidence of the underworld, that I must have help, and that in
+      order to obtain that help I must have some excuse for my enmity against
+      the man known as Henry LaSalle. To be widely known in the underworld was
+      of inestimable value&mdash;nothing, I knew, could accomplish that as
+      quickly as eccentricity. You see now how and why I became known as Silver
+      Mag. I gained the confidence of every crook in New York through their
+      wives and children. I told them the story of my jail sentence&mdash;while
+      I swore vengeance on Henry LaSalle. I told them that he had had me
+      arrested for something I never stole while I was working for him as a
+      charwoman, and that he had had me railroaded to jail. There wasn't one but
+      gave me credit for the theft, perhaps; but equally, there wasn't one but
+      understood, and my eccentricity helped this out, my wanting to 'get' Henry
+      LaSalle. Well&mdash;do you see now, Jimmie? I had money, I had the
+      confidence of the underworld, I had an excuse for my hatred of Henry
+      LaSalle, and so I had all the help I wanted. Day and night that man has
+      been watched. He receives no visitors&mdash;what social life he has is, as
+      you know, at the club. There is not a house that he has ever entered that,
+      sooner or later, I have not entered after him in the hope of finding the
+      headquarters of the clique. Even the men and women, as far as human
+      possibility could accomplish it, that he has talked to on the streets have
+      been shadowed, and their identity satisfactorily established&mdash;and the
+      net result has been failure; utter, absolute, complete failure!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's eyes, that had held steadily on her face, shifted, troubled
+      and perplexed, to the table top.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are wonderful!&rdquo; he said, under his breath. &ldquo;Wonderful! And&mdash;and
+      that makes it all the more amazing, all the more incomprehensible. It is
+      still impossible that he has not been in close and constant touch with his
+      accomplices. He MUST have been! We would be blind fools to argue against
+      it! It could not, on the face of it, have been otherwise!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then how, when, where has he done it?&rdquo; she asked wearily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God knows!&rdquo; he said bitterly. &ldquo;And if they have been clever enough to
+      escape you all these years, I'm almost inclined to say what you said a
+      little while ago&mdash;that we're beaten.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She watched him miserably, as he pushed back his chair impulsively and,
+      standing up, stared down at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We're against it&mdash;HARD!&rdquo; he said, with a mirthless laugh. Then, his
+      lips tightening: &ldquo;But we'll try another tack&mdash;the chauffeur&mdash;Travers.
+      Though even here the Crime Club has a day's start of us, even if last
+      night they knew no more about the whereabouts of that package than we know
+      now. I'm afraid of it! The chances are more than even that they've already
+      got it. If they were able to catch Travers as the chauffeur, they would
+      have had something tangible to work back from&rdquo;&mdash;Jimmie Dale was
+      talking more to himself than to the Tocsin now, as though he were
+      muttering his thoughts aloud. &ldquo;How did they get track of him? When? Where?
+      What has it led to? And what in Heaven's name,&rdquo; he burst out suddenly, &ldquo;is
+      this box number four-two-eight!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A safety-deposit vault, perhaps, that he has taken somewhere,&rdquo; she
+      hazarded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale laughed mirthlessly again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is the one definite thing I do know&mdash;that it isn't!&rdquo; he said
+      positively. &ldquo;It is nothing of that kind. It was half-past ten o'clock at
+      night when I met him, and he said that he had intended going back for the
+      package if it had been safe to do so. Deposit vaults are not open at that
+      hour. The package is, or was, if they have not already got it, readily
+      accessible&mdash;and at any hour. Now go over everything again, every
+      detail that passed between you and Travers. He let you know that he was
+      back in New York by means of a 'personal,' you said. What else was in that
+      'personal' besides the telephone number and the hour you were to call him?
+      Anything?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing that will help us any,&rdquo; she replied colourlessly. &ldquo;There were
+      simply the words 'northeast corner of Sixth Avenue and Waverly Place,' and
+      the signature that we had agreed upon, the two first and two last letters
+      of the alphabet transposed&mdash;BAZY.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale quickly. &ldquo;And over the 'phone he completed his
+      message. Clever enough!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;In that way, if any one were listening, or overhead the
+      plan, there could be little harm come of it, for the essential feature of
+      all, the place of rendezvous, was not mentioned. It has not been Travers'
+      fault that this happened&mdash;and in spite of every precaution it has
+      cost him his life. He wanted nothing to give them a clew to my
+      whereabouts; he was trying to guard against the slightest evidence that
+      would associate us one with the other. He even warned me over the 'phone
+      not to tell him how, where, or the mode of life I was living. And
+      naturally, he dared give me no particulars about himself. I was simply to
+      select a third party whom I could trust, and to follow out his
+      instructions, which were those that I sent to you in my letter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale began to pace nervously up and down the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing else?&rdquo; he queried, a little blankly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing else,&rdquo; she said monotonously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But since last night, since you knew that things had gone wrong,&rdquo; he
+      persisted, &ldquo;surely you traced that telephone number&mdash;the one you
+      called up?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said, and shrugged her shoulders in a tired way. &ldquo;Naturally I
+      did that&mdash;but, like everything else, it amounted to nothing. He
+      telephoned from Makoff's pawnshop on that alley off Thompson Street, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;WHERE!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale, suddenly stock-still, almost shouted the word. &ldquo;He
+      telephoned from&mdash;where! Say that again!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at him in amazement, half rising from her chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jimmie, what is it?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You don't mean that&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was beside her now, his hands pressed upon her shoulders, his face
+      flushed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Box number four-two-eight!&rdquo; He laughed out hysterically in his
+      excitement. &ldquo;John Johansson&mdash;box number four-two-eight! And like a
+      fool I never thought of it! Don't you see? Don't you know now yourself?
+      THE UNDERGROUND POST OFFICE!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She stood up, clinging to him; a wild relief, that was based on her
+      confidence in him, in her eyes and face, even while she shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said frantically. &ldquo;No&mdash;I do not know. Tell me, Jimmie! Tell
+      me quickly! You mean at Makoff's?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No! Not Makoff's&mdash;at Spider Jack's, on Thompson Street!&rdquo;&mdash;he
+      was clipping off his words, still holding her tightly by the shoulders,
+      still staring into her eyes. &ldquo;You know Spider Jack! Jack's little novelty
+      store! Ah, you have not learned all of the underworld yet! Spider Jack is
+      the craftiest 'fence' in the Bad Lands&mdash;and Makoff is his partner.
+      Spider buys the crooks' stuff, and Makoff disposes of it through the
+      pawnshop&mdash;it's only a step through the connecting back yard from one
+      to the other, and&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;but,&rdquo; she interrupted feverishly, &ldquo;the package&mdash;you said&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait!&rdquo; Jimmie Dale cried. &ldquo;I'm coming to that! If Travers stood in with
+      Makoff, he stood in with Spider Jack. For years Spider has been a sort of
+      clearing house for the underworld&mdash;for years he has conducted, and
+      profitably, too, his underground post office. Crooks from all over the
+      country, let alone those in New York, communicate with each other through
+      Spider Jack. These, for a fee, are registered at Spider's, and given a
+      number&mdash;a box number he calls it, though, of course, there are no
+      actual boxes. Letters come by mail addressed to him&mdash;the sealed
+      envelope within containing the actually intended recipient's name. These
+      Spider either forwards, or delivers in person when they are called for.
+      Dozens of crooks, too, unwilling, perhaps, to dispose of small ill-gotten
+      articles at ruinous 'fence' prices, and finding it unhealthy for the
+      moment to keep them in their possession, use this means of depositing them
+      temporarily for safe-keeping. You see now, don't you? It's certain that's
+      where Travers left the package. He used the name of John Johansson, not to
+      hoodwink Spider Jack, I should say, but as an added safeguard against the
+      Crime Club. Travers must have known both Makoff and Spider Jack in the old
+      days, and probably had reason, and good reason, to trust them both&mdash;possibly,
+      a crook then himself, as he confessed, he may have acted in a legal
+      capacity for them in their frequent tangles with the police.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then,&rdquo; she said&mdash;and there was a glad, new note in her voice, &ldquo;then,
+      Jimmie&mdash;Jimmie, we are safe! You can get it, Jimmie! It is only a
+      little thing for the Gray Seal to do&mdash;to get it now that we know
+      where it is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said tersely. &ldquo;Yes&mdash;if it is still there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Still there!&rdquo;&mdash;she repeated the words quickly, nervously. &ldquo;Still
+      there! What do you mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean if they, too, have not discovered that he was at Makoff's&mdash;if
+      they have not got there first!&rdquo; he said grimly. &ldquo;There seems to be no
+      limit to their cleverness, or their power. They penetrated his disguise as
+      a chauffeur, and who knows what more they have learned since last night?
+      We are fighting them in the dark, and&mdash;WHAT'S THAT!&rdquo; he whispered
+      tensely, suddenly&mdash;and leaning forward like a flash, as he whipped
+      his automatic from his pocket, he blew out the lamp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The room was in darkness. They stood there rigid, silent, listening. Her
+      hand found and caught his arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then it came again&mdash;a low sound, the sound of a stealthy footstep
+      just outside the window that faced on the storage yard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XI
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE MAGPIE
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      A minute passed&mdash;another. The automatic at Jimmie Dale's hip, the
+      muzzle just peeping over the table top, held a steady bead on the window.
+      Came the footstep again&mdash;and then suddenly, a series of low, quick
+      tappings upon the windowpane. The Tocsin's hand slipped away from his arm.
+      Jimmie Dale's set face relaxed as he read the underground Morse, and he
+      replaced his revolver slowly in his pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Magpie!&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale, in an undertone. &ldquo;What's he want?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know,&rdquo; she answered, in a whisper. &ldquo;He never came here before.
+      There's a back way out, Jimmie, if you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said quickly. &ldquo;We've enemies enough, with out making one of the
+      Magpie. He knows some one is here with you&mdash;our shadows were on the
+      blind. Don't queer yourself. Let him in. I'll light the lamp.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He struck a match, as she ran from the room, and, lifting the hot lamp
+      chimney with the edge of his ragged coat, lighted the lamp. He turned the
+      wick down a little, shading and dimming the room&mdash;and then, as he
+      flirted a bead of moisture from his forehead, whimsically stretched out
+      his hand to watch it in the lamplight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's bad, Jimmie,&rdquo; he muttered gravely to himself, as he noted an
+      almost imperceptible tremour. &ldquo;Got a start, didn't you! Under a bit of a
+      strain, eh? Well&rdquo;&mdash;grimly&mdash;&ldquo;never mind! It looks as though the
+      luck had turned Makoff and Spider Jack!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His hand reached up to his hat, jerked the brim at a rakish angle over his
+      eyes&mdash;and he sprawled himself out on a chair. He heard the Tocsin's
+      voice at the front door, and a man's voice, low and guarded, answer her.
+      Then the door closed, and their steps approached the room. It was rather
+      curious, that&mdash;a visit from the Magpie! What could the Magpie want?
+      What could there be in common between the Magpie and Silver Mag? The
+      Magpie, alias Slimmy Joe, was counted the cleverest safe worker in the
+      United States, barring only and always one&mdash;a smile flickered across
+      the lips of Larry the Bat&mdash;one whose pre-eminence the Magpie, much to
+      his own chagrin, admitted himself&mdash;the Gray Seal!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked up, twisting the stub of a cigarette between his grimy fingers
+      and fumbling for a match, as the Tocsin and, behind her, the Magpie,
+      short, slim, and wiry, shrewd-faced, with sharp, quick-glancing little
+      black eyes, entered the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Ello, Larry!&rdquo; grinned the Magpie. &ldquo;Got yer breath back yet? I felt it
+      through de windowpane when youse let go at de lamp!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Ello, Slimmy!&rdquo; returned Jimmie Dale ungraciously, speaking through the
+      corner of his mouth. &ldquo;Ferget it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure!&rdquo; said the Magpie unconcernedly. He stared about him, and finally,
+      drawing a chair up to the table, sat down, motioned the Tocsin to do the
+      same, and leaned forward amiably. &ldquo;I didn't mean to throw no scare into
+      youse,&rdquo; he said, in a conciliating tone. &ldquo;But I had a little business wid
+      Mag, an' I was kind of interested in whether she was entertainin' company
+      or not&mdash;see? I didn't know youse an' Mag was workin' together.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mabbe,&rdquo; observed Jimmie Dale, as ungraciously as before, &ldquo;mabbe dere's
+      some more t'ings youse don't know!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, cough up de grouch!&rdquo; advised the Magpie, with a hint of impatience
+      creeping into his voice. &ldquo;Youse don't need to be sore all night! I told
+      youse I wasn't tryin' to hand youse one, didn't I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind Larry, Slimmy,&rdquo; put in the Tocsin petulantly. &ldquo;He's down on
+      his luck, dat's all. He ain't had de price of a pinch of coke fer two
+      days.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oho!&rdquo; exclaimed the Magpie, grinning again. &ldquo;So dat's wot's givin' youse
+      de pip, eh, Larry? Well, den, say, youse can take it from me dat mabbe
+      youse'll be glad I blew around. I was lookin' fer a guy about yer size fer
+      a little job to-night, an' I was t'inkin' of lettin' Young Dutchy in on
+      it, but seem' youse are here an' in wid Mag, an' dat I got to get Mag in,
+      too, youse are on if youse say de word.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wot's de lay?&rdquo; inquired Larry the Bat, unbending a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Magpie cocked his eye, and stuck his tongue in his cheek.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;GOOD-night!&rdquo; he said tersely. &ldquo;Nothin' like dat! Are youse on, or ain't
+      youse?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, den, wot's in it fer me?&rdquo; persisted Larrry the Bat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;More'n de price of a coke sneeze!&rdquo; returned the Magpie pertinently.
+      &ldquo;Dere's a century note fer youse, an' mabbe two or t'ree of dem fer Mag.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Larry the Bat's eyes gleamed avariciously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, quit yer kiddin'!&rdquo; he said gruffly. &ldquo;A century note&mdash;fer me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dat's wot I said! Youse heard me!&rdquo; rejoined the Magpie shortly. &ldquo;Only if
+      it listens good to youse now, I don't want no squealin' after the divvy.
+      I'm takin' de chances, youse has de soft end of it. One century note fer
+      youse&mdash;an' de rest is none of yer business! Dat's puttin' it
+      straight, ain't it? Well, wot do youse say, an' say it quick&mdash;'cause
+      if youse ain't comin' in, youse can beat it out of here so's I can talk to
+      Mag.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dere ain't nothin' I wouldn't take a chance on fer a hundred plunks!&rdquo;
+       declared Larry the Bat, with sudden fervency&mdash;and stared, anxiously
+      expectant, at the Magpie. &ldquo;Sure, I'm on Slimmy! Sure, I am! Cut it loose!
+      Spill de story!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, den,&rdquo; said the Magpie, &ldquo;I wants&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Youse ain't through yet!&rdquo; interrupted the Tocsin tartly. &ldquo;I ain't heard
+      youse askin' me nothin'! I ain't on me uppers like Larry, an' mabbe de
+      price don't cut so much ice&mdash;see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw,&rdquo; said the Magpie, with a smirk, &ldquo;I don't have to ask youse on dis
+      lay. Dis is where youse'd come in on it fer marbles. Say, dis is where we
+      gets de hook into a guy by de name of Henry LaSalle! Get me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      HENRY LASALLE! Under the table, Jimmie Dale's hand clenched suddenly; but
+      not a muscle of his face moved, save, as with the tip of his tongue, he
+      shifted the butt of the cigarette that was hanging royally from his lower
+      lip to the other corner of his mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure! She's 'got' youse, Slimmy!&rdquo; he flung out, with a grin, as the
+      Tocsin wrinkled up her face menacingly and began to mumble to herself.
+      &ldquo;He's de guy dat handed her one when she was young, an' she's been layin'
+      fer him ever since! Sure! I know! Ain't I worked him fer her till I wears
+      me shoes out tryin' to get somet'ing on him! Sure, she's in on it! Go on,
+      Slimmy, wot's de lay? Wot do I do fer dat century?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Magpie hitched his chair closer to the table and, as his sharp,
+      little, ferret eyes glanced around the room, motioned the two to brings
+      their heads nearer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One of me influential broker friends down on Wall Street put me wise,&rdquo; he
+      said, with a wink. &ldquo;Dat's good enough fer youse two, as far as dat goes.
+      But take it from me, I got it dead straight.&rdquo; He lowered his voice &ldquo;Say,
+      he's one of de richest mugs in New York, ain't he? Well, he's been sellin'
+      stocks an' bonds all day, t'ousands an' t'ousands of dollars' worth&mdash;fer
+      cash.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All dem t'ings is always sold fer cash,&rdquo; remarked Larry the Bat
+      fatuously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, ferget it!&rdquo; said the Magpie earnestly. &ldquo;Fer CASH, I said&mdash;de
+      coin, de long green&mdash;understand? He wasn't shovin' no checks fer what
+      he sold into de bank except to get dem cashed. Dat's wot he's been doin'
+      all day&mdash;gettin' de checks cashed, an' gettin' de money in big bills&mdash;see!
+      I know of one bunch of eighty t'ousand&mdash;an' dat's only one!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wot fer?&rdquo; inquired Larry the Bat. It was the question that was pounding
+      at his brain, as he stared innocently at the Magpie. What did it mean? Why
+      was Henry LaSalle turning, and, if the Magpie was right, feverishly
+      turning every security he could lay his hands on into cash? And then, in a
+      flash, the answer came. THEY HAD NOT FOUND THE PACKAGE! Equally to them,
+      as to the Tocsin, sitting there before him, it meant life and death. If
+      the package were found by the Tocsin instead of themselves, the game was
+      up! They were preparing for eventualities. If they were forced to run at a
+      moment's notice, they at least were not going to run empty-handed! Far
+      from empty-handed, it seemed! It would not be difficult for the estate's
+      executor to realise a vast sum in short order on instantly marketable,
+      gilt-edged securities&mdash;say, half a million dollars. Not very bulky,
+      either&mdash;in large bills! Five thousand hundred-dollar bills would make
+      half a million. It was astonishing how small a hand bag, say, might hold a
+      fortune! &ldquo;Wot fer, Slimmy?&rdquo; he inquired again, wiggling his cigarette butt
+      on his tongue tip. &ldquo;Wot'd he do dat fer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How de hell do youse suppose I knows!&rdquo; demanded the Magpie, politely
+      scornful. &ldquo;Dat's his business&mdash;dat ain't wot's worryin' me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;sure, it ain't!&rdquo; admitted Larry the Bat ingratiatingly. &ldquo;But go
+      on, keep movin', Slimmy! Wot's he done wid de stuff?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Done wid it!&rdquo; echoed the Magpie, with a short laugh. &ldquo;Wot do youse t'ink!
+      He's been luggin' it home to his swell joint up dere on de avenoo, an'
+      crammin' his safe full of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Larry the Bat sucked in his breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gee, dat's soft!&rdquo; he murmured, and then suddenly, as though with painful
+      inspiration: &ldquo;Say, Slimmy&mdash;say, are youse sure youse ain't been
+      handed a steer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Magpie grinned wickedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I ain't fallin' fer steers!&rdquo; he said shortly. &ldquo;Dis is on de level.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale lurched up from his chair, and, leaning over the lamp chimney,
+      drew wheezily on his cigarette to get a light. His eyes sought the
+      Tocsin's face. To all intents and purposes she was entirely absorbed in
+      the Magpie. He sat down again to gape, with well-stimulated, doglike
+      admiration, at Slimmy Joe. WAS THIS, TOO, A PLANT? Why had the Magpie come
+      to THEM with this story of Henry LaSalle? And then, the next instant, as
+      the Magpie spoke, his suspicions were allayed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let's get down to cases!&rdquo; the Magpie invited crisply. &ldquo;I didn't blow in
+      here just by luck. Dis Henry LaSalle is de guy youse worked fer once,
+      ain't he, Mag? Dat's de spiel, ain't it?&mdash;he sent youse up fer
+      pinchin' de tacks out of his carpets!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never pinched nothin'!&rdquo; snarled Silver Mag truculently. &ldquo;He's a dirty
+      liar! I never did!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cut it out! Cut it out! Can dat!&rdquo; complained the Magpie patiently. &ldquo;De
+      point is, youse worked in his house, didn't youse?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure I did!&rdquo; snapped the Tocsin, sullenly aggressive; &ldquo;but&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, den, dat's wot I want, dat's wot I come fer, Mag&mdash;a plan of de
+      house. See?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale could feel the Tocsin's eyes upon him, questioning, searching,
+      seeking a cue. A plan of the house&mdash;yes or no? And a decision on the
+      instant!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure!&rdquo; said Larry the Bat brightly. &ldquo;Dat's wot I was t'inkin' youse were
+      after all de time. Say, youse are all right, Slimmy! Youse are de kind to
+      work wid! Go on, Mag, draw de dope fer Slimmy. Dat's better dan tryin' to
+      put one over on de swell guy. Dis'll make him squeal fer fair!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Magpie produced a pencil and a piece of paper from his pocket, and
+      laid them on the table in front of the Tocsin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dere youse are,&rdquo; he announced. &ldquo;Help yerself, an' go to it, Mag!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Tocsin, evidently not quite certain of her part, wet the pencil
+      doubtfully on the end of her tongue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I ain't never drawed plans,&rdquo; she said anxiously. &ldquo;Mabbe&rdquo;&mdash;she
+      glanced at Jimmie Dale&mdash;&ldquo;mabbe I dunno how to do it RIGHT.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, go ahead!&rdquo; nodded Larry the Bat. &ldquo;Youse can do it right, Mag. Youse
+      don't have to make no oil paintin'! All de Magpie wants is de doors an'
+      windows, eh, Slimmy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure,&rdquo; agreed the Magpie encouragingly. &ldquo;Dat's all, Mag. Just mark de
+      rooms out on de first floor, an' de basement. Youse can explain wot youse
+      're doin' as youse goes along. I'll get youse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Tocsin cackled maliciously in assent; and then, while the Magpie got
+      up from his chair and stood peering over her shoulder, she began to draw
+      labouriously, her brows knitted, the pencil hooked awkwardly between
+      cramped-up forefinger and thumb.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Larry the Bat, slouched forward over the table, his chin in his hands,
+      appeared to watch the proceedings with mild interest&mdash;but his eyes,
+      like a hawk's, were following every line on the paper, transferring them
+      to his brain, photographing every detail of the plan in his mind. And as
+      he watched, there seemed something that was near to the acme of all that
+      was ironical in the Magpie standing there, his sharp, little, black eyes
+      drinking in greedily the Tocsin's work, in the Tocsin herself aiding and
+      abetting in the projected theft&mdash;OF HER OWN MONEY! How far would he
+      let the Magpie go? He did not know. Perhaps&mdash;who could tell!&mdash;all
+      the way. Between now and then there lay that package! If it were at
+      Makoff's, at Spider Jack's, if he could find it, get it&mdash;the Magpie
+      as a temporary custodian of the estate's money would at least preclude its
+      loss by flight if the Crime Club took alarm too quickly. Larry the Bat's
+      eyes, under half-closed lids, rested musingly on the Magpie's face. The
+      Magpie would not get very far away with it! On the other hand, if he
+      failed at Spider Jack's, if, after all, he was wrong, and the package had
+      never been there, or if they had forestalled him, turned the trick upon
+      him, already secured it, then&mdash;Larry the Bat's lips, working on his
+      cigarette, formed in a twisted smile&mdash;then, well then, that was quite
+      another matter! Perhaps he and the Magpie might not agree so far! A half
+      million dollars was perhaps not much out of eleven millions, but it was a
+      salvage not to be despised! Why did he say half a million! Well, why not?
+      If the Magpie knew of a single transaction of eighty thousand, and there
+      had been many transactions during the day, a half million was little
+      likely to prove an exaggeration&mdash;and the less likely in view of the
+      fact that, if those in the Crime Club were preparing for an emergency,
+      they would not stint themselves in the disposal of securities.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Magpie was keeping up a running fire of questions, as the Tocsin
+      toiled on with her pencil. Where did the hall lead to? How many windows in
+      the library? Did she remember the kind of fastenings? Did the servants
+      sleep in the basement, or above? And finally, twice over, as she finished
+      the clumsy drawing and pushed it toward him, he demanded minute details of
+      the position of the safe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, dat's all right, Slimmy!&rdquo; Larry the Bat cut in airily. &ldquo;If youse
+      ferget anyt'ing when youse get in dere, youse can ask me. I got it
+      cinched!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Magpie folded the paper and stowed it carefully away in his pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ask youse, eh!&rdquo; he grunted sarcastically. &ldquo;An' where do youse t'ink
+      youse'll be about dat time?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In dere wid youse, of course,&rdquo; replied Larry the Bat promptly. &ldquo;Dat's wot
+      youse said.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, youse will&mdash;NOT!&rdquo; announced the Magpie, with cold finality. &ldquo;Do
+      youse t'ink I want to queer myself! A hot one youse'd be on an inside job!
+      Youse'll be OUTSIDE, wid yer peepers skinned for de bulls&mdash;youse an'
+      Mag here, too. See! Get dat straight. While I'm on de job youse two plays
+      de game. Now youse listen to me, both of youse. Don't start nothin' unless
+      youse has to. If it's a cinch I got to make a get-away, youse two start a
+      drunk fight. Get me? Youse know de lay. T'row de talk loud&mdash;an' I'll
+      fade. Dat's all! We'll crack de crib early&mdash;it'll be quiet enough up
+      dere by one o'clock.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      One o'clock! Larry the Bat shook his head. What time was it now? It was
+      about nine when he had first met the Tocsin, then the Sanctuary, then the
+      long walk as he had followed her&mdash;say a quarter of ten for that. And
+      he had certainly been here with her not less than an hour and a half. It
+      must be after eleven, then. One o'clock! And before that must come Makoff
+      and Spider Jack! The night that half an hour ago had seemed so sterile,
+      was crowding a program of events upon him now&mdash;too fast!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothin' doin'!&rdquo; he said thoughtfully. &ldquo;Youse are in wrong dere, Slimmy.
+      One o'clock don't go! Say, take it from me, I've watched dat guy too many
+      nights fer Mag. 'Tain't often he leaves de club before one o'clock&mdash;an'
+      he ain't never in bed before two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; agreed the Magpie, after a moment's reflection. &ldquo;Youse ought
+      to know. Make it three o'clock.&rdquo; He pulled a cigar from his pocket,
+      lighted it, and, leaning back in his chair, stuck his feet up on the
+      table. &ldquo;If youse don't mind, Mag, I'll stick around a while,&rdquo; he decided
+      calmly. &ldquo;Mabbe de less I'm seen to-night de better&mdash;an' I guess dere
+      won't be nobody lookin' fer me here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Larry the Bat coughed suddenly, and rose up a little heavily from his
+      chair. He had not counted on that! If the Magpie was settling down for a
+      prolonged stay, it devolved upon him, Jimmie Dale, to get away, and at
+      once&mdash;and without exciting the Magpie's suspicions. He coughed again,
+      looked nervously from the Tocsin to the Magpie&mdash;stammered&mdash;swallowed
+      hard&mdash;and coughed once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, wot's bitin' youse?&rdquo; inquired the Magpie ironically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothin',&rdquo; said Larry the Bat&mdash;and hesitated. &ldquo;Nothin', only&mdash;&rdquo;
+       He hesitated again; and then, the words in a rush:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say, Slimmy, couldn't youse come across wid a piece of dat century now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wot fer?&rdquo; demanded the Magpie, a little aggressively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Larry the Bat cleared his throat with a desperate effort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Youse knows,&rdquo; he admitted sheepishly. &ldquo;Just gimme de price of one, Slimmy&mdash;just
+      one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Coke!&rdquo; exploded the Magpie. &ldquo;An' get soaked to de eyes&mdash;not by a
+      damn sight!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No! Honest to Gawd, no, Slimmy&mdash;just one!&rdquo; pleaded Larry the Bat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nix!&rdquo; said the Magpie shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Larry the Bat thrust out a hand before the Magpie's eyes that shook
+      tremulously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I got to have it!&rdquo; he declared, with sudden fierceness. &ldquo;I GOT to&mdash;see!
+      Look at me! I ain't goin' to be no good to-night if I don't. I tell youse,
+      I got to! I ain't goin' to t'row youse down, Slimmy&mdash;honest, I ain't!
+      Just one&mdash;an' it'll set me up. If I don't get none I'll be on de
+      rocks before mornin'! Dat's straight, Slimmy&mdash;ask Mag, she knows.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, let him go get it!&rdquo; broke in the Tocsin wearily. &ldquo;Dat's de best t'ing
+      youse can do, Slimmy&mdash;dey're all alike when dey gets in his class.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Youse cocaine sniffers gives me de pip!&rdquo; snorted the Magpie, in disgust.
+      He dug down into his pocket, produced a bill, and flung it across the
+      table to Larry the Bat. &ldquo;Well, dere youse are; but youse can take it from
+      me, Larry, dat if youse gets whiffed&rdquo;&mdash;he swore threateningly&mdash;&ldquo;I'll
+      crack every bone in yer face! Get me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Slimmy,&rdquo; said Larry the Bat fervently, grabbing at the bill with a hungry
+      hand, &ldquo;youse can count on me. I'll be up dere on de job before youse are.
+      Three o'clock, eh? Well, so long, Slimmy&rdquo;&mdash;he slouched eagerly to the
+      door. &ldquo;So long, Mag&rdquo;&mdash;he paused on the threshold for a single,
+      quick-flung, significant glance. &ldquo;See youse on de avenoo, Mag&mdash;I'll
+      be up dere before youse are. So long!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, so long!&rdquo; said the Tocsin contemptuously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And, an instant later, Jimmie Dale closed the outer door behind him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      JOHN JOHANSSON&mdash;FOUR-TWO-EIGHT
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Nearly midnight already! It was even later than he had thought. Larry the
+      Bat pressed his face against a shop's windowpane on the Bowery for a
+      glance at a clock that had caught his eye on the wall within. Nearly
+      midnight!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He slouched on again hurriedly, still debating in his mind, as he had been
+      debating it all the way from the Tocsin's, the question of returning again
+      to the Sanctuary. So far, the way both to Spider Jack's and the Sanctuary
+      had been in the same direction&mdash;but the Sanctuary was on the next
+      street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale reached the corner&mdash;and hesitated. It was strange how
+      strong was the intuition upon him to-night that bade him go on and make
+      all speed to Spider Jack's&mdash;while equally strong was the cold,
+      stubborn logic that bade him go first to the Sanctuary. There were things
+      that he needed there that would probably be absolutely essential to him
+      before the night was out, things without which he might be so badly
+      handicapped as to invite failure from the start; and yet&mdash;it was
+      already midnight!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ostensibly both Makoff and Spider Jack closed their places at eleven. But
+      that might mean anything&mdash;depending upon their own respective
+      inclinations, or on what of their own peculiar brand of deviltry might be
+      afoot. If they were still about, still in evidence, he was still too
+      early, midnight though it was; though, on the other hand, if the coast was
+      clear, he could ill afford to lose a moment of the time between now and
+      the hour that the Magpie had planned for the robbery of Henry LaSalle, for
+      it would not be an easy matter, even once inside Spider Jack's, to find
+      that package&mdash;since it was Spider's open boast that things committed
+      to his care were where the police, or any one else, might as well whistle
+      and suck their thumbs as try to find them!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then, with sudden decision, taking his hesitation, as it were, by the
+      throat, Jimmie Dale hurried on again&mdash;to the Sanctuary. At most, it
+      could delay him but another fifteen minutes, and by half-past twelve, or a
+      quarter to one at the latest, he would be at Spider Jack's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Disdaining the secrecy of the side door on the alley, for who had a better
+      right or was better known there than Larry the Bat, a tenant of years, he
+      entered the tenement by the front door, scuffled up the stairs to the
+      first landing, and let himself into his disreputable room. He locked the
+      door behind him, lighted the choked and wheezy gas jet, in a single,
+      sharp-flung glance assured himself that the blinds were tightly shut, and,
+      kneeling in the far corner, threw back the oilcloth and lifted up the
+      loose section of the flooring beneath. He reached inside, fumbling under
+      the neatly folded clothes of Jimmie Dale, and in a moment laid his leather
+      girdle with its kit of burglar's tools on the floor beside him; and beside
+      that again an electric flashlight, a black silk mask, and&mdash;what he
+      had never expected to use again when, early the night before, he had, as
+      he had believed, put it away forever&mdash;the thin, metal insignia case
+      of the Gray Seal. Another moment, and, with the flooring replaced, the
+      oilcloth rolled back into position, he had stripped off his coat and was
+      pulling his spotted, greasy shirt off over his head; then, stooping
+      quickly, he picked up the girdle, put it on, put on his shirt again over
+      it, put on his coat, put the metal case, the flashlight, and the mask in
+      his pockets&mdash;and once more the Sanctuary was in darkness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was perhaps fifteen minutes later that Jimmie Dale turned into the
+      upper section of Thompson Street. Here he slowed his pace, that had been
+      almost a run since he had left the Sanctuary, and began to shuffle
+      leisurely along; for the street, that a few hours before would have been
+      choked with its pushcarts and venders, its half naked children playing
+      where they could find room in the gutters, its sidewalks thronged with
+      shawled women and picturesquely dressed, earringed, dark-visaged men, a
+      scene, as it were, transported from some foreign land, was still far from
+      deserted; the quiet, if quiet it could be called, was but comparative,
+      there were many yet about, and he had no desire to attract attention by
+      any evidence of undue haste. And, besides, Spider Jack's was just ahead,
+      making the corner of the alleyway a few hundred feet farther on, and he
+      had very good reasons for desiring to approach Spider's little novelty
+      store at a pace that would afford him every opportunity for observation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On he shuffled along the street, until, reaching Spider Jack's, a little
+      two-storied, tumble-down brick structure, a muttered exclamation of
+      satisfaction escaped him. The shop was closed and dark; and, though Spider
+      Jack lived above the store, there were no lights even in the upper
+      windows. Spider Jack presumably was either out, or in bed! So far, then,
+      he could have asked for nothing more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale edged in close to the building as he slouched by, so close
+      that his hat brim seemed to touch the windowpane. It was possible that
+      from a room at the rear of the store there might be a light with a
+      telltale ray perhaps filtering through, say, a door crack. But there was
+      nothing&mdash;only blackness within.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He paused at the corner of the building by the alleyway. Down here,
+      adjoining the high board fence of Spider Jack's back yard, Makoff made
+      pretense at pawnbrokering in a small and dingy wooden building, that was
+      little more pretentious than a shed&mdash;and in Makoff's place, so far as
+      he could see, there was no light, either.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's fingers were industriously rolling a cigarette, as, under
+      the brim of his slouch hat, his eyes were noting every detail around him.
+      A yard in against the wall of Spider Jack's, the wall cutting off the rays
+      of the street lamp at a sharp angle, it was shadowy and black&mdash;and
+      beyond that, farther in, the alleyway was like a pit. It would take less,
+      far less, than the fraction of a second to gain that yard, but some one
+      was approaching behind him, and a little group of people loitered, with
+      annoying persistency, directly across the way on the other side of the
+      street. Jimmie Dale stuck the cigarette between his lips, fumbled in his
+      pockets, and finally produced a box of matches. The group opposite was
+      moving on now; the footsteps he had heard behind him, those of a man, drew
+      nearer, the man passed by&mdash;and the box of matches in Jimmie Dale's
+      hand dropped to the ground. He reached to pick them up, and in his
+      stooping posture, without seeming to turn his head, flung a quick glance
+      behind him up the street. No one, for that fraction of a second that he
+      needed, was near enough to see&mdash;and in that fraction of a second
+      Jimmie Dale disappeared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A dozen yards down the lane, he sprang for the top of the high fence,
+      gripped it, and, lithe and active as a cat, swung himself up and over, and
+      dropped noiselessly to the ground on the other side. Here he stood
+      motionless for a moment, close against the fence, to get his bearings. The
+      rear of Spider Jack's building loomed up before him&mdash;the back windows
+      as unlighted as those in front. Luck so far, at least, was with him! He
+      turned and looked about him, and, his eyes growing accustomed to the
+      darkness, he could just make out Makoff's place, bordering the end of the
+      yard&mdash;nor, from this new vantage point, could he discover, any more
+      than before, a single sign of life about the pawnbroker's establishment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale stole forward across the yard, mounted the three steps of the
+      low stoop at Spider Jack's back door, and tried the door cautiously. It
+      was locked. From his pocket came the small steel instrument that had stood
+      Larry the Bat in good stead a hundred times before in similar
+      circumstances. He inserted it in the keyhole, worked deftly with it for an
+      instant&mdash;and tried the door again. It was still locked. And then
+      Jimmie Dale smiled almost apologetically. Spider Jack did not use ordinary
+      locks on his back door!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The discountenanced instrument went back into his pocket, and now Jimmie
+      Dale's hand slipped inside his shirt, and from one of the little, upright
+      pockets of the leather belt, and from still another, and from after that a
+      third, came the vicious little blued-steel tools. The sensitive fingers
+      travelled slowly up and down the side of the door&mdash;and then he was at
+      work in earnest. A minute passed&mdash;another&mdash;there was a dull,
+      low, grating sound, a snick as of metal yielding suddenly&mdash;and Jimmie
+      Dale was coolly stowing away his tools again inside his shirt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He pushed the door open an inch, listened, then swung it wide, stepped
+      inside, and closed it behind him. A round, white beam of light flashed in
+      a quick circle&mdash;and went out. It was a sort of storeroom, innocent
+      enough and orderly enough in appearance, bare-floored, with boxes and
+      packing cases piled neatly against the walls. In one corner a staircase
+      led to the story above&mdash;and from above, quite audibly now, he caught
+      the sound of snoring. Spider Jack was in bed, then!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Directly facing him was the open door of another room, and Jimmie Dale,
+      moving softly forward, entered it. He had never been in Spider Jack's
+      before, and his first concern was to form an intimate acquaintanceship
+      with his surroundings. Again the flashlight circled, and again went out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No windows!&rdquo; muttered Jimmie Dale under his breath. &ldquo;Nothing very fancy
+      about the architecture! Three rooms in a row! Store in front of this room
+      through that door of course. Wonder if the door's locked, though it's a
+      foregone conclusion the package wouldn't be in there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Not a sound, his tread silent, he crossed to the closed door that he had
+      noticed. It was unlocked, and he opened it tentatively a little way. A
+      faint glow of light diffused itself through the opening. Jimmie Dale
+      nodded his head and closed the door again. The street lamp, shining
+      through the shop windows, accounted for the light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now the flashlight played with steady inquisitiveness about him. The
+      room in which he stood seemed to combine a sort of office, with a lounging
+      room, in which Spider Jack, no doubt, entertained his particular cronies.
+      There was table in the centre, cards still upon it, chairs about it.
+      Against the wall farthest away from the shop stood a huge, old-fashioned
+      cabinet; and a little farther along, anglewise, partitioning off the
+      corner, as it were, hung, for some purpose or other, a cretonne curtain.
+      Also, against the wall next to the lane, bringing a commiserating smile to
+      Jimmie Dale's lips as his eyes fell upon it, was a clumsy, lumbering,
+      antique safe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's eyes returned to the curtain. What was it doing there? What
+      was it for? Instinctively he stepped over to examine it. A single glance,
+      however, as he lifted it aside, sufficed. It was nothing but a make-shift
+      clothes closet. He turned from it, switched off the flashlight, and stood
+      staring meditatively into the darkness. In a strange house, with the
+      knowledge to begin with that what he sought was carefully hidden, it was
+      no sinecure to find that package. He had never for a moment imagined that
+      it would be. But of one thing, however, there was no uncertainty in his
+      mind&mdash;he would get the package!&mdash;by search if possible, by other
+      means if search failed. It was now close to one o'clock. If by two o'clock
+      his efforts had been fruitless, Spider Jack would hand over the package&mdash;at
+      the revolver point! It was quite simple! Meanwhile&mdash;Jimmie Dale
+      shrugged his shoulders, and, going over to the safe, knelt down in front
+      of it&mdash;meanwhile, as well begin here as anywhere else.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The trained fingers closed on the handle&mdash;and on the instant, as
+      though in startled amazement, shifted to the dial. They came back to the
+      handle&mdash;a wrench&mdash;then a low, amused chuckle&mdash;and the door
+      swung open. The great, unwieldy thing was only a monumental bluff! It not
+      only had not been locked, but it COULD NOT be locked&mdash;the mechanism
+      was out of order, the bolts could not be moved by so much as a hair's
+      breadth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still chuckling, Jimmie Dale shot the flashlight's ray into the interior
+      of the safe&mdash;and the chuckle died on his lips, and into his face came
+      a look of strained bewilderment. Inside, everything was in chaos, books,
+      papers, a miscellany of articles, as though they had first been ruthlessly
+      pulled out on the floor, then gathered up in an armful and crammed back
+      inside again. For an instant he did not move, and then a queer, hard,
+      mirthless smile drew down the corners of his mouth. With a sort of bitter,
+      expectant nod of his head, he turned the light upon the door of the safe.
+      Yes, there were the scratches that the tools had left; and, as though in
+      sardonic jest, the holes, where the steel bit had bored, were plugged with
+      putty and rubbed over with some black substance that was still wet and
+      came off, smearing his finger, as he touched it. It could not have been
+      done long ago, then! How long? A half hour&mdash;an hour? Not more than
+      that!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mechanically he closed the door of the safe, rose to his feet and, almost
+      heedless of noise now, the flashlight ray dancing before him, he jumped
+      across to the old-fashioned cabinet and pulled the door open. Here, as
+      within the safe, all inside, plain evidence of thorough, if hasty, search,
+      was scattered and tossed about in hopeless confusion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He shut the cabinet door; the flashlight went out; and he stood like a man
+      stunned, the sense of some abysmal disaster upon him. He was too late! The
+      game was up! If it had ever been here, the package was gone now&mdash;GONE!
+      The Crime Club had been here before him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The game was up! The game was up!&rdquo;&mdash;his mind seemed to keep on
+      repeating that. The Crime Club had beaten him by an hour, at most, and had
+      been here, and had searched. It was strange, though, that they should have
+      been at such curious pains to cover their tracks by leaving the room in
+      order, by such paltry efforts to make the safe appear untouched when the
+      first glance that was at all critical would disclose immediately what had
+      been done! Why should they need to cover their tracks at all; or, if it
+      was necessary, why, above all, in such a pitifully inadequate way! His
+      mind barked back to the same ghastly refrain&mdash;&ldquo;the game was up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      NO! Not yet! There was still a chance! There was still Spider Jack!
+      Suppose, in spite of their search, they had failed to find the package!
+      Jimmie Dale's lips set in a thin line, as he started abruptly toward the
+      door. There was still that chance, and one thing was grimly certain&mdash;Spider
+      Jack would, at least, show him where the package HAD BEEN!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then, halfway to the door, he halted suddenly, and stood still&mdash;listening.
+      An electric bell was ringing loudly, imperiously, somewhere upstairs.
+      Followed almost immediately the sound of some one, Spider Jack presumably,
+      moving hurriedly about overhead; and then, a moment later, steps coming
+      down the staircase in the adjoining room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale drew back, flattening himself against the wall. Spider Jack
+      entered the room, stumbled across it, in the darkness, fumbled for the
+      door that led into his little shop, opened it, passed through, fumbled
+      around in there again, for matches evidently, then lighted a gas jet in
+      the store, and, going to the street door, opened it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale had edged along the wall a little to a position where he had
+      an unobstructed view through the open doorway connecting the shop and the
+      room in which he stood. Spider Jack, in trousers and shirt, hastily
+      donned, no doubt, as he had got out of bed, was standing in the street
+      doorway, and beyond him loomed the forms of several men. Spider Jack
+      stepped aside to allow his visitors to enter&mdash;and suddenly, a cry
+      barely suppressed upon his lips, Jimmie Dale involuntarily strained
+      forward. Three men had entered, but his eyes were fixed, fascinated, upon
+      only one&mdash;the first of the three. Was it an hallucination? Was he mad&mdash;-dreaming?
+      It was Hilton Travers, THE CHAUFFEUR&mdash;the man whom he could have
+      sworn he had last seen dead, lashed in that chair, in that ghastly death
+      chamber of the Crime Club!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rather rough on you, Spider, to pull you out of bed at this hour,&rdquo; the
+      chauffeur was saying apologetically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, that's all right, seein' it's you, Travers,&rdquo; Spider Jack answered,
+      gruffly amiable. &ldquo;Only I was kind of lookin' for you last night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know,&rdquo; the chauffeur replied; &ldquo;but I couldn't connect with my friends
+      here. Shake hands with them, Spider&mdash;Bob Marvin&mdash;Harry Stead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Glad to know you, gents,&rdquo; said Spider Jack, with a handgrip apiece.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The chauffeur lowered his voice a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose we're alone here, eh, Spider? Yes? Well, then, you know what
+      I've come for&mdash;that package&mdash;Marvin and Stead, here, are the
+      ones that are in on it with me. Get it for me, will you, Spider?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure&mdash;Mr. Johansson!&rdquo; Spider grinned. &ldquo;Sure! Come on into the back
+      room and make yourselves comfortable. I'll be mabbe five minutes, or so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's brain was whirling. What did it mean? He could not seem to
+      understand. His mind seemed to refuse its functions. Travers, the
+      chauffeur&mdash;ALIVE! He drew in his breath sharply. That curtain in the
+      corner! He must see this out now! They were coming! Quick, noiseless, he
+      stole along the side of the wall, reached the corner, and slipped in
+      behind the curtain, as Spider Jack, striking a match, entered the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Spider Jack lighted the gas, and, as the others followed behind him, waved
+      them toward the chairs around the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll just ask you gents not to leave the room,&rdquo; he said meaningly, over
+      his shoulder, as he stepped toward the rear door. &ldquo;It's kind of a fad of
+      mine to keep some things even from my wife!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, Spider&mdash;I understand,&rdquo; the chauffeur returned readily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale's knife cut a tiny slit in the cretonne on a level with his
+      eyes. The three men had seated themselves at the table, and appeared to be
+      listening intently. Spider Jack's footsteps echoed back as he crossed the
+      rear room, sounded dull and muffled descending the stoop outside, and died
+      away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told you it wasn't in the house!&rdquo; the man who had been introduced as
+      Stead laughed shortly. &ldquo;We wasted the hour we had here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The third man spoke crisply, incisively, to the chauffeur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Turn down that gas jet a little! You've got across with it so far&mdash;but
+      you can't stand a searchlight, Clarke!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And at the words, in a flash, the meaning of it, all of it, to the last
+      detail that was spelling death, ruin, and disaster for her, the Tocsin,
+      for himself as well, burst upon Jimmie Dale. That VOICE! He would have
+      known it, recognised it, among a thousand&mdash;it was the masked man of
+      the night before, the leader, the head of the Crime Club! And it was not
+      Travers there at all! He remembered now, too well, that second room they
+      had showed him in the Crime Club&mdash;its multitude of disguises, though
+      in this case they had the dead man's clothes ready to their hands&mdash;the
+      leader's boast that impersonation was but child's play to them! And now he
+      understood why they had covered up the traces of their search in only so
+      curiously inadequate a manner. They had failed to find the package, and,
+      as a last resort, had adopted the ruse of impersonating Hilton Travers,
+      the chauffeur, which made it necessary that when they called Spider Jack
+      from his bed, as they had just done, that Spider Jack, at a CASUAL glance,
+      should notice nothing amiss&mdash;but it would be no more than a casual
+      glance, for, who should know better than they, he would not have to go for
+      the package to any place that they had disturbed! And he, Jimmie Dale,
+      could only stand here and watch them, helpless, powerless to move! Three
+      of them! A step out into the room was to invite certain death. It would
+      not matter, his death&mdash;if he could gain anything for her, for the
+      Tocsin, by it. But what could he gain&mdash;by dying? He clenched his
+      hands until the nails bit into the flesh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Spider Jack re-entered the room, carrying what looked like a large, bulky,
+      manila envelope, heavily sealed, in his hand. He tossed it on the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There you are, Travers!&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder,&rdquo; suggested the leader pleasantly, &ldquo;if, now that we're here,
+      Travers, your friend would mind letting us have this room for a few
+      minutes to ourselves to clean up the business?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure!&rdquo; agreed Spider Jack cordially. &ldquo;You're welcome to it! I'll wait out
+      here in the store until you say the word.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He went out, closing the door after him. The leader picked up the package.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll take no chances with this,&rdquo; he said grimly. &ldquo;It's been too close a
+      call. After we've had a look at it, we'll put it out of harm's way on the
+      spot, here, while we've got it&mdash;before we leave!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He ripped the package open, and disclosed perhaps a dozen official-looking
+      documents, besides a miscellaneous number of others. He took up the first
+      of the papers, glanced through it hurriedly, then tossed it to the pseudo
+      chauffeur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tear it up, and tear it up&mdash;SMALL!&rdquo; he ordered tersely. The next,
+      after examining it as he had the first, he tossed to the other man. &ldquo;Go
+      ahead!&rdquo;&mdash;curtly. &ldquo;Work fast! From the looks of these, Travers had us
+      cold! There's proof enough here of LaSalle's murder to send us all to the
+      chair!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He went on glancing through the documents; and then suddenly, joining the
+      others in their work, began to rip and tear at the papers himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A sort of cold horror had settled upon Jimmie Dale, and his forehead was
+      clammy wet. The inhuman irony of it! That he should stand there and watch,
+      impotent to prevent it, the destruction of what he would have given his
+      life to secure! And then slowly, a grim, hard, merciless smile came to his
+      lips. He had recognised the leader's voice&mdash;now he would recognise
+      the leader's FACE. At least, that was left to him&mdash;perhaps the master
+      trump of all. It would not be very hard to find the Crime Club now&mdash;with
+      that man to lead the way!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The scraps of paper, tiny shreds, mounted into a heap on the table&mdash;and
+      with the last of the contents of the package destroyed, the leader stood
+      up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Put these pieces in your pockets; we don't want to leave them here,&rdquo; he
+      directed quietly. &ldquo;And then let's get out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In scarcely a moment, the last scrap of paper had vanished. The three men
+      walked to the door, passed through it, and joined Spider Jack in the store&mdash;and
+      Jimmie Dale, slipping out from behind the curtain, gained the door of the
+      rear room, crept through it, reached the stoop, and then, darting like the
+      wind across the yard, was over the fence in a second, and in another was
+      out of the alleyway and on the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was in time&mdash;in plenty of time. They had just left Spider Jack's,
+      and were, perhaps, fifty yards or so ahead of him. He slouched on behind
+      them&mdash;the cold, grim smile on his lips once more. It was the Crime
+      Club now, that hell's cradle where their devil's schemes were hatched,
+      that was the one thing left to him; they would lead him to that, and then&mdash;and
+      then it would be his turn to STRIKE!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They turned the first corner. And suddenly, as the racing engine of an
+      automobile caught his ear, he broke into a run, and dashed around the
+      corner after them&mdash;in time to see them jump into a car, and the car
+      speed off along the street! He halted, as though he were suddenly dazed&mdash;started
+      involuntarily to run forward again&mdash;stopped with a hollow laugh at
+      the futility of it&mdash;and stood still and motionless on the sidewalk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then he swayed a little, and his face grew gray. Failure, defeat, ruin&mdash;in
+      that moment he knew them all to their bitterest dregs. How could he go to
+      her! How could he face her, and tell her that they were beaten, that the
+      last hope was gone, that he had failed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God!&rdquo; he cried aloud, and clenched his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then deep in his consciousness a thought stirred, and he swept a shaking
+      hand across his eyes. Why had it come again, that thought! Did it mean
+      that HE must play&mdash;the last card! There was a way&mdash;there had
+      always been a way. The way the Crime Club took&mdash;MURDER. It was their
+      own weapon! If the man who posed as Henry LaSalle were killed! If that man&mdash;were
+      killed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Magpie was to be there at three!&rdquo; he muttered&mdash;and started
+      mechanically back along the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIII
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      THE ONLY WAY
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      It was a horrible thing&mdash;and it grew upon him. In a blind, mechanical
+      way, his brain receptive to nothing else, Jimmie Dale walked on along the
+      street. To kill a man! Death he had faced himself a hundred times,
+      witnessed it a hundred times in its most violent forms, had seen murder
+      done before his eyes, had been in straits where, to save his own life, it
+      had seemed the one last desperate chance&mdash;and yet his hands were
+      still clean! To kill a man in fair fight, in struggle, when the blood was
+      hot, was terrible enough, a possibility that was always before him, the
+      one thing from which he shrank, the one thing that, as the Gray Seal, he
+      had always feared; but to kill a man deliberately, to creep upon his
+      victim with hideous, cold-blooded premeditation&mdash;he shivered a
+      little, and his hand shook as he drew it nervously across his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But there was no other way! Again and again, insidiously grappling with
+      his revulsion, with the horror that the impulse to murder inspired, came
+      that other thought&mdash;there was no other way. If the man who posed as
+      Henry LaSalle were DEAD! If he were dead! If he were dead! See, now, what
+      would happen if that man were dead! How clear his brain was on that point!
+      The whole plot would tumble like a house of cards about the heads of the
+      Crime Club. The courts would require an auditing of the estate by a
+      trustee of the courts' own appointing, who would continue to administer it
+      until the Tocsin's twenty-fifth birthday, or until there was tangible
+      evidence of her death&mdash;but the Tocsin, automatically with her pseudo
+      uncle's death, could publicly appear again. Her death could no longer
+      benefit the Crime Club, since it, the Crime Club, with the supposed uncle
+      dead, could not profit through the false Henry LaSalle inheriting as next
+      of kin! It was the weak link, the vulnerable point in the stupendous
+      scheme of murder and crime with which these hell fiends had played for and
+      won, so far, the stake of eleven millions. Not that they had overlooked or
+      been blind to this, they were too clever, too cunning for that&mdash;it
+      was only that they had planned to accomplish the Tocsin's death, as they
+      had her father's and uncle's, and ESTABLISH the false Henry LaSalle in
+      undisputed possession and ownership of the estate&mdash;and had failed in
+      that&mdash;up to the present. But the material results remained the same,
+      so long as the Tocsin, to save her life, was forced to remain in hiding,
+      so long as proof that would convict the Crime Club was not forthcoming&mdash;SO
+      LONG AS THAT MAN LIVED!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Time passed to which Jimmie Dale was oblivious. At times he walked slowly,
+      scarcely moving; at times his pace was a nervous, hurried stride, that was
+      almost a run. And as he was oblivious to time, so was he oblivious to his
+      surroundings, to the direction which he took. At times his forehead was
+      damp with moisture that was not there from physical exertion; at times his
+      face, deathly white, was full as of the vision of some shuddering,
+      abhorrent sight; at times his lips were thinned into a straight line, and
+      there was a glitter in the dark eyes that was not good to see, while his
+      hands at his sides clenched until the skin, tight over the knuckles, was
+      an ivory white. To kill a man!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What other way was there? The proof that it had taken Hilton Travers years
+      to obtain, the proof on which the Tocsin's life depended, was destroyed
+      utterly, irreparably. It could never be duplicated&mdash;Hilton Travers
+      was dead&mdash;MURDERED. Murder! That thought again! It was their own
+      weapon! Murder! Would one kill a venomous reptile in whose fangs was
+      death? What right had this man to life, whose life was forfeit even under
+      the law&mdash;for murder? Was she to drag on an intolerable existence
+      among the dregs and the scum of the underworld, she, in her refinement and
+      her purity, to exist among the vile and dissolute, in daily, hourly peril
+      of her life, because the weapons that these inhuman vultures had used to
+      rob her, to destroy those she loved, to make of her life a hideous,
+      joyless thing, should not be used against them?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But to kill a man! To steal upon a man with cold intent in the blackness
+      of the night&mdash;and take his life! To be a murderer! To know the horror
+      of blood forever upon one's hands, to rise, cold-sweated, in the night,
+      fearful of the very shadows around one, to live with every detail of that
+      fearsome act sweeping like some dread spectre at unexpected moments upon
+      the consciousness! He put up his hands before his face, as though to blot
+      out the thought from him. Mind and soul recoiled before it&mdash;to kill a
+      man!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He walked on and on, until at last, conscious of a sense of fatigue, he
+      stopped. He must have come a long way, been walking a long time. Where was
+      he? He looked about him for a moment in a dazed way&mdash;and suddenly,
+      with a low cry, shrank back. As though he had been drawn to it by some
+      ghastly magnet, he found himself standing in front of the LaSalle mansion,
+      on Fifth Avenue. No, no; it was not for that he had come&mdash;to kill a
+      man! It was only&mdash;only to get that money. Yes&mdash;he remembered now&mdash;that
+      money from the safe, before the Magpie got it. The Magpie was to be there
+      at three o'clock&mdash;and the Tocsin was to be there, too. The Tocsin!
+      That package! He had failed! It had been her one hope, and&mdash;and it
+      was gone. What could he say to her? How could he tell her the miserable
+      truth? But&mdash;but he had not come there in the dead of night to kill a
+      man, these other things were what had&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jimmie!&rdquo; It was a quick-breathed whisper. A hand was on his arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned, startled. It was the Tocsin&mdash;Silver Mag.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jimmie!&rdquo; in alarm. &ldquo;Why are you standing here like this? You may be
+      SEEN!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Seen! Suppose he WERE seen? He shuddered a little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; that's so!&rdquo; he said hoarsely. He glanced numbly up and down the
+      wide, deserted, but well-lighted, avenue. It was no place, that most
+      aristocratic section of the city, for such as Silver Mag and Larry the Bat
+      to be seen at that hour of night, or, rather, morning. And if anything
+      HAPPENED inside that house! &ldquo;I&mdash;I didn't think of that,&rdquo; he said
+      mechanically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come across the street&mdash;under the stoop of that house there.&rdquo; She
+      had his arm, and was half dragging him as she spoke, the alarm in her
+      voice intensified. And then, a moment later, safe from observation:
+      &ldquo;Jimmie, Jimmie, what is the matter? What has happened? What makes you act
+      so strangely?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;TELL me!&rdquo; she insisted wildly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then, with a violent effort, Jimmie Dale forced his mind back to the
+      immediate present. He was only inspiring her with terror&mdash;and there
+      was the Magpie&mdash;and that money in the safe!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is the Magpie?&rdquo; he asked, with quick apprehension. &ldquo;Am I late? Is
+      he in there already?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;He hasn't come yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What time is it?&rdquo; he demanded anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About half-past two,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;But, Jimmie&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait!&rdquo; he broke in. &ldquo;Where is he now? You were both together! And you
+      were both to be here at three. What are you doing here alone at half-past
+      two?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A strange little exclamation, one almost of dismay, it seemed, escaped
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Magpie left my place an hour ago&mdash;to get his kit, I think. And I
+      came here at once because that was what you and I understood I was to do,
+      wasn't it? Jimmie, you frighten me! You are not yourself. Don't you
+      remember the last words you said, as you nodded to me behind the Magpie's
+      back&mdash;that you would be here BEFORE us? There was no mistaking your
+      meaning&mdash;if I could get away from him, I was to come here and meet
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale passed his hand nervously across his eyes. Of course, he
+      remembered now! What a frightful turmoil his brain had been in!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes; of course!&rdquo; He tried to speak nonchalantly. &ldquo;I had forgotten for the
+      moment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She caught his arm in a quick, tight hold, shaking him in a terrified way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;YOU&mdash;forget a thing like that! Jimmie&mdash;something terrible has
+      happened. Can't you see that I am nearly mad with anxiety! What is it?
+      What is it? That package, Jimmie&mdash;is it the package?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not answer. What could he say? It meant life, hope, joy, everything
+      that the world held for her&mdash;and it was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;it IS the package!&rdquo; she whispered frantically. &ldquo;Quick, Jimmie!
+      Tell me! It&mdash;it was not there? You&mdash;you could not find it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was there,&rdquo; he said, as though the words were literally forced from
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then? Then&mdash;WHAT, Jimmie?&rdquo; The clutch on his arm was like a vise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They got it,&rdquo; he said. It was like a death sentence that he pronounced.
+      &ldquo;It is destroyed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not speak or move&mdash;save that her hands, as though nerveless
+      and without strength, fell away from his arms, and dropped to her sides.
+      It was dark there under the stoop, though not so dark but that he could
+      see her face. It was gray&mdash;gray as death. And there was misery and
+      fear and a pitiful helplessness in it&mdash;and then she swayed a little,
+      and he caught her in his arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gone!&rdquo; she murmured in a dead, colourless way&mdash;and suddenly laughed
+      out sharply, hysterically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't! For God's sake, don't do that!&rdquo; he pleaded wildly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at him then for a moment in strange quiet&mdash;and lifted her
+      hand and stroked his face in a numbed way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It&mdash;it would have been better, Jimmie, wouldn't it,&rdquo; she said in the
+      same monotonous voice, &ldquo;it would have been better if&mdash;if I had never
+      found out anything, and they&mdash;they had done the same to me that they
+      did to&mdash;to father.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Marie! Marie!&rdquo; It was the first time he had ever spoken her name, and it
+      was on his lips now in an agony of tenderness and appeal. &ldquo;Don't! You
+      mustn't speak like that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm tired,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I&mdash;I can't fight any more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not cry. She lay there in his arms quite still&mdash;like a weary
+      child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The minutes passed. When Jimmie Dale spoke again it was irrelevantly&mdash;and
+      his face was very white:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Marie, describe the upper floor of that house over there for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She roused herself with a start.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The upper floor?&rdquo; she repeated slowly. &ldquo;Why&mdash;why do you ask that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have YOU forgotten in turn?&rdquo; he said, with a steady smile. &ldquo;That money in
+      the safe&mdash;it's yours&mdash;we can at least save that out of the
+      wreck. You only drew the basement plan and the first floor for the Magpie&mdash;the
+      more I know about the house the better, of course, in case anything goes
+      wrong. Now, see, try and be brave&mdash;and tell me quickly, for I must
+      get through before the Magpie comes, and I have barely half an hour.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Jimmie&mdash;no!&rdquo; She slipped out of his arms. &ldquo;Let it alone! I am
+      afraid. Something&mdash;I&mdash;I have a feeling that something will
+      happen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is the only way.&rdquo; He said it involuntarily, more to himself than to
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jimmie, let it alone!&rdquo; she said again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I am going&mdash;so tell me quickly. Every minute that we
+      wait is one that counts against us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She hesitated an instant&mdash;and then, speaking rapidly, made a verbal
+      sketch of the upper portion of the house for him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a very large house, isn't it?&rdquo; he commented innocently&mdash;to pave
+      the way for the question, above all others, that he had to ask. &ldquo;Which is
+      your uncle's, I mean that man's room?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The first on the right, at the head of the landing,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;Only,
+      Jimmie, don't&mdash;don't go!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He drew her close to him again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, listen,&rdquo; he said quietly. &ldquo;When the Magpie comes and finds I am not
+      here, lead him to think that the money he gave me was too much for me;
+      that I am probably in some den, doped with drug&mdash;and hold him as long
+      as you can on the pretext that there is always the possibility I may,
+      after all, show up before he goes in there. You understand? And now about
+      yourself&mdash;you must do exactly as I say. On no account allow yourself
+      to be seen by ANY ONE except the Magpie. I would tell you to go now, only,
+      unless it is vitally necessary, we cannot afford to arouse the Magpie's
+      suspicions&mdash;he'd have every crook in the underworld snarling at our
+      heels. But you are not to wait, even for him, if you detect the slightest
+      disturbance in that house before he comes. And, equally, after he has gone
+      in, whether I have come out or not, at the first indication of anything
+      unusual you are to get away at once. You understand&mdash;Marie?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;But&mdash;but, Jimmie, you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just one thing more.&rdquo; He smiled at her reassuringly. &ldquo;Did the Magpie say
+      anything about how he intended to get in?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;by the side away from the corner of the street,&rdquo; she said
+      tremulously. &ldquo;You see, there's quite a space between the house and the one
+      next door; and, besides, the house next door is closed up, there's nobody
+      there, the family has gone away for the summer. The library window there
+      is low enough to reach from the ground.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment longer he held her close to him, as though he could not let
+      her go&mdash;then bent and kissed her passionately. And in that moment all
+      the emotions he had known as he had walked blindly from Spider Jack's that
+      night surged again upon him; and that voice was whispering, whispering,
+      whispering: &ldquo;It is the only way&mdash;it is the only way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And then, not daring to trust his voice, he released her suddenly, and
+      stepped back out from under the stoop&mdash;and the next instant he was
+      across the deserted avenue. Another, and he had slipped through the iron
+      gates that opened on the street driveway&mdash;and in yet another he was
+      crouched close up against the front door of the LaSalle mansion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a large house, a very large house, one of the few that, even amid
+      the wealth and luxury of that quarter, boasted its own grounds, and those
+      so restricted as scarcely to deserve the name; but it was set far enough
+      back from the street to escape the radius of the street lamps, and so
+      guarantee in its shadows security from observation. It was not the
+      Magpie's way, the front door&mdash;the obvious to the Magpie and his ilk
+      was a thing always to be shunned. Jimmie Dale's lips were set in a grim
+      smile, as his fingers worked with lightning speed, now taking this
+      instrument and now that from the leather pockets in the girdle beneath his
+      shirt&mdash;the penitentiaries were full of Magpies who shunned the
+      obvious!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Very slowly, very cautiously the door opened. He listened breathlessly,
+      tensely. The door closed again&mdash;behind him. He was inside now.
+      Stillness! Blackness! Not a sound! A minute went by&mdash;another. And
+      then, as he stood there, strained, listening, the silence itself began, it
+      seemed, to palpitate, and pound, pound, pound, and be full of strange
+      noises. It was a horrible thing&mdash;to kill a man!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIV
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      OUT OF THE DARKNESS
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      A moment later, Jimmie Dale stepped forward through the vestibule. He was
+      quite calm now; a sort of cold, merciless precision in every movement
+      succeeding the riot of turbulent emotions that had possessed him as he had
+      entered the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The half hour, the maximum length of time before the Magpie would appear,
+      as he had estimated it when out there under the stoop with the Tocsin, had
+      dwindled now to perhaps twenty minutes, twenty-five at the outside.
+      Twenty-five minutes! Twenty-five minutes was so little that for an instant
+      the temptation was strong upon him to sacrifice, rather than any of those
+      precious minutes, the Magpie instead! And then in the darkness, as he
+      stole noiselessly across the hall, he shook his head. It would be a
+      cowardly, brutal thing to do. What chance would a man with a record like
+      the Magpie's stand if caught there? How easy it would be to shift the
+      murder of the supposed Henry LaSalle to the Magpie's shoulders! Jimmie
+      Dale's lips closed firmly. Self-preservation was, perhaps, the first law,
+      but he would save the Magpie if he could&mdash;the Magpie should have his
+      chance! The man might be a criminal, might deserve punishment at the hands
+      of the law, his liberty might be a menace to the community&mdash;but he
+      was not a murderer, his life forfeit for a crime he had never committed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If he, Jimmie Dale, could only in some way have arranged with the Tocsin
+      out there to keep the Magpie away altogether! But it could not be done
+      without arousing the Magpie's suspicions; and, as a corollary to that,
+      afterward, with the subsequent events, would come&mdash;the deluge! The
+      law of the underworld was clear, concise, and admitting of no appeal on
+      that point; to double cross a pal meant, sooner or later, a knife thrust,
+      a blackjack, or&mdash;But what difference did it make what form the
+      execution of the sentence took? And, since, then, that was out of the
+      question, since he could not keep the Magpie away without practically
+      risking his own life, the Magpie at least must have his chance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale was at the library door now, that, according to the plan the
+      Tocsin had drawn for the Magpie, and as he remembered her description when
+      she had told him her story earlier in the evening, was just at the foot of
+      the staircase. How dark it was! Though the stairs could be only a few feet
+      away, he could not see them. And how intense the silence was again! Here,
+      where he stood, the slightest stir from above must have reached him&mdash;but
+      there was not a sound.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His hand felt out for the doorknob, found it, turned it, and pushed the
+      door open. He stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him. The
+      safe, according to the Tocsin's plan again, was in that sort of alcove at
+      the lower end of the library. Jimmie Dale's flashlight played
+      inquisitively about the room. There was the window, the only one in the
+      room, the window through which the Magpie proposed to enter; there was the
+      archway of the alcove, with its&mdash;no, there were no longer any
+      portieres; and there was the safe, he could see it quite plainly from
+      where he stood at the upper end of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The flashlight went out for the space of perhaps thirty seconds&mdash;thirty
+      seconds of absolute silence, absolute stillness&mdash;then the round,
+      white ray of the light again, but glistening now on the nickel knobs and
+      dial of the safe&mdash;and Jimmie Dale was on his knees before it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A low, scarcely breathed exclamation, that seemed to mingle anxiety and
+      hesitation, escaped him. He, who knew the make of every safe in the
+      country, knew this one for its true worth. Twenty-five minutes! Could he
+      open it in that time, let alone with any time to spare! It was not like
+      the one in Spider Jack's; it was the kind that the Magpie, however clever
+      he might be in his own way, would be forced to negotiate with &ldquo;soup,&rdquo; and,
+      with the attendant noise, double his chance of discovery and capture&mdash;and
+      the responsibility for what might have happened UPSTAIRS! No; the Magpie
+      must have his chance! And, besides, the money in the safe apart, why
+      should not he, Jimmie Dale, have his own chance, as well? All this would
+      help. The motive&mdash;robbery; the perpetrator, there was grim mockery on
+      his lips now as the light went out and the sensitive fingers closed on the
+      knob of the dial, the perpetrator&mdash;the Gray Seal. It would afford
+      excellent food for the violent editorial diatribes under which the police
+      again would writhe in frenzy!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stillness again! Silence! Only a low, tense breathing; only, so faint that
+      it could not be heard a foot away, a curious scratching, as from time to
+      time the supersensitive fingers fell away from the dial to rub upon the
+      carpet&mdash;to increase even their sensitiveness by setting the nerves to
+      throbbing through the skin surface at the tips. And then Jimmie Dale's
+      head, ear pressed close against the safe to catch the tumbler's fall, was
+      lifted&mdash;and the flashlight played again on the dial.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Twenty-eight and a quarter&mdash;left.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      How fast the time went&mdash;and how slowly! Still the black shape
+      crouched there in the darkness against the safe. At times, in strange,
+      ghostly flashes, the nickel dial with the ray upon it seemed to leap out
+      and glisten through the surrounding blackness; at times, the quick intake
+      of breath, as from great exertion; at times, faint, musical little clicks,
+      as, after abortive effort, the dial whirled, preparatory to a fresh
+      attempt. And then, at last&mdash;a gasp of relief:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Came the sound, barely audible, as of steel sliding in well-oiled grooves,
+      the muffled thud of metal meeting metal as the bolts shot back&mdash;and
+      the heavy door swung outward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale stretched his cramped limbs, and wiped the moisture from his
+      face&mdash;then set to work again upon the inner door. This was an easier
+      matter&mdash;far easier. Five minutes, perhaps a little more, went by&mdash;and
+      then the inner door was open, and the flashlight's ray was flooding the
+      interior of the safe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A queer little sound, half of astonishment, half of disappointment, issued
+      from Jimmie Dale's lips. There was money here, a great deal of money,
+      undoubtedly, but there was no such sum as he had, somehow, fantastically
+      imagined from the Magpie's evidently overcoloured story that there would
+      be; there was money, ten packages of banknotes neatly piled in the bottom
+      compartment&mdash;but there was no half million of dollars! He picked up
+      one of the packages hurriedly&mdash;and drew in his breath. After all,
+      there was a great deal&mdash;the notes were of hundred-dollar
+      denomination, and on the bottom were two one-thousand-dollar bills!
+      Calculated roughly, if each of the other nine packages contained a like
+      amount, the total must exceed a hundred thousand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now Jimmie Dale began to work with feverish haste. From the leather
+      girdle inside his shirt came the thin metal insignia case&mdash;and a gray
+      seal was stuck firmly on the dial knob of the safe. This done, he tucked
+      away the packages of banknotes, some into his pockets and some inside his
+      shirt; and then quickly ransacked the interior of the safe, flauntingly
+      spilling the contents of drawers and pigeonholes out upon the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood up, and, leaving the safe door wide open, walked back across the
+      room to the window, unfastened the catch, and opened the window an inch or
+      two. The way was open now for the Magpie! The Magpie would have no need to
+      make any noise in forcing an entrance; he would be able to see almost at a
+      glance that he had been forestalled&mdash;by the Gray Seal; and that, as
+      far as he was concerned, the game was up. The Magpie had his chance! If
+      the Magpie did not take the hint and make his escape as noiselessly as he
+      had entered&mdash;it was his own fault! He, Jimmie Dale, had given the
+      Magpie his chance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale turned from the window, and made his way out of the library to
+      the foot of the stairs, leaving the library door open behind him. How long
+      had he been? Was it more or less than the twenty-five minutes? He did not
+      know&mdash;only, as yet, the Magpie had not come, and now perhaps it did
+      not make so much difference.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where was he going now? His foot was on the first stair&mdash;and suddenly
+      he drew it back, the cold sweat bursting out on his forehead. Where was he
+      going now? &ldquo;THE FIRST ROOM ON THE RIGHT AT THE HEAD OF THE LANDING.&rdquo; From
+      his inner consciousness, as it were, the answer, in all the bald, naked
+      horror that it implied, flashed upon him. The first room on the right&mdash;THAT
+      man's room! God, how the darkness and the stillness began to palpitate
+      again, and suddenly seem to shriek out at him over and over the one
+      single, ghastly word&mdash;MURDER!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It had been with him, that thought, all the time he had been working at
+      the safe; but it had been there then only subconsciously, like some heavy,
+      nameless dread, subjugated for the moment by the work he had had to do
+      which had demanded the centred attention of every faculty he possessed.
+      But now the moment had come when there was only THAT before him, only
+      that, nothing else&mdash;only that, the man upstairs in the first room to
+      the right of the landing!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why did he hesitate? Why did he stand there while the priceless moments
+      before daylight came were passing? The man was a murderer, a blotch on
+      society, and, his life already forfeited, he was living now only because
+      the law had not found him out&mdash;the man was a criminal, bloodstained&mdash;and
+      his life, because he had taken her father's life and had tried to take the
+      Tocsin's own life, stood between her and every hope of happiness, robbing
+      her even literally, in a material sense, of everything that the world
+      could hold for her! Why did he hesitate? It was that man's life&mdash;or
+      hers! It was the only way!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He put his foot upon the bottom step again&mdash;paused still another
+      instant&mdash;and then began stealthily to mount the stairs. The darkness!
+      There had never been, it seemed, such darkness before! The stillness&mdash;he
+      had never known silence so heavy, so full of strange, premonitory
+      pulsings; a silence that seemed so incongruously full of clamouring
+      whispers in his ears! It must be those imagined whispers that were
+      affecting his nerve&mdash;for now, as he gained the landing and slipped
+      his automatic from his pocket, his hand was shaking with a queer twitching
+      motion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For an instant, fighting for his self-composure, he stood striving to
+      locate his surroundings through the darkness. The staircase was a circular
+      one, making the landing nearly at the front of the house, and rearward
+      from this, the Tocsin had said, a hallway ran down the centre, with rooms
+      on either side. The first room to the right, therefore, should be just at
+      his hand. He reached out, feeling cautiously&mdash;there was nothing. He
+      edged to the right&mdash;still nothing; edged a little farther, a sense of
+      bewilderment growing upon him, and finally his fingers touched the wall.
+      It was very strange! The hallway must be much wider than he had understood
+      it to be from what she had said!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He moved along now straight ahead of him, his hand on the wall, feeling
+      for the door&mdash;and with every step his bewilderment increased. Surely
+      there must be some mistake&mdash;perhaps he had misunderstood! He had come
+      fully twice the distance that one would expect&mdash;and yet there was no
+      door. Ah, what was that? His fingers closed on soft, heavy velvet
+      hangings. These could hardly be in front of a door, and yet&mdash;what
+      else could it be? He drew the hangings warily apart, and felt behind them.
+      It was a window; but it was shuttered in some way evidently, for he could
+      not see out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale stood motionless there for fully a minute. It seemed absurd,
+      preposterous, the conviction that was being forced home upon him&mdash;that
+      there were no rooms on the right-hand side of the corridor at all! But
+      that was not like the Tocsin, accurate always in the most minute details.
+      The room must be still farther along. He was tempted to use his flashlight&mdash;but
+      that, as long as he could feel his way, was an unnecessary risk. A
+      flashlight upstairs, where a sleeping-room door might be ajar, or even
+      wide open, where some one wakeful, THAT man himself, perhaps, might see
+      it, was quite another matter than a flashlight in the closed and deserted
+      library below!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went on once more, still guiding himself by a light finger touch upon
+      the wall, passed another portiere similar to the first, and, after that,
+      another&mdash;and finally stopped by bringing up abruptly against the end
+      wall of the house. It was certainly very strange! There WERE no rooms on
+      the right-hand side of the corridor. And here, hanging across the end
+      wall, was another of those ubiquitous velvet portieres. He parted it, and,
+      a little to his surprise, found a window that was not shuttered, but that,
+      instead, was heavily barred by an ornamental grille work. He could see
+      out, however, and found that he was looking directly out from the rear of
+      the house. A lamp from the side street threw what was undoubtedly the
+      garage into shadowy outline, and he made out below him a short stretch of
+      yard between the garage and the house. He remembered that now&mdash;she
+      had described all that to the Magpie. There was no driveway between the
+      front and the rear. The house being on the corner, the entrance to the
+      garage was directly from the side street. Yes, she had described all that
+      exactly as it was, but&mdash;he dropped the portiere and faced around,
+      carrying his hand in a nonplused way to his eyes&mdash;but here, upstairs,
+      within the house, it was not as she had said it was at all! What did it
+      mean? She could not have blundered so egregiously as that, unless&mdash;he
+      caught his breath suddenly&mdash;unless she had done so intentionally! Was
+      that it? Had she surmised, formed a suspicion of what was in his mind, of
+      what he meant to do&mdash;and taken this means of defeating it? If so&mdash;well,
+      it was too late for that now! There was one way&mdash;only one way!
+      Whatever the cost, whatever it might mean for him&mdash;there was only one
+      way out for her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His flashlight was in his hand now, and the round, white ray shot down the
+      corridor&mdash;seemed suddenly to falter unsteadily&mdash;swept in through
+      an open door that was almost beside him&mdash;and then, as though a
+      nerveless hand held it, the ray dropped and played shakily on the toe of
+      his boot before it went out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A stifled cry rose to his lips. Something cold, like a hand of ice, seemed
+      to clutch at his heart. Those portieres, the wide, richly carpeted
+      corridor! It was the corridor of the night before! That room at his side
+      was the room where he had seen Hilton Travers, the chauffeur, dead, lashed
+      in a chair! He felt the sweat beads burst out anew upon his forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      IT WAS THE CRIME CLUB! <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XV
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      RETRIBUTION
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      His brain seemed to whirl, staggered as by some gigantic, ghastly mockery.
+      The Crime Club! HERE! He had thought to creep upon that man&mdash;and he
+      had run blindly into the very heart and centre of these hell fiends' nest!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Silently he stood there, holding his breath as he listened now, motionless
+      as a statue, forcing his mind to THINK. He remembered that last night his
+      impression of the place had been that it was more like some great private
+      mansion than anything else. Well, he had been right, it seemed! He could
+      have laughed aloud&mdash;sardonically, hysterically. It was not so strange
+      now that there were no rooms on the right-hand side of the corridor! And
+      what could have suited their purpose better, what, by its very location,
+      its unimpeachable character, could be a more ideal lair for them than this
+      house! And how grimly simple it was now, the explanation! In the five
+      years that the false Henry LaSalle had been in possession, they had
+      cunningly remodelled the upper floor&mdash;that was all! It was quite
+      clear now why the man never entertained&mdash;why he had never been caught
+      or found or known to be in communication with his fellow conspirators! It
+      was no longer curious that one might watch the door of the house for
+      months at a stretch and go unrewarded for one's pains, as the Tocsin had
+      done, when access to the house by those who frequented it was so easy
+      through the garage on the side street&mdash;and from the garage, if their
+      work there was in keeping with their clever contrivances within the house,
+      by an underground connection into, say, the cellar or basement!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Jimmie Dale checked that nervous, unnatural inclination to laugh
+      aloud. Was there anything, any single incident, any single detail of all
+      that had transpired, that was not explained, borne out, as it could be
+      explained and borne out in no other way save that the Crime Club should be
+      no other than this very house itself? It was the exposition of that
+      favourite theory of his&mdash;it was so obvious that therein lay its
+      security. He had mocked at the Magpie not many moments before on that
+      score&mdash;and now it was the beam in his own eye! It was so obvious now,
+      so glaringly obvious, that the Crime Club could have been nowhere else; so
+      obvious, with every word of the Tocsin's story pointing it out like a
+      signpost&mdash;and he had not seen it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then suddenly every muscle grew strained and rigid. WAS THERE SOME ONE
+      IN THE CORRIDOR? Was it some one moving&mdash;or was it only fancy? He
+      listened&mdash;while he strained his eyes through the darkness. There was
+      no sound; only that abnormal, heavy silence that&mdash;yes, he remembered
+      that, too, now&mdash;that had clung about him last night like a pall. He
+      could see nothing, hear nothing&mdash;but intuitively, bringing a cold
+      dismay, the greater because it was something unknown, intangible, he FELT
+      as though eyes were upon him, that even in the darkness he was being
+      watched!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And as he stood there, then, slowly there crept upon Jimmie Dale the sense
+      of peril and disaster. It was not intuition now&mdash;it was certainty. He
+      was trapped! It was the part of a fool to imagine that with their devil's
+      cunning, their cleverness, their ingenuity, he, or any one else, could
+      enter that house unknown to its occupants! Had he made electric contact
+      when he had opened the front door, and rung a signal here, perhaps,
+      upstairs&mdash;had he set some system of alarm at work when he had touched
+      that window? What did it matter&mdash;the details that had heralded his
+      entrance? He was certain now that his presence in the house was known.
+      Only, why had they left him so long without attack? He shook his head with
+      a quick, impatient movement. That, too, was obvious! He was under
+      observation. Who was he? Why had he come? Was he simply a paltry
+      safe-tapper&mdash;or was he one whom they had a real need to fear? And
+      then, too, there might well be another reason. It was far from likely, in
+      fact unreasonable, to imagine that all the men he had seen here the night
+      before were in the house now. Not many of them, if any, would LIVE here,
+      for CONSTANT, daily coming and going, even through the garage, could not
+      escape notice; and, of the servants, probably a lesser breed of criminal,
+      some of them, at least, no doubt, were engaged at that moment in watching
+      his own house on Riverside Drive! There was even the possibility that the
+      man posing as Henry LaSalle was, for the time being, here alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head again. He could hardly hope for that&mdash;he had no
+      right to hope for anything more now than a struggle, with an inevitably
+      fatal ending to himself, but one in which at least he could sell his life
+      as dearly as possible, one in which, perhaps, he might pay the Tocsin's
+      score with the man he had come to find! If he could do that&mdash;well,
+      after all, the price was not too great!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were no tremours of the muscles now. It was Jimmie Dale, the Gray
+      Seal, every faculty alert, tense, keyed up to its highest efficiency; the
+      brain cool, keen, and active&mdash;fighting for his life. The front door
+      through which he had entered was an impossibility; but there was the
+      window in the library that he had opened&mdash;if they would let him get
+      that far! That was as good a chance as any. If he made an effort to find,
+      say, a way to the flat above and chanced some means of escape there, it
+      would in no wise obviate an attack upon him, and he would only be under
+      the added disadvantage of unfamiliar surroundings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Feeling out with his left hand, his automatic thrown a little forward in
+      his right, he began to retrace his way along the blank wall of the
+      corridor, pausing between each step to listen, moving silently, his tread
+      on the heavy carpet as noiseless as though it were some shadow creeping
+      there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stillness&mdash;utter, absolute! Always that stillness. Always that sense
+      of danger around him&mdash;the tense, bated expectancy of momentary attack&mdash;a
+      revolver flash through the darkness&mdash;a sudden rush upon him. But
+      still there was nothing&mdash;only the darkness, only the silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He gained the head of the stairs and began to descend&mdash;and now the
+      strain began to tell upon his nerves again. Again he was possessed of the
+      mad impulse to cry out, to do anything that would force the issue, that
+      would end the horrible, unbearable suspense. Why did that revolver shot
+      not come? Why had they not yet rushed upon him? Why were they playing with
+      him as a cat with a mouse? Or was it all wild, fanciful imagination? NO!
+      What was that again! He could have sworn this time that he had heard a
+      sound, but he could neither define its character, nor locate the direction
+      from which it had come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was at the foot of the stairs now; and, guiding himself by the wall,
+      moving now barely an inch at a time, he reached the library door that he
+      had left open, and stole in over the threshold. Halfway down the room and
+      diagonally across from where he stood was the window. In a moment now he
+      could gain that, but they would never let him go so easily&mdash;and so it
+      must come now, in that next moment, their attack! Where were they? Where
+      were they now? The table&mdash;he must remember not to bump into the
+      table! A pause between each step, he was crossing the room. He was halfway
+      to the window. Had it been all fancy, was he to&mdash;And then Jimmie Dale
+      stood motionless. SOME ONE HAD CLOSED THE LIBRARY DOOR SOFTLY!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stillness again! A sort of deadly calm upon him, Jimmie Dale felt out
+      behind his back for the big library table that he had been circuiting&mdash;if
+      the window were wide open it might be done, but to jump for it and stand
+      silhouetted there during the pause necessary to fling the window up was
+      little less than suicidal. He edged back noiselessly until his fingers
+      touched the table; then, lowering himself to his knees, he backed in
+      underneath it, and lay flat upon the floor. It was not much protection,
+      but it had one advantage: if they switched on the lights it would show an
+      EMPTY room for the first instant, and that instant meant&mdash;the first
+      shot!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where were they now? By the library door? How many of them were there?
+      Well, it was their move! Two could play at cat and mouse until&mdash;until
+      DAYLIGHT! That wasn't very far off, now, and when that came he might still
+      have the first shot, but after that&mdash;he turned his head quickly
+      toward the window. There was a faint scratching noise as of finger nails
+      gripping the sill; then the window, very slowly, almost silently, was
+      pushed steadily upward, and a dark form loomed up outside; and then,
+      crawling through, a man dropped, as though his feet were padded like a
+      cat's on the floor inside the room. The Magpie!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A flashlight's ray shot out&mdash;and, with a twisted smile propped now on
+      his left elbow to give free play to his revolver arm, Jimmie Dale followed
+      the white spot eagerly with his eyes. But it did not circle around;
+      instead, the light was turned almost instantly toward the lower end of the
+      room&mdash;and, a second later, was holding steadily on the open door of
+      the safe, and the litter of papers on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Came a savage growl of amazed fury from the Magpie: then his step down the
+      room; and, as he reached the safe, a torrent of unbridled blasphemy&mdash;and
+      then, in a sort of staggered gasp, as he leaned suddenly forward examining
+      the knob of the dial:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Gray Seal!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A moment the Magpie stood there; and then, cursing again in abandon,
+      turned, and started back for the window, his flashlight dancing before him&mdash;and
+      stopped, a snarl of fury on his lips. The flashlight was playing full on
+      Jimmie Dale under the table!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Larry the Bat! The Gray Seal! By God!&rdquo; choked the Magpie. &ldquo;You&mdash;you&mdash;&rdquo;
+       The Magpie's flashlight, as he shifted it from his right hand to his left
+      and wrenched out his revolver, had fallen upon two men crouched close
+      against the wall by the library door&mdash;and he screamed out in an
+      access of fury. &ldquo;De double cross! A plant! De bulls! You damned snitch,
+      Larry!&rdquo; screamed out the Magpie&mdash;and fired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bullet tore into the carpet beside Jimmie Dale. Came answering shots
+      from the men by the door; and then the Magpie, emptying his automatic at
+      the two men as he ran, the flame tongues cutting vicious lanes of fire
+      through the darkness, dashed for the window. There was a cry, the crash of
+      a heavy body pitching to the floor&mdash;and the Magpie had flung himself
+      out through the window, and in the momentary ensuing silence within the
+      room came the sound of his footsteps running on the gravel below.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a low moan, the movement as of some one staggering and lurching
+      around&mdash;and then the lights went on. But for an instant Jimmie Dale
+      did not move. He was staring at the form of a man still and motionless on
+      the floor in front of him&mdash;the man who had posed as Henry LaSalle.
+      Dead! The man was dead! His mind ran riot for a moment. Where were the
+      others&mdash;were there only these two? Only these two in the house! Only
+      these two&mdash;and one was dead! And then Jimmie Dale was on his feet.
+      One was dead&mdash;but there was still the other, the man who was reeling
+      there, back turned to him, by the electric-light switch. But even as
+      Jimmie Dale sprang forward, this second man, clawing at the wall for
+      support, slipped to his knees and fell upon the carpet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale reached him, snatched the revolver from his hand, and bent
+      over him. It was the man whose name he did not know, but whose face he had
+      reason enough to know too well&mdash;it was the leader of the Crime Club.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man, though evidently badly wounded, smiled defiantly in spite of his
+      pain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you're the Gray Seal!&rdquo; he flung out contemptuously. &ldquo;A clever enough
+      safe-cracker&mdash;but only a lowbrow, like the rest of them. Another
+      illusion dispelled! Well, you've got the money&mdash;better run, hadn't
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale made no answer. Satisfied that the man was too badly hurt to
+      move, he went and bent over the silent form in the centre of the room. A
+      moment's examination was enough. &ldquo;Henry LaSalle&rdquo; was dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood there looking down at the man. It was what he had come for&mdash;though
+      it was the Magpie, not himself, who had accomplished it! The man was dead!
+      The words began to run through his mind in a queer reiteration. The man
+      was dead&mdash;the man was dead! He checked himself sharply. He must think
+      now&mdash;think fast, and think RIGHT.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Magpie knew that Larry the Bat was the Gray Seal&mdash;and as fast as
+      the Magpie could get there, the news would spread like wildfire through
+      the underworld. &ldquo;Death to the Gray Seal! Death to the Gray Seal!&rdquo; He could
+      hear that slogan ringing again in his ears, but as he had never heard it
+      before&mdash;with a snarl of triumph now as of wolves who at last had
+      pulled their quarry down. He had not a second to spare&mdash;and yet&mdash;that
+      man wounded there on the floor! What of him&mdash;guilty of murder, the
+      brains of this inhuman, monstrous organisation, the one to whom, more even
+      than to that dead man, the Tocsin owed the horror and the misery and the
+      grief and despair that had come into her life! What of him? What of the
+      Crime Club here? What of this nest of vipers? Were they to escape? Were
+      they to&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a sudden, low exclamation, Jimmie Dale jumped for the table, and,
+      snatching up the telephone, rattled the hook violently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give me&rdquo;&mdash;his voice came in well-simulated gasps, each like a man
+      fighting for every word&mdash;&ldquo;give me&mdash;police&mdash;headquarters!
+      Quick! QUICK! I've&mdash;been&mdash;shot!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The wounded man on the floor raised himself on his elbow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you doing?&rdquo; he demanded in a startled way. &ldquo;Are you mad! Thank
+      your stars you were lucky enough to get out of this alive&mdash;and get
+      out now, while you have the chance!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale pressed his hand firmly over the mouthpiece of the telephone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll go,&rdquo; he said, with a cold smile, &ldquo;when I've settled with you&mdash;for
+      the murder of Henry LaSalle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That man!&rdquo; ejaculated the man scornfully, pointing to the form on the
+      floor. &ldquo;So that's your game! Going to try and cover your tracks! Why, you
+      fool, I LIVE here! Do you think the police would imagine for an instant
+      that I killed him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I said&mdash;HENRY LASALLE,&rdquo; said Jimmie Dale evenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man came farther up on his elbow, a sudden look of fear in his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&mdash;what do you mean?&rdquo; he cried hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Jimmie Dale was talking again into the telephone&mdash;gasping,
+      choking out his words as before:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Police headquarters? I'm Henry LaSalle. Fifth Avenue. I&mdash;I've been
+      shot. Take down this statement. I'll&mdash;I'll be dead before you get
+      here&mdash;I'm not the real Henry LaSalle at all. We murdered Henry
+      LaSalle&mdash;in Australia, and murdered Peter LaSalle here. We&mdash;we
+      tried to kill the daughter, but she ran away. This house has been our
+      headquarters for the last five years. The man who shot me to-night is the
+      leader of the gang. We quarrelled over the division of a haul. He's here
+      on the floor now, wounded. Get them all, get them all, damn them!&mdash;do
+      you hear?&mdash;get them all! They're out of the house now, but lay a trap
+      for them. They always come in through the garage on the side street. Oh,
+      God, I'm done for! Break down the west walls of the rooms upstairs&mdash;if&mdash;you&mdash;want
+      proof of what&mdash;the gang's been doing. Hurry! Hurry! I'm&mdash;I'm&mdash;done
+      for&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale permitted the telephone to drop with a clash from his hand to
+      the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The face of the man on the floor was livid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who are you? In God's name, who are you?&rdquo; he cried out wildly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does it matter?&rdquo; inquired Jimmie Dale grimly. &ldquo;Your game is up. You'll go
+      to the chair for the murder of 'Henry LaSalle'&mdash;if it is by proxy!
+      Those rooms upstairs alone are enough to damn you, to prove every word of
+      that dying 'confession'&mdash;but to-morrow, added to it, will come the
+      story of Marie LaSalle herself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment the man hung there swaying on his elbow, his face working in
+      ghastly fashion&mdash;and then suddenly, with a strange laugh, he carried
+      one hand swiftly to his mouth&mdash;and laughed again&mdash;and before
+      Jimmie Dale could reach him was lifeless on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A tiny vial rolled away upon the carpet. Jimmie Dale picked it up. A drop
+      or two of liquid still remained in it&mdash;colourless, clear, like that
+      liquid this same man had dropped into the rabbit's mouth the night before,
+      like the liquid in the glasses they had carried into that third room, like
+      the liquid that his man had said was from a formula of their own, that was
+      instantaneous in its action, that defied detection by autopsy!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The set, stern features of Jimmie Dale relaxed. It was justice&mdash;but
+      it was also death. In a surge of emotion, the events of scarcely more than
+      twenty-four hours, began to crowd upon him&mdash;and then, ominously
+      dominant, above all else, that slogan of the underworld, &ldquo;Death to the
+      Gray Seal!&rdquo; came ringing once more in his ears. It brought him, with a
+      startled movement of his hand across his eyes, to a realisation of his own
+      desperate position. Yes, yes, he must go! The way was clear now for the
+      Tocsin&mdash;clear now for her!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He dropped the vial into his pocket, and, running to the safe, quickly
+      scraped the gray seal from the dial's knob; then he drew the packages of
+      money from his shirt and pockets and tossed them on the floor among the
+      litter of papers already there&mdash;she would get it back again when it
+      had served its purpose, it would be self-evident that it was the proceeds
+      of that day's sale of the estate's securities over which the &ldquo;quarrel&rdquo; had
+      occurred!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now the window! He ran to it, closed it, and LOCKED it; then, laying
+      the revolver he had taken from the leader down beside the man, he stepped
+      across the room again and drew the body of &ldquo;Henry LaSalle&rdquo; closer to the
+      table&mdash;as though the man had fallen there when the telephone had
+      dropped from his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was done now! On the floor beside him lay each man's weapon&mdash;and
+      both of the revolvers had been discharged several times. Jimmie Dale
+      paused on the library threshold for a final survey of the room. It was
+      done! The way was clear&mdash;for her. And now if he could only save
+      himself! There was no chance for Larry the Bat! Could he save&mdash;JIMMIE
+      DALE!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He crossed the hall, a queer, half-grim, half-wistful smile on his lips,
+      unlocked the front door, stepped out, locked it behind him&mdash;and in
+      another moment, doubling around the corner, was running along like a hare
+      along the side street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVI
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      &ldquo;DEATH TO THE GRAY SEAL!&rdquo;
+     </h3>
+    <p>
+      On Jimmie Dale ran. Across on Fourth Avenue he swung on a car that took
+      him to Astor Place. Then striking east once more, making a detour to avoid
+      the Bowery, he ran on at top speed again. To reach the Sanctuary, not
+      before the Magpie should have spread the alarm, that was impossible, but
+      to reach it before the underworld should have had time to recover its
+      breath, as it were, before the underworld should have had time to act&mdash;that
+      was his only chance! The Magpie had, at the outside, a start of fifteen
+      minutes; but he, Jimmie Dale, had probably retrieved five minutes of that
+      in the time he had made in getting downtown. That left the Magpie ten to
+      the good. How long would it take the Magpie to bring the underworld
+      swarming like hornets around the Sanctuary?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On Larry the Bat ran. At the Sanctuary were the clothes, the belongings of
+      Jimmie Dale. Could he save Jimmie Dale! If he could get there, change, and
+      get out again, the way was clear for him&mdash;as clear as for the Tocsin
+      now. In a few hours the police would have every member of the Crime Club
+      in the trap; there would be no watch any more around his house on
+      Riverside Drive; and he would be free to return there and resume his
+      normal life as Jimmie Dale again if he could make the Sanctuary in time!
+      But let the Magpie get there first, let the underworld tear the place to
+      pieces in its fury as it would do, let them discover that hiding place
+      under the flooring, for instance, and the Gray Seal would not be merely
+      Larry the Bat, but Jimmie Dale as well, and&mdash;a cry escaped him even
+      as he ran&mdash;it meant ruin, the disgrace of an honoured name, death,
+      crimes without number at his door. Crimes! The Gray Seal had never
+      committed a crime! But the crimes attributed to the Gray Seal he could not
+      disprove, not one of them! He had meant them to appear as crimes&mdash;and
+      he had succeeded so well that the Gray Seal's name, execrated, was a
+      synonym for the most callous, dangerous, and unscrupulous criminal of the
+      age!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was gasping for breath as finally, making for the side door, he darted
+      into the alleyway that flanked the Sanctuary. What story would the Magpie
+      tell? Not the truth, of course&mdash;that would let the Magpie in for what
+      had happened that night, for the Magpie must be well aware that he had
+      shot at least one of the two men in that room. But the truth wasn't
+      necessary; it was foreign, and had no bearing on the one outstanding fact&mdash;the
+      Gray Seal was Larry the Bat. At the present moment the Magpie had a double
+      incentive for &ldquo;getting&rdquo; the Gray Seal&mdash;the Gray Seal was the only one
+      who could prove murder against him that night in the LaSalle mansion. And
+      afterwards, when the police version of the affair was made public, the
+      Magpie, to save himself, would be careful enough to do or say nothing to
+      contradict &ldquo;Henry LaSalle's&rdquo; confession!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Larry the Bat slipped in through the door, halted there, listened; and
+      then began to mount the rickety stairs, with his silent tread. At the top
+      he paused again. Nothing&mdash;no sound! They were not here yet&mdash;so
+      far he was in time! He stepped to the Sanctuary door, unlocked it, passed
+      into the squalid, miserable room that had harboured him for so long as
+      Larry the Bat, locked the door behind him, crossed quickly to the window
+      to make sure that the shutters were closed&mdash;and then, for the first
+      time, as the gray light streaked in through the interstices, he was
+      conscious that it was already dawn. So much the more need for haste then!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He whipped out his revolver and laid it at his hand on the dilapidated
+      table; then the flooring in the corner was up in an instant, and he began
+      to strip off the rags of Larry the Bat. Boots, mismated socks, the torn,
+      patched trousers, the greasy flannel shirt, the threadbare coat, the
+      nondescript slouch hat were thrown in a pile on the floor; and with them,
+      from their hiding-place, the grease paints and heterogeneous collection of
+      make-up accessories. This done, he began to slip on the clothes of Jimmie
+      Dale; and, when half dressed, turned to the table again to remove the
+      characteristic grime, stain, and paint of Larry the Bat from face, hands,
+      wrists, throat, and neck. This was a longer, more arduous task. He reached
+      for the cracked pitcher to pour more water into the basin&mdash;and,
+      snatching up his revolver instead, whirled to face the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some one was outside! He had caught the creak of a footstep upon the
+      stairs. In a flash he was across the room and crouched by the door. Yes,
+      the step was nearer now&mdash;at the head of the stairs&mdash;on the
+      landing. His revolver lifted, holding a steady bead on the door panel. And
+      then there came a low voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jimmie! Jimmie! Are you there? Quick, Jimmie! Are you there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Tocsin! What was she doing here! Why had he not warned her up there on
+      the avenue, fool that he was, that of all places she was to keep away from
+      here!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She slipped into the room as he unlocked the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They're coming, Jimmie!&rdquo; she panted breathlessly. &ldquo;There's not an instant
+      to lose! Listen! When the Magpie ran from the house, I ran with him&mdash;but
+      it&rdquo;&mdash;she tried to smile&mdash;&ldquo;it wasn't to obey you, to run away&mdash;I
+      had made up my mind I wouldn't do that&mdash;it was to find out from him
+      what had happened. He told me you were the Gray Seal. He did not suspect
+      me. He thinks you were no more than just Larry the Bat to me, as you were
+      to everybody else. He went straight to Chicago Ike's gambling rooms and
+      found the Skeeter's gang there&mdash;you know them, Red Mose, the Midget,
+      Harve Thoms, and the Skeeter&mdash;you remember your fight with them over
+      old Luddy's diamonds! Well, they have not forgotten, either! They are on
+      their way here, now! The news that you are the Gray Seal is travelling
+      like lightning all through the underworld&mdash;there will be a mob here
+      on the Skeeter's heels. So, Jimmie&mdash;quick! Run!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Run! Half Larry the Bat, half Jimmie Dale&mdash;and run! In another five
+      minutes, perhaps&mdash;yes. But there probably would not be five minutes&mdash;and
+      she&mdash;if she were found here!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said quietly. &ldquo;I'll get away in a moment. You go at once. I'll&rdquo;&mdash;he
+      was smiling at her reassuringly&mdash;&ldquo;I'll meet you at&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at him then for an instant&mdash;interrupting him quickly, as
+      she shook her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't notice, Jimmie. You cannot go like that&mdash;can you? It would
+      be even worse than being caught as Larry the Bat. Hurry then&mdash;I am
+      not going without you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Go now! Go at once, Marie&mdash;while you can. You have
+      risked your life as it is to come here and tell me this. For God's sake,
+      go now!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The great, brown eyes were smiling bravely through a sudden mist. She
+      shook her head again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not without you, Jimmie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It brought a fierce, wild throb of joy upon him&mdash;and then a cold,
+      sickening fear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen!&rdquo; he cried out desperately. &ldquo;You must go now! You cannot take any
+      chances now, Marie. Everything is right for you. That man who posed as
+      your uncle is dead&mdash;the leader of the Crime Club is dead. Don't you
+      understand what that means! You have only to be Marie LaSalle again and
+      claim your own. I cannot tell you all now&mdash;there's no time. That
+      house was the Crime Club itself. The police will get them all. Don't you
+      see! Don't you see! Everything is clear for you now&mdash;and now go! Go&mdash;you
+      must go!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was staring at him, a strange wonder in her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Clear! All clear&mdash;for me! I&mdash;I can go back to&mdash;to my own
+      life again!&rdquo; It was as though she were whispering some amazing thing of
+      unbelievable joy to herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;YES!&rdquo; he cried out again. &ldquo;Yes! But go&mdash;go, Marie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But now, for answer, suddenly she reached out and took the key from the
+      door and put it in the pocket of her dress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We will go together, Jimmie&mdash;or not at all,&rdquo; she said simply. &ldquo;We
+      are wasting precious moments. Hurry and dress!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He hesitated miserably. What could he do&mdash;if she WOULD not go! And it
+      was true&mdash;the moments were flying. Better, rather than futile
+      argument, to use them as she said. There was still a chance! Why not! Five
+      minutes! He could do better than that! He MUST do better than that!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Without a word, he ran back across the room. In frantic haste, from face,
+      hands, wrists, and neck came the stain. There was still time. She was
+      standing there by the door, listening. She, the Tocsin, she whom he loved,
+      she who, all through the years that had gone, had been so strangely
+      elusive and yet so intimately a part of his life, SHE was standing there
+      now, here with him&mdash;in peril with every second that passed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had only to slip on his coat and vest now&mdash;and make a bundle of
+      Larry the Bat's things on the floor, so that he could carry them away to
+      destroy them. He stooped to gather up the clothes&mdash;and straightened
+      suddenly&mdash;and jumped toward the door again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They are coming, Jimmie!&rdquo; she called, in a low voice. But he had already
+      heard them&mdash;the stairs were creaking loudly under the tread of many
+      feet. He pushed the Tocsin hurriedly back against the wall at the side of
+      the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stand there!&rdquo; he said, under his breath. &ldquo;Out of the line of fire! Don't
+      move!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a rush against the door&mdash;and then a voice growled:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw, cut dat out! Wot do youse want to do&mdash;scare him away by bustin'
+      it! Pick de lock, an' we'll lay for him inside till he shows up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the Skeeter's voice. The Skeeter and his gang&mdash;the worst
+      apaches in the city of New York! Professional assassins, death
+      contractors, he had called them&mdash;and the lowest bidders! A man's life
+      any time for twenty-five dollars! No, they were not likely to forget the
+      affair of the pushcart man, to forget old Luddy and his diamonds, to
+      forget&mdash;the Gray Seal! And they were only the vanguard of what was to
+      come!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some one was working at the lock now. There was one way to stop that. It
+      would not take them long to find out that he WAS there once the door was
+      opened! Better know it with the door SHUT! Jimmie Dale lifted his revolver
+      coolly and fired through the panel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A burst of yells answered the shot; and among them, high above the others,
+      the Magpie's scream:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We got him! We got him! He's dere now!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And then it seemed that pandemonium broke loose&mdash;there was a volley
+      of shots, the bullets splintering through the door panels as from a
+      machine gun, so fast they came&mdash;and then another rush against the
+      door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Flat on the floor, but well back and to one side, Jimmie Dale fired
+      steadily&mdash;again and again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Came screams of pain, yells, and oaths&mdash;and they fell back from the
+      door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now from above, from overhead, came tumult&mdash;windows thrown up,
+      the stamp of feet, cries of fright. And from the street, a low, sullen
+      roar. The underworld was gathering fast!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once more the rush upon the door&mdash;and Jimmie Dale, a grim, twisted
+      smile upon his lips, emptied his revolver into the panels. Once more they
+      fell back&mdash;and then there came the Skeeter's voice, snarling like an
+      infuriated beast:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He'll get de lot of us like dis! Cut it out! Besides, we'll have de bulls
+      down here in a minute&mdash;an' he's OUR meat, not theirs. Dey'd be too
+      damned soft wid him&mdash;dey'd only send him to de chair. Youse chase
+      upstairs, Mose, an' pass de word to beat it&mdash;an' beat it quick. We'll
+      BURN de skunk out&mdash;dat's wot. An' de bulls can stand alongside an'
+      watch, if dey likes&mdash;but he's our meat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale did not dare to look at the Tocsin's face. Mechanically he
+      refilled the magazine of his automatic&mdash;and lay there, waiting. The
+      roar from the street grew louder. They seemed to be fighting out there, as
+      though an inadequate number of police were trying to disperse a mob&mdash;and
+      not succeeding! Pretty soon, with the riot call in, there would probably
+      be a battle&mdash;for the Gray Seal! Sublime irony! It was death at the
+      hands of either one!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Children whimpered on the stairs outside, men swore, women cried, feet
+      shuffled hurriedly by as the tenement emptied. Occasionally, a pertinent
+      invitation to him to remain where he was, there was a vicious rip through
+      the panel, and the drumming whir of a bullet flying through the room. And
+      then a curious, ominous crackling sound&mdash;and then the smell of smoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jimmie Dale stood up, his face drawn and haggard. The tenement would go
+      like matchwood, burn like a bonfire, with any kind of a start&mdash;and
+      there was no doubt about the start! The Skeeter, the Magpie, and the rest
+      would have seen that it had headway enough to serve their purpose before
+      either firemen or police could thwart them. He, Jimmie Dale, could take
+      his choice: walk out into a bullet, or stay there and&mdash;he smiled
+      miserably as his eyes fell upon the pile of Larry the Bat's clothing on
+      the floor. There was no longer need to worry about ITS destruction&mdash;the
+      fire would take care of that only too well! And then a low, bitter cry
+      came to his lips, and he clenched his hands. If it were only himself&mdash;only
+      himself! He crossed to the Tocsin and caught her in his arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my God&mdash;Marie!&rdquo; he faltered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cape and hood had fallen from her, and with the hood had fallen the
+      gray-streaked hair of Silver Mag&mdash;and now as she smiled at him it was
+      from a face that was very beautiful and very brave and very full of
+      tenderness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he held her there&mdash;and neither spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It seeped in under the threshold of the door, it came from everywhere,
+      filling the room&mdash;the black, strangling smoke. Outside in the hall
+      all was silence now&mdash;save for that crackle of flame that grew in
+      volume, that came now in quick, sharp reports, like revolver shots. From
+      out in the street swelled a cry: &ldquo;Death to the Gray Seal!&rdquo; Then the clang
+      of bells, the roar and rattle of fire apparatus, strident voices bellowing
+      orders, and the crowd again, blood hungry: &ldquo;Death to the Gray Seal!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a chance, just one&mdash;if the fire had no headway along the
+      upper end of the landing&mdash;and if they had not thought to set a watch
+      for him ABOVE! They&mdash;the Magpie, the Skeeter, and his gang&mdash;must
+      have been driven even out of the house now by the smoke and flame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give me the key, I am going to open the door, Marie,&rdquo; he said quietly.
+      &ldquo;Cover your face with a handkerchief, anything, and run to the LEFT to the
+      next flight of stairs. There are two flats above this&mdash;we'll make the
+      roof if we can. Now&mdash;are you ready?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was an instant before she answered, an instant in which she lifted her
+      face to his, and held his face between her two hands&mdash;and then:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am ready, Jimmie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He flung open the door, his arm around her to help her forward&mdash;and
+      instinctively, with a cry, fell back for a moment. With the inrush of the
+      draft poured the smoke, and through it, lurid, yellow, showed the flames
+      leaping from the stair well.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then all was blind madness. Together they ran. At the foot of the
+      stairs she fell, recovered herself, staggered up another&mdash;and fell
+      again. He caught her up in his arms and, staggering now as she had
+      staggered, went on. His lungs seemed to be bursting. His limbs grew weak
+      and trembled under him. He could not see or breathe. The nauseating fumes
+      suffocated him, bringing an intolerable agony. He gained the first landing
+      above. There was one more&mdash;one more! If he could only rest here for a
+      moment! Yes, that was it&mdash;rest. It wasn't so bad here now. She
+      stirred in his arms, struggled to her feet&mdash;and he was helping her on
+      again, and up the next flight of stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And suddenly he found himself laughing in hysteria&mdash;for they were
+      climbing a half stair, half ladderway at the end of the upper landing, and
+      the open skylight was above them, and they were drinking in the pure,
+      fresh air&mdash;and now they were out upon the roof, and the roar from the
+      street was in their ears, like the roar of great waters from some canyon
+      far below. Jimmie Dale tried to speak, and found his lips were cracked and
+      dry. He wet them with his tongue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't stand up&mdash;we'd be seen&mdash;CRAWL,&rdquo; he mumbled hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It took a long time&mdash;over one roof, and then another, and yet another&mdash;and
+      then through the skylight of a tenement whose occupants were either
+      craning from the front windows, or were on the street below. It was,
+      perhaps, half an hour&mdash;and then they, too, were standing in the
+      street, and all about them the crowd was shouting in wild excitement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Up the block, inside the fire lines, the Sanctuary was blazing furiously&mdash;and
+      now suddenly the wall seemed to bulge outward. It brought a yell from the
+      crowd:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Death to the Gray Seal!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She pulled at his arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us get away! Let us get away, Jimmie!&rdquo; she whispered frantically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A strange smile was on Jimmie Dale's lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We're safe now&mdash;for always,&rdquo; he whispered back. &ldquo;Look!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Sanctuary wall bulged farther outward, seemed to hang an instant
+      hesitant in mid-air&mdash;and fell with a mighty crash.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Gray Seal was dead!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
+
+
+
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+</pre>
+  </body>
+</html>
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+Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of Jimmie Dale, by Frank L. Packard
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Adventures of Jimmie Dale
+
+Author: Frank L. Packard
+
+Release Date: May 3, 2006 [EBook #1218]
+[Last updated: August 4, 2013]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF JIMMIE DALE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Donald Lainson
+
+
+
+
+
+THE ADVENTURES OF JIMMIE DALE
+
+by Frank L. Packard
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+PART ONE: THE MAN IN THE CASE
+
+
+I.    THE GRAY SEAL
+
+II.   BY PROXY
+
+III.  THE MOTHER LODE
+
+IV.   THE COUNTERFEIT FIVE
+
+V.    THE AFFAIR OF THE PUSHCART MAN
+
+VI.   DEVIL'S WORK
+
+VII.  THE THIEF
+
+VIII. THE MAN HIGHER UP
+
+IX.   TWO CROOKS AND A KNAVE
+
+X.    THE ALIBI
+
+XI.   THE STOOL-PIGEON
+
+
+
+PART TWO: THE WOMAN IN THE CASE
+
+
+I.    BELOW THE DEAD LINE
+
+II.   THE CALL TO ARMS
+
+III.  THE CRIME CLUB
+
+IV.   THE INNOCENT BYSTANDER
+
+V.    ON GUARD
+
+VI.   THE TRAP
+
+VII.  THE "HOUR"
+
+VIII. THE TOCSIN
+
+IX.   THE TOCSIN'S STORY
+
+X.    SILVER MAG
+
+XI.   THE MAGPIE
+
+XII.  JOHN JOHANSSON--FOUR-TWO-EIGHT
+
+XIII. THE ONLY WAY
+
+XIV.  OUT OF THE DARKNESS
+
+XV.   RETRIBUTION
+
+XVI. "DEATH TO THE GRAY SEAL!"
+
+
+
+
+
+PART ONE: THE MAN IN THE CASE
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE GRAY SEAL
+
+
+Among New York's fashionable and ultra-exclusive clubs, the St. James
+stood an acknowledged leader--more men, perhaps, cast an envious eye at
+its portals, of modest and unassuming taste, as they passed by on Fifth
+Avenue, than they did at any other club upon the long list that the city
+boasts. True, there were more expensive clubs upon whose membership roll
+scintillated more stars of New York's social set, but the St. James was
+distinctive. It guaranteed a man, so to speak--that is, it guaranteed a
+man to be innately a gentleman. It required money, it is true, to keep
+up one's membership, but there were many members who were not wealthy,
+as wealth is measured nowadays--there were many, even, who were pressed
+sometimes to meet their dues and their house accounts, but the accounts
+were invariably promptly paid. No man, once in, could ever afford, or
+ever had the desire, to resign from the St. James Club. Its membership
+was cosmopolitan; men of every walk in life passed in and out of
+its doors, professional men and business men, physicians, artists,
+merchants, authors, engineers, each stamped with the "hall mark" of
+the St. James, an innate gentleman. To receive a two weeks' out-of-town
+visitor's card to the St. James was something to speak about, and men
+from Chicago, St. Louis, or San Francisco spoke of it with a sort of
+holier-than-thou air to fellow members of their own exclusive clubs, at
+home again.
+
+Is there any doubt that Jimmie Dale was a gentleman--an INNATE
+gentleman? Jimmie Dale's father had been a member of the St. James
+Club, and one of the largest safe manufacturers of the United States, a
+prosperous, wealthy man, and at Jimmie Dale's birth he had proposed his
+son's name for membership. It took some time to get into the St. James;
+there was a long waiting list that neither money, influence, nor pull
+could alter by so much as one iota. Men proposed their sons' names for
+membership when they were born as religiously as they entered them upon
+the city's birth register. At twenty-one Jimmie Dale was elected to
+membership; and, incidentally, that same year, graduated from Harvard.
+It was Mr. Dale's desire that his son should enter the business and
+learn it from the ground up, and Jimmie Dale, for four years thereafter,
+had followed his father's wishes. Then his father died. Jimmie Dale had
+leanings toward more artistic pursuits than business. He was credited
+with sketching a little, writing a little; and he was credited with
+having received a very snug amount from the combine to which he sold out
+his safe-manufacturing interests. He lived a bachelor life--his mother
+had been dead many years--in the house that his father had left him on
+Riverside Drive, kept a car or two and enough servants to run his
+menage smoothly, and serve a dinner exquisitely when he felt hospitably
+inclined.
+
+Could there be any doubt that Jimmie Dale was innately a gentleman?
+
+It was evening, and Jimmie Dale sat at a small table in the corner of
+the St. James Club dining room. Opposite him sat Herman Carruthers,
+a young man of his own age, about twenty-six, a leading figure in the
+newspaper world, whose rise from reporter to managing editor of the
+morning NEWS-ARGUS within the short space of a few years had been almost
+meteoric.
+
+They were at coffee and cigars, and Jimmie Dale was leaning back in his
+chair, his dark eyes fixed interestedly on his guest.
+
+Carruthers, intently engaged in trimming his cigar ash on the edge of
+the Limoges china saucer of his coffee set, looked up with an abrupt
+laugh.
+
+"No; I wouldn't care to go on record as being an advocate of crime," he
+said whimsically; "that would never do. But I don't mind admitting quite
+privately that it's been a positive regret to me that he has gone."
+
+"Made too good 'copy' to lose, I suppose?" suggested Jimmie Dale
+quizzically. "Too bad, too, after working up a theatrical name like that
+for him--the Gray Seal--rather unique! Who stuck that on him--you?"
+
+Carruthers laughed--then, grown serious, leaned toward Jimmie Dale.
+
+"You don't mean to say, Jimmie, that you don't know about that, do you?"
+he asked incredulously. "Why, up to a year ago the papers were full of
+him."
+
+"I never read your beastly agony columns," said Jimmie Dale, with a
+cheery grin.
+
+"Well," said Carruthers, "you must have skipped everything but the stock
+reports then."
+
+"Granted," said Jimmie Dale. "So go on, Carruthers, and tell me about
+him--I dare say I may have heard of him, since you are so distressed
+about it, but my memory isn't good enough to contradict anything you may
+have to say about the estimable gentleman, so you're safe."
+
+Carruthers reverted to the Limoges saucer and the tip of his cigar.
+
+"He was the most puzzling, bewildering, delightful crook in the annals
+of crime," said Carruthers reminiscently, after a moment's silence.
+"Jimmie, he was the king-pin of them all. Clever isn't the word for him,
+or dare-devil isn't either. I used to think sometimes his motive was
+more than half for the pure deviltry of it, to laugh at the police and
+pull the noses of the rest of us that were after him. I used to dream
+nights about those confounded gray seals of his--that's where he got
+his name; he left every job he ever did with a little gray paper affair,
+fashioned diamond-shaped, stuck somewhere where it would be the first
+thing your eyes would light upon when you reached the scene, and--"
+
+"Don't go so fast," smiled Jimmie Dale. "I don't quite get the
+connection. What did you have to do with this--er--Gray Seal fellow?
+Where do you come in?"
+
+"I? I had a good deal to do with him," said Carruthers grimly. "I was a
+reporter when he first broke loose, and the ambition of my life, after
+I began really to appreciate what he was, was to get him--and I nearly
+did, half a dozen times, only--"
+
+"Only you never quite did, eh?" cut in Jimmie Dale slyly. "How near did
+you get, old man? Come on, now, no bluffing; did the Gray Seal ever even
+recognise you as a factor in the hare-and-hound game?"
+
+"You're flicking on the raw, Jimmie," Carruthers answered, with a wry
+grimace. "He knew me, all right, confound him! He favoured me with
+several sarcastic notes--I'll show 'em to you some day--explaining
+how I'd fallen down and how I could have got him if I'd done something
+else." Carruthers' fist came suddenly down on the table. "And I would
+have got him, too, if he had lived."
+
+"Lived!" ejaculated Jimmie Dale. "He's dead, then?"
+
+"Yes," averted Carruthers; "he's dead."
+
+"H'm!" said Jimmie Dale facetiously. "I hope the size of the wreath you
+sent was an adequate tribute of your appreciation."
+
+"I never sent any wreath," returned Carruthers, "for the very simple
+reason that I didn't know where to send it, or when he died. I said he
+was dead because for over a year now he hasn't lifted a finger."
+
+"Rotten poor evidence, even for a newspaper," commented Jimmie Dale.
+"Why not give him credit for having, say--reformed?"
+
+Carruthers shook his head. "You don't get it at all, Jimmie," he said
+earnestly. "The Gray Seal wasn't an ordinary crook--he was a classic.
+He was an artist, and the art of the thing was in his blood. A man like
+that could no more stop than he could stop breathing--and live. He's
+dead; there's nothing to it but that--he's dead. I'd bet a year's salary
+on it."
+
+"Another good man gone wrong, then," said Jimmie Dale capriciously. "I
+suppose, though, that at least you discovered the 'woman in the case'?"
+
+Carruthers looked up quickly, a little startled; then laughed shortly.
+
+"What's the matter?" inquired Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Nothing," said Carruthers. "You kind of got me for a moment, that's
+all. That's the way those infernal notes from the Gray Seal used to
+end up: 'Find the lady, old chap; and you'll get me.' He had a damned
+patronising familiarity that would make you squirm."
+
+"Poor old Carruthers!" grinned Jimmie Dale. "You did take it to heart,
+didn't you?"
+
+"I'd have sold my soul to get him--and so would you, if you had been in
+my boots," said Carruthers, biting nervously at the end of his cigar.
+
+"And been sorry for it afterward," supplied Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Yes, by Jove, you're right!" admitted Carruthers, "I suppose I should.
+I actually got to love the fellow--it was the GAME, really, that I
+wanted to beat."
+
+"Well, and how about this woman? Keep on the straight and narrow path,
+old man," prodded Jimmie Dale.
+
+"The woman?" Carruthers smiled. "Nothing doing! I don't believe there
+was one--he wouldn't have been likely to egg the police and reporters on
+to finding her if there had been, would he? It was a blind, of course.
+He worked alone, absolutely alone. That's the secret of his success,
+according to my way of thinking. There was never so much as an
+indication that he had had an accomplice in anything he ever did."
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes travelled around the club's homelike, perfectly
+appointed room. He nodded to a fellow member here and there, then his
+eyes rested musingly on his guest again.
+
+Carruthers was staring thoughtfully at his coffee cup.
+
+"He was the prince of crooks and the father of originality," announced
+Carruthers abruptly, following the pause that had ensued. "Half the time
+there wasn't any more getting at the motive for the curious things he
+did, than there was getting at the Gray Seal himself."
+
+"Carruthers," said Jimmy Dale, with a quick little nod of approval,
+"you're positively interesting to-night. But, so far, you've been kind
+of scouting around the outside edges without getting into the thick of
+it. Let's have some of your experiences with the Gray Seal in detail;
+they ought to make ripping fine yarns."
+
+"Not to-night, Jimmie," said Carruthers; "it would take too long." He
+pulled out his watch mechanically as he spoke, glanced at it--and pushed
+back his chair. "Great Scott!" he exclaimed. "It's nearly half-past
+nine. I'd no idea we had lingered so long over dinner. I'll have to
+hurry; we're a morning paper, you know, Jimmie."
+
+"What! Really! Is it as late as that." Jimmie Dale rose from his chair
+as Carruthers stood up. "Well, if you must--"
+
+"I must," said Carruthers, with a laugh.
+
+"All right, O slave." Jimmie Dale laughed back--and slipped his hand,
+a trick of their old college days together, through Carruthers' arm as
+they left the room.
+
+He accompanied Carruthers downstairs to the door of the club, and saw
+his guest into a taxi; then he returned inside, sauntered through the
+billiard room, and from there into one of the cardrooms, where, pressed
+into a game, he played several rubbers of bridge before going home.
+
+It was, therefore, well on toward midnight when Jimmie Dale arrived at
+his house on Riverside Drive, and was admitted by an elderly manservant.
+
+"Hello, Jason," said Jimmie Dale pleasantly. "You still up!"
+
+"Yes, sir," replied Jason, who had been valet to Jimmie Dale's father
+before him. "I was going to bed, sir, at about ten o'clock, when a
+messenger came with a letter. Begging your pardon, sir, a young lady,
+and--"
+
+"Jason"--Jimmie Dale flung out the interruption, sudden, quick,
+imperative--"what did she look like?"
+
+"Why--why, I don't exactly know as I could describe her, sir," stammered
+Jason, taken aback. "Very ladylike, sir, in her dress and appearance,
+and what I would call, sir, a beautiful face."
+
+"Hair and eyes--what color?" demanded Jimmie Dale crisply. "Nose, lips,
+chin--what shape?"
+
+"Why, sir," gasped Jason, staring at his master, "I--I don't rightly
+know. I wouldn't call her fair or dark, something between. I didn't take
+particular notice, and it wasn't overlight outside the door."
+
+"It's too bad you weren't a younger man, Jason," commented Jimmie Dale,
+with a curious tinge of bitterness in his voice. "I'd have given a
+year's income for your opportunity to-night, Jason."
+
+"Yes, sir," said Jason helplessly.
+
+"Well, go on," prompted Jimmie Dale. "You told her I wasn't home, and
+she said she knew it, didn't she? And she left the letter that I was on
+no account to miss receiving when I got back, though there was no need
+of telephoning me to the club--when I returned would do, but it was
+imperative that I should have it then--eh?"
+
+"Good Lord, sir!" ejaculated Jason, his jaw dropped, "that's exactly what
+she did say."
+
+"Jason," said Jimmie Dale grimly, "listen to me. If ever she comes here
+again, inveigle her in. If you can't inveigle her, use force; capture
+her, pull her in, do anything--do anything, do you hear? Only don't let
+her get away from you until I've come."
+
+Jason gazed at his master as though the other had lost his reason.
+
+"Use force, sir?" he repeated weakly--and shook his head. "You--you
+can't mean that, sir."
+
+"Can't I?" inquired Jimmie Dale, with a mirthless smile. "I mean every
+word of it, Jason--and if I thought there was the slightest chance of
+her giving you the opportunity, I'd be more imperative still. As it
+is--where's the letter?"
+
+"On the table in your studio, sir," said Jason, mechanically.
+
+Jimmie Dale started toward the stairs--then turned and came back to
+where Jason, still shaking his head heavily, had been gazing anxiously
+after his master. Jimmie Dale laid his hand on the old man's shoulder.
+
+"Jason," he said kindly, with a swift change of mood, "you've been a
+long time in the family--first with father, and now with me. You'd do a
+good deal for me, wouldn't you?"
+
+"I'd do anything in the world for you, Master Jim," said the old man
+earnestly.
+
+"Well, then, remember this," said Jimmie Dale slowly, looking into the
+other's eyes, "remember this--keep your mouth shut and your eyes open.
+It's my fault. I should have warned you long ago, but I never dreamed
+that she would ever come here herself. There have been times when it was
+practically a matter of life and death to me to know who that woman is
+that you saw to-night. That's all, Jason. Now go to bed."
+
+"Master Jim," said the old man simply, "thank you, sir, thank you for
+trusting me. I've dandled you on my knee when you were a baby, Master
+Jim. I don't know what it's about, and it isn't for me to ask. I
+thought, sir, that maybe you were having a little fun with me. But I
+know now, and you can trust me, Master Jim, if she ever comes again."
+
+"Thank you, Jason," said Jimmie Dale, his hand closing with an
+appreciative pressure on the other's shoulder "Good-night, Jason."
+
+Upstairs on the first landing, Jimmie Dale opened a door, closed and
+locked it behind him--and the electric switch clicked under his fingers.
+A glow fell softly from a cluster of shaded ceiling lights. It was a
+large room, a very large room, running the entire depth of the
+house, and the effect of apparent disorder in the arrangement of its
+appointments seemed to breathe a sense of charm. There were great
+cozy, deep, leather-covered lounging chairs, a huge, leather-covered
+davenport, and an easel or two with half-finished sketches upon them;
+the walls were panelled, the panels of exquisite grain and matching; in
+the centre of the room stood a flat-topped rosewood desk; upon the floor
+was a dark, heavy velvet rug; and, perhaps most inviting of all, there
+was a great, old-fashioned fireplace at one side of the room.
+
+For an instant Jimmie Dale remained quietly by the door, as though
+listening. Six feet he stood, muscular in every line of his body, like
+a well-trained athlete with no single ounce of superfluous fat about
+him--the grace and ease of power in his poise. His strong, clean-shaven
+face, as the light fell upon it now, was serious--a mood that became him
+well--the firm lips closed, the dark, reliant eyes a little narrowed, a
+frown on the broad forehead, the square jaw clamped.
+
+Then abruptly he walked across the room to the desk, picked up an
+envelope that lay upon it, and, turning again, dropped into the nearest
+lounging chair.
+
+There had been no doubt in his mind, none to dispel. It was precisely
+what he had expected from almost the first word Jason had spoken. It was
+the same handwriting, the same texture of paper, and there was the same
+old haunting, rare, indefinable fragrance about it. Jimmie Dale's
+hands turned the envelope now this way, now that, as he looked at it.
+Wonderful hands were Jimmie Dale's, with long, slim, tapering fingers
+whose sensitive tips seemed now as though they were striving to decipher
+the message within.
+
+He laughed suddenly, a little harshly, and tore open the envelope.
+Five closely written sheets fell into his hand. He read them slowly,
+critically, read them over again; and then, his eyes on the rug at his
+feet, he began to tear the paper into minute pieces between his fingers,
+depositing the pieces, as he tore them, upon the arm of his chair. The
+five sheets demolished, his fingers dipped into the heap of shreds on
+the arm of the chair and tore them over and over again, tore them until
+they were scarcely larger than bits of confetti, tore at them absently
+and mechanically, his eyes never shifting from the rug at his feet.
+
+Then with a shrug of his shoulders, as though rousing himself to present
+reality, a curious smile flickering on his lips, he brushed the pieces
+of paper into one hand, carried them to the empty fireplace, laid them
+down in a little pile, and set them afire. Lighting a cigarette, he
+watched them burn until the last glow had gone from the last charred
+scrap; then he crunched and scattered them with the brass-handled fender
+brush, and, retracing his steps across the room, flung back a portiere
+from where it hung before a little alcove, and dropped on his knees in
+front of a round, squat, barrel-shaped safe--one of his own design and
+planning in the years when he had been with his father.
+
+His slim, sensitive fingers played for an instant among the knobs and
+dials that studded the door, guided, it seemed by the sense of touch
+alone--and the door swung open. Within was another door, with locks and
+bolts as intricate and massive as the outer one. This, too, he opened;
+and then from the interior took out a short, thick, rolled-up leather
+bundle tied together with thongs. He rose from his knees, closed the
+safe, and drew the portiere across the alcove again. With the bundle
+under his arm, he glanced sharply around the room, listened intently,
+then, unlocking the door that gave on the hall, he switched off the
+lights and went to his dressing room, that was on the same floor. Here,
+divesting himself quickly of his dinner clothes, he selected a dark
+tweed suit with loose-fitting, sack coat from his wardrobe, and began to
+put it on.
+
+Dressed, all but his coat and vest, he turned to the leather bundle that
+he had placed on a table, untied the thongs, and carefully opened it
+out to its full length--and again that curious, cryptic smile tinged his
+lips. Rolled the opposite away from that in which it had been tied
+up, the leather strip made a wide belt that went on somewhat after
+the fashion of a life preserver, the thongs being used for shoulder
+straps--a belt that, once on, the vest would hide completely, and,
+fitting close, left no telltale bulge in the outer garments. It was not
+an ordinary belt; it was full of stout-sewn, up-right little pockets
+all the way around, and in the pockets grimly lay an array of fine,
+blued-steel, highly tempered instruments--a compact, powerful burglar's
+kit.
+
+The slim, sensitive fingers passed with almost a caressing touch over
+the vicious little implements, and from one of the pockets extracted
+a thin, flat metal case. This Jimmie Dale opened, and glanced
+inside--between sheets of oil paper lay little rows of GRAY, ADHESIVE,
+DIAMOND-SHAPED SEALS.
+
+Jimmie Dale snapped the case shut, returned it to its recess, and from
+another took out a black silk mask. He held it up to the light for
+examination.
+
+"Pretty good shape after a year," muttered Jimmie Dale, replacing it.
+
+He put on the belt, then his vest and coat. From the drawer of his
+dresser he took an automatic revolver and an electric flashlight,
+slipped them into his pocket, and went softly downstairs. From the hat
+stand he chose a black slouch hat, pulled it well over his eyes--and
+left the house.
+
+Jimmie Dale walked down a block, then hailed a bus and mounted to the
+top. It was late, and he found himself the only passenger. He inserted
+his dime in the conductor's little resonant-belled cash receiver, and
+then settled back on the uncomfortable, bumping, cushionless seat.
+
+On rattled the bus; it turned across town, passed the Circle, and
+headed for Fifth Avenue--but Jimmie Dale, to all appearances, was quite
+oblivious of its movements.
+
+It was a year since she had written him. SHE! Jimmie Dale did not smile,
+his lips were pressed hard together. Not a very intimate or personal
+appellation, that--but he knew her by no other. It WAS a woman,
+surely--the hand-writing was feminine, the diction eminently so--and had
+SHE not come herself that night to Jason! He remembered the last letter,
+apart from the one to-night, that he had received from her. It was
+a year ago now--and the letter had been hardly more than a note. The
+police had worked themselves into a frenzy over the Gray Seal, the
+papers had grown absolutely maudlin--and she had written, in her
+characteristic way:
+
+
+Things are a little too warm, aren't they, Jimmie? Let's let them cool
+for a year.
+
+
+Since then until to-night he had heard nothing from her. It was a
+strange compact that he had entered into--so strange that it could never
+have known, could never know a parallel--unique, dangerous, bizarre, it
+was all that and more. It had begun really through his connection with
+his father's business--the business of manufacturing safes that should
+defy the cleverest criminals--when his brains, turned into that channel,
+had been pitted against the underworld, against the methods of a
+thousand different crooks from Maine to California, the report of whose
+every operation had reached him in the natural course of business,
+and every one of which he had studied in minutest detail. It had begun
+through that--but at the bottom of it was his own restless, adventurous
+spirit.
+
+He had meant to set the police by the ears, using his gray-seal device
+both as an added barb and that no innocent bystander of the underworld,
+innocent for once, might be involved--he had meant to laugh at them and
+puzzle them to the verge of madness, for in the last analysis they would
+find only an abortive attempt at crime--and he had succeeded. And then
+he had gone too far--and he had been caught--by HER. That string of
+pearls, which, to study whose effect facetiously, he had so idiotically
+wrapped around his wrist, and which, so ironically, he had been unable
+to loosen in time and had been forced to carry with him in his sudden,
+desperate dash to escape from Marx's the big jeweler's, in Maiden Lane,
+whose strong room he had toyed with one night, had been the lever which,
+AT FIRST, she had held over him.
+
+The bus was on Fifth Avenue now, and speeding rapidly down the deserted
+thoroughfare. Jimmie Dale looked up at the lighted windows of the St.
+James Club as they went by, smiled whimsically, and shifted in his seat,
+seeking a more comfortable position.
+
+She had caught him--how he did not know--he had never seen her--did not
+know who she was, though time and again he had devoted all his energies
+for months at a stretch to a solution of the mystery. The morning
+following the Maiden Lane affair, indeed, before he had breakfasted,
+Jason had brought him the first letter from her. It had started by
+detailing his every move of the night before--and it had ended with an
+ultimatum: "The cleverness, the originality of the Gray Seal as a crook
+lacked but one thing," she had naively written, "and that one thing was
+that his crookedness required a leading string to guide it into channels
+that were worthy of his genius." In a word, SHE would plan the coups,
+and he would act at her dictation and execute them--or else how did
+twenty years in Sing Sing for that little Maiden Lane affair appeal to
+him? He was to answer by the next morning, a simple "yes" or "no" in the
+personal column of the morning NEWS-ARGUS.
+
+A threat to a man like Jimmie Dale was like flaunting a red rag at a
+bull, and a rage ungovernable had surged upon him. Then cold reason had
+come. He was caught--there was no question about that--she had taken
+pains to show him that he need make no mistake there. Innocent enough in
+his own conscience, as far as actual theft went, for the pearls would in
+due course be restored in some way to the possession of their owner, he
+would have been unable to make even his own father, who was alive then,
+believe in his innocence, let alone a jury of his peers. Dishonour,
+shame, ignominy, a long prison sentence, stared him in the face,
+and there was but one alternative--to link hands with this unseen,
+mysterious accomplice. Well, he could at least temporise, he could
+always "queer" a game in some specious manner, if he were pushed too
+far. And so, in the next morning's NEWS-ARGUS, Jimmie Dale had answered
+"yes." And then had followed those years in which there had been NO
+temporising, in which every plan was carried out to the last detail,
+those years of curious, unaccountable, bewildering affairs that
+Carruthers had spoken of, one on top of another, that had shaken the old
+headquarters on Mulberry Street to its foundations, until the Gray Seal
+had become a name to conjure with. And, yes, it was quite true, he
+had entered into it all, gone the limit, with an eagerness that was
+insatiable.
+
+The bus had reached the lower end of Fifth Avenue, passed through
+Washington Square, and stopped at the end of its run. Jimmie Dale
+clambered down from the top, threw a pleasant "good-night" to the
+conductor, and headed briskly down the street before him. A little
+later he crossed into West Broadway, and his pace slowed to a leisurely
+stroll.
+
+Here, at the upper end of the street, was a conglomerate business
+section of rather inferior class, catering doubtless to the poor,
+foreign element that congregated west of Broadway proper, and to the
+south of Washington Square. The street was, at first glance, deserted;
+it was dark and dreary, with stores and lofts on either side. An
+elevated train roared by overhead, with a thunderous, deafening clamour.
+Jimmie Dale, on the right-hand side of the street, glanced interestedly
+at the dark store windows as he went by. And then, a block ahead, on the
+other side, his eyes rested on an approaching form. As the other reached
+the corner and paused, and the light from the street lamp glinted on
+brass buttons, Jimmie Dale's eyes narrowed a little under his slouch
+hat. The policeman, although nonchalantly swinging a nightstick,
+appeared to be watching him.
+
+Jimmie Dale went on half a block farther, stooped to the sidewalk to
+tie his shoe, glanced back over his shoulder--the policeman was not in
+sight--and slipped like a shadow into the alleyway beside which he had
+stopped.
+
+It was another Jimmie Dale now--the professional Jimmie Dale. Quick as
+a cat, active, lithe, he was over a six foot fence in the rear of a
+building in a flash, and crouched a black shape, against the back door
+of an unpretentious, unkempt, dirty, secondhand shop that fronted
+on West Broadway--the last place certainly in all New York that the
+managing editor of the NEWS-ARGUS, or any one else, for that matter,
+would have picked out as the setting for the second debut of the Gray
+Seal.
+
+From the belt around his waist, Jimmie Dale took the black silk mask,
+and slipped it on; and from the belt, too, came a little instrument
+that his deft fingers manipulated in the lock. A curious snipping sound
+followed. Jimmie Dale put his weight gradually against the door. The
+door held fast.
+
+"Bolted," said Jimmie Dale to himself.
+
+The sensitive fingers travelled slowly up and down the side of the door,
+seeming to press and feel for the position of the bolt through an inch
+of plank--then from the belt came a tiny saw, thin and pointed at the
+end, that fitted into the little handle drawn from another receptacle in
+the leather girdle beneath the unbuttoned vest.
+
+Hardly a sound it made as it bit into the door. Half a minute
+passed--there was the faint fall of a small piece of wood--into the
+aperture crept the delicate, tapering fingers--came a slight rasping of
+metal--then the door swung back, the dark shadow that had been Jimmie
+Dale vanished and the door closed again.
+
+A round, white beam of light glowed for an instant--and disappeared. A
+miscellaneous, lumbering collection of junk and odds and ends
+blocked the entry, leaving no more space than was sufficient for bare
+passageway. Jimmie Dale moved cautiously--and once more the flashlight
+in his hand showed the way for an instant--then darkness again.
+
+The cluttered accumulation of secondhand stuff in the rear gave place to
+a little more orderly arrangement as he advanced toward the front of the
+store. Like a huge firefly, the flashlight twinkled, went out, twinkled
+again, and went out. He passed a sort of crude, partitioned-off
+apartment that did duty for the establishment's office, a sort of little
+boxed-in place it was, about in the middle of the floor. Jimmie Dale's
+light played on it for a moment, but he kept on toward the front door
+without any pause.
+
+Every movement was quick, sure, accurate, with not a wasted second. It
+had been barely a minute since he had vaulted the back fence. It was
+hardly a quarter of a minute more before the cumbersome lock of the
+front door was unfastened, and the door itself pulled imperceptibly
+ajar.
+
+He went swiftly back to the office now--and found it even more of a
+shaky, cheap affair than it had at first appeared; more like a box stall
+with windows around the top than anything else, the windows doubtless to
+permit the occupant to overlook the store from the vantage point of the
+high stool that stood before a long, battered, wobbly desk. There was
+a door to the place, too, but the door was open and the key was in
+the lock. The ray of Jimmie Dale's flashlight swept once around the
+interior--and rested on an antique, ponderous safe.
+
+Under the mask Jimmie Dale's lips parted in a smile that seemed almost
+apologetic, as he viewed the helpless iron monstrosity that was little
+more than an insult to a trained cracksman. Then from the belt came the
+thin metal case and a pair of tweezers. He opened the case, and with
+the tweezers lifted out one of the gray-coloured, diamond-shaped seals.
+Holding the seal with the tweezers, he moistened the gummed side with
+his lips, then laid it on a handkerchief which he took from his pocket,
+and clapped the handkerchief against the front of the safe, sticking
+the seal conspicuously into place. Jimmie Dale's insignia bore no finger
+prints. The microscopes and magnifying glasses at headquarters had many
+a time regretfully assured the police of that fact.
+
+And now his hands and fingers seemed to work like lightning. Into the
+soft iron bit a drill--bit in and through--bit in and through again.
+It was dark, pitch black--and silent. Not a sound, save the quick, dull
+rasp of the ratchet--like the distant gnawing of a mouse! Jimmie Dale
+worked fast--another hole went through the face of the old-fashioned
+safe--and then suddenly he straightened up to listen, every faculty
+tense, alert, and strained, his body thrown a little forward. WHAT WAS
+THAT!
+
+From the alleyway leading from the street without, through which he
+himself had come, sounded the stealthy crunch of feet. Motionless in the
+utter darkness, Jimmie Dale listened--there was a scraping noise in the
+rear--someone was climbing the fence that he had climbed!
+
+In an instant the tools in Jimmie Dale's hands disappeared into their
+respective pockets beneath his vest--and the sensitive fingers shot to
+the dial on the safe.
+
+"Too bad," muttered Jimmie Dale plaintively to himself. "I could have
+made such an artistic job of it--I swear I could have cut Carruthers'
+profile in the hole in less than no time--to open it like this is really
+taking the poor old thing at a disadvantage."
+
+He was on his knees now, one ear close to the dial, listening as the
+tumblers fell, while the delicate fingers spun the knob unerringly--the
+other ear strained toward the rear of the premises.
+
+Came a footstep--a ray of light--a stumble--nearer--the newcomer was
+inside the place now, and must have found out that the back door had
+been tampered with. Nearer came the steps--still nearer--and then the
+safe door swung open under Jimmie Dale's hand, and Jimmie Dale, that he
+might not be caught like a rat in a trap, darted from the office--but he
+had delayed a little too long.
+
+From around the cluttered piles of junk and miscellany swept the
+light--full on Jimmie Dale. Hesitation for the smallest fraction of a
+second would have been fatal, but hesitation was something that in all
+his life Jimmie Dale had never known. Quick as a panther in its spring,
+he leaped full at the light and the man behind it. The rough voice, in
+surprised exclamation at the sudden discovery of the quarry, died in a
+gasp.
+
+There was a crash as the two men met--and the other reeled back before
+the impact. Onto him Jimmie Dale sprang, and his hands flew for the
+other's throat. It was an officer in uniform! Jimmie Dale had felt the
+brass buttons as they locked. In the darkness there was a queer smile on
+Jimmie Dale's tight lips. It was no doubt THE officer whom he had passed
+on the other side of the street.
+
+The other was a smaller man than Jimmie Dale, but powerful for his
+build--and he fought now with all his strength. This way and that the
+two men reeled, staggered, swayed, panting and gasping; and then--they
+had lurched back close to the office door--with a sudden swing, every
+muscle brought into play for a supreme effort, Jimmie Dale hurled the
+other from him, sending the man sprawling back to the floor of the
+office, and in the winking of an eye had slammed shut the door and
+turned the key.
+
+There was a bull-like roar, the shrill CHEEP-CHEEP-CHEEP of the
+patrolman's whistle, and a shattering crash as the officer flung his
+body against the partition--then the bark of a revolver shot, the tinkle
+of breaking glass, as the man fired through the office window--and past
+Jimmie Dale, speeding now for the front door, a bullet hummed viciously.
+
+Out on the street dashed Jimmie Dale, whipping the mask from his
+face--and glanced like a hawk around him. For all the racket, the
+neighbourhood had not yet been aroused--no one was in sight. From just
+overhead came the rattle of a downtown elevated train. In a hundred-yard
+sprint, Jimmie Dale raced it a half block to the station, tore up the
+steps--and a moment later dropped nonchalantly into a seat and pulled an
+evening newspaper from his pocket.
+
+Jimmie Dale got off at the second station down, crossed the street,
+mounted the steps of the elevated again, and took the next train uptown.
+His movements appeared to be somewhat erratic--he alighted at the
+station next above the one by which he had made his escape. Looking down
+the street it was too dark to see much of anything, but a confused noise
+as of a gathering crowd reached him from what was about the location of
+the secondhand store. He listened appreciatively for a moment.
+
+"Isn't it a perfectly lovely night?" said Jimmie Dale amiably to
+himself. "And to think of that cop running away with the idea that I
+didn't see him when he hid in a doorway after I passed the corner! Well,
+well, strange--isn't it?"
+
+With another glance down the street, a whimsical lift of his shoulders,
+he headed west into the dilapidated tenement quarter that huddled for
+a handful of blocks near by, just south of Washington Square. It was
+a little after one o'clock in the morning now and the pedestrians were
+casual. Jimmie Dale read the street signs on the corners as he went
+along, turned abruptly into an intersecting street, counted the
+tenements from the corner as he passed, and--for the eye of any one who
+might be watching--opened the street door of one of them quite as though
+he were accustomed and had a perfect right to do so, and went inside.
+
+It was murky and dark within; hot, unhealthy, with lingering smells of
+garlic and stale cooking. He groped for the stairs and started up.
+He climbed one flight, then another--and one more to the top. Here,
+treading softly, he made an examination of the landing with a view,
+evidently, to obtaining an idea of the location and the number of doors
+that opened off from it.
+
+His selection fell on the third door from the head of the stairs--there
+were four all told, two apartments of two rooms each. He paused for an
+instant to adjust the black silk mask, tried the door quietly, found it
+unlocked, opened it with a sudden, quick, brisk movement--and, stepping
+in side, leaned with his back against it.
+
+"Good-morning," said Jimmie Dale pleasantly.
+
+It was a squalid place, a miserable hole, in which a single flickering,
+yellow gas jet gave light. It was almost bare of furniture; there was
+nothing but a couple of cheap chairs, a rickety table--unpawnable. A
+boy, he was hardly more than that, perhaps twenty-two, from a posture
+in which he was huddled across the table with head buried in out-flung
+arms, sprang with a startled cry to his feet.
+
+"Good-morning," said Jimmie Dale again. "Your name's Hagan, Bert
+Hagan--isn't it? And you work for Isaac Brolsky in the secondhand shop
+over on West Broadway--don't you?"
+
+The boy's lips quivered, and the gaunt, hollow, half-starved face,
+white, ashen-white now, was pitiful.
+
+"I--I guess you got me," he faltered "I--I suppose you're a
+plain-clothes man, though I never knew dicks wore masks."
+
+"They don't generally," said Jimmie Dale coolly. "It's a fad of
+mine--Bert Hagan."
+
+The lad, hanging to the table, turned his head away for a moment--and
+there was silence.
+
+Presently Hagan spoke again. "I'll go," he said numbly. "I won't make any
+trouble. Would--would you mind not speaking loud? I--I wouldn't like her
+to know."
+
+"Her?" said Jimmie Dale softly.
+
+The boy tiptoed across the room, opened a connecting door a little,
+peered inside, opened it a little wider--and looked over his shoulder at
+Jimmie Dale.
+
+Jimmie Dale crossed to the boy, looked inside the other room--and his
+lip twitched queerly, as the sight sent a quick, hurt throb through his
+heart. A young woman, younger than the boy, lay on a tumble-down bed, a
+rag of clothing over her--her face with a deathlike pallor upon it, as
+she lay in what appeared to be a stupor. She was ill, critically ill;
+it needed no trained eye to discern a fact all too apparent to the most
+casual observer. The squalor, the glaring poverty here, was even more
+pitifully in evidence than in the other room--only here upon a chair
+beside the bed was a cluster of medicine bottles and a little heap of
+fruit.
+
+Jimmie Dale drew back silently as the boy closed the door.
+
+Hagan walked to the table and picked up his hat.
+
+"I'm--I'm ready," he said brokenly. "Let's go."
+
+"Just a minute," said Jimmie Dale. "Tell us about it."
+
+"Twon't take long," said Hagan, trying to smile. "She's my wife. The
+sickness took all we had. I--I kinder got behind in the rent and things.
+They were going to fire us out of here--to-morrow. And there wasn't any
+money for the medicine, and--and the things she had to have. Maybe you
+wouldn't have done it--but I did. I couldn't see her dying there for the
+want of something a little money'd buy--and--and I couldn't"--he caught
+his voice in a little sob--"I couldn't see her thrown out on the street
+like that."
+
+"And so," said Jimmie Dale, "instead of putting old Isaac's cash in
+the safe this evening when you locked up, you put it in your pocket
+instead--eh? Didn't you know you'd get caught?"
+
+"What did it matter?" said the boy. He was twirling his misshappen hat
+between his fingers. "I knew they'd know it was me in the morning when
+old Isaac found it gone, because there wasn't anybody else to do it.
+But I paid the rent for four months ahead to-night, and I fixed it so's
+she'd have medicine and things to eat. I was going to beat it before
+daylight myself--I"--he brushed his hand hurriedly across his cheek--"I
+didn't want to go--to leave her till I had to."
+
+"Well, say"--there was wonderment in Jimmie Dale's tones, and his
+English lapsed into ungrammatical, reassuring vernacular--"ain't that
+queer! Say, I'm no detective. Gee, kid, did you think I was? Say, listen
+to this! I cracked old Isaac's safe half an hour ago--and I guess there
+won't be any idea going around that you got the money and I pulled a
+lemon. Say, I ain't superstitious, but it looks like luck meant you to
+have another chance, don't it?"
+
+The hat dropped from Hagan's hands to the floor, and he swayed a little.
+
+"You--you ain't a dick!" he stammered. "Then how'd you know about me and
+my name when you found the safe empty? Who told you?"
+
+A wry grimace spread suddenly over Jimmie Dale's face beneath the mask,
+and he swallowed hard. Jimmie Dale would have given a good deal to have
+been able to answer that question himself.
+
+"Oh, that!" said Jimmie Dale. "That's easy--I knew you worked there.
+Say, it's the limit, ain't it? Talk about your luck being in, why all
+you've got to do is to sit tight and keep your mouth shut, and you're
+safe as a church. Only say, what are you going to do about the money,
+now you've got a four months' start and are kind of landed on your feet?
+
+"Do?" said the boy. "I'll pay it back, little by little. I meant to. I
+ain't no--" He stopped abruptly.
+
+"Crook," supplied Jimmie Dale pleasantly. "Spit it right out, kid; you
+won't hurt my feelings none. Well, I'll tell you--you're talking the way
+I like to hear you--you pay that back, slide it in without his knowing
+it, a bit at a time, whenever you can, and you'll never hear a yip out
+of me; but if you don't, why it kind of looks as though I have a right
+to come down your street and get my share or know the reason why--eh?"
+
+"Then you never get any share," said Hagan, with a catch in his voice.
+"I pay it back as fast as I can."
+
+"Sure," said Jimmie Dale. "That's right--that's what I said. Well, so
+long--Hagan." And Jimmie Dale had opened the door and slipped outside.
+
+An hour later, in his dressing room in his house on Riverside Drive,
+Jimmie Dale was removing his coat as the telephone, a hand instrument on
+the table, rang. Jimmie Dale glanced at it--and leisurely proceeded
+to remove his vest. Again the telephone rang. Jimmie Dale took off his
+curious, pocketed leather belt--as the telephone repeated its summons.
+He picked out the little drill he had used a short while before, and
+inspected it critically--feeling its point with his thumb, as one might
+feel a razor's blade. Again the telephone rang insistently. He reached
+languidly for the receiver, took it off its hook, and held it to his
+ear.
+
+"Hello!" said Jimmie Dale, with a sleepy yawn. "Hello! Hello! Why the
+deuce don't you yank a man out of bed at two o'clock in the morning and
+have done with it, and--eh? Oh, that you, Carruthers?"
+
+"Yes," came Carruthers' voice excitedly. "Jimmie, listen--listen! The
+Gray Seal's come to life! He's just pulled a break on West Broadway!"
+
+"Good Lord!" gasped Jimmie Dale. "You don't say!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+BY PROXY
+
+
+"The most puzzling bewildering, delightful crook in the annals of crime,"
+Herman Carruthers, the editor of the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, had called the
+Gray Seal; and Jimmie Dale smiled a little grimly now as he recalled
+the occasion of a week ago at the St. James Club over their after-dinner
+coffee. That was before his second debut, with Isaac Brolsky's
+poverty-stricken premises over on West Broadway as a setting for the
+break.
+
+SHE had written: "Things are a little too warm, aren't they, Jimmie?
+Let's let them cool for a year." Well, they had cooled for a year, and
+Carruthers as a result had been complacently satisfied in his own mind
+that the Gray Seal was dead--until that break at Isaac Brolsky's over on
+West Broadway!
+
+Jimmie Dale's smile was tinged with whimsicality now. The only effect
+of the year's inaction had been to usher in his renewed activity with
+a furor compared to which all that had gone before was insignificant.
+Where the newspapers had been maudlin, they now raved--raved in
+editorials and raved in headlines. It was an impossible, untenable,
+unbelievable condition of affairs that this Gray Seal, for all his
+incomparable cleverness, should flaunt his crimes in the faces of the
+citizens of New York. One could actually see the editors writhing in
+their swivel chairs as their fiery denunciations dripped from their
+pens! What was the matter with the police? Were the police children;
+or, worse still, imbeciles--or, still worse again, was there some one
+"higher up" who was profiting by this rogue's work? New York would not
+stand for it--New York would most decidedly not--and the sooner the
+police realised that fact the better! If the police were helpless, or
+tools, the citizens of New York were not, and it was time the citizens
+were thoroughly aroused.
+
+There was a way, too, to arouse the citizens, that was both good
+business from the newspaper standpoint, and efficacious as a method.
+Carruthers, of the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, had initiated it. The MORNING
+NEWS-ARGUS offered twenty-five thousand dollars' reward for the capture
+of the Gray Seal! Other papers immediately followed suit in varying
+amounts. The authorities, State and municipal, goaded to desperation,
+did likewise, and the five million men, women, and children of New York
+were automatically metamorphosed into embryonic sleuths. New York was
+aroused.
+
+Jimmie Dale, alias the Gray Seal, member of the ultra-exclusive St.
+James Club, the latter fact sufficient in itself to guarantee his
+social standing, graduate of Harvard, inheritor of his deceased father's
+immense wealth amassed in the manufacture of burglar-proof safes, some
+of the most ingenious patents on which were due to Jimmie Dale himself,
+figured with a pencil on the margin of the newspaper he had been
+reading, using the arm of the big, luxurious, leather-upholstered
+lounging chair as a support for the paper. The result of his
+calculations was eighty-five thousand dollars.
+
+He brushed the paper onto the Turkish rug, dove into the pocket of his
+dinner jacket for his cigarettes, and began to smoke as his eyes strayed
+around the room, his own particular den in his fashionable Riverside
+Drive residence.
+
+Eighty-five thousand dollars' reward! Jimmie Dale blew meditative rings
+of cigarette smoke at the fireplace. What would she say to that? Would
+she decide it was "too hot" again, and call it off? It added quite a
+little hazard to the game--QUITE a little! If he only knew who "she"
+was! It was a strange partnership--the strangest partnership that had
+ever existed between two human beings.
+
+He turned a little in his chair as a step sounded in the hallway
+without--that is, Jimmie Dale caught the sound, muffled though it was by
+the heavy carpet. Came then a knock upon the door.
+
+"Come in," invited Jimmie Dale.
+
+It was old Jason, the butler. The old man was visibly excited, as he
+extended a silver tray on which lay a letter.
+
+Jimmie Dale's hand reached quickly out, the long, slim tapering fingers
+closed upon the envelope--but his eyes were on Jason significantly,
+questioningly.
+
+"Yes, Master Jim," said the old man, "I recognised it on the instant,
+sir. After what you said, sir, last week, honouring me, I might say, to
+a certain extent with your confidence, though I'm sure I don't know what
+it all means, I--"
+
+"Who brought it this time, Jason?" inquired Jimmie Dale quietly.
+
+"Not the young person, begging your pardon, not the young lady, sir. A
+shuffer in a big automobile. 'Your master at once,' he says, and shoves
+the letter into my hand, and was off."
+
+"Very good, Jason," said Jimmie Dale. "You may go."
+
+The door closed. Yes, it was from HER--it was the same texture of paper,
+there was the same rare, haunting fragrance clinging to it.
+
+He tore the envelope open, and extracted a folded sheet of paper. What
+was it this time? To call the partnership off again until the present
+furor should have subsided once more--or the skilfully sketched outline
+of a new adventure? Which? He glanced at the few lines written on the
+sheet, and lunged forward from his chair to his feet. It was neither one
+nor the other. It was--
+
+Jimmie Dale's face was set, and an angry red surge swept his cheeks. His
+lips moved, muttering audibly fragments of the letter, as he stared at
+it.
+
+"--incredible that you--a heinous thing--act instantly--this is ruin--"
+
+For an instant--a rare occurrence in Jimmie Dale's life--he stood like a
+man stricken, still staring at the sheet in his hand. Then mechanically
+his fingers tore the paper into little pieces, and the little pieces
+into tiny shreds. Anger fled, and a sickening sense of impotent dismay
+took its place; the red left his cheeks, and in its stead a grayness
+came.
+
+"Act instantly!" The words seemed to leap at him, drum at his ears with
+constant repetition. Act instantly! But how? How? Then his brain--that
+keen, clear, master brain--sprang from stunned inaction into virility
+again. Of course--Carruthers! It was in Carruthers' line.
+
+He stepped to the desk--and paused with his hand extended to pick up the
+telephone. How explain to Carruthers that he, Jimmie Dale, already knew
+what Carruthers might not yet have heard of, even though Carruthers
+would naturally be among the first to be in touch with such affairs! No;
+that would never do. Better get there himself at once and trust to--
+
+The telephone rang.
+
+Jimmie Dale waited until it rang again, then he lifted the receiver from
+the hook.
+
+"Hello?" he said.
+
+"Hello! Hello! Jimmie!" came a voice. "This is Carruthers. That you,
+Jimmie?"
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale and sat down limply in the desk chair.
+
+"It's the Gray Seal again. I promised you I'd let you in on the ground
+floor next time anything happened, so come on down here quick if you
+want to see some of his work at firsthand."
+
+Jimmie Dale flirted a bead of sweat from his forehead.
+
+"Carruthers," said Jimmie languidly, "you newspaper chaps make me tired
+with your Gray Seal. I'm just going to bed."
+
+"Bed nothing!" spluttered Carruthers, from the other end of the wire.
+"Come down, I tell you. It's worth your while--half the population of
+New York would give the toes off their feet for the chance. Come down,
+you blast idiot! The Gray Seal has gone the limit this time--it's
+MURDER."
+
+Jimmie Dale's face was haggard.
+
+"Oh!" he said peevishly. "Sounds interesting. Where are you? I guess
+maybe I'll jog along."
+
+"I should think you would!" snapped Carruthers. "You know the Palace on
+the Bowery? Yes? Well, meet me on the corner there as soon as you can.
+Hustle! Good--"
+
+"Oh, I say, Carruthers!" interposed Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Yes?" demanded Carruthers.
+
+"Thanks awfully for letting me know, old man."
+
+"Don't mention it!" returned Carruthers sarcastically. "You always were
+a grateful beast, Jimmie. Hurry up!"
+
+Jimmie Dale hung up the receiver of the city 'phone, and took down the
+receiver of another, a private-house installation, and rang twice for
+the garage.
+
+"The light car at once, Benson," he ordered curtly. "At once!"
+
+Jimmie Dale worked quickly then. In his dressing room, he changed from
+dinner clothes to tweeds; spent a second or so over the contents of a
+locked drawer in the dresser, from which he selected a very small but
+serviceable automatic, and a very small but highly powerful magnifying
+glass whose combination of little round lenses worked on a pivot, and,
+closed over one another, were of about the compass of a quarter of a
+dollar.
+
+In three minutes he was outside the house and stepping into the car,
+just as it drew up at the curb.
+
+"Benson," he said tersely to his chauffeur, "drop me one block this
+side of the Palace on the Bowery--and forget there was ever a speed law
+enacted. Understand?"
+
+"Very good, sir," said Benson, touching his cap. "I'll do my best, sir."
+
+Jimmie Dale, in the tonneau, stretched out his legs under the front
+seat, and dug his hands into his pockets--and inside the pockets his
+hands were clenched and knotted fists.
+
+Murder! At times it had occurred to him that there was a possibility
+that some crook of the underworld would attempt to cover his tracks and
+take refuge from pursuit by foisting himself on the authorities as the
+Gray Seal. That was a possibility, a risk always to be run. But that
+MURDER should be laid to the Gray Seal's door! Anger, merciless and
+unrestrained, surged over Jimmie Dale.
+
+There was peril here, live and imminent. Suppose that some day he should
+be caught in some little affair, recognised and identified as the Gray
+Seal, there would be the charge of murder hanging over him--and the
+electric chair to face!
+
+But the peril was not the only thing. Even worse to Jimmie Dale's
+artistic and sensitive temperament was the vilification, the holding up
+to loathing, contumely, and abhorrence of the name, the stainless name,
+of the Gray Seal. It WAS stainless! He had guarded it jealously--as a
+man guards the woman's name he loves.
+
+Affairs that had mystified and driven the police distracted with
+impotence there had been, many of them; and on the face of them--crimes.
+But no act ever committed had been in reality a crime--none without
+the highest of motives, the righting of some outrageous wrong, the
+protection of some poor stumbling fellow human.
+
+That had been his partnership with her. How, by what amazing means, by
+what power that smacked almost of the miraculous she came in touch with
+all these things and supplied him with the data on which to work he
+did not know--only that, thanks to her, there were happier hearts and
+happier homes since the Gray Seal had begun to work. "Dear Philanthropic
+Crook," she often called him in her letters. And now--it was MURDER!
+
+Take Carruthers, for instance. For years, as a reporter before he had
+risen to the editorial desk, he had been one of the keenest on the scent
+of the Gray Seal, but always for the sake of the game--always filled
+with admiration, as he said himself, for the daring, the originality of
+the most puzzling, bewildering, delightful crook in the annals of crime.
+Carruthers was but an example. Carruthers now would hunt the Gray Seal
+like a mad dog. The Gray Seal, to Carruthers and every one else, would
+be the vilest name in the land--a synonym for murder.
+
+On the car flew--and upon Jimmie Dale's face, as though chiselled in
+marble, was a look that was not good to see. And a mirthless smile set,
+frozen, on his lips.
+
+"I'll get the man that did this," gritted Jimmie Dale between his teeth.
+"I'll GET him! And, when I get him, I'll wring a confession from him if
+I have to swing for it!"
+
+The car swept from Broadway into Astor Place, on down the Bowery, and
+presently stopped.
+
+Jimmie Dale stepped out. "I shall not want you any more, Benson," he
+said. "You may return home."
+
+Jimmie Dale started down the block--a nonchalant Jimmie Dale now, if
+anything, bored a little. Near the corner, a figure, back turned, was
+lounging at the edge of the sidewalk. Jimmie Dale touched the man on the
+arm.
+
+"Hello, Carruthers!" he drawled.
+
+"Ah, Jimmie!" Carruthers turned with an excited smile. "That's the boy!
+You've made mighty quick time."
+
+"Well, you told me to hurry," grumbled Jimmie Dale. "I'm doing my best
+to please you to-night. Came down in my car, and got summoned for three
+fines to-morrow."
+
+Carruthers laughed. "Come on," he said; and, linking his arm in Jimmie
+Dale's, turned the corner, and headed west along the cross street. "This
+is going to make a noise," he continued, a grim note creeping into his
+voice. "The biggest noise the city has ever heard. I take back all I
+said about the Gray Seal. I'd always pictured his cleverness as being
+inseparable with at least a decent sort of man, even if he was a rogue
+and a criminal, but I'm through with that. He's a rotter and a hound
+of the rankest sort! I didn't think there was anything more vulgar or
+brutal than murder, but he's shown me that there is. A guttersnipe's got
+more decency! To murder a man and then boastfully label the corpse is--"
+
+"Say, Carruthers," said Jimmie Dale plaintively, suddenly hanging back,
+"I say, you know, it's--it's all right for you to mess up in this sort
+of thing, it's your beastly business, and I'm awfully damned thankful to
+you for giving me a look-in, but isn't it--er--rather INFRA DIG for me?
+A bit morbid, you know, and all that sort of thing. I'd never hear the
+end of it at the club--you know what the St. James is. Couldn't I be
+Merideth Stanley Annstruther, or something like that, one of your new
+reporters, or something like that, you know?"
+
+Carruthers chuckled. "Sure, Jimmie," he said. "You're the latest
+addition to the staff of the NEWS-ARGUS. Don't worry; the incomparable
+Jimmie Dale won't figure publicly in this."
+
+"It's awfully good of you," said Jimmie gratefully. "I have to have a
+notebook or something, don't I?"
+
+Carruthers, from his pocket, handed him one. "Thanks," said Jimmie Dale.
+
+A little way ahead, a crowd had collected on the sidewalk before a
+doorway, and Carruthers pointed with a jerk of his hand.
+
+"It's in Moriarty's place--a gambling hell," he explained. "I haven't
+got the story myself yet, though I've been inside, and had a look
+around. Inspector Clayton discovered the crime, and reported it at
+headquarters. I was at my desk in the office when the news came, and, as
+you know the interest I've taken in the Gray Seal, I decided to 'cover'
+it myself. When I got here, Clayton hadn't returned from headquarters,
+so, as you seemed so keenly interested last week, I telephoned you. If
+Clayton's back now we'll get the details. Clayton's a good fellow with
+the 'press,' and he won't hold anything out on us. Now, here we are.
+Keep close to me, and I'll pass you in."
+
+They shouldered through the crowd and up to an officer at the door.
+The officer nodded, stepped aside, and Carruthers, with Jimmie Dale
+following, entered the house.
+
+They climbed one flight, and then another. The card-rooms, the faro,
+stud, and roulette layouts were deserted, save for policemen here and
+there on guard. Carruthers led the way to a room at the back of the
+hall, whose door was open and from which issued a hubbub of voices--one
+voice rose above the others, heavy and gratingly complacent.
+
+"Clayton's back," observed Carruthers.
+
+They stepped over the threshold, and the heavy voice greeted them.
+
+"Ah, here's Carruthers now! H'are you, Carruthers? They told me you'd
+been here, and were coming back, so I've been keeping the boys waiting
+before handing out the dope. You've had a look at that--eh?" He flung
+out a fat hand toward the bed.
+
+The voices rose again, all directed at Carruthers now.
+
+"Bubble's burst, eh, Carruthers? What about the 'Prince of Crooks'?
+Artistry in crime, wasn't it, you said?" They were quoting from his
+editorials of bygone days, a half dozen reporters of rival papers,
+grinning and joshing him good-naturedly, seemingly quite unaffected by
+what lay within arm's reach of them upon the bed.
+
+Carruthers smiled a little wryly, shrugged his shoulders--and presented
+Jimmie Dale to Inspector Clayton.
+
+"Mr. Matthewson, a new man of ours--inspector."
+
+"Glad to know you, Mr. Matthewson," said the inspector.
+
+Jimmie Dale found his hand grasped by another that was flabby and
+unpleasantly moist; and found himself looking into a face that was red,
+with heavy rolls of unhealthy fat terminating in a double chin and a
+thick, apoplectic neck--a huge, round face, with rat's eyes.
+
+Clayton dropped Jimmie Dale's hand, and waved his own in the air. Jimmie
+Dale remained modestly on the outside of the circle as the reporters
+gathered around the police inspector.
+
+"Now, then," said Clayton coarsely, "the guy that's croaked there is
+Metzer, Jake Metzer. Get that?"
+
+Jimmie Dale, scribbling hurriedly in his notebook like all the rest,
+turned a little toward the bed, and his lower jaw crept out the fraction
+of an inch. Both gas jets in the room were turned on full, giving ample
+light. A man fully dressed, a man of perhaps forty, lay upon his back on
+the bed, one arm outflung across the bedspread, the other dangling,
+with fingers just touching the floor, the head at an angle and off the
+pillow. It was as though he had been carried to the bed and flung upon
+it after the deed had been committed. Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted and
+swept the room. Yes, everything was in disorder, as though there had
+been a struggle--a chair upturned, a table canted against the wall,
+broken pieces of crockery from the washstand on the carpet, and--
+
+"Metzer was a stool pigeon, see?" went on Clayton, "and he lived here.
+Moriarty wasn't on to him. Metzer stood in thick with a wider circle of
+crooks than any other snitch in New York."
+
+Jimmie Dale, still scribbling as Clayton talked, stepped to the bed and
+leaned over the murdered man. The murder had been done with a blackjack
+evidently--a couple of blows. The left side of the temple was crushed
+in. Right in the middle of the forehead, pasted there, a gray-colored,
+diamond shaped paper seal flaunted itself--the device of the Gray Seal.
+In Jimmie Dale' hand, hidden as he turned his back, the tiny combination
+of powerful lenses was focused on the seal.
+
+Clayton guffawed. "That's right!" he called out. "Take a good look.
+That's a bright young man you've got, Carruthers."
+
+Jimmie Dale looked up a little sheepishly--and got a grin from the
+assembled reporters, and a scowl from Carruthers.
+
+"Now, then," continued Clayton, "here's the facts--as much of 'em as I
+can let you boys print at present. You know I'm stretching a point
+to let you in here--don't forget that when you come to write up the
+case--honour where's honour's due, you know. Well, me and Metzer there
+was getting ready to close down on a big piece of game, and I was over
+here in this room talking to him about it early this afternoon. We had
+it framed to get our man to-night--see? I left Metzer, say, about three
+o'clock, and he was to show up over at headquarters with another little
+bit of evidence we wanted at eight o'clock to-night."
+
+Jimmie Dale was listening--to every word. But he stooped now again over
+the murdered man's head deliberately, though he felt the inspector's
+rat's eyes upon him--stooped, and, with his finger nail, lifted back the
+right-hand point of the diamond-shaped seal where it bordered a faint
+thread of blood on the man's forehead.
+
+There was a bull-like roar from the inspector, and he burst through the
+ring of reporters, and grabbed Jimmie Dale by the shoulder.
+
+"Here you, what in hell are you doing!" he spluttered angrily.
+
+Embarrassed and confused, Jimmie Dale drew back, glanced around, and
+smiled again a little sheepishly as his eyes rested on the red-flushed
+jowl of the inspector.
+
+"I--I wanted to see how it was stuck on," he explained inanely.
+
+"Stuck on!" bellowed Clayton. "I'll show you how it's STUCK on, if you
+monkey around here! Don't you know any better than that! Where were you
+dragged up anyway? The coroner hasn't been here yet. You're a hot cub
+of a reporter, you are!" He turned to Carruthers. "Y'ought to get out
+printed instructions for 'em before you turn 'em loose!" he snapped.
+
+Carruthers' face was red with mortification. There was a grin, expanded,
+on the faces of the others.
+
+"Stand away from that bed!" roared Clayton at Jimmie Dale. "And if you
+go near it again, I'll throw you out of here bodily!"
+
+Jimmie Dale edged away, and, eyes lowered, fumbled nervously with the
+leaves of his notebook.
+
+Clayton grunted, glared at Jimmie Dale for an instant viciously--and
+resumed his story.
+
+"I was saying," he said, "that Metzer was to come to headquarters at
+eight o'clock this evening. Well, he didn't show up. That looked queer.
+It was mighty important business. We was after one of the biggest hauls
+we'd ever pulled off. I waited till nine o'clock, an hour ago, and I
+was getting nervous. Then I started over here to find out what was the
+matter. When I got here I asked Moriarty if he'd seen Metzer. Moriarty
+said he hadn't since I was here before. He was a little suspicious that
+I had something on Metzer--see? Well, by pumping Moriarty, he admitted
+that Metzer had had a visitor about an hour after I left."
+
+"Who was it? Know what his name is, inspector?" asked one of the
+reporters quickly.
+
+Inspector Clayton winked heavily. "Don't be greedy boys," he grinned.
+
+"You mean you've got him?" burst out another one of the men excitedly.
+
+"Sure! Sure, I've got him." Inspector Clayton waved his fat hand airily.
+"Or I will have before morning--but I ain't saying anything more till
+it's over." He smiled significantly. "Well, that's about all. You've
+got the details right around you. I left Moriarty downstairs and came up
+here, and found just what you see--Metzer laying on the bed there, and
+the gray seal stuck on his forehead--and"--he ended abruptly--"I'll have
+the Gray Seal himself behind the bars by morning."
+
+A chorus of ejaculations rose from the reporters, while their pencils
+worked furiously.
+
+Then Jimmie Dale appeared to have an inspiration. Jimmie Dale turned a
+leaf in his notebook and began to sketch rapidly, cocking his head now
+on one side now on the other. With a few deft strokes he had outlined
+the figure of Inspector Clayton. The reporter beside Jimmie Dale leaned
+over to inspect the work, and another did likewise. Jimmie Dale drew
+in Clayton's face most excellently, if somewhat flatteringly; and then,
+with a little flourish of pride, wrote under the drawing: "The Man Who
+Captured the Gray Seal."
+
+"That's a cracking good sketch!" pronounced the reporter at his side.
+"Let the inspector see it."
+
+"What is it?" demanded Clayton, scowling.
+
+Jimmie Dale handed him the notebook modestly.
+
+Inspector Clayton took it, looked at it, looked at Jimmie Dale; then his
+scowl relaxed into a self-sufficient and pleased smile, and he grunted
+approvingly.
+
+"That's the stuff to put over," he said. "Mabbe you're not much of
+a reporter, but you can draw. Y're all right, sport--y're all right.
+Forget what I said to you a while ago."
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled too--deprecatingly. And put the notebook in his
+pocket.
+
+An officer entered the room hurriedly, and, drawing Clayton aside, spoke
+in an undertone. A triumphant and malicious grin settled on Clayton's
+features, and he started with a rush for the door.
+
+"Come around to headquarters in two hours, boys," he called as he went
+out, "and I'll have something more for you."
+
+The room cleared, the reporters tumbling downstairs to make for the
+nearest telephones to get their "copy" into their respective offices.
+
+On the street, a few doors up from the house where they were free from
+the crowd, Carruthers halted Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Jimmie," he said reproachfully, "you certainly made a mark of us both.
+There wasn't any need to play the 'cub' so egregiously. However, I'll
+forgive you for the sake of the sketch--hand it over, Jimmie; I'm going
+to reproduce it in the first edition."
+
+"It wasn't drawn for reproduction, Carruthers--at least not yet," said
+Jimmie Dale quietly.
+
+Carruthers stared at him. "Eh?" he asked blankly.
+
+"I've taken a dislike to Clayton," said Jimmie Dale whimsically. "He's
+too patently after free advertising, and I'm not going to help along his
+boost. You can't have it, old man, so let's think about something
+else. What'll they do with that bit of paper that's on the poor devil's
+forehead up there, for instance."
+
+"Say," said Carruthers, "does it strike you that you're acting queer?
+You haven't been drinking, have you, Jimmie?"
+
+"What'll they do with it?" persisted Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Well," said Carruthers, smiling a little tolerantly, "they'll
+photograph it and enlarge the photograph, and label it 'Exhibit A' or
+'Exhibit B' or something like that--and file it away in the archives
+with the fifty or more just like it that are already in their
+collection."
+
+"That's what I thought," observed Jimmie Dale. He took Carruthers by the
+lapel of the coat. "I'd like a photograph of that. I'd like it so much
+that I've got to have it. Know the chap that does that work for the
+police?"
+
+"Yes," admitted Carruthers.
+
+"Very good!" said Jimmie Dale crisply, "Get an extra print of the
+enlargement from him then--for a consideration--whatever he asks--I'll
+pay for it."
+
+"But what for?" demanded Carruthers. "I don't understand."
+
+"Because," said Jimmie Dale very seriously, "put it down to imagination
+or whatever you like, I think I smell something fishy here."
+
+"You WHAT!" exclaimed Carruthers in amazement. "You're not joking, are
+you, Jimmie?"
+
+Jimmie Dale laughed shortly. "It's so far from a joke," he said, in
+a low tone, "that I want your word you'll get that photograph into my
+hands by to-morrow afternoon, no matter what transpires in the meantime.
+And look here, Carruthers, don't think I'm playing the silly thickhead,
+and trying to mystify you. I'm no detective or anything like that. I've
+just got an idea that apparently hasn't occurred to any one else--and,
+of course, I may be all wrong. If I am, I'm not going to say a word even
+to you, because it wouldn't be playing fair with some one else; if I'm
+right the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS gets the biggest scoop of the century. Will
+you go in on that basis?"
+
+Carruthers put out his hand impulsively. "If you're in earnest,
+Jimmie--you bet!"
+
+"Good!" returned Jimmie Dale. "The photograph by to-morrow afternoon
+then. And now--"
+
+"And now," said Caruthers, "I've got to hurry over to the office and get
+a write-up man at work. Will you come along, or meet me at headquarters
+later? Clayton said in two hours he'd--"
+
+"Neither," said Jimmie Dale. "I'm not interested in headquarters. I'm
+going home."
+
+"Well, all right then," Carruthers returned. "You can bank on me for
+to-morrow. Good-night, Jimmie."
+
+"Good-night, old man," said Jimmie Dale, and, turning, walked briskly
+toward the Bowery.
+
+But Jimmie Dale did not go home. He walked down the Bowery for three
+blocks, crossed to the east side, and turned down a cross street. Two
+blocks more he walked in this direction, and halfway down the next.
+Here he paused an instant--the street was dimly lighted, almost dark,
+deserted. Jimmie Dale edged close to the houses until his shadow blended
+with the shadows of the walls--and slipped suddenly into a pitch-black
+areaway.
+
+He opened a door, stepped into an unlighted hallway where the air was
+close and evil smelling, mounted a stairway, and halted before another
+door on the first landing. There was the low clicking of a lock, three
+times repeated, and he entered a room, closing and fastening the door
+behind him.
+
+Jimmie Dale called it his "Sanctuary." In one of the worst
+neighbourhoods of New York, where no questions were asked as long as the
+rent was paid, it had the further advantage of three separate exits--one
+by the areaway where he had entered; one from the street itself; and
+another through a back yard with an entry into a saloon that fronted on
+the next street. It was not often that Jimmie Dale used his Sanctuary,
+but there had been times when it was no more nor less than exactly what
+he called it--a sanctuary!
+
+He stepped to the window, assured himself that the shade was down--and
+lighted the gas, blinking a little as the yellow flame illuminated the
+room.
+
+It was a rough place, dirty, uninviting; a bedroom, furnished in the
+most scanty fashion. Neither, apparently, was there anything suspicious
+about it to reward one curious enough to break in during the owner's
+absence--some rather disreputable clothes hanging on the wall, and flung
+untidily across the bed--that was all.
+
+Alone now, Jimmie Dale's face was strained and anxious and,
+occasionally, as he undressed himself, his hands clenched until his
+knuckles grew white. The gray seal on the murdered man's forehead was
+a GENUINE GRAY SEAL--one of Jimmie Dale's own. There was no doubt of
+that--he had satisfied himself on that point.
+
+Where had it come from? How had it been obtained? Jimmie Dale carefully
+placed the clothes he had taken off under the mattress, pulled a
+disreputable collarless flannel shirt over his head, and pulled on a
+disreputable pair of boots. There were only two sources of supply. His
+own--and the collection that the police had made, which Carruthers had
+referred to.
+
+Jimmie Dale lifted a corner of the oilcloth in a corner of the room,
+lifted a piece of the flooring, lifted out a little box which he placed
+upon the rickety table, and sat down before a cracked mirror. Who was
+it that would have access to the gray seals in the possession of the
+police, since, obviously, it was one of those that was on the dead man's
+forehead? The answer came quick enough--came with the sudden out-thrust
+of Jimmie Dale's lower jaw. ONE OF THE POLICE THEMSELVES--no one else.
+Clayton's heavy, cunning face, Clayton's shifty eyes, Clayton's sudden
+rush when he had touched the dead man's forehead, pictured themselves
+in a red flash of fury before Jimmie Dale. There was no mask now, no
+facetiousness, no acted part--only a merciless rage, and the muscles of
+Jimmie Dale's face quivered and twitched. MURDER, foisted, shifted upon
+another, upon the Gray Seal--making of that name a calumny--ruining
+forever the work that she and he might do!
+
+And then Jimmie Dale smiled mirthlessly, with thinning lips. The box
+before him was open. His fingers worked quickly--a little wax behind the
+ears, in the nostrils, under the upper lip, deftly placed-hands, wrists,
+neck, throat, and face received their quota of stain, applied with an
+artist's touch--and then the spruce, muscular Jimmie Dale, transformed
+into a slouching, vicious-featured denizen of the underworld, replaced
+the box under the flooring, pulled a slouch hat over his eyes,
+extinguished the gas, and went out.
+
+Jimmie Dale's range of acquaintanceship was wide--from the upper strata
+of the St. James Club to the elite of New York's gangland. And, adored
+by the one, he was trusted implicitly by the other--not understood,
+perhaps, by the latter, for he had never allied himself with any of
+their nefarious schemes, but trusted implicitly through long years of
+personal contact. It had stood Jimmie Dale in good stead before, this
+association, where, in a sort of strange, carefully guarded exchange,
+the news of the underworld was common property to those without the law.
+To New York in its millions, the murder of Metzer, the stool pigeon,
+would be unknown until the city rose in the morning to read the
+sensational details over the breakfast table; here, it would already be
+the topic of whispered conversations, here it had probably been known
+long before the police had discovered the crime. Especially would it be
+expected to be known to Pete Lazanis, commonly called the Runt, who
+was a power below the dead line and, more pertinent still, one in whose
+confidence Jimmie Dale had rejoiced for years.
+
+Jimmie Dale, as Larry the Bat--a euphonious "monaker" bestowed possibly
+because this particular world knew him only by night--began a search for
+the Runt. From one resort to another he hurried, talking in the accepted
+style through one corner of his mouth to hard-visaged individuals behind
+dirty, reeking bars that were reared on equally dirty and foul-smelling
+sawdust-strewn floors; visiting dance halls, secretive back rooms, and
+certain Chinese pipe joints.
+
+But the Runt was decidedly elusive. There had been no news of him, no
+one had seen him--and this after fully an hour had passed since Jimmie
+Dale had left Carruthers in front of Moriarty's. The possibilities
+however were still legion--numbered only by the numberless dives and
+dens sheltered by that quarter of the city.
+
+Jimmie Dale turned into Chatham Square, heading for the Pagoda Dance
+Hall. A man loitering at the curb shot a swift, searching glance at him
+as he slouched by. Jimmie Dale paused in the doorway of the Pagoda and
+looked up and down the street. The man he had passed had drawn a little
+closer; another man in an apparently aimless fashion lounged a few yards
+away.
+
+"Something up," muttered Jimmie Dale to himself. "Lansing, of
+headquarters, and the other looks like Milrae."
+
+Jimmie Dale pushed in through the door of the Pagoda. A bedlam of noise
+surged out at him--a tin-pan piano and a mandolin were going furiously
+from a little raised platform at the rear; in the centre of the room a
+dozen couples were in the throes of the tango and the bunny-hug; around
+the sides, at little tables, men and women laughed and applauded and
+thumped time on the tabletops with their beer mugs; while waiters, with
+beer-stained aprons and unshaven faces, juggled marvelous handfuls of
+glasses and mugs from the bar beside the platform to the patrons at the
+tables.
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes swept the room in a swift, comprehensive glance,
+fixed on a little fellow, loudly dressed, who shared a table halfway
+down the room with a woman in a picture hat, and a smile of relief
+touched his lips. The Runt at last!
+
+He walked down the room, caught the Runt's eyes significantly as he
+passed the table, kept on to a door between the platform and the bar,
+opened it, and went out into a lighted hallway, at one end of which a
+door opened onto the street, and at the other a stairway led above.
+
+The Runt joined him. "Wot's de row, Larry?" inquired the Runt.
+
+"Nuthin' much," said Jimmie Dale. "Only I t'ought I'd let youse know.
+I was passin' Moriarty's an' got de tip. Say, some guy's croaked Jake
+Metzer dere."
+
+"Aw, ferget it!" observed the Runt airily. "Dat's stale. Was wise to dat
+hours ago."
+
+Jimmie Dale's face fell. "But I just come from dere," he insisted; "an'
+de harness bulls only just found it out."
+
+"Mabbe," grunted the Runt. "But Metzer got his early in de
+afternoon--see?"
+
+Jimmie Dale looked quickly around him--and then leaned toward the Runt.
+
+"Wot's de lay, Runt?" he whispered.
+
+The Runt pulled down one eyelid, and, with his knowing grin, the
+cigarette, clinging to his upper lip, sagged down in the opposite corner
+of his mouth.
+
+Jimmie Dale grinned, too--in a flash inspiration had come to Jimmie
+Dale.
+
+"Say, Runt"--he jerked his head toward the street door--"wot's de fly
+cops doin' out dere?"
+
+The grin vanished from the Runt's lips. He stared for a second wildly at
+Jimmie Dale, and then clutched at Jimmie Dale's arm.
+
+"De WOT?" he said hoarsely.
+
+"De fly cops," Jimmie Dale repeated in well-simulated surprise. "Dey was
+dere when I come in--Lansing an' Milrae, an--"
+
+The Runt shot a hurried glance at the stairway, and licked his lips as
+though they had gone suddenly dry.
+
+"My Gawd, I--" He gasped, and shrank hastily back against the wall
+beside Jimmie Dale.
+
+The door from the street had opened noiselessly, instantly. Black forms
+bulked there--then a rush of feet--and at the head of half a dozen men,
+the face of Inspector Clayton loomed up before Jimmie Dale. There was
+a second's pause in the rush; and, in the pause, Clayton's voice, in a
+vicious undertone:
+
+"You two ginks open your traps, and I'll run you both in!"
+
+And then the rush passed, and swept on up the stairs.
+
+Jimmie Dale looked at the Runt. The cigarette dangled limply; the Runt's
+eyes were like a hunted beast's.
+
+"Dey got him!" he mumbled. "It's Stace--Stace Morse. He come to me after
+croakin' Metzer, an' he's been hidin' up dere all afternoon."
+
+Stace Morse--known in gangland as a man with every crime in the calendar
+to his credit, and prominent because of it! Something seemed to go
+suddenly queer inside of Jimmie Dale. Stace Morse! Was he wrong, after
+all? Jimmie Dale drew closer to the Runt.
+
+"Yer givin' me a steer, ain't youse?" He spoke again from the corner
+of his mouth, almost inaudibly. "Are youse sure it was Stace croaked
+Metzer? Wot fer? How'd yer know?"
+
+The Runt was listening, his eyes strained toward the stairs. The hall
+door to the street was closed, but both were quite well aware that there
+was an officer on guard outside.
+
+"He told me," whispered the Runt. "Metzer was fixin' ter snitch on him
+ter-night. Dey've got de goods on Stace, too. He made a bum job of it."
+
+"Why didn't he get out of de country den when he had de chanst, instead
+of hangin' around here all afternoon?" demanded Jimmie Dale.
+
+"He was broke," the Runt answered. "We was gettin' de coin fer him ter
+fade away wid ter-night, an'--"
+
+A revolver shot from above cut short his words. Came then the sound of a
+struggle, oaths, the shuffling tread of feet--but in the dance hall the
+piano still rattled on, the mandolin twanged, voices sang and applauded,
+and beer mugs thumped time.
+
+They were on the stairs now, the officers, half carrying, half dragging
+some one between them--and the man they dragged cursed them with utter
+abandon. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Jimmie Dale
+caught sight of the prisoner's face--not a prepossessing
+one--villainous,--low-browed, contorted with a mixture of fear and rage.
+
+"It's a lie! A lie! A lie!" the man shrieked. "I never seen him in me
+life--blast you!--curse you!--d'ye hear!"
+
+Inspector Clayton caught Jimmie Dale and the Runt by the collars.
+
+"There's nothing to interest you around here!" he snapped maliciously.
+"Go on, now--beat it!" And he pushed them toward the door.
+
+They had heard the disturbance in the dance hall now and the occupants
+were swarming to the sidewalk. A patrol wagon came around the corner. In
+the crowd Jimmie Dale slipped away from the Runt.
+
+Was he wrong, after all? A fierce passion seized him. It was Stace Morse
+who had murdered Metzer, the Runt had said. In Jimmie Dale's brain the
+words began to reiterate themselves in a singsong fashion: "It was Stace
+Morse. It was Stace Morse." Then his lips drew tight together. WAS it
+Stace Morse? He would have given a good deal for a chance to talk to the
+man--even for a minute. But there was no possibility of that now. Later,
+to-morrow perhaps, if he was wrong, after all!
+
+Jimmie Dale returned to the Sanctuary, removed from his person all
+evidences of Larry the Bat--and from the Sanctuary went home to
+Riverside Drive.
+
+In his den there, in the morning after breakfast, Jason, the butler,
+brought him the papers. Three-inch headlines in red ink screamed,
+exulted, and shrieked out the news that the Gray Seal, in the person of
+Stace Morse, fence, yeggman and murderer, had been captured. The public,
+if it had held any private admiration for the one-time mysterious crook
+could now once and forever disillusion itself. The Gray Seal was Stace
+Morse--and Stace Morse was of the dregs of the city's scum, a pariah,
+an outcast, with no single redeeming trait to lift him from the ruck
+of mire and slime that had strewn his life from infancy. The face of
+Inspector Clayton, blandly self-complacent, leaped out from the paper
+to meet Jimmie Dale's eyes--and with it a column and a half of perfervid
+eulogy.
+
+Something at first like dismay, the dismay of impotency, filled Jimmie
+Dale--and then, cold, leaving him unnaturally calm, the old merciless
+rage took its place. There was nothing to do now but wait--wait until
+Carruthers should send that photograph. Then if, after all, he were
+wrong--then he must find some other way. But was he wrong! The notebook
+that Carruthers had given him, open at the sketch he had made of
+Clayton, lay upon the desk. Jimmie Dale picked it up--he had already
+spent quite a little time over it before breakfast--and examined it
+again minutely, even resorting to his magnifying glass. He put it down
+as a knock sounded at the door, and Jason entered with a silver card
+tray. From Carruthers already! Jimmie Dale stepped quickly forward--and
+then Jimmie Dale met the old man's eyes. It wasn't from Carruthers--it
+was from HER!
+
+"The same shuffer brought it, Master Jim," said Jason.
+
+Jimmie Dale snatched the envelope from the tray, and waved the other
+from the room. As the door closed, he tore open the letter. There was
+just a single line:
+
+
+Jimmie--Jimmie, you haven't failed, have you?
+
+
+Jimmie Dale stared at it. Failed! Failed--HER! The haggard look was in
+his face again. It was the bond between them that was at stake--the Gray
+Seal--the bond that had come, he knew for all time in that instant, to
+mean his life.
+
+"God knows!" he muttered hoarsely, and flung himself into a lounging
+chair, still staring at the note.
+
+The hours dragged by. Luncheon time arrived and passed--and then by
+special messenger the little package from Carruthers came.
+
+Jimmie Dale started to undo the string, then laid the package down,
+and held out his hands before him for inspection. They were trembling
+visibly. It was a strange condition for Jimmie Dale either to witness or
+experience, unlike him, foreign to him.
+
+"This won't do, Jimmie," he said grimly, shaking his head.
+
+He picked up the package again, opened it, and from between two pieces
+of cardboard took out a large photographic print. A moment, two, Jimmie
+Dale examined it, used the magnifying glass again; and then a strange
+gleam came into the dark eyes, and his lips moved.
+
+"I've won," said Jimmie Dale, with ominous softness. "I've WON!"
+
+He was standing beside the rosewood desk, and he reached for the phone.
+Carruthers would be at home now--he called Carruthers there. After a
+moment or two he got the connection.
+
+"This is Jimmie, Carruthers," he said. "Yes, I got it. Thanks. . . .
+Yes. . . . Listen. I want you to get Inspector Clayton, and bring him up
+here at once. . . . What? No, no--no! . . . How? . . . Why--er--tell him
+you're going to run a full page of him in the Sunday edition, and you
+want him to sit for a sketch. He'd go anywhere for that. . . . Yes. . . .
+Half an hour. . . . YES. . . . Good-bye."
+
+Jimmie Dale hung up the receiver; and, hastily now, began to write upon
+a pad that lay before him on the desk. The minutes passed. As he wrote,
+he scored out words and lines here and there, substituting others. At
+the end he had covered three large pages with, to any one but himself,
+an indecipherable scrawl. These he shoved aside now, and, very
+carefully, very legibly, made a copy on fresh sheets. As he finished, he
+heard a car draw up in front of the house. Jimmie Dale folded the copied
+sheets neatly, tucked them in his pocket, lighted a cigarette, and was
+lolling lazily in his chair as Jason announced: "Mr. Carruthers, sir,
+and another gentleman to see you."
+
+"Show them up, Jason," instructed Jimmie Dale.
+
+Jimmie Dale rose from his chair as they came in. Jason, well-trained
+servant, closed the door behind them.
+
+"Hello, Carruthers; hello, inspector," said Jimmie Dale pleasantly, and
+waved them to seats. "Take this chair, Carruthers." He motioned to one
+at his elbow. "Glad to see you, inspector--try that one in front of the
+desk, you'll find it comfortable."
+
+Carruthers, trying to catch Jimmie Dale's eye for some sort of a cue,
+and, failing, sat down. Inspector Clayton stared at Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Oh, it's YOU, eh?" His eyes roved around the room, fastened for an
+instant on some of Jimmie Dale's work on an easel, came back finally
+to Jimmie Dale--and he plumped himself down in the chair indicated.
+"Thought you was more'n a cub reporter," he remarked, with a grin.
+"You were too slick with your pencil. Pretty fine studio you got here.
+Carruthers says you're going to draw me."
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled--not pleasantly--and leaned suddenly over the desk.
+
+"Yes," he said slowly, a grim intonation in his voice, "going to draw
+you--TRUE TO LIFE."
+
+With an exclamation, Clayton slued around in his chair, half rose, and
+his shifty eyes, small and cunning, bored into Jimmie Dale's face.
+
+"What d'ye mean by that?" he snapped out
+
+"Just exactly what I say," replied Jimmie Dale curtly. "No more,
+no less. But first, not to be too abrupt, I want to join with the
+newspapers in congratulating you on the remarkable--shall I call it
+celerity, or acumen?--with which you solved the mystery of Metzer's
+death, and placed the murderer behind the bars. It is really remarkable,
+inspector, so remarkable, in fact, that it's almost--SUSPICIOUS. Don't
+you think so? No? Well, that's what Mr. Carruthers was good enough to
+bring you up here to talk over--in an intimate and confidential way, you
+know."
+
+Inspector Clayton surged up from his chair to his feet, his fists
+clenched, the red sweeping over his face--and then he shook one fist at
+Carruthers.
+
+"So that's your game, is it!" he stormed. "Trying to crawl out of that
+twenty-five thousand reward, eh? And as for you"--he turned on Jimmie
+Dale--"you've rigged up a nice little plant between you, eh? Well, it
+won't work--and I'll make you squirm for this, both of you, damn you,
+before I'm through!" He glared from one to the other for a moment--then
+swung on his heel. "Good-afternoon, gentlemen," he sneered, as he
+started for the door.
+
+He was halfway across the room before Jimmie Dale spoke.
+
+"Clayton!"
+
+Clayton turned. Jimmie Dale was still leaning over the desk, but now one
+elbow was propped upon it, and in the most casual way a revolver covered
+Inspector Clayton.
+
+"If you attempt to leave this room," said Jimmie Dale, without raising
+his voice, "I assure you that I shall fire with as little compunction as
+though I were aiming at a mad dog--and I apologise to all mad dogs for
+coupling your name with them." His voice rang suddenly cold. "Come back
+here, and sit down in that chair!"
+
+The colour ebbed slowly from Clayton's face. He hesitated--then sullenly
+retraced his steps; hesitated again as he reached the chair, and finally
+sat down.
+
+"What--what d'ye mean by this?" he stammered, trying to bluster.
+
+"Just this," said Jimmie Dale. "That I accuse you of the murder of Jake
+Metzer--IT WAS YOU WHO MURDERED METZER."
+
+"Good God!" burst suddenly from Carruthers.
+
+"You lie!" yelled Clayton--and again he surged up from his chair.
+
+"That is what Stace Morse said," said Jimmie Dale coolly. "Sit down!"
+
+Then Clayton tried to laugh. "You're--you're having a joke, ain't you?
+It was Stace--I can prove it. Come down to headquarters, and I can prove
+it. I got the goods on him all the way. I tell you"--his voice rose
+shrilly--"it was Stace Morse."
+
+"You are a despicable hound," said Jimmie Dale, through set lips.
+"Here"--he handed the revolver over to Carruthers--"keep him covered,
+Carruthers. You're going to the CHAIR for this, Clayton," he said, in
+a fierce monotone. "The chair! You can't send another there in your
+place--this time. Shall I draw you now--true to life? You've been
+grafting for years on every disreputable den in your district. Metzer
+was going to show you up; and so, Metzer being in the road, you removed
+him. And you seized on the fact of Stace Morse having paid a visit to
+him this afternoon to fix the crime on--Stace Morse. Proofs? Oh, yes, I
+know you've manufactured proofs enough to convict him--if there weren't
+stronger proofs to convict YOU."
+
+"Convict ME!" Clayton's lower jaw hung loosely; but still he made
+an effort at bluster. "You haven't a thing on me--not a thing--not a
+thing."
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled again--unpleasantly.
+
+"You are quite wrong, Clayton. See--here." He took a sheet of paper from
+the drawer of his desk.
+
+Clayton reached for it quickly. "What is it?" he demanded.
+
+Jimmie Dale drew it back out of reach.
+
+"Just a minute," he said softly. "You remember, don't you, that in the
+presence of Carruthers here, of myself, and of half a dozen reporters,
+you stated that you had been alone with Metzer in his room at three
+o'clock yesterday, and that it was you--alone--who found the body later
+on at nine o'clock? Yes? I mention this simply to show that from your
+own lips the evidence is complete that you had an OPPORTUNITY to commit
+the crime. Now you may look at this, Clayton." He handed over the sheet
+of paper.
+
+Clayton took it, stared at it, turning it over from first one side to
+the other. Then a sort of relief seemed to come to him and he gulped.
+
+"Nothing but a damned piece of blank paper!" he mumbled.
+
+Jimmie Dale reached over and took back the sheet.
+
+"You're wrong again, Clayton," he said calmly. "It WAS quite blank
+before I handed it to you--but not now. I noticed yesterday that your
+hands were generally moist. I am sure they are more so now--excitement,
+you know. Carruthers, see that he doesn't interrupt."
+
+From a drawer, Jimmie Dale took out a little black bottle, the notebook
+he had used the day before, and the photograph Carruthers had sent him.
+On the sheet of paper Clayton had just handled, Jimmie Dale sprinkled a
+little powder from the bottle.
+
+"Lampblack," explained Jimmie Dale. He shook the paper carefully,
+allowing the loose powder to fall on the desk blotter--and held out the
+sheet toward Clayton. "Rather neat, isn't it? A very good impression,
+too. Your thumb print, Clayton. Now don't move. You may look--not
+touch." He laid the paper down on the desk in front of Clayton. Beside
+it he placed the notebook, open at the sketch--a black thumb print now
+upon it. "You recall handling this yesterday, I'm sure, Clayton. I tried
+the same experiment with the lampblack on it this morning, you see. And
+this"--beside the notebook he placed the police photograph; that,
+too, in its enlargement, showed, sharply defined, a thumb print on
+a diamond-shaped background. "You will no doubt recognise it as an
+official photograph, enlarged, taken of the gray seal on Metzer's
+forehead--AND THE THUMB PRINT OF METZER'S MURDERER. You have only to
+glance at the little scar at the edge of the centre loop to satisfy
+yourself that the three are identical. Of course, there are a dozen
+other points of similarity equally indisputable, but--"
+
+Jimmie Dale stopped. Clayton was on his feet--rocking on his feet. His
+face was deathlike in its pallor. Moisture was oozing from his forehead.
+
+"I didn't do it! I didn't do it!" he cried out wildly. "My God, I tell
+you, I DIDN'T do it--and--and--that would send me to the chair."
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale coldly, "and that's precisely where you're
+going--to the chair."
+
+The man was beside himself now--racked to the soul by a paroxysm of
+fear.
+
+"I'm innocent--innocent!" he screamed out. "Oh, for God's sake, don't
+send an innocent man to his death. It WAS Stace Morse. Listen! Listen!
+I'll tell the truth." He was clawing with his hands, piteously, over the
+desk at Jimmie Dale. "When the big rewards came out last week I stole
+one of the gray seals from the bunch at headquarters to--to use it the
+first time any crime was committed when I was sure I could lay my hands
+on the man who did it. Don't you see? Of course he'd deny he was the
+Gray Seal, just as he'd deny that he was guilty--but I'd have the
+proof both ways and--and I'd collect the rewards, and--and--" The man
+collapsed into the chair.
+
+Carruthers was up from his seat, his hands gripping tight on the edge of
+the desk as he leaned over it.
+
+"Jimmie--Jimmie--what does this mean?" he gasped out.
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled--pleasantly now.
+
+"That he has told the truth," said Jimmie Dale quietly. "It is quite
+true that Stace Morse committed the murder. Shows up the value of
+circumstantial evidence though, doesn't it? This would certainly have
+got him off, and convicted Clayton here before any jury in the land. But
+the point is, Carruthers, that Stace Morse ISN'T the Gray Seal--and that
+the Gray Seal is NOT a murderer."
+
+Clayton looked up. "You--you believe me?" he stammered eagerly.
+
+Jimmie Dale whirled on him in a sudden sweep of passion.
+
+"NO, you cur!" he flashed. "It's not you I believe. I simply wanted your
+confession before witnesses." He whipped the three written sheets from
+his pocket. "Here, substantially, is that confession written out." He
+passed it to Carruthers. "Read it to him, Carruthers."
+
+Carruthers read it aloud.
+
+"Now," said Jimmie Dale grimly, "this spells ruin for you, Clayton. You
+don't deserve a chance to escape prison bars, but I'm going to give you
+one, for you're going to get it pretty stiff, anyhow. If you refuse to
+sign this, I'll hand you over to the district attorney in half an hour,
+and Carruthers and I will swear to your confession; on the other hand,
+if you sign it, Carruthers will not be able to print it until to-morrow
+morning, and that gives you something like fourteen hours to put
+distance between yourself and New York. Here is a pen--if you are quick
+enough to take us by surprise once you have signed, you might succeed in
+making a dash for that door and effecting your escape--without forcing
+us to compound a felony--understand?"
+
+Clayton's hand trembled violently as he seized the pen. He scrawled
+his name--looked from one to the other--wet his lips--and then, taking
+Jimmie Dale at his word, rushed for the door--and the door slammed
+behind him.
+
+Carruthers' face was hard. "What did you let him go for, Jimmie?" he
+said uncompromisingly.
+
+"Selfishness. Pure selfishness," said Jimmie Dale softly. "They'd guy me
+unmercifully if they ever heard of it at the St. James Club. The
+honour is all yours, Carruthers. I don't appear on the stage. That's
+understood? Yes? Well, then"--he handed over the signed confession--"is
+the 'scoop' big enough?"
+
+Carruthers fingered the sheets, but his eyes in a bewildered way
+searched Jimmie Dale's face.
+
+"Big enough!" he echoed, as though invoking the universe. "It's the
+biggest thing the newspaper game has ever known. But how did you come to
+do it? What started you? Where did you get your lead?"
+
+"Why, from you, I guess, Carruthers," Jimmie Dale answered thoughtfully,
+with artfully puckered brow. "I remembered that you had said last week
+that the Gray Seal never left finger marks on his work--and I saw one on
+the seal on Metzer's forehead. Then, you know, I lifted one corner where
+the seal overlapped a thread of blood, and, underneath, the thread of
+blood wasn't in the slightest disturbed; so, of course, I knew the seal
+had been put on quite a long time after the man was dead--not until the
+blood had dried thoroughly, to a crust, you know, so that even the damp
+surface of the sticky side of the seal hadn't affected it. And then,
+I took a dislike to Clayton somehow--and put two and two together,
+and took a flyer in getting him to handle the notebook. I guess that's
+all--no other reason on earth. Jolly lucky, don't you think?"
+
+Carruthers didn't say anything for a moment. When he spoke, it was
+irrelevantly.
+
+"You saved me twenty-five thousand dollars on that reward, Jimmie."
+
+"That's the only thing I regret," said Jimmie Dale brightly. "It wasn't
+nice of you, Carruthers, to turn on the Gray Seal that way. And
+it strikes me you owe the chap, whoever he is, a pretty emphatic
+exoneration after what you said in this morning's edition."
+
+"Jimmie," said Carruthers earnestly. "You know what I thought of him
+before. It's like a new lease of life to get back one's faith in him.
+You leave it to me. I'll put the Gray Seal on a pedestal to-morrow that
+will be worthy of the immortals--you leave it to me."
+
+And Carruthers kept his word. Also, before the paper had been an hour
+off the press, Carruthers received a letter. It thanked Carruthers
+quite genuinely, even if couched in somewhat facetious terms, for his
+"sweeping vindication," twitted him gently for his "backsliding,"
+begged to remain "his gratefully," and in lieu of signature there was a
+gray-coloured piece of paper shaped like this:
+
+[Picture]
+
+Only there were no fingerprints on it.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE MOTHER LODE
+
+
+It was the following evening, and they had dined together again at the
+St. James Club--Jimmie Dale, and Carruthers of the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS.
+From Clayton and a discussion of the Metzer murder, the conversation had
+turned, not illogically, upon the physiognomy of criminals in general.
+Jimmie Dale, lazily ensconced now in a lounging chair in one of the
+club's private library rooms, flicked a minute speck of cigar ash from
+the sleeve of his dinner jacket, and smiled whimsically across the table
+at his friend.
+
+"Oh, I dare say there's a lot in physiognomy, Carruthers," he drawled.
+"Never studied the thing, you know--that is, from the standpoint
+of crime. Personally, I've only got one prejudice: I distrust, on
+principle, the man who wears a perennial and pompous smirk--which isn't,
+of course, strictly speaking, physiognomy at all. You see, a man can't
+help his eyes being beady or his nose pronounced, but pomposity and a
+smirk, now--" Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders.
+
+Carruthers laughed--and then glanced ludicrously at Jimmie Dale, as the
+door, ajar, was pushed open, and a man entered.
+
+"Speaking of angels," murmured Jimmie Dale--and sat up in his chair.
+"Hello, Markel!" he observed casually, "You've met Carruthers, of the
+NEWS-ARGUS, haven't you?"
+
+Markel was fat and important; he had beady black eyes, fastidiously
+trimmed whiskers--and a pronounced smirk.
+
+Markel blew his nose vigorously, coughed asthmatically, and held out his
+hand.
+
+"Of course, certainly," said he effusively. "I've met Carruthers several
+times--used his sheet more than once to advertise a new bond flotation."
+
+The dominant note in Markel's voice was an ingratiating and unpleasant
+whine, and Carruthers nodded, not very cordially--and shook hands.
+
+Markel went back to the door, closed it carefully, and returned to the
+table.
+
+"Fact is," he smiled confidentially, "I saw you two come in here a few
+minutes ago, and I've got something that I thought Carruthers might be
+glad to have for his society column--say, in the Sunday edition."
+
+He dove into the inside pocket of his coat, produced a large morocco
+leather jeweller's case, and, holding it out over the table between
+Carruthers and Jimmie Dale, suddenly snapped the cover open--and then,
+with a complacent little chuckle that terminated in another fit of
+coughing, spilled the contents on the table under the electric reading
+lamp.
+
+Like a thing of living, pulsing fire it rolled before their eyes--a
+magnificent diamond necklace, of wondrous beauty, gleaming and
+scintillating as the light rays shot back from a thousand facets.
+
+For a moment, both men gazed at it without a word.
+
+"Little surprise for my wife," volunteered Markel, with a debonair wave
+of his pudgy hand, and trying to make his voice sound careless.
+
+The case lay open--patently displaying the name of the most famous
+jewelry house in America. Jimmie Dale's eyes fixed on Markel's whiskers
+where they were brushed outward in an ornate and fastidious gray-black
+sweep.
+
+"By Jove!" he commented. "You don't do things by halves, do you,
+Markel?"
+
+"Two hundred and ten thousand dollars I paid for that little bunch of
+gewgaws," said Markel, waving his hand again. Then he clapped Carruthers
+heartily on the shoulder. "What do you think of it, Carruthers--eh?
+Say, a photograph of it, and one of Mrs. Markel--eh? Please her, you
+know--she's crazy on this society stunt--all flubdub to me of course.
+How's it strike you, Carruthers?"
+
+Carruthers, very evidently, liked neither the man nor his manners, but
+Carruthers, above everything else, was a gentleman.
+
+"To be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Markel," he said a little frigidly,
+"I don't believe in this sort of thing. It's all right from a newspaper
+standpoint, and we do it; but it's just in this way that owners of
+valuable jewelry lay themselves open to theft. It simply amounts to
+advising every crook in the country that you have a quarter of a million
+at his disposal, which he can carry away in his vest pocket, once he can
+get his hands on it--and you invite him to try."
+
+Jimmie Dale laughed. "What Carruthers means, Markel, is that you'll have
+the Gray Seal down your street. Carruthers talks of crooks generally,
+but he thinks in terms of only one. He can't help it. He's been
+trying so long to catch the chap that it's become an obsession. Eh,
+Carruthers?"
+
+Carruthers smiled seriously. "Perhaps," he admitted. "I hope, though,
+for Mr. Markel's sake, that the Gray Seal won't take a fancy to it--if
+he does, Mr. Markel can say good-bye to his necklace."
+
+"Pouf!" coughed Markel arrogantly. "Overrated! His cleverness is all
+in the newspaper columns. If he knows what's good for him, he'll know
+enough to leave this alone."
+
+Jimmie Dale was leaning over the table poking gingerly with the tip of
+his forefinger at the centre stone in the setting, revolving it gently
+to and fro in the light--a very large stone, whose weight would hardly
+be less than fifteen carats. Jimmie Dale lowered his head for a closer
+examination--and to hide a curious, mocking little gleam that crept into
+his dark eyes.
+
+"Yes, I should say you're right, Markel," he agreed judicially. "He
+ought to know better than to touch this. It--it would be too hard to
+dispose of."
+
+"I'm not worrying," declared Markel importantly.
+
+"No," said Jimmie Dale. "Two hundred and ten thousand, you said.
+Any special--er--significance to the occasion, if the question's not
+impertinent? Birthday, wedding anniversary--or something like that?"
+
+"No, nothing like that!" Markel grinned, winked secretively, and rubbed
+his hands together. "I'm feeling good, that's all--I'm going to make the
+killing of my life to-morrow."
+
+"Oh!" said Jimmie Dale.
+
+Markel turned to Carruthers. "I'll let you in on that, too, Carruthers,
+in a day or two, if you'll send a reporter around--financial man, you
+know. It'll be worth your while. And now, how about this? What do you
+say to a little article and the photos next Sunday?"
+
+There was a slight hint of rising colour in Carruthers' face.
+
+"If you'll send them to the society editor, I've no doubt he'll be able
+to use them," he said brusquely.
+
+"Right!" said Markel, and coughed, and patted Carruthers' shoulder
+patronisingly again. "I'll just do that little thing." He picked up the
+necklace, dangled it till it flashed and flashed again under the light,
+then restored it very ostentatiously to its case, and the case to his
+pocket. "Thanks awfully, Carruthers," he said, as he rose from his
+chair. "See you again, Dale. Good-night!"
+
+Carruthers glared at the door as it closed behind the man.
+
+"Say it!" prodded Jimmie Dale sweetly. "Don't feel restrained because
+you are a guest--I absolve you in advance."
+
+"Rotter!" said Carruthers.
+
+"Well," said Jimmie Dale softly. "You see--Carruthers?"
+
+Carruthers' match crackled savagely as he lighted a cigar.
+
+"Yes, I see," he growled. "But I don't see--you'll pardon my saying
+so--how vulgarity like that ever acquired membership in the St. James
+Club."
+
+"Carruthers," said Jimmie Dale plaintively, "you ought to know better
+than that. You know, to begin with, since it seems he has advertised
+with you, that he runs some sort of brokerage business in Boston. He's
+taken a summer home up here on Long Island, and some misguided chap put
+him on the club's visitor's list. His card will NOT be renewed. Sleek
+customer, isn't he? Trifle familiar--I was only introduced to him last
+night."
+
+Carruthers grunted, broke his burned match into pieces, and began to
+toss the pieces into an ash tray.
+
+Jimmie Dale became absorbed in an inspection of his hands--those
+wonderful hands with long, slim, tapering fingers, whose clean, pink
+flesh masked a strength and power that was like to a steel vise.
+
+Jimmie Dale looked up. "Going to print a nice little story for him about
+the 'costliest and most beautiful necklace in America'?" he inquired
+innocently.
+
+Carruthers scowled. "No," he said bluntly. "I am not. He'll read the
+NEWS-ARGUS a long time before he reads anything about that, Jimmie."
+
+But therein Carruthers was wrong--the NEWS-ARGUS carried the "story" of
+Markel's diamond necklace in three-inch "caps" in red ink on the front
+page in the next morning's edition--and Carruthers gloated over it
+because the morning NEWS-ARGUS was the ONLY paper in New York that did.
+Carruthers was to hear more of Markel and Markel's necklace than he
+thought, though for the time being the subject dropped between the two
+men.
+
+It was still early, barely ten o'clock, when Carruthers left the club,
+and, preferring to walk to the newspaper offices, refused Jimmie Dale's
+offer of his limousine. It was but five minutes later when Jimmie Dale,
+after chatting for a moment or two with those about in the lobby, in
+turn sought the coat room, where Markel was being assisted into his
+coat.
+
+"Getting home early, aren't you, Markel?" remarked Jimmie Dale
+pleasantly.
+
+"Yes," said Markel, and ran his fingers fussily, comb fashion, through
+his whiskers. "Quite a little run out to my place, you know--and with,
+you know what, I don't care to be out too late."
+
+"No, of course," concurred Jimmie Dale, getting into his own coat.
+
+They walked out of the club together, and Markel climbed importantly
+into the tonneau of a big gray touring car.
+
+"Ah--home, Peters," he sniffed at his chauffeur; and then, with a
+grandiloquent wave of his hand to Jimmie Dale: "'Night, Dale."
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled with his eyes--which were hidden by the brim of his
+hat.
+
+"Good-night, Markel," he replied, and the smile crept curiously to
+the corners of his mouth as he watched the gray car disappear down the
+street.
+
+A limousine drew up, and Benson, Jimmie Dale's chauffeur, opened the
+door.
+
+"Home, Mr. Dale?" he asked cheerily, touching his cap. "Yes,
+Benson--home," said Jimmie Dale absently, and stepped into the car.
+
+It was a luxurious car, as everything that belonged to Jimmie Dale was
+luxurious--and he leaned back luxuriously on the cushions, extended
+his legs luxuriously to their full length, plunged his hands into his
+overcoat pockets--and then a change stole strangely, slowly over Jimmie
+Dale.
+
+The sensitive fingers of his right hand in the pocket had touched, and
+now played delicately over a sealed envelope that they had found there,
+played over it as though indeed by the sense of touch alone they could
+read the contents--and he drew his body gradually erect.
+
+It was another of those mysterious missives from--HER. The texture of
+the paper was invariably the same--like this one. How had it come there?
+Collusion with the coat boy at the club? That was hardly probable.
+Perhaps it had been there before he had entered the club for dinner--he
+remembered, now, that there had been several people passing, and that he
+had been jostled slightly in crossing the sidewalk. What, however, did
+it matter? It was there mysteriously, as scores of others had come to
+him mysteriously, with never a clew to her identity, to the identity of
+his--he smiled a little grimly--accomplice in crime.
+
+He took the envelope from his pocket and stared at it. His fingers had
+not been at fault--it was one of hers. The faint, elusive, exquisite
+fragrance of some rare perfume came to him as he held it.
+
+"I'd give," said Jimmie Dale wistfully to himself--"I'd give everything
+I own to know who you are--and some day, please God, I will know."
+
+Jimmie Dale tore the envelope very gently, as though the tearing almost
+were an act of desecration--and extracted the letter from within. He
+began to read aloud hurriedly and in snatches:
+
+
+"DEAR PHILANTHROPIC CROOK: Charleton Park Manor--Markel's house is the
+second one from the gates on the right-hand side--library leads off
+reception hall on left, door opposite staircase--telephone in reception
+hall near vestibule entrance, left-hand side--safe is one of your
+father's make, No. 14,321--clothes closet behind the desk--probably will
+be kept in cash box--five servants; two men, three maids--quarters on
+top story--Markel and wife occupy room over library--French windows to
+dining room on opposite side of the house--opening on the lawn--get
+it TO-NIGHT, Jimmie--TO-MORROW WOULD BE TOO LATE--dispose of it--see
+fit--Henry Wilbur, Marshall Building, Broadway--fifth story--"
+
+
+Through the glass-panelled front of the car, Jimmie Dale could see his
+chauffeur's back, and the hand that held the letter dropped now to his
+side, and Jimmie Dale stared--at his chauffeur's back. Then, presently,
+he read the letter again, as though committing it to memory now; and
+then, tearing the paper into tiny shreds, as he did with every one of
+her communications, he reached out of the window and allowed the little
+pieces to filter gradually from his hand.
+
+The Gray Seal! He smiled in his whimsical way. If it were ever known!
+He, Jimmie Dale, with his social standing, his wealth, his position--the
+Gray Seal! Not a police official, not a secret-service bureau probably
+in the civilised world, but knew the name--not a man, woman, or child
+certainly in this great city around him but to whom it was as
+familiar as their own! Danger? Yes. A battle of wits? Yes. His against
+everybody's--even against Carruthers', his old college chum! For, even
+as a reporter, before he had risen to the editorial desk, and even now
+that he had, Carruthers had been one of the keenest on the scent of the
+Gray Seal.
+
+Danger? Yes. But it was worth it! Worth it a thousand times for the very
+lure of the danger itself; but worth it most of all for his association
+with her who, by some amazing means, verging indeed on the miraculous,
+came into touch with all these things, and supplied him with the data on
+which to work--that always some wrong might be righted, or gladness
+come where there had been gloom before, or hope where there had been
+despair--that into some fellow human's heart should come a gleam
+of sunshine. Yes, in spite of the howls of the police, the virulent
+diatribes of the press, an angry public screaming for his arrest,
+conviction, and punishment, there were those perhaps who even on their
+bended knees at night asked God's blessing on--the Gray Seal!
+
+Was it strange, then, after all, that the police, seeking a clew through
+motive, should have been driven to frenzy on every occasion in finding
+themselves forever confronted with what, from every angle they were able
+to view it, was quite a purposeless crime! On one point only they
+were right, the old dogma, the old, old cry, old as the institution of
+police, older than that, old since time immemorial--CHERCHEZ LA FEMME!
+Quite right--but also quite purposeless! Jimmie Dale's eyes grew
+wistful. He had been "hunting for the woman in the case" himself,
+now, for months and years indefatigably, using every resource at his
+command--quite purposelessly.
+
+Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders. Why go over all this to-night--there
+were other things to do. She had come to him again--and this time with
+a matter that entailed more than ordinary difficulty, more than usual
+danger, that would tax his wits and his skill to the utmost, not only
+to succeed, but to get out of it himself with a whole skin. Markel--eh?
+Jimmie Dale leaned back in his seat, clasped his hands behind his
+head--and his eyes, half closed now, were studying Benson's back again
+through the plate-glass front.
+
+He was still sitting in that position as the car approached his
+residence on Riverside Drive--but, as it came to a stop, and Benson
+opened the door, it was a very alert Jimmie Dale that stepped to the
+sidewalk.
+
+"Benson," he said crisply, "I am going downtown again later on, but I
+shall drive myself. Bring the touring car around and leave it in front
+of the house. I'll run it into the garage when I get back--you need not
+wait up."
+
+"Very good, sir," said Benson.
+
+In the hallway, Jason, the butler, who had been butler to Jimmie Dale's
+father before him, took Jimmie Dale's hat and coat.
+
+"It's a fine evening, Master Jim," said the privileged old man
+affectionately.
+
+Jimmie Dale took out his silver cigarette case, selected a cigarette,
+tapped it daintily on the cover of the case--and accepted the match the
+old man hastily produced.
+
+"Yes, Jason." said Jimmie Dale, pleasantly facetious, "it a fine night,
+a glorious night, moon and stars and a balmy breeze--quite too fine,
+indeed, to remain indoors. In fact, you might lay out my gray ulster; I
+think I will go for a spin presently, when I have changed."
+
+"Yes, sir," said Jason. "Anything else, Master Jim?"
+
+"No; that's all, Jason. Don't sit up for me--you may go to bed now."
+
+"Thank you, sir," said the old man.
+
+Jimmie Dale went upstairs, opened the door of his own particular den on
+the right of the landing, stepped inside, closed the door, switched on
+the light--and Jimmie Dale's debonair nonchalance dropped from him as a
+mask instantly--and it was another Jimmie Dale--the professional Jimmie
+Dale.
+
+Quick now in every action, he swung aside the portiere that curtained
+off the squat, barrel-shaped safe in the little alcove, opened the safe,
+took out that curious leather girdle with its kit of burglar's tools,
+added to it a flashlight and an automatic revolver, closed the safe--and
+passed into his dressing room. Here, he proceeded to divest himself
+rapidly of his evening clothes, selecting in their stead a suit of dark
+tweed. He heard Jason come up the stairs, pass along the hall, and mount
+the second flight to his own quarters; and presently came the sound of
+an automobile without. The dressing room fronted on the Drive--Jimmie
+Dale looked out. Benson was just getting out of the touring car.
+Slipping the leather girdle, then, around his waist, Jimmie Dale put on
+his vest, then his coat--and walked briskly downstairs.
+
+Jason had laid out a gray ulster on the hall stand. Jimmie Dale put it
+on, selected a leather cap with motor-goggle attachment that pulled down
+almost to the tip of his nose, tucked a slouch hat into the pocket of
+the ulster, and, leaving the house, climbed into his car.
+
+He glanced at his watch as he started--it was a quarter of eleven.
+Jimmie Dale's lips pursed a little.
+
+"I guess it'll make a night of it, and a tight squeeze, at that, to get
+back under cover before daylight," he muttered. "I'll have to do some
+tall speeding."
+
+But at first, across the city and through Brooklyn, for all his
+impatience, it was necessarily slow--after that, Jimmie Dale took
+chances, and, once on the country roads of Long Island, the big,
+powerful car tore through the night like a greyhound whose leash is
+slipped.
+
+A half hour passed--Jimmie Dale's eyes shifting occasionally from the
+gray thread of road ahead of him under the glare of the dancing lamps,
+to the road map spread out at his feet, upon which, from time to time,
+he focused his pocket flashlight. And then, finally, he slowed the car
+to a snail's pace--he should be very near his destination--that very
+ultra-exclusive subdivision of Charleton Park Manor.
+
+On either side of the road now was quite a thickly set stretch of wooded
+land, rising slightly on the right--and this Jimmie Dale scrutinised
+sharply. In fact, he stopped for an instant as he came opposite to a
+wagon track--it seemed to be little more than that--that led in through
+the trees.
+
+"If it's not too far from the seat of war," commented Jimmie Dale to
+himself, as he went on again, "it will do admirably."
+
+And then, a hundred yards farther on, Jimmie Dale nodded his head in
+satisfaction--he was passing the rather ornate stone pillars that marked
+the entrance to Charleton Park Manor, and on which the initial promoters
+of the subdivision, the real-estate people, had evidently deemed it good
+advertising policy to expend a small fortune.
+
+Another hundred yards farther on, Jimmie Dale turned his car around
+and returned past the gates to the wagon track again. The road was
+deserted--not a car nor a vehicle of any description was in sight.
+Jimmie Dale made sure of that--and in another instant Jimmie Dale's own
+car, every light extinguished, had vanished--he had backed it up the
+wagon track, just far enough in for the trees to screen it thoroughly
+from the main road.
+
+Nor did Jimmie Dale himself appear again on the main road--until just as
+he emerged close to the gates of Charleton Park Manor from a short cut
+through the woods. Also, he was without his ulster now, and the slouch
+hat had replaced the motor cap.
+
+Jimmie Dale, in the moonlight, took stock of his surroundings, as he
+passed in at a businesslike walk through the gates. It was a large park,
+if that name could properly be applied to it at all, and the houses--he
+caught sight of one set back from the driveway on the right--were quite
+far apart, each in its own rather spacious grounds among the trees.
+
+"The second house on the right," her letter had said. Jimmie Dale had
+already passed the first one--the next would be Markel's then--and it
+loomed ahead of him now, black and shadowy and unlighted.
+
+Jimmie Dale shot a glance around him--there was stillness, quiet
+everywhere--no sign of life--no sound.
+
+Jimmie Dale's face became tense, his lips tight--and he stepped suddenly
+from the sidewalk in among the trees. They were not thick here, of
+course, the trees, and the turf beneath his feet was well kept--and,
+therefore, soundless. He moved quickly now, but cautiously, from tree to
+tree, for the moonlight, flooding the lawn and house, threw all objects
+into bold relief.
+
+A minute, two, three went by--and a shadow flitted here and there across
+the light-green sward, like the moving of the trees swaying in the
+breeze--and then Jimmie Dale was standing close up against one side of
+the house, hidden by the protecting black shadows of the walls.
+
+But here, for a moment, Jimmie Dale seemed little occupied with the
+house itself--he was staring down past its length to where the woods
+made a heavy, dark background at the rear. Then he turned his head,
+to face directly to the main road, then back again slowly, as though
+measuring an angle. Jimmie Dale had no intention of making his escape by
+the roundabout way in which he had been forced to come in order to make
+certain of locating the right house, the second one from the gates--and
+he was getting the bearings of his car and the wagon track now.
+
+"I guess that'll be about right," Jimmie Dale muttered finally. "And now
+for--"
+
+He slipped along the side of the house and halted where, almost on a
+level with the ground, the French windows of the dining room opened on
+the lawn. Jimmie Dale tried them gently. They were locked.
+
+An indulgent smile crept to Jimmie Dale's lips--and his hand crept in
+under his vest. It came out again--not empty--and Jimmie Dale leaned
+close against the window. There was a faint, almost inaudible,
+scratching sound, then a slight, brittle crack--and Jimmie Dale laid a
+neat little four-inch square of glass on the ground at his feet. Through
+the aperture he reached in his hand, turned the key that was in the
+lock, turned the bolt-rod handle, pushed the doors silently open--wide
+open--left them open--and stepped into the room.
+
+He could see quite well within, thanks to the moonlight. Jimmie Dale
+produced a black silk mask from one of the little leather pockets,
+adjusted it carefully over his face, and crossed the room to the hall
+door. He opened this--wide open--left it open--and entered the hall.
+
+Here it was dark--a pitch blackness. He stood for a moment,
+listening--utter silence. And then--alert, strained, tense in an
+instant, Jimmie Dale crouched against the wall--and then he smiled a
+little grimly. It was only some one coughing upstairs--Markel--in his
+sleep, perhaps, or, perhaps--in wakefulness.
+
+"I'm a fool!" confided Jimmie Dale to himself, as he recognised the
+cough that he had heard at the club. "And yet--I don't know. One's
+nerves get sort of taut. Pretty stiff business. If I'm ever caught, the
+penitentiary sentence I get will be the smallest part of what's to pay."
+
+A round button of light played along the wall from the flashlight in
+his hand--just for an instant--and all was blackness again. But in that
+instant Jimmie Dale was across the hall, and his fingers were tracing
+the telephone connection from the instrument to where the wires
+disappeared in the baseboard of the floor. Another instant, and he had
+severed the wires with a pair of nippers.
+
+Again the quick, firefly gleam of light to locate the stair case and the
+library door opposite to it--and, moving without the slightest noise,
+Jimmie Dale's hand was on the door itself. Again he paused to listen.
+All was silence now.
+
+The door swung under his hand, and, left open behind him, he was in
+the room. The flashlight winked once--suspiciously. Then he snapped its
+little switch, keeping the current on, and the ray dodged impudently
+here and there all over the apartment.
+
+The safe was set in a sort of clothes closet behind the desk, she had
+said. Yes, there it was--the door, at least. Jimmie Dale moved toward
+it--and paused as his light swept the top of the intervening desk. A
+mass of papers, books, and correspondence littered it untidily. The
+yellow sheet of a telegram caught Jimmie Dale's eye.
+
+He picked it up and glanced at it. It read:
+
+
+"Vein uncovered to-day. Undoubtedly mother lode. Enormously rich. Put
+the screws on at once. THURL."
+
+
+Under the mask, Jimmie Dale's lips twitched.
+
+"I think, Markel, you miserable hound," said he softly, "that God will
+forgive me for depriving you of a share of the profits. Two hundred and
+ten thousand, I think it was, you said the sparklers cost." A curious
+little sound came from Jimmie Dale's lips--like a chuckle.
+
+Jimmie Dale tossed the telegram back on the desk, moved on behind the
+desk, opened the door of the closet that had been metamorphosed into
+a vault--and the white light travelled slowly, searchingly, critically
+over the shining black-enamelled steel, the nickelled knobs, and dials
+of a safe that confronted him.
+
+Jimmie Dale nodded at it--familiarly, grimly.
+
+"It's number one-four-three-two-one, all right," he murmured. "And one
+of the best we ever made. Pretty tough. But I've done it before. Say,
+half an hour of gentle persuasion. It would be too bad to crack it with
+'soup'--besides, that's crude--Carruthers would never forgive the Gray
+Seal for that!"
+
+The light went out--blackness fell. Jimmie Dale's slim, sensitive
+fingers closed on the dial's knob, his head touched the steel front of
+the safe as he pressed his ear against it for the tumblers' fall.
+
+And then silence. It seemed to grow heavier, that silence, with
+each second--to palpitate through the quiet house--to grow pregnant,
+premonitory of dread, of fear--it seemed to throb in long undulations,
+and the stillness grew LOUD. A moonbeam filtered in between the edge
+of the drawn shade and the edge of the window. It struggled across the
+floor in a wavering path, strayed over the desk, and died away, shadowy
+and formless, against the blackness of the opened recess door, against
+the blackness of the great steel safe, the blackness of a huddled
+form crouched against it. Only now and then, in a strange, projected,
+wraithlike effect, the moon ray glinted timidly on the tip of a nickel
+dial, and, ghostlike, disclosed a human hand.
+
+Upstairs, Markel coughed again. Then from the safe a whisper,
+heavy-breathed as from great exertion:
+
+"MISSED IT!"
+
+The dial whirled with faint, musical, little metallic clicks; then
+began to move slowly again, very, very slowly. The moonbeam, as though
+petulant at its own abortive attempt to satisfy its curiosity, retreated
+back across the floor, and faded away.
+
+Blackness!
+
+Time passed. Then from the safe again, but now in a low gasp, a pant of
+relief:
+
+"Ah!"
+
+The ear might barely catch the sound--it was as of metal sliding in
+well-oiled grooves, of metal meeting metal in a padded thud. The massive
+door swung outward. Jimmie Dale stood up, easing his cramped muscles,
+and flirted the sweat beads from his forehead.
+
+After a moment, he knelt again. There was still the inner door--but that
+was a minor matter to Jimmie Dale compared with what had gone before.
+
+Stillness once more--a long period of it. And then again that cough from
+above--a prolonged paroxysm of it this time that went racketing through
+the house.
+
+Jimmie Dale, in the act of swinging back the inner door of the safe,
+paused to listen, and little furrows under his mask gathered on his
+forehead. The coughing stopped. Jimmie Dale waited a moment, still
+listening--then his flashlight bored into the interior of the safe.
+
+"The cash box, probably," quoted Jimmie Dale, beneath his breath--and
+picked it up from where it lay in the bottom compartment of the safe.
+
+The lock snipped under the insistent probe of a delicate little
+blued-steel instrument, and Jimmie Dale lifted the cover. There was
+a package of papers and documents on top, held together with elastic
+bands. Jimmie Dale spent a moment or two examining these, then
+his fingers dived down underneath, and the next minute, under the
+flashlight, the morocco leather case open, the diamond necklace was
+sparkling and flashing on its white satin bed.
+
+"A tempting little thing, isn't it?" said Jimmie Dale gently. "It was
+really thoughtful of you, Markel, to buy that this afternoon!"
+
+Jimmie Dale replaced the necklace in the cash box, set the cash box on
+the floor, closed the inner door of the safe, and swung the outer door
+a little inward--but left it flauntingly ajar. Then from a pocket of the
+leather girdle beneath his vest he produced his small, thin, flat, metal
+case. From this, from between sheets of oil paper, with the aid of a
+pair of tweezers, he lifted out a gray, diamond-shaped seal. Jimmie
+Dale was apparently fastidious. He held the seal with the tweezers as
+he moistened the adhesive side with his tongue, laid the seal on his
+handkerchief, and pressed the handkerchief firmly against the safe--as
+usual, Jimmie Dale's insignia bore no finger prints as it lay neatly
+capping the knob of the dial.
+
+He reached down, picked up the cash box--and then, for the second time
+that night, held suddenly tense, alert, listening, his every muscle
+taut. A door opened upstairs. There came a murmur of voices. Then a
+momentary lull.
+
+Jimmie Dale listened. Like a statue he stood there in the black,
+absolutely motionless--his head a little forward and to one side.
+Nothing--not a sound. Then a very low, curious, swishing noise, and a
+faint creak. SOMEBODY WAS COMING DOWN THE STAIRS!
+
+Jimmie Dale moved stealthily from the recess, and noiselessly to the
+desk. Very faintly, but distinctly now, came a pad of either slippered
+or bare feet on the stairway carpet. Like a cat, soundless in his
+movements, Jimmie Dale crept toward the door of the room. Down the
+stairs came that pad of feet; occasionally came that swishing sound.
+Nearer the door crept Jimmie Dale, and his lips were thinned now, his
+jaws clamped. How near were they together, he and this night prowler? At
+times he could not hear the other at all, and, besides, the heavy carpet
+made the judgment of distance an impossibility. If he could gain the
+hall, and, in the darkness, elude the other, the way of escape through
+the dining room was open. And then, within a few feet of the door,
+Jimmie Dale halted abruptly, as a woman's voice rose querulously from
+the hallway above:
+
+"You are making a perfect fool of yourself, Theodore Markel! Come back
+here to bed!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's face hardened like stone--the answer came almost from the
+very threshold in front of him:
+
+"I can't sleep, I tell you"--it was Markel's voice, in a disgruntled
+snarl. "I was a fool to bring the confounded thing home. I'm going to
+take the library couch for the rest of the night."
+
+It happened quick, then--quick as the winking of an eye. Two sharp,
+almost simultaneous, clicks of the electric-light buttons pressed by
+Markel, and the hall and library were a flood of light--and Jimmie Dale
+leaped forward to where, in dressing gown and pajamas, blankets and
+bedding over one arm, a revolver dangling in the other hand, Markel
+stood full before the door in the hallway without.
+
+There was a wild yell of terror and surprise from Markel, then a
+deafening roar and a spit of flame from his revolver--a bitter,
+smothered exclamation from Jimmie Dale as the cash box crashed to the
+floor from his left hand, and he was upon the other like a tiger.
+
+With the impact, both men went to the floor, grappled, and rolled over
+and over. Half mad with fear, shock, and surprise, Markel fought like a
+maniac, and his voice, in gasping shouts, rang through the house.
+
+A minute, two passed--and the men rolled about the hall floor. Markel,
+over middle age and unheathily fat, against Jimmie Dale's six feet of
+muscle--only Jimmie Dale's left hand, dripping a red stream now, was
+almost useless.
+
+From above came wild confusion--women's voices in little shrieks; men's
+voices shouting in excitement; doors opening, running feet. And then
+Jimmie Dale had snatched the revolver from the floor where Markel
+had dropped it in the scuffle, and was pressing it against Markel's
+forehead--and Markel, terror-stricken, had collapsed in a flabby, pliant
+heap.
+
+Jimmie Dale, still covering Markel with the weapon, stood up. The
+frightened faces of women protruded over the banisters above. The two
+men-servants, at best none too enthusiastically on the way down, stopped
+as though stunned as Jimmie Dale swung the revolver upon them.
+
+Then Jimmie Dale spoke--to Markel--pointing the weapon at Markel again.
+
+"I don't like you, Markel," he said, with cold impudence. "The only
+decent thing you'll ever do will be to die--and if those men of yours
+on the stairs move another step it will be your death warrant. Do you
+understand? I would suggest that you request them to stay where they
+are."
+
+Cold sweat was on Markel's face as he stared into the muzzle of the
+revolver, and his teeth chattered.
+
+"Go back!" he screamed hysterically at the servants. "Go back! Sit down!
+Don't move! Do what he tells you!"
+
+"Thank you!" said Jimmie Dale grimly. "Now, get up yourself!"
+
+Markel got up.
+
+Jimmie Dale backed to the library door, picked up the cash box, tucked
+it under his left armpit, and faced those on the stairs.
+
+"Mr. Markel and I are going out for a little walk," he announced coolly.
+"If one of you make a move or raise an alarm before your master comes
+back, I shall be obliged, in self-defence, to shoot--Mr. Markel. Mr.
+Markel quite understands that--I am sure. Do you not, Mr. Markel?"
+
+"Helen," screamed Markel to his wife, "don't let 'em move! For God's
+sake, do as he says!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips, just showing beneath the edge of his mask, broadened
+in a pleasant little smile.
+
+"Will you lead the way, Mr. Markel?" he requested, with ironic
+deference. "Through the dining room, please. Yes, that's right!"
+
+Markel walked weakly into the dining room, and Jimmie Dale followed. A
+prod in the back from the revolver muzzle, and Markel stepped through
+the French windows and out on the lawn. Jimmie Dale faced the other
+toward the woods at the rear of the house.
+
+"Go on!" Jimmie Dale's voice was curt now, uncompromising. "And step
+lively!"
+
+They passed on along the side of the house and in among the trees. Fifty
+yards or so more, and Jimmie Dale halted. He backed Markel up against a
+large tree--not over gently.
+
+"I--I say"--Markel's teeth were going like castanets. "I--"
+
+"You'll oblige me by keeping your mouth shut," observed Jimmie Dale
+politely--and he whipped the cord of Markel's dressing gown loose
+and began to tie the man to the tree. "You have many unpleasant
+characteristics, Markel--your voice is one of them. Shall I repeat that
+I do not like you?" He stepped to the back of the tree. "Pardon me if I
+draw this uncomfortably tight. I don't think you can reach around to the
+knot. No? The trunk is too large? Quite so!" He stepped around to face
+Markel again--the man was thoroughly frightened, his face was livid, his
+jaw sagged weakly, and his eyes followed every movement of the revolver
+in Jimmie Dale's hand in a sort of miserable fascination. Jimmie Dale
+smiled unhappily. "I am going to do something, Markel, that I should
+advise no other man to do--I am going to put you on your honour! For the
+next fifteen minutes you are not to utter a sound. Do you understand?"
+
+"Y-yes," said Markel hoarsely.
+
+"No," said Jimmie Dale sadly, "I don' think you do. Let me be painfully
+explicit. If you break your vow of silence by so much as a second, then
+to-morrow, or the next day, or the day after, at my convenience, Markel,
+you and I will meet again--for the LAST time. There can be no possible
+misapprehension on your part now--Markel?"
+
+"N-no,"--Markel could scarcely chatter out the word.
+
+"Quite so," said Jimmie Dale, in velvet tones. He stood for an
+instant looking at the other with cool insolence; then: "Good-night,
+Markel"--and five minutes later a great touring car was tearing New
+Yorkward over the Long Island roads at express speed.
+
+It was one o'clock in the morning as Jimmie Dale swung the car into a
+cross street off lower Broadway, and drew up at the curb beside a large
+office building. He got out, snuggled the cash box under his ulster,
+went around to the Broadway entrance, glanced up to note that a light
+burned in a fifth-story window, and entered the building.
+
+The hallway was practically in darkness, one or two incandescents only
+threw a dim light about. Jimmie Dale stopped for a moment at the foot
+of the stairs, beside the elevator well, to listen--if the watchman was
+making rounds, it was in another part of the building Jimmie Dale began
+to climb.
+
+He reached the fifth floor, turned down the corridor, and halted in
+front of a door, through the ground-glass panel of which a light glowed
+faintly--as though coming from an inner office beyond. Jimmie Dale drew
+the black silk mask from his pocket, adjusted it, tried the door, found
+it unlocked, opened it noiselessly, and stepped inside. Across the
+room, through another door, half open, the light streamed into the outer
+office, where Jimmie Dale stood.
+
+Jimmie Dale stole across the room, crouched by the door to look into the
+inner office--and his face went suddenly rigid.
+
+"Good God!" he whispered. "As bad as that!"--but it was a nonchalant
+Jimmie Dale to all outward appearances that, on the instant, stepped
+unconcernedly over the threshold.
+
+An elderly man, white-haired, kindly-faced, kindly-eyed, save now that
+the face was drawn and haggard, the eyes full of weariness, was standing
+behind a flat-topped desk, his fingers twitching nervously on a revolver
+in his hand. He whirled, with a startled cry, at Jimmie Dale's entrance,
+and the revolver clattered from his fingers to the floor.
+
+"I am afraid," said Jimmie Dale, smiling pleasantly, "that you were
+going to shoot yourself. Your name is Wilbur, Henry Wilbur, isn't it?"
+
+Unmanned, trembling, the other stood--and nodded mechanically.
+
+"It's really not a nice thing to do," said Jimmie Dale confidentially.
+"Makes a mess, you see, too"--he was pulling off his motor gauntlet,
+his ulster, his jacket, and, having set the cash box on the desk, was
+rolling back his sleeve as he spoke. "Had a little experience myself
+this evening." He held out his hand that, with the forearm, was covered
+with blood. "A little above the wrist--fortunately only a flesh wound--a
+little memento from a chap named Markel, and--"
+
+"MARKEL!" The word burst, quivering, from the other's lips.
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale imperturbably. "Do you mind if I wash a bit--and
+could you oblige me with a towel, or something that would do for a
+bandage?"
+
+The man seemed dazed. In a subconscious way, he walked from the desk to
+a little cupboard, and took out two towels.
+
+Jimmie Dale stooped, while the other's back was turned, picked up the
+revolver from the floor, and slipped it into his trousers pocket.
+
+"Markel?" said Wilbur again, the same trembling anxiety in his voice, as
+he handed Jimmie Dale the towels and motioned toward a washstand in the
+corner of the room. "Did you say Markel--Theodore Markel?"
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale, examining his wound critically.
+
+"You had trouble--a fight with him? Is he--he--dead?"
+
+"No," said Jimmie Dale, smiling a little grimly. "He's pretty badly
+hurt, though, I imagine--but not in a physical way."
+
+"Strange!" whispered Wilbur, in a numbed tone to himself; and he went
+back and sank down in his desk chair. "Strange that you should speak of
+Markel--strange that you should have come here to-night!"
+
+Jimmie Dale did not answer. He glanced now and then at the other, as he
+deftly dressed his wrist--the man seemed on the verge of collapse, on
+the verge of a nervous breakdown. Jimmie Dale swore softly to himself.
+Wilbur was too old a man to be called upon to stand against the trouble
+and anxiety that was mirrored in the misery in his face, that had
+brought him to the point of taking his own life.
+
+Jimmie Dale put on his coat again, walked over to the desk, and picked
+up the 'phone.
+
+"If I may?" he inquired courteously--and confided a number to the
+mouthpiece of the instrument.
+
+There was a moment's wait, during which Wilbur, in a desperate sort of
+way, seemed to be trying to rally himself, to piece together a puzzle,
+as it were; and for the first time he appeared to take a personal
+interest in the masked figure that leaned against his desk. He kept
+passing his hands across his eyes, staring at Jimmie Dale.
+
+Then Jimmie Dale spoke--into the 'phone.
+
+"MORNING NEWS-ARGUS office? Mr. Carruthers, please. Thank you."
+
+Another wait--then Jimmie Dale's voice changed its pitch and register to
+a pleasant and natural, though quite unrecognisable bass.
+
+"Mr. Carruthers? Yes. I thought it might interest you to know that
+Mr. Theodore Markel purchased a very valuable diamond necklace this
+afternoon. . . . Oh, you knew that, did you? Well, so much the better;
+you'll be all the more keenly interested to know that it is no longer in
+his possession. . . . I beg pardon? Oh, yes, I quite forgot--this is the
+Gray Seal speaking. . . . Yes. . . . The Gray Seal. . . . I have just
+come from Mr. Markel's country house, and if you hurry a man out there
+you ought to be able to give the public an exclusive bit of news,
+a scoop, I believe you call it--you see, Mr. Carruthers, I am not
+ungrateful for, I might say, the eulogistic manner in which the MORNING
+NEWS-ARGUS treated me in that last affair, and I trust I shall be able
+to do you many more favours--I am deeply in your debt. And, oh, yes,
+tell your reporter not to overlook the detail of Mr. Markel in his
+pajamas and dressing gown tied to a tree in his park--Mr. Markel might
+be inclined to be reticent on that point, and it would be a pity to
+deprive the public of any--er--'atmosphere' in the story, you know. . . .
+What? . . . No; I am afraid Mr. Markel's 'phone is--er--out of order.
+. . . Yes. . . . And, by the way, speaking of 'phones, Mr. Carruthers,
+between gentlemen, I know you will make no effort under the
+circumstances to discover the number I am calling from. Good-night, Mr.
+Carruthers." Jimmie Dale hung the receiver abruptly on the hook.
+
+"You see," said Jimmie Dale, turning to Wilbur--and then he stopped. The
+man was on his feet, swaying there, his face positively gray.
+
+"My God!" Wilbur burst out. "What have you done? A thousand times better
+if I had shot myself, as I would have done in another moment if you had
+not come in. I was only ruined then--I am disgraced now. You have robbed
+Markel's safe--I am the one man in the world who would have a reason
+above all others for doing that--and Markel knows it. He will accuse
+me of it. He can prove I had a motive. I have not been home to-night.
+Nobody knows I am here. I cannot prove an alibi. What have you done!"
+
+"Really," said Jimmie Dale, almost plaintively, swinging himself up on
+the corner of the desk and taking the cash box on his knee, "really, you
+are alarming yourself unnecessarily. I--"
+
+But Wilbur stopped him. "You don't know what you are talking about!"
+Wilbur cried out, in a choked way; then, his voice steadying, he rushed
+on: "Listen! I am a ruined man, absolutely ruined. And Markel has ruined
+me--I did not see through his trick until too late. Listen! For years,
+as a mining engineer, I made a good salary--and I saved it. Two years
+ago I had nearly seventy thousand dollars--it represented my life work.
+I bought an abandoned mine in Alaska for next to nothing--I was certain
+it was rich. A man by the name of Thurl, Jason T. Thurl, another mining
+engineer, a steamer acquaintance, was out there at the time--he was a
+partner of Markel's, though I didn't know it then. I started to work the
+mine. It didn't pan out. I dropped nearly every cent. Then I struck
+a small vein that temporarily recouped me, and supplied the necessary
+funds with which to go ahead for a while. Thurl, who had tried to buy
+the mine out from under my option in the first place, repeatedly then
+tried to buy it from me at a ridiculous figure. I refused. He persisted.
+I refused--I was confident, I KNEW I had one of the richest properties
+in Alaska."
+
+Wilbur paused. A little row of glistening drops had gathered on his
+forehead. Jimmie Dale, balancing Markel's cash box on one knee, drummed
+softly with his finger tips on the cover.
+
+"The vein petered out," Wilbur went on. "But I was still confident.
+I sank all the proceeds of the first strike--and sank them fast, for
+unaccountable accidents that crippled me both financially and in the
+progress of the work began to happen." Wilbur flung out his hands
+impotently. "Oh, it's a long story--too long to tell. Thurl was at the
+bottom of those accidents. He knew as well as I did that the mine was
+rich--better than I did, for that matter, for we discovered before we
+ran him out of Alaska that he had made secret borings on the property.
+But what I did not know until a few hours ago was that he had actually
+uncovered what we uncovered only yesterday--the mother lode. He was
+driving me as fast as he could into the last ditch--for Markel. I
+didn't know until yesterday that Markel had any thing to do with it. I
+struggled on out there, hoping every day to open a new vein. I raised
+money on everything I had, except my insurance and the mine--and sank
+it in the mine. No one out there would advance me anything on a property
+that looked like a failure, that had once already been abandoned. I
+have always kept an office here, and I came back East with the idea of
+raising something on my insurance. Markel, quite by haphazard as I then
+thought, was introduced to me just before we left San Francisco on
+our way to New York. On the run across the continent we became very
+friendly. Naturally, I told him my story. He played sympathetic good
+fellow, and offered to lend me fifty thousand dollars on a demand note.
+I did not want to be involved for a cent more than was necessary, and,
+as I said, I hoped from day to day to make another strike. I refused
+to take more than ten thousand. I remember now that he seemed strangely
+disappointed."
+
+Again Wilbur stopped. He swept the moisture from his forehead--and his
+fist, clenched, came down upon the desk.
+
+"You see the game!"--there was bitter anger in his voice now. "You see
+the game! He wanted to get me in deep enough so that I couldn't wriggle
+out, deeper than ten thousand that I could get at any time on my
+insurance, he wanted me where I couldn't get away--and he got me. The
+first ten thousand wasn't enough. I went to him for a second, a third, a
+fourth, a fifth--hoping always that each would be the last. Each time a
+new note, a demand note for the total amount, was made, cancelling the
+former one. I didn't know his game, didn't suspect it--I blessed God for
+giving me such a friend--until this, or, rather, yesterday afternoon,
+when I received a telegram from my manager at the mine saying that
+he had struck what looked like a very rich vein--the mother lode.
+And"--Wilbur's fist curled until the knuckles were like ivory in their
+whiteness--"he added in the telegram that Thurl had wired the news of
+the strike to a man in New York by the name of Markel. Do you see? I
+hadn't had the telegram five minutes, when a messenger brought me a
+letter from Markel curtly informing me that I would have to meet my note
+to-morrow morning. I can't meet it. He knew I couldn't. With wealth in
+sight--I'm wiped out. A DEMAND note, a call loan, do you understand--and
+with a few months in which to develop the new vein I could pay it
+readily. As it is--I default the note--Markel attaches all I have left,
+which is the mine. The mine is sold to satisfy my indebtedness. Markel
+buys it in legally, upheld by the law--and acquires, ROBS me of it,
+and--"
+
+"And so," said Jimmie Dale musingly, "you were going to shoot yourself?"
+
+Wilbur straightened up, and there was something akin to pathetic
+grandeur in the set of the old shoulders as they squared back.
+
+"Yes!" he said, in a low voice. "And shall I tell you why? Even if,
+which is not likely, there was something reverting to me over the
+purchase price, it would be a paltry thing compared with the mine. I
+have a wife and children. If I have worked for them all my life, could I
+stand back now at the last and see them robbed of their inheritance by a
+black-hearted scoundrel when I could still lift a hand to prevent it!
+I had one way left. What is my life? I am too old a man to cling to it
+where they are concerned. I have referred to my insurance several times.
+I have always carried heavy insurance"--he smiled a little curious,
+mirthless smile--"THAT HAS NO SUICIDE CLAUSE." He swept his hand over
+the desk, indicating the papers scattered there. "I have worked late
+to-night getting my affairs in order. My total insurance is fifty-two
+thousand dollars, though I couldn't BORROW anywhere near the full amount
+on it--but at my death, paid in full, it would satisfy the note. My
+executors, by instruction would pay the note--and no dollar from the
+mine, no single grain of gold, not an ounce of quartz, would Markel ever
+get his hands on, and my wife and children would be saved. That is--"
+
+His words ended abruptly--with a little gasp. Jimmie Dale had opened
+the cash box and was dangling the necklace under the light--a stream of
+fiery, flashing, sparkling gems.
+
+Then Wilbur spoke again, a hard, bitter note in his voice, pointing his
+hand at the necklace.
+
+"But now, on top of everything, you have brought me disgrace--because
+you broke into his safe to-night for THAT? He would and will accuse me.
+I have heard of you--the Gray Seal--you have done a pitiful night's work
+in your greed for that thing there."
+
+"For this?" Jimmie Dale smiled ironically, holding the necklace up.
+Then he shook his head. "I didn't break into Markel's safe for this--it
+wouldn't have been worth while. It's only paste."
+
+"PASTE!" exclaimed Wilbur, in a slow way.
+
+"Paste," said Jimmie Dale placidly, dropping the necklace back into its
+case. "Quite in keeping with Markel, isn't it--to make a sensation on
+the cheap?"
+
+"But that doesn't change matters!" Wilbur cried out sharply, after a
+numbed instant's pause. "You still broke into the safe, even if you
+didn't know then that the necklace was paste."
+
+"Ah, but, you see--I did know then," said Jimmie Dale softly. "I am
+really--you must take my word for it--a very good judge of stones, and I
+had--er--seen these before."
+
+Wilbur stared--bewildered, confused.
+
+"Then why--what was it that--"
+
+"A paper," said Jimmie Dale, with a little chuckle--and produced it from
+the cash box. "It reads like this: 'On demand, I promise to pay--'"
+
+"My note!" It came in a great, surging cry from Wilbur; and he strained
+forward to read it.
+
+"Of course," said Jimmie Dale. "Of course--your note. Did you think that
+I had just happened to drop in on you? Now, then, see here, you just
+buck up, and--er--smile. There isn't even a possibility of you being
+accused of the theft. In the first place, Markel saw quite enough of me
+to know that it wasn't you. Secondly, neither Markel nor any one else
+would ever dream that the break was made for anything else but the
+necklace, with which you have no connection--the papers were in the cash
+box and were just taken along with it. Don't you see? And, besides, the
+police, with my very good friend, Carruthers at their elbows, will see
+very thoroughly to it that the Gray Seal gets full and ample credit for
+the crime. But"--Jimmie Dale pulled out his watch, and yawned under his
+mask--"it's getting to be an unconscionable hour--and you've still a
+letter to write."
+
+"A letter?" Wilbur's voice was broken, his lips quivering.
+
+"To Markel," said Jimmie Dale pleasantly. "Write him in reply to his
+letter of the afternoon, and post it before you leave here--just as
+though you had written it at once, promptly, on receipt of his. He will
+still get it on the morning delivery. State that you will take up the
+note immediately on presentation at whatever bank he chooses to name.
+That's all. Seeing that he hasn't got it, he can't very well present
+it--can he? Eventually, having--er--no use for fake diamonds, I
+shall return the necklace, together with the papers in his cash box
+here--including your note."
+
+"Eventually?" Uncomprehendingly, stumblingly, Wilbur repeated the word.
+
+"In a month or two or three, as the case may be," explained Jimmie
+Dale brightly. "Whenever you insert a personal in the NEWS-ARGUS to
+the effect that the mother lode has given you the cash to meet it." He
+replaced the note in the cash box, slipped down to his feet from the
+desk--and then he choked a little. Wilbur, the tears streaming down
+his face, unable to speak, was holding out his hands to Jimmie Dale.
+"I--er--good-night!" said Jimmie Dale hurriedly--and stepped quickly
+from the room.
+
+Halfway down the first flight of stairs he paused. Steps, running after
+him, sounded along the corridor above; and then Wilbur's voice.
+
+"Don't go--not yet," cried the old man. "I don't understand. How did you
+know--who told you about the note?"
+
+Jimmie Dale did not answer--he went on noiselessly down the stairs. His
+mask was off now, and his lips curved into a strange little smile.
+
+"I wish I knew," said Jimmie Dale wistfully to himself.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE COUNTERFEIT FIVE
+
+
+It was still early in the evening, but a little after nine o'clock.
+The Fifth Avenue bus wended its way, jouncing its patrons, particularly
+those on the top seats, across town, and turned into Riverside Drive. A
+short distance behind the bus, a limousine rolled down the cross street
+leisurely, silently.
+
+As the lights of passing craft on the Hudson and a myriad scintillating,
+luminous points dotting the west shore came into view, Jimmie Dale rose
+impulsively from his seat on the top of the bus, descended the little
+circular iron ladder at the rear, and dropped off into the street. It
+was only a few blocks farther to his residence on the Drive, and
+the night was well worth the walk; besides, restless, disturbed, and
+perplexed in mind, the walk appealed to him.
+
+He stepped across to the sidewalk and proceeded slowly along. A month
+had gone by and he had not heard a word from--HER. The break on West
+Broadway, the murder of Metzer in Moriarty's gambling hell, the theft
+of Markel's diamond necklace had followed each other in quick
+succession--and then this month of utter silence, with no sign of her,
+as though indeed she had never existed.
+
+But it was not this temporary silence on her part that troubled Jimmie
+Dale now. In the years that he had worked with this unknown, mysterious
+accomplice of his whom he had never seen, there had been longer
+intervals than a bare month in which he had heard nothing from her--it
+was not that. It was the failure, total, absolute, and complete,
+that was the only result for the month of ceaseless, unremitting,
+doggedly-expended effort, even as it had been the result many times
+before, in an attempt to solve the enigma that was so intimate and vital
+a factor in his own life.
+
+If he might lay any claims to cleverness, his resourcefulness, at
+least, he was forced to admit, was no match for hers. She came, she went
+without being seen--and behind her remained, instead of clews to her
+identity, only an amazing, intangible mystery, that left him at times
+appalled and dismayed. How did she know about those conditions in West
+Broadway, how did she know about Metzer's murder, how did she know about
+Markel and Wilbur--how did she know about a hundred other affairs of the
+same sort that had happened since that night, years ago now, when out of
+pure adventure he had tampered with Marx's, the jeweller's strong
+room in Maiden Lane, and she had, mysteriously then, too, solved HIS
+identity, discovered him to be the Gray Seal?
+
+Jimmie Dale, wrapped up in his own thoughts, entirely oblivious to his
+surroundings, traversed another block. There had never been since the
+world began, and there would never be again, so singular and bizarre a
+partnership as this--of hers and his. He, Jimmie Dale, with his strange
+double life, one of New York's young bachelor millionaires, one whose
+social status was unquestioned; and she, who--who WHAT? That was just
+it! Who what? What was she? What was her name? What one personal,
+intimate thing did he know about her? And what was to be the end?
+Not that he would have severed his association with her--not for
+worlds!--though every time, that, by some new and curious method, one of
+her letters found its way into his hands, outlining some fresh coup
+for him to execute, his peril and danger of discovery was increased in
+staggering ratio. To-day, the police hunted the Gray Seal as they hunted
+a mad dog; the papers stormed and raved against him: in every detective
+bureau of two continents he was catalogued as the most notorious
+criminal of the age--and yet, strange paradox, no single crime had ever
+been committed!
+
+Jimmie Dale's strong, fine-featured face lighted up. Crime! Thanks to
+her, there were those who blessed the name of the Gray Seal, those
+into whose lives had come joy, relief from misery, escape from death
+even--and their blessings were worth a thousandfold the risk and peril
+of disaster that threatened him at every minute of the day.
+
+"Thank God for her!" murmured Jimmie Dale softly. "But--but if I could
+only find her, see her, know who she is, talk to her, and hear her
+voice!" Then he smiled a little wanly. "It's been a pretty tough
+month--and nothing to show for it!"
+
+It had! It had been one of the hardest months through which Jimmie Dale
+had ever lived. The St. James, that most exclusive club, his favourite
+haunt, had seen nothing of him; the easel in his den, that was his
+hobby, had been untouched; there had been days even when he had not
+crossed the threshold of his home. Every resource at his command he
+had called into play in an effort to solve the mystery. For nearly the
+entire month, following first this lead and then that, he had lived in
+the one disguise that he felt confident she knew nothing of--that was,
+or, rather, had become, almost a dual personality with him. From the
+Sanctuary, that miserable and disreputable room in a tenement on the
+East Side, a tenement that had three separate means of entrance and
+exit, he had emerged day after day as Larry the Bat, a character as well
+known and as well liked in the exclusive circles of the underworld as
+was Jimmie Dale in the most exclusive strata of New York's society
+and fashion. And it had been useless--all useless. Through his own
+endeavours, through the help of his friends of the underworld, the
+lives of half a dozen men, Bert Hagan's on West Broadway, for instance,
+Markel's, and others', had been laid bare to the last shred, but nowhere
+could be found the one vital point that linked their lives with hers,
+that would account for her intimate knowledge of them, and so furnish
+him with the clew that would then with certainty lead him to a solution
+of her identity.
+
+It was baffling, puzzling, unbelievable, bordering, indeed, on the
+miraculous--herself, everything about her, her acts, her methods, her
+cleverness, intangible in one sense, were terrifically real in another.
+Jimmie Dale shook his head. The miraculous and this practical, everyday
+life were wide and far apart. There was nothing miraculous about it--it
+was only that the key to it was, so far, beyond his reach.
+
+And then suddenly Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders in consonance with
+a whimsical change in both mood and thought.
+
+"Larry the Bat, is a hard taskmaster!" he muttered facetiously. "I'm
+afraid I'm not very presentable this evening--no bath this morning,
+and no shave, and, after nearly a month of make-up, that beastly grease
+paint gets into the skin creases in a most intimate way." He chuckled
+as the thought of old Jason, his butler, came to him. "I saw Jason,
+torn between two conflicting emotions, shaking his head over the black
+circles under my eyes last night--he didn't know whether to worry over
+the first signs of a galloping decline, or break his heart at witnessing
+the young master he had dandled on his knees going to the damnation
+bowwows and turning into a confirmed roue! I guess I'll have to mind
+myself, though. Even Carruthers detached his mind far enough from his
+editorial desk and the hope of exclusively publishing the news of the
+Gray Seal's capture in the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, to tell me I was looking
+seedy. It's wonderful the way a little paint will metamorphose a man!
+Well, anyway, here's for a good hot tub to-night, and a fresh start!"
+
+He quickened his pace. There were still three blocks to go, and here was
+no hurrying, jostling crowd to impede his progress; indeed, as far as he
+could see up the Drive, there was not a pedestrian in sight. And then,
+as he walked, involuntarily, insistently, his mind harked back into the
+old groove again.
+
+"I've tried to picture her," said Jimmie Dale softly to himself. "I've
+tried to picture her a hundred, yes, a thousand times, and--"
+
+A bus, rumbling cityward, went by him, squeaking, creaking, and rattling
+in its uneasy joints--and out of the noise, almost at his elbow it
+seemed, a voice spoke his name--and in that instant intuitively he KNEW,
+and it thrilled him, stopped the beat of his heart, as, dulcet, soft,
+clear as the note of a silver bell it fell--and only one word:
+
+"Jimmie!"
+
+He whirled around. A limousine, wheels just grazing the curb, was
+gliding slowly and silently past him, and from the window a woman's
+arm, white-gloved and dainty, was extended, and from the fingers to the
+pavement fluttered an envelope--and the car leaped forward.
+
+For the fraction of a second, Jimmie Dale stood dazed, immovable, a
+gamut of emotions, surprise, fierce exultation, amazement, a strange
+joy, a mighty uplift, swirling upon him--and then, snatching up the
+envelope from the ground, he sprang out into the road after the car. It
+was the one chance he had ever had, the one chance she had ever given
+him, and he had seen--a white-gloved arm! He could not reach the car,
+it was speeding away from him like an arrow now, but there was something
+else that would do just as well, something that with all her cleverness
+she had overlooked--the car's number dangling on the rear axle, the
+rays of the little lamp playing on the enamelled surface of the plate!
+Gasping, panting, he held his own for a yard or more, and there floated
+back to him a little silvery laugh from the body of the limousine, and
+then Jimmie Dale laughed, too, and stopped--it was No. 15,836!
+
+He stood and watched the car disappear up the Drive. What delicious
+irony! A month of gruelling, ceaseless toil that had been vain, futile,
+useless--and the key, when he was not looking for it, unexpectedly,
+through no effort of his, was thrust into his hand--No. 15,836!
+
+Jimmie Dale, the gently ironic smile still on his lips, those slim,
+supersensitive fingers of his subconsciously noting that the texture of
+the envelope was the same as she always used, retraced his steps to the
+sidewalk.
+
+"Number fifteen thousand eight hundred and thirty-six," said Jimmie Dale
+aloud--and halted at the curb as though rooted to the spot. It sounded
+strangely familiar, that number! He repeated it over again slowly:
+"One-five-eight-three-six." And the smile left his lips, and upon his
+face came the look of a chastened child. She had used a duplicate plate!
+Fifteen thousand eight hundred and thirty-six was the number of one of
+his own cars--his own particular runabout!
+
+For a moment longer he stood there, undecided whether to laugh or swear,
+and then his eyes fastened mechanically on the envelope he was twirling
+in his fingers. Here, at least, was something that was not elusive;
+that, on the contrary, as a hundred others in the past had done,
+outlined probably a grim night's work ahead for the Gray Seal! And, if
+it were as those others had been, every minute from the moment of its
+receipt was precious time. He stepped under the nearest street light,
+and tore the envelope open.
+
+"Dear Philanthropic Crook," it began--and then followed two closely
+written pages. Jimmie Dale read them, his lips growing gradually
+tighter, a smouldering light creeping into his dark eyes, and once he
+emitted a short, low whistle of consternation--that was at the end, as
+he read the post-script that was heavily underscored: "Work quickly.
+They will raid to-night. Be careful. Look out for Kline, he is the
+sharpest man in the United States secret service."
+
+For a brief instant longer, Jimmie Dale stood under the street lamp,
+his mind in a lightning-quick way cataloguing every point in her letter,
+viewing every point from a myriad angles, constructing, devising,
+mapping out a plan to dove-tail into them--and then Jimmie Dale swung on
+a downtown bus. There was neither time nor occasion to go home now--that
+marvellous little kit of burglar's tools that peeped from their tiny
+pockets in that curious leather undervest, and that reposed now in
+the safe in his den, would be useless to him to-night; besides, in the
+breast pocket of his coat, neatly folded, was a black silk mask, and,
+relics of his role of Larry the Bat, an automatic revolver, an
+electric flashlight, a steel jimmy, and a bunch of skeleton keys, were
+distributed among the other pockets of his smart tweed suit.
+
+Jimmie Dale changed from the bus to the subway, leaving behind him,
+strewn over many blocks, the tiny and minute fragments into which he had
+torn her letter; at Astor Place he left the subway, walked to Broadway,
+turned uptown for a block to Eighth Street, then along Eighth Street
+almost to Sixth Avenue--and stopped.
+
+A rather shabby shop, a pitiful sort of a place, displaying in its
+window a heterogeneous conglomeration of cheap odds and ends, ink
+bottles, candy, pencils, cigarettes, pens, toys, writing pads, marbles,
+and a multitude of other small wares, confronted him. Within, a little,
+old, sweet-faced, gray-haired woman stood behind the counter, pottering
+over the rearrangement of some articles on the shelves.
+
+"My word!" said Jimmie Dale softly to himself. "You wouldn't believe it,
+would you! And I've always wondered how these little stores managed to
+make both ends meet. Think of that old soul making fifteen or twenty
+thousand dollars from a layout like this--even if it has taken her a
+lifetime!"
+
+Jimmie Dale had halted nonchalantly and unconcernedly by the curb,
+not too near the window, busied apparently in an effort to light a
+refractory cigarette; and then, about to enter the store, he gazed
+aimlessly across the street for a moment instead. A man came briskly
+around the corner from Sixth Avenue, opened the store door, and went in.
+
+Jimmie Dale drew back a little, and turned his head again as the door
+closed--and a sudden, quick, alert, and startled look spread over his
+face.
+
+The man who had entered bent over the counter and spoke to the old lady.
+She seemed to listen with a dawning terror creeping over her features,
+and then her hands went piteously to the thin hair behind her ears. The
+man motioned toward a door at the rear of the store. She hesitated,
+then came out from behind the counter, and swayed a little as though her
+limbs would not support her weight.
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips thinned.
+
+"I'm afraid," he muttered slowly, "I'm afraid that I'm too late even
+now." And then, as she came to the door and turned the key on the
+inside: "Pray Heaven she doesn't turn the light out--or somebody might
+think I was trying to break in!"
+
+But in that respect Jimmie Dale's fears were groundless. She did not
+turn out either of the gas jets that lighted the little shop; instead,
+in a faltering, reluctant sort of manner, she led the way directly
+through the door in the rear, and the man followed her.
+
+The shop was empty--and Jimmie Dale was standing against the door on the
+outside. His position was perfectly natural--a hundred passers-by would
+have noted nothing but a most commonplace occurrence--a man in the act
+of entering a store. And, if he appeared to fumble and have trouble with
+the latch, what of it! Jimmie Dale, however, was not fumbling--hidden by
+his back that was turned to the street, those wonderful fingers of his,
+in whose tips seemed embodied and concentrated every one of the human
+senses, were working quickly, surely, accurately, without so much as the
+wasted movement of a single muscle.
+
+A faint tinkle--and the key within fell from the lock to the floor. A
+faint click--and the bolt of the lock slipped back. Jimmie Dale restored
+the skeleton keys and a little steel instrument that accompanied them
+to his pocket--and quietly opened the door. He stepped inside, picked up
+the key from the floor, inserted it in the lock, closed the door behind
+him, and locked it again.
+
+"To guard against interruption," observed Jimmie Dale, a little
+quizzically.
+
+He was, perhaps, thirty seconds behind the others. He crossed the shop
+noiselessly, cautiously, and passed through the door at the rear. It
+opened into a short passage that, after a few feet, gave on a sort of
+corridor at right angles--and down this latter, facing him, at the end,
+the door of a lighted room was open, and he could see the figure of the
+man who had entered the shop, back turned, standing on the threshold.
+Voices, indistinct, came to him.
+
+The corridor itself was dark; and Jimmie Dale, satisfied that he was
+fairly safe from observation, stole softly forward. He passed two
+doors on his left--and the curious arrangement of the building that had
+puzzled him for a moment became clear. The store made the front of an
+old tenement building, with apartments above, and the rear of the store
+was a sort of apartment, too--the old lady's living quarters.
+
+Step by step, testing each one against a possible creaking of the floor,
+Jimmie Dale moved forward, keeping close up against one wall. The man
+passed on into the room--and now Jimmie Dale could distinguish every
+word that was being spoken; and, crouched up, in the dark corridor, in
+the angle of the wall and the door jamb itself, could see plainly enough
+into the room beyond. Jimmie Dale's jaw crept out a little.
+
+A young man, gaunt, pale, wrapped in blankets, half sat, half reclined
+in an invalid's chair; the old lady, on her knees, the tears streaming
+down her face, had her arms around the sick man's neck; while the other
+man, apparently upset at the scene, tugged vigorously at long, gray
+mustaches.
+
+"Sammy! Sammy!" sobbed the woman piteously. "Say you didn't do it,
+Sammy--say you didn't do it!"
+
+"Look here, Mrs. Matthews," said the man with the gray mustaches gently,
+"now don't you go to making things any harder. I've got to do my duty
+just the same, and take your son."
+
+The young man, a hectic flush beginning to burn on his cheeks, gazed
+wildly from one to the other.
+
+"What--what is it?" he cried out.
+
+The man threw back his coat and displayed a badge on his vest.
+
+"I'm Kline of the secret service," he said gravely. "I'm sorry, Sammy,
+but I want you for that little job in Washington at the bureau--before
+you left on sick leave!"
+
+Sammy Matthews struggled away from his mother's arms, pulled himself
+forward in his chair--and his tongue licked dry lips.
+
+"What--what job?" he whispered thickly.
+
+"You know, don't you?" the other answered steadily. He took a large,
+flat pocketbook from his pocket, opened it, and took out a five-dollar
+bill. He held this before the sick man's eyes, but just out of reach,
+one finger silently indicating the lower left-hand corner.
+
+Matthews stared at it for a moment, and the hectic flush faded to a
+grayish pallor, and a queer, impotent sound gurgled in his throat.
+
+"I see you recognise it," said the other quietly. "It's open and shut,
+Sammy. That little imperfection in the plate's got you, my boy."
+
+"Sammy! Sammy!" sobbed the woman again. "Sammy, say you didn't do it!"
+
+"It's a lie!" said Matthews hoarsely. "It's a lie! That plate was
+condemned in the bureau for that imperfection--condemned and destroyed."
+
+"Condemned TO BE destroyed," corrected the other, without raising his
+voice. "There's a little difference there, Sammy--about twenty years'
+difference--in the Federal pen. But it wasn't destroyed; this note was
+printed from it by one of the slickest gangs of counterfeiters in the
+United States--but I don't need to tell you that, I guess you know who
+they are. I've been after them a long time, and I've got them now, just
+as tight as I've got you. Instead of destroying that plate, you stole
+it, and disposed of it to the gang. How much did they give you?"
+
+Matthews' face seemed to hold a dumb horror, and his fingers picked at
+the arms of the chair. His mother had moved from beside him now, and
+both her hands were patting at the man's sleeve in a pitiful way, while
+again and again she tried to speak, but no words would come.
+
+"It's a lie!" said Matthews again, in a colourless, mechanical way.
+
+The man glanced at Mrs. Matthews as he put the five-dollar note back
+into his pocket, seemed to choke a little, shook his head, and all trace
+of the official sternness that had crept into his voice disappeared.
+
+"It's no good," he said in a low tone. "Don't do that, Mrs. Matthews,
+I've got to do my duty." He leaned a little toward the chair. "It's dead
+to rights, Sammy. You might as well make a clean breast of it. It was
+up to you and Al Gregor to see that the plate was destroyed. It WASN'T
+destroyed; instead, it shows up in the hands of a gang of counterfeiters
+that I've been watching for months. Furthermore, I've got the plate
+itself. And finally, though I haven't placed him under arrest yet for
+fear you might hear of it before I wanted you to and make a get-away,
+I've got Al Gregor where I can put my hands on him, and I've got his
+confession that you and he worked the game between you to get that plate
+out of the bureau and dispose of it to the gang."
+
+"Oh, my God!"--it came in a wild cry from the sick man, and in a
+desperate, lurching way he struggled up to his feet. "Al Gregor said
+that? Then--then I'm done!" He clutched at his temples. "But it's not
+true--it's not true! If the plate was stolen, and it must have been
+stolen, or that note wouldn't have been found, it was Al Gregor who
+stole it--I didn't, I tell you! I knew nothing of it, except that he and
+I were responsible for it and--and I left it to him--that's the only way
+I'm to blame. He's caught, and he's trying to get out of it with a light
+sentence by pretending to turn State's evidence, but--but I'll fight
+him--he can't prove it--it's only his word against mine, and--"
+
+The other shook his head again.
+
+"It's no good, Sammy," he said, a touch of sternness back in his tones
+again. "I told you it was open and shut. It's not only Al Gregor. One
+of the gang got weak knees when I got him where I wanted him the other
+night, and he swears that you are the one who DELIVERED the plate to
+them. Between him and Gregor and what I know myself, I've got evidence
+enough for any jury against every one of the rest of you."
+
+Horror, fear, helplessness seemed to mingle in the sick man's staring
+eyes, and he swayed unsteadily upon his feet.
+
+"I'm innocent!" he screamed out. "But I'm caught, I'm caught in a net,
+and I can't get out--they lied to you--but no one will believe it any
+more than you do and--and it means twenty years for me--oh, God!--twenty
+years, and--" His hands went wriggling to his temples again, and he
+toppled back in a faint into the chair.
+
+"You've killed him! You've killed my boy!" the old lady shrieked out
+piteously, and flung herself toward the senseless figure.
+
+The man jumped for the table across the room, on which was a row of
+bottles, snatched one up, drew the cork, smelled it, and ran back with
+the bottle. He poured a little of the contents into his cupped hand,
+held it under young Matthews' nostrils, and pushed the bottle into Mrs.
+Matthews' hands.
+
+"Bathe his forehead with this, Mrs. Matthews," he directed reassuringly.
+"He'll be all right again in a moment. There, see--he's coming around
+now."
+
+There was a long, fluttering sigh, and Matthews opened his eyes; then
+a moment's silence; and then he spoke, with an effort, with long pauses
+between the words:
+
+"Am--I--to--go--now?"
+
+The words seemed to ring absolute terror in the old lady's ears. She
+turned, and dropped to her knees on the floor.
+
+"Mr. Kline, Mr. Kline," she sobbed out, "oh, for God's love, don't take
+him! Let him off, let him go! He's my boy--all I've got! You've got
+a mother, haven't you? You know--" The tears were streaming down the
+sweet, old face again. "Oh, won't you, for God's dear name, won't you
+let him go? Won't--"
+
+"Stop!" the man cried huskily. He was mopping at his face with his
+handkerchief. "I thought I was case-hardened, I ought to be--but I guess
+I'm not. But I've got to do my duty. You're only making it worse for
+Sammy there, as well as me."
+
+Her arms were around his knees now, clinging there.
+
+"Why can't you let him off!" she pleaded hysterically. "Why can't
+you! Why can't you! Nobody would know, and I'd do anything--I'd pay
+anything--anything--I'll give you ten--fifteen thousand dollars!"
+
+"My poor woman," he said kindly, placing his hand on her head, "you are
+talking wildly. Apart altogether from the question of duty, even if
+I succeeded in hushing the matter up, I would probably at least be
+suspected and certainly discharged, and I have a family to support--and
+if I were caught I'd get ten years in the Federal prison for it. I'm
+sorry for this; I believe it's your boy's first offence, and if I could
+let him off I would."
+
+"But you can--you can!" she burst out, rocking on her knees, clinging
+tighter still to him, as though in a paroxysm of fear that he might
+somehow elude her. "It will kill him--it will kill my boy. And you can
+save him! And even if they discharged you, what would that mean against
+my boy's life! You wouldn't suffer, your family wouldn't suffer,
+I'll--I'll take care of that--perhaps I could raise a little more than
+fifteen thousand--but, oh, have pity, have mercy--don't take him away!"
+
+The man stared at her a moment, stared at the white face on the
+reclining chair--and passed his hand heavily across his eyes.
+
+"You will! You will!" It came in a great surging cry of joy from the old
+lady. "You will--oh, thank God, thank God!--I can see it in your face!"
+
+"I--I guess I'm soft," he said huskily, and stooped and raised Mrs.
+Matthews to her feet. "Don't cry any more. It'll be all right--it'll be
+all right. I'll--I'll fix it up somehow. I haven't made any arrests yet,
+and--well, I'll take my chances. I'll get the plate and turn it over to
+you to-morrow, only--only it's got to be destroyed in my presence."
+
+"Yes, yes!" she cried, trying to smile through her tears--and then
+she flung her arms around her son's neck again. "And when you come
+to-morrow, I'll be ready with the money to do my share, too, and--"
+
+But Sammy Matthews shook his head.
+
+"You're wrong, both of you," he said weakly. "You're a white man,
+Kline. But destroying that plate won't save me. The minute a single note
+printed from it shows up, they'll know back there in Washington that the
+plate was stolen, and--"
+
+"No; you're safe enough there," the other interposed heavily. "Knowing
+what was up, you don't think I'd give the gang a chance to get them
+into circulation, do you? I got them all when I got the plate. And"--he
+smiled a little anxiously--"I'll bring them here to be destroyed with
+the plate. It would finish me now, as well as you, if one of them ever
+showed up. Say," he said suddenly, with a catch in his breath, "I--I
+don't think I know what I'm doing."
+
+Mrs. Matthews reached out her hands to him.
+
+"What can I say to you!" she said brokenly, "What--"
+
+Jimmie Dale drew back along the wall. A little way from the door he
+quickened his pace, still moving, however, with extreme caution. They
+were still talking behind him as he turned from the corridor into the
+passageway leading to the store, and from there into the store itself.
+And then suddenly, in spite of caution, his foot slipped on the bare
+floor. It was not much--just enough to cause his other foot, poised
+tentatively in air, to come heavily down, and a loud and complaining
+creak echoed from the floor.
+
+Jimmie Dale's jaws snapped like a steel trap. From down the corridor
+came a sudden, excited exclamation in the little old lady's voice, and
+then her steps sounded running toward the store. In the fraction of a
+second Jimmie Dale was at the front door.
+
+"Clumsy, blundering fool!" he whispered fiercely to himself as he turned
+the key, opened the door noiselessly until it was just ajar, and turned
+the key in the lock again, leaving the bolt protruding out. One step
+backward, and he was rapping on the counter with his knuckles. "Isn't
+anybody here?" he called out loudly. "Isn't any--oh!"--as Mrs. Matthews
+appeared in the back doorway. "A package of cigarettes, please."
+
+She stared at him, a little frightened, her eyes red and swollen with
+recent crying.
+
+"How--how did you get in here?" she asked tremendously.
+
+"I beg your pardon?" inquired Jimmie Dale, in polite surprise.
+
+"I--I locked the door--I'm sure I did," she said, more to herself than
+to Jimmie Dale, and hurried across the floor to the door as she spoke.
+
+Jimmie Dale, still politely curious, turned to watch her. For a moment
+bewilderment and a puzzled look were in her face--and then a sort of
+surprised relief.
+
+"I must have turned the key in the lock without shutting the door
+tight," she explained, "for I knew I turned the key."
+
+Jimmie Dale bent forward to examine the lock--and nodded.
+
+"Yes," he agreed, with a smile. "I should say so." Then, gravely
+courteous: "I'm sorry to have intruded."
+
+"It is nothing," she answered; and, evidently anxious to be rid of him,
+moved quickly around behind the counter. "What kind of cigarettes do you
+want?"
+
+"Egyptians--any kind," said Jimmie Dale, laying a bill on the counter.
+
+He pocketed the cigarettes and his change, and turned to the door.
+
+"Good-evening," he said pleasantly--and went out.
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled a little curiously, a little tolerantly. As he
+started along the street, he heard the door of the little shop close
+with a sort of supercareful bang, the key turned, and the latch rattle
+to try the door--the little old lady was bent on making no mistake a
+second time!
+
+And then the smile left Jimmie Dale's lips, his face grew strained and
+serious, and he broke into a run down the block to Sixth Avenue. Here he
+paused for an instant--there was the elevated, the surface cars--which
+would be the quicker? He looked up the avenue. There was no train
+coming; the nearest surface car was blocks away. He bit his lips in
+vexation--and then with a jump he was across the street and hailing a
+passing taxicab that his eyes had just lighted on.
+
+"Got a fare?" called Jimmie Dale.
+
+"No, sir," answered the chauffeur, bumping his car to an abrupt halt.
+
+"Good!" Jimmie Dale ran alongside, and yanked the door open. "Do you
+know where the Palace Saloon on the Bowery is?"
+
+"Yes, sir," replied the man.
+
+Jimmie Dale held a ten-dollar bank note up before the chauffeur's eyes.
+
+"Earn that in four minutes, then," he snapped--and sprang into the cab.
+
+The taxicab swerved around on little better than two wheels, started on
+a mad dash down the Avenue--and Jimmie Dale braced himself grimly in
+his seat. The cab swerved again, tore across Waverly Place, circuited
+Washington Square, crossed Broadway, and whirled finally into the upper
+end of the Bowery.
+
+Jimmie Dale spoke once--to himself--plaintively.
+
+"It's too bad I can't let old Carruthers in on this for a scoop with his
+precious MORNING NEWS-ARGUS--but if I get out of it alive myself, I'll
+do well! Wonder if the day'll ever come when he finds out that his very
+dear friend and old college pal, Jimmie Dale, is the Gray Seal that he's
+turned himself inside out for about four years now to catch, and that
+he'd trade his soul with the devil any time to lay hands on! Good old
+Carruthers! 'The most puzzling, bewildering, delightful crook in the
+annals of crime'--am I?"
+
+The cab drew up at the curb. Jimmie Dale sprang out, shoved the bill
+into the chauffeur's hand, stepped quickly across the sidewalk, and
+pushed his way through the swinging doors of the Palace Saloon. Inside
+leisurely and nonchalantly, he walked down past the length of the bar to
+a door at the rear. This opened into a passageway that led to the side
+entrance of the saloon on the cross street. Jimmie Dale emerged from
+the side entrance, crossed the street, retraced his steps to the Bowery,
+crossed over, and walked rapidly down that thoroughfare for two blocks.
+Here he turned east into the cross street; and here, once more, his pace
+became leisurely and unhurried.
+
+"It's a strange coincidence, though possibly a very happy one," said
+Jimmie Dale, as he walked along, "that it should be on the same street
+as the Sanctuary--ah, this ought to be the place!"
+
+An alleyway, corresponding to the one that flanked the tenement where,
+as Larry the Bat, he had paid room rent as a tenant for several years,
+in fact, the alleyway next above it, and but a short block away,
+intersected the street, narrow, black, and uninviting. Jimmie Dale, as
+he passed, peered down its length.
+
+"No light--that's good!" commented Jimmie Dale to himself. Then: "Window
+opens on alleyway ten feet from ground--shoe store, Russian Jew, in
+basement--go in front door--straight hallway--room at end--Russian
+Jew probably accomplice--be careful that he does not hear you moving
+overhead"--Jimmie Dale's mind, with that curious faculty of his, was
+subconsciously repeating snatches from her letter word for word, even
+as he noted the dimly lighted, untidy, and disorderly interior of what,
+from strings of leather slippers that decorated the cellarlike entrance,
+was evidently a cheap and shoddy shoe store in the basement of the
+building.
+
+The building itself was rickety and tumble-down, three stories high, and
+given over undoubtedly to gregarious foreigners of the poorer class, a
+rabbit burrow, as it were, having a multitude of roomers and lodgers.
+There was nothing ominous or even secretive about it--up the short
+flight of steps to the entrance, even the door hung carelessly half
+open.
+
+Jimmie Dale's slouch hat was pulled a little farther down over his eyes
+as he mounted the steps and entered the hallway. He listened a moment.
+A sort of subdued, querulous hubbub seemed to hum through the place, as
+voices, men's, women's, and children's, echoing out from their various
+rooms above, mingled together, and floated down the stairways in a
+discordant medley. Jimmie Dale stepped lightly down the length of
+the hall--and listened again; this time intently, with his ear to the
+keyhole of the door that made the end of the passage. There was not a
+sound from within. He tried the door, smiled a little as he reached for
+his keys, worked over the lock--and straightened up suddenly as his
+ear caught a descending step on the stairs. It was two flights up,
+however--and the door was unlocked now. Jimmie Dale opened it, and, like
+a shadow, slipped inside; and, as he locked the door behind him, smiled
+once more--the door lock was but a paltry makeshift at best, but INSIDE
+his fingers had touched a massive steel bolt that, when shot home, would
+yield when the door itself yielded--and not before. Without moving the
+bolt, he turned--and his flashlight for a moment swept the room.
+
+"Not much like the way they describe this sort of place in storybooks!"
+murmured Jimmie Dale capriciously. "But I get the idea. Mr. Russian Jew
+downstairs makes a bluff at using it for a storeroom."
+
+Again the flashlight made a circuit. Here, there, and everywhere,
+seemingly without any attempt at order, were piles of wooden shipping
+cases. Only the centre of the room was clear and empty; that, and a
+vacant space against the wall by the window.
+
+Jimmie Dale, moving without sound, went to the window. There was a shade
+on it, and it was pulled down. He reached up underneath it, felt for
+the window fastening, and unlocked it; then cautiously tested the window
+itself by lifting it an inch or two--it slid easily in its grooves.
+
+He stood then for a moment, hardfaced, a frown gathering his forehead
+into heavy furrows, as the flashlight's ray again and again darted
+hither and thither. There was nothing, absolutely nothing in the room
+but wooden packing cases. He lifted the cover of the one nearest to him
+and looked inside. It was quite empty, except for some pieces of heavy
+cord, and a few cardboard shoe boxes that, in turn, were empty, too.
+
+"It's here, of course," said Jimmie Dale thoughtfully to himself.
+"Clever work, too! But I can't move half a hundred packing cases without
+that chap below hearing me; and I can't do it in ten minutes, either,
+which, I imagine is the outside limit of time. Fortunately, though,
+these cases are not without their compensation--a dozen men could hide
+here."
+
+He began to move about the room. And now he stooped before one pile of
+boxes and then another, curiously attempting to lift up the entire pile
+from the bottom. Some he could not move; others, by exerting all his
+strength, gave a little; and then, finally, over in one corner, he found
+a pile that appeared to answer his purpose.
+
+"These are certainly empty," he muttered.
+
+There was just room to squeeze through between them and the next stack
+of cases alongside; but, once through, by the simple expedient of moving
+the cases out a little to take advantage of the angle made by the
+corner of the room, he obtained ample space to stand comfortably upright
+against the wall. But Jimmie Dale was not satisfied yet. Could he see
+out into the room? He experimented with his flashlight--and carefully
+shifted the screen of cases before him a little to one side. And yet
+still he was not satisfied. With a sort of ironical droop at the
+corners of his lips, as though suddenly there had flashed upon him the
+inspiration that fathered one of those whimsical ideas and fancies that
+were so essentially a characteristic of Jimmie Dale, he came out from
+behind the cases, went across the room to the case he had opened when he
+first entered, took out the cord and the cover of one of the cardboard
+shoe boxes, and with these returned to his hiding place once more.
+
+The sounds from the upper stories of the tenement now reached him hardly
+at all; but from below, directly under his feet almost, he could hear
+some one, the proprietor of the shoe store probably, walking about.
+
+Tense, every faculty now on the alert, his head turned in a strained,
+attentive attitude, Jimmie Dale threw on the flashlight's tiny switch,
+took that intimate and thin metal case from his pocket, extracted a
+diamond-shaped, gray paper seal with the little tweezers, moistened the
+adhesive side, and stuck it in the centre of the white cardboard-box
+cover, then tore the edges of the cardboard down until the whole was
+just small enough to slip into his pocket. Through the cardboard he
+looped a piece of cord, placard fashion, and with his pencil printed the
+four words--"with the compliments of "--above the gray seal. He
+surveyed the result with a grim, mirthless chuckle--and put the piece of
+cardboard in his pocket.
+
+"I'm taking the longest chances I ever took in my life," said Jimmie
+Dale very seriously to himself, as his fingers twisted, and doubled,
+and tied the remaining pieces of cord together, and finally fashioned a
+running noose in one end. "I don't--" The cord and the flashlight went
+into his pocket, the room was in darkness, the black mask was whipped
+from his breast pocket and adjusted to his face, and his automatic was
+in his hand.
+
+Came the creak of a footstep, as though on a ladder exactly below him,
+another, and another, receding curiously in its direction, yet at the
+same time growing louder in sound as if nearer the floor--then a crack
+of light showed in the floor in the centre of the room. This held for
+an instant, then expanded suddenly into a great luminous square--and
+through a trapdoor, opened wide now, a man's head appeared.
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes, fixed through the space between the piles of cases,
+narrowed--there was, indeed, little doubt but that the shoe-store
+proprietor below was an accomplice! The store served a most convenient
+purpose in every respect--as a secret means of entry into the room, as
+a sort of guarantee of innocence for the room itself. Why not! To the
+superficial observer, to the man who might by some chance blunder into
+the room--it was but an adjunct of the store itself!
+
+The man in the trap-doorway paused with his shoulders above the floor,
+looked around, listened, then drew himself up, walked across the floor,
+and shot the heavy bolt on the door that led into the hallway of the
+house. He returned then to the trapdoor, bent over it, and whistled
+softly. Two more men, in answer to the summons, came up into the room.
+
+"The Cap'll be along in a minute," one of them said. "Turn on the
+light."
+
+A switch clicked, flooding the room with sudden brilliancy from half a
+dozen electric bulbs.
+
+"Too many!" grunted the same voice again. "We ain't working
+to-night--turn out half of 'em."
+
+The sudden transition from the darkness for a moment dazzled Jimmie
+Dale's eyes--but the next moment he was searching the faces of the three
+men. There were few crooks, few denizens of the crime world below the
+now obsolete but still famous dead line that, as Larry the Bat, he did
+not know at least by sight.
+
+"Moulton, Whitie Burns, and Marty Dean," confided Jimmie Dale softly
+to himself. "And I don't know of any worse, except--the Cap. And gun
+fighters, every one of them, too--nice odds, to say nothing of--"
+
+"Here's the Cap now!" announced one of the three. "Hello, Cap, where'd
+you raise the mustache?"
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted to the trapdoor, and into them crept a
+contemptuous and sardonic smile--the man who was coming up now and
+hoisting himself to the floor was the man who, half an hour before, had
+threatened young Sammy Matthews with arrest.
+
+The Cap, alias Bert Malone, alias a score of other names, closed the
+trapdoor after him, pulled off his mustache and gray wig, tucked them in
+his pocket, and faced his companions brusquely.
+
+"Never mind about the mustache," he said curtly. "Get busy, the lot of
+you. Stir around and get the works out!"
+
+"What for?" inquired Whitie Burns, a sharp, ferret-faced little man. "We
+got enough of the old stuff on hand now, and that bum break Gregor made
+when he pinched the cracked plate put the finish on that. Say, Cap--"
+
+"Close your face, Whitie, and get the works out!" Malone cut in shortly.
+"We've only got the whole night ahead of us--but we'll need it all.
+We're going to run the queer off that cracked plate."
+
+One of the others, Marty Dean this time, a certain brutal aggressiveness
+in both features and physique, edged forward.
+
+"Say, what's the lay?" he demanded. "A joke? We printed one fiver off
+that plate--and then we knew enough to quit. With that crack along
+the corner, you couldn't pass 'em on a blind man! And Gregor saying he
+thought we could patch the plate up enough to get by with gives me a
+pain--he's got jingles in his dome factory! Run them fivers eh--say, are
+you cracked, too?"
+
+"Aw, forget it!" observed Malone caustically. "Who's running this gang?"
+Then, with a malicious grin: "I got a customer for those fivers--fifteen
+thousand dollars for all we can turn out to-night. See?"
+
+The others stared at him for a moment, incredulity and greed mingling in
+a curious half-hesitant, half-expectant look on their faces.
+
+Then Whitie Burns spoke, circling his lips with the tip of his tongue:
+
+"D'ye mean it, Cap--honest? What's the lay? How'd you work it?"
+
+Malone, unbending with the sensation he had created, grinned again.
+
+"Easy enough," he said offhandedly. "It was like falling off a log.
+Gregor said, didn't he, that the only way he had been able to get
+his claws on that plate was on account of young Matthews going away
+sick--eh? Well, the old Matthews woman, his mother, has got money--about
+fifteen thousand. I guess she ain't got any more than that, or I'd have
+raised the ante. Aw, it was easy. She threw it at me. I framed one up on
+them, that's all. I'm Kline, of the secret service--see? I don't suppose
+they'd ever seen him, though they'd know his name fast enough, but I
+made up something like him. I showed them where I had a case against
+Sammy for pinching the plate that was strong enough to put a hundred
+innocent men behind the bars. Of course, he knew well enough he was
+innocent, but he could see the twenty years I showed him with both eyes.
+Say, he mussed all over the place, and went and fainted like a girl. And
+then the old woman came across with an offer of fifteen thousand for the
+plate, and corrupted me." Malone's cunning, vicious face, now that
+the softening effects of the gray hair and mustache were gone, seemed
+accentuated diabolically by the grin broadening into a laugh, as he
+guffawed.
+
+Marty Dean's hand swung with a bang to Malone's shoulder.
+
+"Say, Cap--say, you're all right!" he exclaimed excitedly. "You're
+the boy! But what's the good of running anything off the plate before
+turning it over to 'em--the stuff's no good to us."
+
+"You got a wooden nut, with sawdust for brains," said Malone
+sarcastically. "If he'd thought the gang of counterfeiters that was
+supposed to have bought the plate from him had run off only one fiver
+and then stopped because they say it wouldn't get by, and weren't going
+to run any more, and just destroy the plate like it was supposed to have
+been destroyed to begin with, and it all end up with no one the wiser,
+where d'ye think we'd have banked that fifteen thousand! I told him I
+had the whole run confiscated, and that the queer went with the plate,
+so we'll just make that little run to-night--that's why I sent word
+around to you this morning."
+
+"By the jumping!" ejaculated Whitie Burns, heavy with admiration. "You
+got a head on you, Cap!"
+
+"It's a good thing for some of you that I have," returned Malone
+complacently. "But don't stand jawing all night. Go on, now--get busy!"
+
+There was no surprise in Jimmie Dale's face--he had chosen his position
+behind a pile of cases that he had been extremely careful, as a man
+is careful when his life hangs in the balance, to assure himself were
+empty. None of the four came near or touched the pile behind which he
+stood; but, here and there about the room, they pulled this one and that
+one out from various stacks. In scarcely more than a moment, the room
+was completely transformed. It was no longer a storeroom for surplus
+stock, for the storage of bulky and empty packing cases! From the cases
+the men had picked out, like a touch of magic, appeared a veritable
+printing plant, an elaborate engraver's outfit--a highly efficient
+foot-power press, rapidly being assembled by Whitie Burns; an electric
+dryer, inks, a pile of white, silk-threaded bank-note paper, a cutter,
+and a score of other appurtenances.
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale very gently to himself. "Yes, quite so--but the
+plate? Ah!" Malone was taking it out from the middle of a bundle of old
+newspapers, loosely tied together, that he had lifted from one of the
+cases.
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes fastened on it--and from that instant never left it.
+A minute passed, two, three of them--the four men were silently busy
+about the room--Malone was carefully cleaning the plate.
+
+"They will raid to-night. Look out for Kline, he is the sharpest man in
+the United State secret service"--the warning in her letter was running
+through Jimmie Dale's mind. Kline--the real Kline--was going to raid
+the place to-night. When? At what time? It must be nearly eleven o'clock
+already, and--
+
+It came sudden, quick as the crack of doom--a terrific crash against the
+bolted door--but the door, undoubtedly to the surprise of those without,
+held fast, thanks to the bolt. The four men, white-faced, seemed for an
+instant turned to statues. Came another crash against the door--and a
+sharp, imperative order to those within to open it and surrender.
+
+"We're pinched! Beat it!" whispered Whitie Burns wildly--and dashed for
+the trapdoor.
+
+Like a rat for its hole, Marty Dean followed. Malone, farther away,
+dropped the plate on the floor, and rushed, with Moulton beside him,
+after the others--but he never reached the trapdoor.
+
+Over the crashing blows, raining now in quick succession on the door of
+the room, over a startled commotion as lodgers, roomers, and tenants on
+the floor above awoke into frightened activity with shouts and cries,
+came the louder crash of a pile of packing boxes hurled to the floor.
+And over them, vaulting those scattered in his way, Jimmie Dale sprang
+at Malone. The man reeled back, with a cry. Moulton dashed through
+the trapdoor and disappeared. The short, ugly barrel of Jimmie Dale's
+automatic was between Malone's eyes.
+
+"You make a move," said Jimmie Dale, in a low sibilant way, "and
+I'll drop you where you stand! Put your hands behind your back--palms
+together!"
+
+Malone, dazed, cowed, obeyed. A panel of the door split and rent down
+its length--the hinges were sagging. Jimmie Dale worked like lightning.
+The cord with the slip noose from his pocket went around Malone's
+wrists, jerked tight, and knotted; the placard, his lips grim, with no
+sign of humour, Jimmie Dale dangled around the man's neck.
+
+"An introduction for you to Mr. Kline out there--that you seem so fond
+of!" gritted Jimmie Dale. Then, working as he talked: "I've got no time
+to tell you what I think of you, you pitiful hound"--he snatched up the
+plate from the floor and put it in his pocket--"Twenty years, I think
+you said, didn't you?"--his hand shot into Malone's pocket-book, and
+extracted the five-dollar note--"If you can open this with your toes
+maybe you can get a way"--he wrenched the trapdoor over and slammed it
+shut--"good-night, Malone"--and he leaped for the window.
+
+The door tottered inward from the top, ripping, tearing, smashing
+hinges, panels, and jamb. Jimmie Dale got a blurred vision of brass
+buttons, blue coats, and helmets, and, in the forefront, of a stocky,
+gray-mustached, gray-haired man in plain clothes.
+
+Jimmie Dale threw up the window, swung out, as with a rush the officers
+burst through into the room and a revolver bullet hummed viciously past
+his ear, and dropped to the ground--into encircling arms!
+
+"Ah, no, you don't, my bucko!" snapped a hoarse voice in his ear. "Keep
+quiet now, or I'll crack your bean--understand!"
+
+But the officer, too heavy to be muscular, was no match for Jimmie
+Dale, who, even as he had dropped from the sill, had caught sight of
+the lurking form below; and now, with a quick, sudden, lithe movement he
+wriggled loose, his fist from a short-arm jab smashed upon the point of
+the other's jaw, sending the man staggering backward--and Jimmie Dale
+ran.
+
+A crowd was already collecting at the mouth of the alleyway, mostly
+occupants of the house itself, and into these, scattering them in all
+directions, eluding dexterously another officer who made a grab for him,
+Jimmie Dale charged at top speed, burst through, and headed down the
+street, running like a deer.
+
+Yells went up, a revolver spat venomously behind him, came the shrill
+CHEEP-CHEEP! of the police whistle, and heavy boots pounding the
+pavement in pursuit.
+
+Down the block Jimmie Dale raced. The yells augmented in his rear.
+Another shot--and this time he heard the bullet buzz. And then he
+swerved--into the next alleyway--that flanked the Sanctuary.
+
+He had perhaps a ten yards' lead, just a little more than the distance
+from the street to the side door of the Sanctuary that opened on
+the alleyway. And, as he ran now, his fingers tore at his clothing,
+loosening his tie, unbuttoning coat, vest, collar, shirt, and
+undershirt. He leaped at the door, swung it open, flung himself
+inside--and then sacrificing speed to silence, went up the stairs like a
+cat, cramming his mask now into his pocket.
+
+His room was on the first landing. In an instant he had unlocked the
+door, entered, and locked it again behind him. From outside, an excited
+street urchin's voice shrilled up to him:
+
+"He went in that door! I seen him!"
+
+The police whistle chirped again; and then an authoritative voice:
+
+"Get around and watch the saloon back of this, Heeney--there's a way out
+through there from this joint."
+
+Jimmie Dale, divested of every stitch of clothing that he had worn,
+pulled a disreputable collarless flannel shirt over his head, pulled on
+a dirty and patched pair of trousers, and slipped into a threadbare and
+filthy coat. Jimmie Dale was working against seconds. They were at the
+lower door now. He lifted the oilcloth in the corner of the room,
+lifted up the loose piece of the flooring, shoved his discarded garments
+inside, and from a little box that was there smeared the hollow of
+his hand with some black substance, possessed himself of two little
+articles, replaced the flooring, replaced the oilcloth, and, in bare
+feet, stole across the room to the door. Against the door, without a
+sound, Jimmie Dale placed a chair, and on the chair seat he laid the two
+little articles he had been carrying in his hand. It was intensely black
+in the room, but Jimmie Dale needed no light here. From under the bed he
+pulled out a pair of woolen socks and a pair of congress boots, both as
+disreputable as the rest of his attire, put them on--and very quietly,
+softly, cautiously, stretched himself out on the bed.
+
+The officers were at the top of the stairs. A voice barked out:
+
+"Stand guard on this landing, Peters. Higgins, you take the one above.
+We'll start from the top of the house and work down. Allow no one to
+pass you."
+
+"Yes, sir! Very good, Mr. Kline," was the response.
+
+Kline!--the sharpest man in the United States secret service, she had
+said. Jimmie Dale's lips set.
+
+"I'm glad I had no shave this morning," said Jimmie Dale grimly to
+himself.
+
+His fingers were working with the black substance in the hollow of his
+hand--and the long, slim, tapering fingers, the shapely, well-cared-for
+hands grew unkempt and grimy, black beneath the finger nails--and a
+little, too, played its part on the day's growth of beard, a little
+around the throat and at the nape of the neck, a little across the
+forehead to meet the locks of straggling and disordered hair. Jimmie
+Dale wiped the residue from the hollow of his hand on the knee of his
+trousers--and lay still.
+
+An officer paced outside. Upstairs doors opened and closed. Gruff, harsh
+tones in commands echoed through the house. The search party descended
+to the second floor--and again the same sounds were repeated. And then,
+thumping down the creaking stairs, they stopped before Jimmie Dale's
+room. Some one tried the door, and, finding it locked, rattled it
+violently.
+
+"Open the door!" It was Kline's voice.
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes were closed, and he was breathing regularly, though
+just a little slower than in natural respiration.
+
+"Break it down!" ordered Kline tersely.
+
+There was a rush at it--and it gave. It surged inward, knocked against
+the chair, upset the latter, something tinkled to the floor--and four
+officers, with Kline at their head, jumped into the room.
+
+Jimmie Dale never moved. A flashlight played around the room and focused
+upon him--and then he was shaken roughly--only to fall inertly back on
+the bed again.
+
+"I guess this is all right, Mr. Kline," said one of the officers. "It's
+Larry the Bat, and he's doped to the eyes. There's the stuff on the
+floor we knocked off the chair."
+
+"Light the gas!" directed Kline curtly; and, being obeyed, stooped to
+the floor and picked up a hypodermic syringe and a small bottle. He held
+the bottle to the light, and read the label: LIQUOR MORPHINAE. "Shake
+him again!" he commanded.
+
+None too gently, a policeman caught Jimmie Dale by the shoulder and
+shook him vigorously--again Jimmie Dale, once the other let go his hold,
+fell back limply on the bed, breathing in that same, slightly slowed
+way.
+
+"Larry the Bat, eh?" grunted Kline; then, to the officer who had
+volunteered the information: "Who's Larry the Bat? What is he? And how
+long have you known him?"
+
+"I don't know who he is any more than what you can see there for
+yourself," replied the officer. "He's a dope fiend, and I guess a pretty
+tough case, though we've never had him up for anything. He's lived here
+ever since I've been on the beat, and that's three years or--"
+
+"All right!" interrupted Kline crisply. "He's no good to us! You say
+there's an exit from this house into that saloon at the back?"
+
+"Yes, sir but the fellow, whoever he is, couldn't get away from there.
+Heeney's been over on guard from the start."
+
+"Then he's still inside there," said Kline, clipping off his words.
+"We'll search the saloon. Nice night's work this is! One out of the
+whole gang--and that one with the compliments of the Gray Seal!"
+
+The men went out and began to descend the stairs.
+
+"One," said Jimmie Dale to himself, still motionless, still breathing in
+that slow way so characteristic of the drug. "Two. Three. Four."
+
+The minutes went by--a quarter of an hour--a half hour. Still Jimmie
+Dale lay there--still motionless--still breathing with slow regularity.
+His muscles began to cramp, to give him exquisite torture. Around
+him all was silence--only distant sounds from the street reached
+him, muffled, and at intervals. Another quarter of an hour passed--an
+eternity of torment. It seemed to Jimmie Dale, for all his will power,
+that he could not hold himself in check, that he must move, scream out
+even in the torture that was passing all endurance. It was silent now,
+utterly silent--and then out of the silence, just outside his door, a
+footstep creaked--and a man walked to the stairs and went down.
+
+"Five," said Jimmie Dale to himself. "The sharpest man in the United
+States secret service."
+
+And then for the first time Jimmie Dale moved--to wipe away the beads of
+sweat that had sprung out upon his forehead.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+THE AFFAIR OF THE PUSHCART MAN
+
+
+Larry the Bat shambled out of the side door of the tenement into the
+back alleyway; shambled along the black alleyway to the street--and
+smiled a little grimly as a shadow across the roadway suddenly shifted
+its position. The game was growing acute, critical, desperate even--and
+it was his move.
+
+Larry the Bat, disreputable denizen of the underworld, alias Jimmie
+Dale, millionaires' clubman, alias the Gray Seal, whom Carruthers of the
+MORNING NEWS-ARGUS called the master criminal of the age, shuffled along
+in the direction of the Bowery, his hands plunged deep in the pockets
+of his frayed and tattered trousers, where his fingers, in a curious,
+wistful way, fondled the keys of his own magnificent residence on
+Riverside Drive. It was his move--and it was an impasse, ironical,
+sardonic, and it was worse--it was full of peril.
+
+True, he had outwitted Kline of the secret service two nights before,
+when Kline had raided the counterfeiters' den; true, he had no reason to
+believe that Kline suspected HIM specifically, but the man Kline wanted
+HAD entered the tenement that night, and since then the house had been
+shadowed day and night. The result was both simple and disastrous--to
+Jimmie Dale. Larry the Bat, a known inmate of the house, might come
+and go as he pleased--but to emerge from the Sanctuary in the person of
+Jimmie Dale would be fatal. Kline had been outwitted, but Kline had not
+acknowledged final defeat. The tenement had been searched from top to
+bottom--unostentatiously. His own room on the first landing had been
+searched the previous afternoon, when he was out, but they had failed to
+find the cunningly contrived opening in the floor under the oilcloth in
+the corner, an impromptu wardrobe, that would proclaim Larry the Bat and
+Jimmie Dale to be one and the same person--that would inevitably lead
+further to the establishment of his identity as the Gray Seal. In time,
+of course, the surveillance would cease--but he could not wait. That was
+the monumental irony of it--the factor that, all unknown to Kline, was
+forcing the issue hard now. It was his move.
+
+Since, years ago now, as the Gray Seal, he had begun to work with HER,
+that unknown, mysterious accomplice of his, and the police, stung to
+madness both by the virulent and constant attacks of the press and by
+the humiliating prod of their own failures, sought daily, high and low,
+with every resource at their command, for the Gray Seal, he had never
+been in quite so strange and perilous a plight as he found himself at
+that moment. To preserve inviolate the identity of Larry the Bat was
+absolutely vital to his safety. It was the one secret that even she, who
+so strangely appeared to know all else about him, he was sure, had not
+discovered--and it was just that, in a way, that had brought the present
+impossible situation to pass.
+
+In the month previous, in a lull between those letters of hers, he had
+set himself doggedly and determinedly to the renewed task of what had
+become so dominantly now a part of his very existence--the solving of
+HER identity. And for that month, as the best means to the end--means,
+however, that only resulted as futilely as the attempts that had gone
+before--he had lived mostly as Larry the Bat, returning to his home in
+his proper person only when occasion and necessity demanded it. He had
+been going home that evening, two nights before, walking along Riverside
+Drive, when from the window of the limousine she had dropped the letter
+at his feet that had plunged him into the affair of the Counterfeit
+Five--and he had not gone home! Eventually, to save himself, he had, in
+the Sanctuary, performing the transformation in desperate haste, again
+been forced to assume the role of Larry the Bat.
+
+That was really the gist of it. And yesterday morning he had remembered,
+to his dismay, that he had had little or no money left the night before.
+He had intended, of course, to replenish his supply--when he got home.
+Only he hadn't gone home! And now he needed money--needed it badly,
+desperately. With thousands in the bank, with abundance even in
+his safe, in his own den at home, a supply kept there always for an
+emergency, he was facing actual want--he rattled two dimes, a nickel,
+and a few odd pennies thoughtfully against the keys in his pocket.
+
+To a certain extent, old Jason, his butler, could be trusted. Jason even
+knew that mysterious letters of tremendous secretive importance came
+to the house, and the old man always meant well--but he dared not trust
+even Jason with the secret of his dual personality. What was he to do?
+He needed money imperatively--at once. Thanks to Kline, for the time
+being, at least, he could not rid himself of the personality of Larry
+the Bat by the simple expedient or slipping into the clothes of Jimmie
+Dale--he must live, act, and remain Larry the Bat until the secret
+service officer gave up the hunt. How bridge the gulf between Jimmie
+Dale and Larry the Bat in old Jason's eyes!
+
+Nor was that all. There was still another matter, and one that, in order
+to counteract it, demanded at once a serious inroad--to the extent of
+a telephone call--upon his slender capital. A too prolonged and
+unaccounted-for absence from home, and old Jason, in his anxious,
+blundering solicitude, would have the fat in the fire at that end--and
+the city, and the social firmament thereof, would be humming with the
+startling news of the disappearance of a well-known millionaire. The
+complications that would then ensue, with himself powerless to lift a
+finger, Jimmie Dale did not care to think about--such a contretemps must
+at all hazards be prevented.
+
+Jimmie Dale reached the corner of the street, where it intersected
+the Bowery, and paused languidly by the curb. No one appeared to be
+following. He had not expected that there would be--but it was as well
+to be sure. He walked then a few steps along the Bowery--and slipped
+suddenly into a doorway, from where he could command a view of the
+street corner that he had just left. At the end of ten minutes,
+satisfied that no one had any concern in his immediate movements, he
+shambled on again down the Bowery.
+
+There was a saloon two blocks away that boasted a private telephone
+booth. Jimmie Dale made that his destination.
+
+Larry the Bat was a very well-known character in that resort, and the
+bullet-headed dispenser of drinks behind the bar nodded unctuously to
+him over the heads of those clustered at the rail as he entered; Larry
+the Bat, as befitted one of the elite of the underworld, was graciously
+pleased to acknowledge the proletariat salutation with a curt nod. He
+walked down to the end of the room, entered the telephone booth--and was
+carelessly careful to close the door tightly behind him.
+
+He gave the number of his residence on Riverside Drive, and waited for
+the connection. After some delay, Jason's voice answered him.
+
+"Jason," said Jimmie Dale, in matter-of-fact tones, "I shall be out
+of the city for another three or four days, possibly a week, and--" he
+stopped abruptly, as a sort of gasp came to him over the wire.
+
+"Thank God that's you, sir!" exclaimed the old butler wildly. "I've been
+near mad, sir, all day!"
+
+"Don't get excited, Jason!" said Jimmie Dale a little sharply. "The mere
+matter of my absence for the last two days is nothing to cause you any
+concern. And while I am on the subject, Jason, let me say now that I
+shall be glad if you will bear that fact in mind in future."
+
+"Yes, sir," stammered Jason. "But, sir, it ain't that--good Lord, Master
+Jim, it ain't that, sir! It's--it's one of them letters."
+
+Something like a galvanic shock seemed to jerk the disreputable,
+loose-jointed frame of Larry the Bat suddenly erect--and a strained
+whiteness crept over the dirty, unwashed face.
+
+"Go on, Jason," said Jimmie Dale, without a quiver in his voice.
+
+"It came this morning, sir--that shuffer with his automobile left it.
+I had just time to say you weren't at home, sir, and he was gone. And
+then, sir, there ain't been an hour gone by all through the day that a
+woman, sir--a lady, begging your pardon, Master Jim--hasn't rung up
+on the telephone, asking if you were back, and if I could get you, and
+where you were, and half frantic, sir, half sobbing, sometimes, sir, and
+saying there was a life hanging on it, Master Jim."
+
+Larry the Bat, staring into the mouthpiece of the instrument,
+subconsciously passed his hand across his forehead, and subconsciously
+noted that his fingers, as he drew them away, were damp.
+
+"Where is the letter now, Jason?" inquired Jimmie Dale coolly.
+
+"Here on your desk, Master Jim. Shall I bring it to you?"
+
+Bring it to him! How? When? Where? Bring it to him! The ghastly irony
+of it! Jimmie Dale tried to think--prodding, spurring desperately that
+keen, lightning brain of his that had never failed him yet. How bridge
+the gulf between Larry the Bat and Jimmie Dale in Jason's eyes--not just
+for the replenishing of funds now, but with a life at stake!
+
+"No--I think not, Jason," said Jimmie Dale calmly. "Just leave it where
+it is. And if she telephones again, say that you have told me--that will
+be sufficient to satisfy any further inquiries. And Jason--"
+
+"Yes, sir?"
+
+"If she telephones again, try and find out where the call comes from."
+
+"I haven't forgotten what you said once, Master Jim, sir," said the old
+man eagerly. "And I've been trying that sir, all day. They've all come
+from different pay stations, sir."
+
+A mirthless little smile tinged Jimmie Dale's lips. Of course! He might
+have known! It was always that way, always the same. He was as near to
+the solution of her identity at that moment as he had been years ago,
+when she, in some mysterious way, alone of all the world, had identified
+him as the Gray Seal!
+
+"Very good, Jason," he said quietly. "Don't bother about it any more.
+It will be all right. You can expect me when you see me. Good-night." He
+hung the receiver on the hook, walked out of the booth, and mechanically
+reached the street.
+
+All right! It was far from "all right"--very far from it. It was no
+trivial thing, that letter; they never had been trivial things, those
+letters of hers, that involved so often a matter of life and death--as
+this one now, perhaps, as her actions would seem to indicate, involved
+life and death more urgently than any that had gone before. It was far
+from all right--at a moment when his own position, his own safety, was
+at best but a desperate chance; when his every energy, brain, wit, and
+cunning were taxed to the utmost to save himself! And yet, somehow, some
+way, at any cost, he must get that letter--and at any cost he must act
+upon it! To fail her was to fail utterly in everything that failure in
+its most miserable, its widest sense, implied--failure in that which
+rose paramount to every other consideration in life!
+
+Fail her! Jimmie Dale's lips thinned into a hard, drawn line--and then
+parted slowly in a curiously whimsical smile. It would be a strange
+burglary that he had decided upon, in order that he might not fail
+her--stranger than any the Gray Seal had ever committed, and, in some
+respects, even more perilous!
+
+He started along the Bowery, walking briskly now, toward the nearest
+subway station, at Astor Place, his mind for the moment electing to face
+the situation in a humour as whimsical as his smile. Supposing that,
+as Larry the Bat, he were caught and arrested during the next hour, in
+Jimmie's Dale's residence on Riverside Drive! With his arrest as Larry
+the Bat, Jimmie's Dale would automatically disappear. Would follow then
+the suspicion that Jimmie Dale, the millionaire, had met with foul play,
+and as time went on, and Jimmie Dale, being then in prison as Larry
+the Bat, did not reappear, the assurance of it; then the certainty
+that suspicion would focus on Larry the Bat as being connected with
+the millionaire's death, since Larry the Bat had been caught in Jimmie
+Dale's home--and he would be accused of his own murder! It was quite
+humourous, of course, quite grotesquely bizarre--but it was equally
+an exceedingly grim possibility! There were drawbacks to a dual
+personality!
+
+"In a word," confided Jimmie Dale softly to himself, and a serious light
+crept into the dark, steady eyes, "I'm in a bit of a nasty mess!"
+
+At Astor Place he entered the subway; at Fourteenth Street he changed
+to an express, and at Ninety-sixth Street he got out. It was but a short
+walk west to Riverside Drive, and from there his house was only a few
+blocks farther on.
+
+Jimmie Dale did not slouch now. And for all his disreputable attire,
+incongruous as it was in that neighbourhood, few people that he
+passed paid any attention to him, none gave him more than a casual
+glance--Jimmie Dale swung along, upright, with no attempt to make
+himself inconspicuous, hurrying a little, as one intent upon a definite
+errand. As he neared his house he slowed his pace a little until a
+couple, who were passing in front of it, had gone on; then he went up
+the steps, but noiselessly as a shadow now, to the front door, opened
+it softly, closed it softly behind him, and crouched for a moment in the
+vestibule.
+
+Through the monogrammed lace on the plate glass of the inner doors he
+could see, a little indistinctly, into the reception hall beyond. The
+hall was empty. Jason, for that matter, would be the only one likely to
+be about; the other servants would have no business there in any case,
+and whether in their quarters above or below, they had their own stairs
+at the rear.
+
+Jimmie Dale inserted the key in the spring lock, and opened the door
+a cautious fraction of an inch--to listen. There was no sound--yes,
+a subdued murmured--the servants were downstairs in the basement. He
+slipped inside, slipped, in a flash, across the hall, and, treading like
+a cat, went up the stairs. He scarcely seemed to breathe until, with a
+little sigh of relief, he stood inside his den on the first floor, with
+the door shut behind him.
+
+"I must speak to Jason about being a little more watchful," muttered
+Jimmie Dale facetiously. "Here's all my property at the mercy of--Larry
+the Bat!"
+
+An instant he stood by the door, looking about him--in the bright
+moonlight streaming in through the side windows the room's appointments
+stood out in soft shadows, the huge davenport, the great, luxurious
+easy-chairs, an easel with a half-finished canvas, as he had left it;
+the big, flat-topped, rosewood desk, the open fireplace--and then, his
+steps silent on the thick velvet rug under foot, he walked quickly to
+the desk.
+
+Yes, there it was--the letter. He placed it hurriedly in his pocket--the
+moonlight was not strong enough to read by, and he dared not turn on the
+lights.
+
+And now money--funds. In the alcove behind the portiere, Jimmie Dale
+dropped on his knees before the squat, barrel-shaped safe, and opened
+it. He reached inside, took out a package of banknotes, placed the bills
+in his pocket--and hesitated a moment. What else would he require? What
+act did that letter call upon the Gray Seal to perform in the next few
+hours? Jimmie Dale stared thoughtfully into the interior of the safe.
+Whatever it was, it must be performed in the role of Larry the Bat, for
+though he could get into his dressing room now, and become Jimmie Dale
+again, there were still those watchers outside the Sanctuary--THEY must
+not become suspicious--and if Larry the Bat disappeared mysteriously,
+Larry the Bat would be the man that Kline and the secret service of the
+United States would never cease hunting for, and that would mean that
+he could never reassume a character that was as necessary for his
+protection as breath was to life, so long as the Gray Seal worked. True,
+he could change now to Jimmie Dale, but he would have to change back
+again and return to the Sanctuary before morning, as Larry the Bat--and
+remain there until Kline, beaten, called off his human bloodhounds. No,
+a change was not to be thought of.
+
+What, then, would he require--that compact little kit of burglar tools,
+rolled in its leather jacket, that, unrolled slipped about his body like
+a close-fitting undervest? As well to take it anyway. He removed his
+coat and vest, took out the leather bundle from the safe, untied the
+thongs that bound it together, unrolled it, passed it around his body,
+life belt fashion, secured the thongs over his shoulders, and put on
+his coat and vest again. A revolver, a flashlight? He had both--at
+the Sanctuary, under the flooring--but there were duplicates here! He
+slipped them into his pockets. Anything else--to forestall and provide
+for any possible contingency? He hesitated again for a moment, thinking,
+then slowly closed the inner door of the safe, locked it, swung the
+outer door shut--and, in the act of twirling the knobs, sprang suddenly
+to his feet. Sharp, shrill in the stillness of the room, the telephone
+bell on the desk rang out clamourously.
+
+Jimmie Dale's face set hard, as he leaped out from behind the
+curtain--had Jason heard it! It rang again before he could reach the
+desk--was ringing as he snatched the receiver from the hook.
+
+"Yes, yes!" he called, in a low, guarded, hasty way, into the
+mouthpiece. "Hello! What is it?" And then one hand, resting on the desk,
+closed around the edge, and tightened until the skin over the knuckles
+grew ivory white. It was--SHE! She! It was HER voice--he had only heard
+it once in all his life--that night, two nights before, in a silvery
+laugh from the limousine as it had sped away from him down the road--but
+he knew! It thrilled him now with a mad rhapsody, robbing him for the
+moment of every thought save that she was living, real, existent--that
+it was HER voice. "It's you--YOU!" he said hoarsely.
+
+"Oh, Jimmie--you at last!"--it came in a little gasping cry of relief.
+"The letter--"
+
+"Yes, I've got it--it's all right--it's all right"--the words would
+not seem to come fast enough in his desperate haste. "But it's you now.
+Listen! Listen!" he pleaded. "Tell me who you are! My God! how I've
+tried to find you, and--"
+
+That rippling, silvery laugh again, but now, too, it seemed to his eager
+ear, with just the faintest note of wistfulness in it.
+
+"Some day, Jimmie. That letter now. It--"
+
+Jimmie Dale straightened up suddenly--Jason's steps, running, sounded
+outside the room along the corridor--there was not an instant to lose.
+
+"Hang up! Good-bye! Danger! Don't ring again!" he whispered hurriedly,
+and, with a miserable smile, replacing the receiver bitterly on the
+hook, he jumped for the curtain.
+
+He reached it none too soon. The door opened, an electric-light switch
+clicked, and the room was flooded with light. Jason, still running,
+headed for the desk.
+
+"It'll be her again!" Jimmie Dale heard the old man mutter, as from the
+edge of the portiere he watched the other's actions.
+
+Jason picked up the telephone.
+
+"Hello! Hello!" he called--then began to click impatiently with the
+receiver hook. "Hello! . . . Who? . . . Central? . . . I don't want
+any number--somebody was calling here. . . . What? . . . Nobody on the
+wire!"
+
+He set the telephone back on the desk with a bewildered air.
+
+"That's queer!" he exclaimed. "I could have sworn I heard it ring twice,
+and--" He stopped abruptly, and, leaning across the desk, hung there,
+wide-eyed, staring, while a sickly pallor began to steal into his face.
+"The letter!" he mumbled wildly. "The letter--Master Jim's letter--the
+letter--it's GONE!"
+
+Trembling, excited, the old man began to search the desk, then down on
+his knees on the floor under it; and then, growing more frantic with
+every instant, rose and began to hunt around the room in an agitated,
+aimless fashion.
+
+Jason's distress was very real--he was almost beside himself now with
+fear and anxiety. A whimsical, affectionate smile played over Jimmie
+Dale's lips at the old man's antics--and changed suddenly into one of
+consternation. Jason was making directly now for the curtain behind
+which he stood! Perhaps, though, he would pass it by, and--Jason's hand
+reached out and grasped the portiere.
+
+"Jason!" said Jimmie Dale sharply.
+
+The old man staggered back as though he had been struck, tried to speak,
+choked, and gazed at the curtain with distended eyes.
+
+"Is--is that you, sir--Master Jim--behind the curtain there?" he finally
+blurted out. "I--sir--you gave me a start--and the letter, Master Jim--"
+
+"Don't lose your head, Jason," said Jimmie Dale coolly. "I've got the
+letter. Now do as I bid you."
+
+"Yes--Master Jim," faltered the old man.
+
+"Pull down the window shades and draw the portiere together," directed
+Jimmie Dale.
+
+Jason, still overwrought and excited, obeyed a little awkwardly.
+
+"Now the lights, Jason," instructed Jimmie Dale. "Turn them off, and go
+and sit down in that chair at the desk."
+
+Again Jason obeyed, stumbling in the darkness as he returned from the
+electric-light switch at the farther end of the room. He sat down in the
+chair.
+
+Larry the Bat stepped out from behind the curtain. "I came for that
+letter, Jason," he explained quietly. "I am going out again now. I may
+be back to-morrow; I may not be back for a week. You will say nothing,
+not a word, of my having been here to-night. Do you understand, Jason?"
+
+"Yes, sir," said Jason; then hesitantly: "Would you mind saying, sir,
+when you came in?"
+
+"It's of no consequence, Jason--is it?"
+
+"No, sir," said Jason.
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled in the darkness.
+
+"Jason!"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"I wish you to remain where you are, without leaving that chair, for the
+next ten minutes." He moved across the room to the door. "Good-night,
+Jason," he said.
+
+"Good-night, Master Jim--good-night, sir--oh, Lord!"
+
+Jimmie Dale did not require that ten minutes; it was a very wide margin
+of safety to obviate the possibility of Jason, from a window, detecting
+the exit of a disreputable character from the house--in three minutes
+he was turning the corner of the first cross street and walking rapidly
+away from Riverside Drive.
+
+In the subway station Jimmie Dale read the letter--read it twice over,
+as he always read those strange epistles of hers that opened the door to
+new peril, new danger to the Gray Seal, but too, that seemed somehow to
+draw tighter, in a glad, big way, the unseen bond between them; read it,
+as he always read those letters, almost subconsciously committing the
+very words to memory with that keen faculty of brain of his. But now
+as he began to tear the sheet and envelope into minute particles, a
+strained, hard look was on his face and in his eyes, and his lips, half
+parted, moved a little.
+
+"It's a death warrant," muttered Jimmie Dale. "I--I guess to-night will
+see the end of the Gray Seal. She says I needn't do it, but I guess it's
+worth the risk--a human life!"
+
+A downtown express roared into the station.
+
+"What time is it?" Jimmie Dale asked the guard, as he stepped aboard.
+
+"'Bout midnight," the man answered tersely.
+
+The forward car was almost empty, and Jimmie Dale chose a seat by
+himself. How did she know? How did she know not only this, but the
+hundred other affairs that she had outlined in those letters of hers? By
+what means, superhuman, indeed, it seemed, did she--Jimmie Dale jerked
+himself erect suddenly. What good did it do to speculate on that now,
+when every minute was priceless? What was HE to do, how was he to act,
+what plan could he formulate and carry out, and WIN against odds that,
+at the outset, were desperate enough even to forecast almost certain
+failure--and death!
+
+Who would ever have suspected old Tom Ludgate, known for years
+throughout the squalour of the East Side as old Luddy, the pushcart man,
+of having a bag of unset diamonds under his pillow--or under the sack,
+rather, that he probably used for a pillow! What a queer thing to do!
+But then, old Luddy was a character--apparently always in the most
+poverty-stricken condition, apparently hardly more than keeping body
+and soul together, trusting no one, and obsessed by the dread that by
+depositing in a bank some one would discover that he had money, and
+attempt to force it from him, he had put his savings, year after
+year, for twenty years, twenty-five years, perhaps, into unset
+stone--diamonds. How had she found that out?
+
+Jimmie Dale sank into a deeper reverie. He could steal them all right,
+and they would be well worth the stealing--old Luddy had done well, and
+lived and existed on next to nothing--the stones, she said, were worth
+about fifteen thousand dollars. Not so bad, even for twenty-five years
+of vegetable selling from a pushcart! He could steal them all right; it
+would tax the Gray Seal's ingenuity little to do so simple a thing as
+that, but that was not all, nor, indeed, hardly a factor in it--it was
+vital that if he were to succeed at all he must steal them PUBLICLY, as
+it were.
+
+And after that--WHAT? His own chances were pretty slim at best. Jimmie
+Dale, staring at the grayness of the subway wall through the window,
+shook his head slowly--then, with a queer little philosophical shrug of
+his shoulders, he smiled gravely, seriously. It was all a part of the
+game, all a part of the life--of the Gray Seal!
+
+It was half-past twelve, or a little later, as nearly as he could judge,
+for Larry the Bat carried no such ornate thing in evidence as a watch,
+as he halted at the corner of a dark, squalid street in the lower
+East Side. It was a miserable locality--in daylight humming with a
+cosmopolitan hive of pitiful humans dragging out as best they could
+an intolerable existence, a locality peopled with every nationality on
+earth, their community of interest the struggle to maintain life at the
+lowest possible expenditure, where necessity even was pared and
+shaved down to a minimum; but now, at night time, or rather in the
+early-morning hours, the darkness, in very mercy, it seemed, covered it
+with a veil, as it were, and in the quiet that hung over it now hid the
+bald, the hideous, aye, and the piteous, too, from view.
+
+It was a narrow street, and the row of tenement houses, each house
+almost identical with its neighbour, that flanked the pavement on either
+side, seemed, from where Jimmie Dale stood looking down its length, from
+the corner, to converge together at a point a little way beyond,
+giving it an unreal, ominous, cavernlike effect. And, too, there seemed
+something ominous even in its quiet. It was as though one sensed acutely
+the crouching of some Thing in its lair--waiting silently, viciously,
+with sullen patience.
+
+A footstep sounded--another. Jimmie Dale drew quickly back around the
+corner into an areaway. Two men passed--in helmets--swinging their
+nightsticks--that beat was always policed in pairs!
+
+They passed on, turned the corner, and went down the narrow cross street
+that Jimmie Dale had just been inspecting. He started to follow--and
+drew back again abruptly. A form flitted suddenly across the road and
+disappeared in the darkness in the officers' wake--ten yards behind
+the first another followed--at the same interval of distance still
+another--and yet still one more--four in all.
+
+The darkness hid all six, the two policemen, the four men behind
+them--the only sounds were the OFFICERS' footsteps dying away in the
+distance.
+
+Jimmie Dale's fingers were mechanically testing the mechanism of the
+automatic in his pocket.
+
+"The Skeeter's gang!" he muttered to himself. "Red Mose, the Midget,
+Harve Thoms--and the Skeeter! The Worst apaches in the city of New York;
+death contractors--the lowest bidders! Professional assassins, and a
+man's life any time for twenty-five dollars! I wonder--I've never
+done it yet--but I wonder if it would be a crime in God's sight if one
+shot--to KILL!"
+
+Jimmie Dale was at the corner again--again the street before him was
+black, deserted, empty. He chose the right hand side, and, well in the
+shadow of the houses, as an extra precaution, stole along silently. He
+stopped finally before one where, in the doorway, hung a little sign.
+Jimmie Dale mounted the porch, and with his eyes close to the sign could
+just make out the larger words in the big printed type:
+
+
+ROOM TO RENT
+
+TOP FLOOR
+
+
+Jimmie Dale nodded. That was right. The first house on the right-hand
+side, with the room-to-rent sign, her letter had said. His fingers were
+testing the doorknob. The door was not locked.
+
+"Naturally, it wouldn't be locked," Jimmie Dale told himself grimly--and
+stepped inside.
+
+He stood for an instant without movement, every faculty on the alert.
+Far up above him a step, guarded though his trained ear made it out
+to be, creaked faintly upon the stairs--there was no other sound. The
+creaking, almost inaudible at its loudest, receded farther up--and
+silence fell.
+
+In the darkness, noiselessly, Jimmie Dale groped for the stairway, found
+it, and began to ascend. The minutes passed--it seemed a minute even
+from step to step, and there were three flights to the top! There must
+be no creaking this time--the slightest sound, he knew well enough,
+would be not only fatal to the work he had to do, but probably fatal to
+himself as well. He had been near death many times--the consciousness
+that he was nearer to it now, possibly, than he had ever been before,
+seemed to stimulate his senses into acute and abnormal energy. And, too,
+the physical effort, as, step by step, the flexed muscles relaxing so
+slowly, little by little, gradually, each time as he found foothold
+on the step higher up, was a terrific strain. At the top his face was
+bathed in perspiration, and he wiped it off with his coat sleeve.
+
+It was still dark here, intensely dark, and his eyes, though grown
+accustomed to it, could make out nothing but the deeper shadow of the
+walls. But thanks to her, always a mistress of accurate and minute
+detail, he possessed a mental plan of his surroundings. The head of the
+stairs gave on the middle of the hallway--the hallway ran to his right
+and left. To his right, on the opposite side of the hall, was the door
+of old Luddy's squalid two-room apartment.
+
+For a moment Jimmie Dale stood hesitant--a sudden perplexity and anxiety
+growing upon him. It was strange! What did it mean? He had nerved
+himself to a quick, desperate attempt, trusting to surprise and his own
+wit and agility for victory--there had seemed no other way than that,
+since he had seen those four men at the corner--since they were AHEAD
+of him. True, they were not much ahead of him, not enough to have
+accomplished their purpose--and, furthermore, they were not in that
+room. He knew that absolutely, beyond question of doubt. He had listened
+for just that all the nerve-racking way up the stairs. But where
+were they? There was no sound--not a sound--just blackness, dark,
+impenetrable, utter, that began to palpitate now.
+
+It came in a whisper, wavering, sibilant--from his left. A sort of
+relief, fierce in the breaking of the tense expectancy, premonitory in
+the possibilities that it held, swept Jimmie Dale. He crept along the
+hall. The whisper had come from that room, presumably empty--that was
+for rent!
+
+By the door he crouched--his sensitive fingers, eyes to Jimmie Dale so
+often--feeling over jamb and panels with a delicate, soundless touch.
+The door was just ajar. The fingers crept inside and touched the knob
+and lock--there was no key within.
+
+The whispering still went on--but it seemed like a screaming of vultures
+now in Jimmie Dale's ears, as the words came to him.
+
+"Aw, say, Skeeter, dis high-brow stunt gives me de pip! Me fer goin' in
+dere an' croakin' de geezer reg'lar, widout de frills. Who's to know?
+Say, just about two minutes, an' we're beatin' it wid de sparklers."
+
+An inch, a half inch at a time, the knob slowly, very, very slowly
+turning, the door was being closed by the crouched form on the
+threshold.
+
+"Close yer trap, Mose!" came a fierce response. "We ain't fixed the
+lay all day for nothin'. There ain't a soul on earth knows he's got any
+sparklers, 'cept us. If there was, it would be different--then they'd
+know that was what whoever did it was after, see?"
+
+The door was closed--the knob slowly, very, very slowly being released
+again. From one of the leather pockets under Jimmie Dale's vest came a
+tiny steel instrument that he inserted in the key-hole.
+
+The same voice spoke on:
+
+"That's what we're croaking him for, 'cause nobody knows about them
+diamonds, and so's he can't TELL anybody afterward that any were
+pinched. An' that's why it's got to look like he just got tired of
+living and did it himself. I guess that'll hold the police when they
+find the poor old duck hanging from the ceiling, with a bit of cord
+around his neck, and a chair kicked out from under his feet on the
+floor. Ain't you got the brains of a louse to see that?"
+
+"Sure"--the whisper came dully, in grudging intonation through the
+panels--the door was locked. "Sure, but it's de hangin' 'round waitin'
+to get busy that's gettin' me goat, an'--"
+
+Jimmie Dale straightened up and began to retreat along the corridor.
+A merciless rage was upon him now, every fiber of his being seemed to
+tingle and quiver with it--the damnable, hellish ingenuity of it all
+seemed to choke and suffocate him.
+
+"Luck!" muttered Jimmie Dale between his clenched teeth. "Oh, the
+blessed luck to get that door locked! I've got time now to set the stage
+for my own get-away before the showdown!"
+
+He stole on along the corridor. Excerpts from her letter were running
+through his brain: "It would do no good to warn him, Jimmie--the Skeeter
+and his gang would never let up on him until they got the stones. . . .
+It would do no good for you to steal them first, for they would only
+take that as a ruse of old Luddy's, and murder the man first and hunt
+afterward. . . . In some way you must let the Skeeter SEE you steal
+them, make them think, make them certain that it is a bona-fide theft,
+so that they will no longer have any interest or any desire to do old
+Luddy harm. . . . And for it to appear real to them, it must appear real
+to old Luddy himself--do not take any chances there."
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes narrowed. Yes, it was simple enough now with that
+pack of hell's wolves guarded for the moment by a locked door, forced to
+give him warning by breaking the door before they could get out. It was
+simple enough now to enter old Luddy's room, steal the stones at the
+revolver point, then make enough disturbance--when he was ready--to set
+the gang in motion, and, as they rushed in open him, to make his escape
+with the stones to the roof through Luddy's room. That was simple
+enough--there was an opening to the roof in Luddy's room, she had said,
+and there was a ladder kept there in place. On hot nights, it seemed,
+the old man used to go up there and sleep on the roof--not now, of
+course. It was too late in the year for that--but the opening in the
+roof was there, and the ladder remained there, too.
+
+Yes, it was simple enough now. And the next morning the papers would
+rave with execrations against the Gray Seal--for the robbery of the
+life savings of a poor, defenseless old man, for committing as vile and
+pitiful a crime as had ever stirred New York! Even Carruthers, of
+the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, would be moved to bitter attack. Good old
+Carruthers--who little thought that the Gray Seal was his old college
+pal, his present most intimate friend, Jimmie Dale! And afterward--after
+the next morning? Well, that, at least, had never been in doubt. Old
+Luddy could be made to leave New York, and, once away, with the Skeeter
+and his gang robbed of incentive to pay any further attention to him,
+the stones could be secretly returned to the old man. And it would
+to the public, to the police, be just another of the Gray Seal's
+crimes--that was all!
+
+Jimmie Dale had reached old Luddy's door. The Gray Seal? Oh, yes, they
+would know it was the Gray Seal--the insignia was familiar enough;
+familiar to the crooks of the underworld, who held it in awe; familiar
+to the police, to whom it was an added barb of ridicule. He was placing
+it now, that insignia, a diamond-shaped, gray paper seal, on the panel
+of the door; and now, a black silk mask adjusted over his face, Jimmie
+Dale bent to insert the little steel instrument in the lock--a pitiful,
+paltry thing, a cheap lock, to fingers that could play so intimately
+with twirling knobs and dials, masters of the intricate mechanism of
+vaults and safes!
+
+And then, about to open the door, a sort of sudden dismay fell upon him.
+He had not thought of that--somehow, it had not occurred to him! WHAT
+WAS IT THEY WERE WAITING FOR? Why had they not struck at once, as, when
+he had first entered the house, he had supposed they would do? What was
+it? Why was it? Was old Luddy out? Were they waiting for his return--or
+what?
+
+The door, without sound, moved gradually under his hand. A faint odor
+assailed his nostrils! It was dark, very dark. Across the room, in a
+direct line, was the doorway of the inner room--she had explained that
+in her letter. It was slow progress to cross that room without sound,
+in silence--it was a snail's movement--for fear that even a muscle might
+crack.
+
+And now he stood in the inner doorway. It was dark here, to--and yet,
+how bizarre, a star seemed to twinkle through the very roof of the room
+itself! The odour was pungent now. There was a long-drawn sigh--then a
+low, indescribable sound of movement. SOMEBODY, APART FROM OLD LUDDY,
+WAS IN THE ROOM!
+
+It swept, the full consciousness of it, upon Jimmie Dale in an
+instantaneous flash. Chloroform; the open scuttle in the roof; the
+waiting of those others--all fused into a compact logical whole. They
+had loosened the scuttle during the day, probably when old Luddy was
+away--one of them had crept down there now to chloroform the old man
+into insensibility--the others would complete the ghastly work presently
+by stringing their victim up to the ceiling--and it would be suicide,
+for, long before morning came, long before the old man would be
+discovered, the fumes of the chloroform would be gone.
+
+It seemed like a cold hand, deathlike, clutching at his heart. Was he
+too late, after all! Chloroform alone could--kill! To the right, just a
+little to the right--he must make no mistake--his ear placed the sound!
+He whipped his hands from the side pockets of his coat--the ray of his
+flashlight cut across the room and fell upon an aged face upon a bed,
+upon a hand clutching a wad of cloth, the cloth pressed horribly against
+the nose and mouth of the upturned face--and then, roaring in the
+stillness, spitting a vicious lane of fire that paralleled the
+flashlight's ray, came the tongue flame of his automatic.
+
+There was a yell, a scream, that echoed out, reverberated, and went
+racketing through the house, and Jimmie Dale leaped forward--over a
+table, sending it crashing to the floor. The man had reeled back against
+the wall, clutching at a shattered wrist, staring into the flashlight's
+eye, white-faced, jaw dropped, lips working in mingled pain and fear.
+
+"Harve Thoms--you, eh?" gritted Jimmie Dale.
+
+A cunning look swept the distorted face. Here, apparently, was only one
+man--there were pals, three of them, only a few yards away.
+
+"You ain't got nothing on me!" he snarled, sparring for time. "You
+police are too damned fresh with your guns!"
+
+"I'll take yours!" snapped Jimmie Dale, and snatched it deftly from the
+other's pocket. "This ain't any police job, my bucko, and you make
+a move and I'll drop you for keeps, if what you've got already ain't
+enough to teach you to keep your hands off jobs that belong to your
+betters!"
+
+He was working with mad haste as he spoke. One minute at the outside
+was, perhaps, all he could count upon. Already he had caught the rattle
+of the locked door down the hall. He lit a match and turned on the gas
+over the bed--it was the most dangerous thing he could do--he knew that
+well enough, none knew it better--it was offering himself as a fair
+mark when the others rushed in, as they would in a moment now--but the
+Skeeter and his gang and this man here must have no misconception of his
+purpose, his reason for being there, the same as their own, the theft of
+the stones--and no misconception as to his SUCCESS.
+
+"Y'ain't the police!"--it came in a choked gasp from the other, as he
+blinked in the sudden light "Say then--"
+
+"Shut up!" ordered Jimmie Dale curtly. "And mind what I told you about
+moving!" He leaned over the bed. Old Luddy, though under the influence
+of the chloroform, was moving restlessly. Thoms had evidently only begun
+to apply the chloroform--old Luddy was safe! Jimmie Dale ran his hand
+in under the pillow. "If you ain't swiped them already they ought to be
+here!" he growled; "and if you have I'll--ah!" A little chamois bag was
+in his hand. He laughed sneeringly at Thoms, opened the bag, allowed
+a few stones to trickle into his hand--and then, without stopping to
+replace them, dashed stones and bag into his pocket. The door along the
+corridor crashed open.
+
+"What's that?" he gasped out, in well-simulated fright--and sprang for
+the ladder that led up to the roof.
+
+It had all taken, perhaps, the minute that he had counted on--no more.
+Noises came from the floors below now, a confusion of them--the shot,
+the scream had been heard by others, save those who had been in the
+locked room. And the latter were outside now in the corridor, running to
+their accomplice's aid.
+
+There was a pause at the outer door--then an oath--and coupled with the
+oath an exclamation:
+
+"The Gray Seal!"
+
+They had swept a flashlight over the door panel--Jimmie Dale, halfway up
+the ladder, smiled grimly.
+
+The door opened--there was a rush of feet. The man with the shattered
+wrist yelled, cursing wildly:
+
+"Here he is--on the ladder! Let him have it! Fill him full of holes!"
+
+Jimmie Dale was in the light--they were in the dark of the outer room.
+He fired at the threshold, checking their rush--as a hail of bullets
+chipped and tore at the ladder and spat wickedly against the wall. He
+swung through to the roof, trying, as he did so, to kick the ladder
+loose behind him. It was fastened!
+
+The three gunmen jumped into the room--from the roof Jimmie Dale got a
+glimpse of them below, as he flung himself clear of the opening. Bullets
+whistled through the aperture--a voice roared up as he gained his feet:
+
+"Come on! After him! The whole place is alive, but this lets us out.
+We can frame up how we came to be here easy enough. Never mind the old
+geezer there any more! Get the Gray Seal--the reward that's out for him
+is worth twice the sparklers, and--"
+
+Jimmie Dale hurled the cover over the scuttle. He could have stood them
+off from above and kept the ladder clear with his revolver, but the
+alarm seemed general now--windows were opening, voices were calling to
+one another--from the windows across the street he must stand out in
+sharp outline against the sky. Yes--he was seen now.
+
+A woman's voice, from a top-story window across the street, screamed
+out, high-pitched in excitement:
+
+"There he is! There he is! On the roof there!"
+
+Jimmie Dale started on the run along the roof. The houses, built wall to
+wall, flat-roofed, seemed to offer an open course ahead of him--until
+a lane or an intersecting street should bar his way! But they were not
+quite all on the same level, though--the wall of the next house rose
+suddenly breast high in front of him. He flung himself up, regained his
+feet--and ducked instantly behind a chimney.
+
+The crack of a revolver echoed through the night--a bullet drummed
+through the air--the Skeeter and his gang were on the roof now, dashing
+forward, firing as they ran. Two shots from Jimmie Dale's automatic, in
+quick succession cooled the ardour of their rush--and they broke, black,
+flitting forms, for the shelter of chimneys, too.
+
+And now the whole neighbourhood seemed awakened. A dull-toned roar,
+as from some great gulf below, rolled up from the street, a medley of
+slamming windows, the rush of feet as people poured from the houses,
+cries, shouts, and yells--and high over all the shrill call of the
+police-patrol whistle--and the CRACK, CRACK, CRACK of the Skeeter's
+revolver shots--the Skeeter and his hellhounds for once self-appointed
+allies of the law!
+
+Twice again Jimmie Dale fired--then crouching, running low, he zigzagged
+his way across the next roof. The bullets followed him--once more his
+pursuers dashed forward. And again Jimmie Dale, his face set like stone
+now, his breath coming in hard gasps, dodged behind a chimney, and with
+his gun checked their rush for the third time.
+
+He glanced about him--and with a growing sense of disaster saw that two
+houses farther on the stretch of roof appeared to end. There would be
+a lane or a street there! And in another minute or two, if it were not
+already the case, others would be following the gunmen to the roof,
+and then he would be--he caught his breath suddenly in a queer little
+strangled cry of relief. Just back of him, a few yards away, his eyes
+made out what, in the darkness, seemed to be a glass skylight.
+
+A dark form sped like a deeper shadow across the black in front of
+him, making for a chimney nearer by, closing in the range. Jimmie Dale
+fired--wide. Tight as was the corner he was in, little as was the
+mercy deserved at his hands, he could not, after all, bring himself to
+shoot--to kill.
+
+A voice, the Skeeter's, bawled out raucously:
+
+"Rush him all together--from different sides at once!"
+
+A backward leap! Jimmie Dale's boot was crashing glass and frame,
+stamping at it desperately, making a hole for his body through the
+skylight. A yell, a chorus of them, answered this--then the crunch of
+racing feet on the gravel roof. He emptied his revolver, sweeping the
+darkness with a semicircle of vicious flashes.
+
+It seemed an hour--it was barely the fraction of a second, as he hung
+by his hands from the side of the skylight frame, his body swinging
+back and forth in the unknown blackness below. The skylight might
+be, probably was, directly over the stair well, and open clear to the
+basement of the house--but it was his only chance. He swung his body
+well out, let go--and dropped. With the impetus he smashed against a
+wall, was flung back from it in a sort of rebound, and his hands closed,
+gripping fiercely, on banisters. It had been the stair well beyond any
+question of doubt, but his swing had sent him clear of it.
+
+Above, they had not yet reached the skylight. Jimmie Dale snatched a
+precious moment to listen, as he rose, and found himself, apart from
+bruises, perhaps unhurt. There was commotion, too, in this house below,
+the alarm had extended and spread along the block--but the commotion was
+all in the FRONT of the house--the street was the lure.
+
+Jimmie Dale started down the stairs, and in an instant he had gained the
+landing. In another he had slipped to the rear of the hall--somewhere
+there, from the hall itself, from one of the rear rooms, there must be
+an exit to the fire escape. To attempt to leave by the front way was
+certain capture.
+
+They were yelling, shouting down now through the sky-light above, as
+Jimmie Dale softly raised the window sash at the rear of the hall. The
+fire escape was there. Shouts from along the corridor, from the tenement
+dwellers who had been crowding their neighbours' rooms, craning their
+necks probably from the front windows, answered the shouts now from the
+roof and the skylight; doors opened; forms rushed out--but it was dark
+in the corridor, only a murky yellow at the upper end from the opened
+doors.
+
+Jimmie Dale slipped through the window to the fire escape, and, working
+cautiously, silently, but with the speed of a trained athlete, made his
+way down. At the bottom he dropped from the iron platform into the back
+yard, ran for the fence and climbed over into a lane on the other side.
+
+And then, as he ran, Jimmie Dale snatched the mask from his face and
+put it in his pocket. He was safe now. He swept the sweat drops from his
+forehead with the back of his hand--noticing them for the first time.
+It had been close--almost as close for him as it had been for old Luddy.
+And to-morrow the papers would execrate the Gray Seal! He smiled a
+little wanly. His breath was still coming hard. Presently they would
+scour the lane--when they found that their quarry was not in the house.
+What a racket they were making! The whole district seemed roused like a
+swarm of angry bees.
+
+He kept on along the lane--and dodged suddenly into a cross street where
+the two intersected. The clang of a bell dinned discordantly in
+his ears--a patrol wagon swept by him, racing for the scene of the
+disturbance--the riot call was out!
+
+Again Jimmie Dale smiled wearily, passing his hand across his eyes.
+
+"I guess," said Jimmie Dale, "I'm pretty near all in. And I guess it's
+time that Larry the Bat went--home."
+
+And a little later a figure turned from the Bowery and shambled down
+the cross street, a disreputable figure, with hands plunged deep in his
+pockets--and a shadow across the roadway suddenly shifted its position
+as the shambling figure slouched into the black alleyway and entered the
+tenement's side door.
+
+And Larry the Bat smiled softly to himself--Kline's men were still on
+guard!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+DEVIL'S WORK
+
+
+A white-gloved arm, a voice, and a silvery laugh! Just that--no more!
+Jimmie Dale, in his favourite seat, an aisle seat some seven or eight
+rows back from the orchestra, stared at the stage, to all outward
+appearances absorbed in the last act of the play; inwardly, quite
+oblivious to the fact that even a play was going on.
+
+A white-gloved arm, a voice, and a silvery laugh! The words had formed
+themselves into a sort of singsong refrain that, for the last few days,
+had been running through his head. A strange enough guiding star to
+mould and dictate every action in his life! And that was all he had ever
+seen of her, all that he had ever heard of her--except those letters,
+of course, each of which had outlined the details of some affair for the
+Gray Seal to execute.
+
+Indeed, it seemed a great length of time now since he had heard from her
+even in that way, though it was not so many days ago, after all. Perhaps
+it was the calm, as it were, that, by contrast, had given place to the
+strenuous months and weeks just past. The storm raised by the newspapers
+at the theft of Old Luddy's diamonds had subsided into sporadic
+diatribes aimed at the police; Kline, of the secret service, had finally
+admitted defeat, and a shadow no longer skulked day and night at
+the entrance to the Sanctuary--and Larry the Bat bore the government
+indorsement, so to speak, of being no more suspicious a character than
+that of a disreputable, but harmless, dope fiend of the underworld.
+
+Larry the Bat! The Gray Seal! Jimmie Dale the millionaire! What if it
+were ever known that that strange three were one! What if--Jimmie Dale
+smiled whimsically. A burst of applause echoed through the house, the
+orchestra was playing, the lights were on, seats banged, there was the
+bustle of the rising audience, the play was at an end--and for the life
+of him he could not have remembered a single line of the last act!
+
+The aisle at his elbow was already crowded with people on their way out.
+Jimmie Dale stooped down mechanically to reach for his hat beneath his
+seat--and the next instant he was standing up, staring wildly into the
+faces around him.
+
+It had fallen at his feet--a white envelope. Hers! It was in his hand
+now, those slim, tapering, wonderfully sensitive fingers of Jimmie
+Dale, that were an "open sesame" to locks and safes, subconsciously
+telegraphing to his mind the fact that the texture of the paper--was
+hers. Hers! And she must be one of those around him--one of those
+crowding either the row of seats in front or behind, or one of those
+just passing in the aisle. It had fallen at his feet as he had stooped
+over for his hat--but from just exactly what direction he could not
+tell. His eyes, eagerly, hungrily, critically, swept face after face.
+Which one was hers? What irony! She, whom he would have given his
+life to know, for whom indeed he risked his life every hour of the
+twenty-four, was close to him now, within reach--and as far removed as
+though a thousand miles separated them. She was there--but he could not
+recognise a face that he had never seen!
+
+With an effort, he choked back the bitter, impotent laugh that rose to
+his lips. They were talking, laughing around him. Her VOICE--yes, he
+had once heard that, and that he would recognise again. He strained to
+catch, to individualise the tone sounds that floated in a medley about
+him. It was useless--of course--every effort that he had ever made
+to find her had been useless. She was too clever, far too clever for
+that--she, too, would know that he could and would recognise her voice
+where he could recognise nothing else.
+
+And then, suddenly, he realised that he was attracting attention. Level
+stares from the women returned his gaze, and they edged away a little
+from his vicinity as they passed, their escorts crowding somewhat
+belligerently into their places. Others, in the same row of seats as his
+own, were impatiently waiting to get by him. With a muttered apology,
+Jimmie Dale raised the seat of his chair, allowing these latter to pass
+him--and then, slipping the letter into his pocketbook, he snatched up
+his hat from the seat rack.
+
+There was still a chance. Knowing he was there, she would be on her
+guard; but in the lobby, among the crowd and unaware of his presence,
+there was the possibility that, if he could reach the entrance ahead of
+her, she, too, might be talking and laughing as she left the theatre.
+Just a single word, just a tone--that was all he asked.
+
+The row of seats at whose end he stood was empty now, and, instead of
+stepping into the thronged aisle, he made his way across to the opposite
+side of the theatre. Here, the far aisle was less crowded, and in a
+minute he had gained the foyer, confident that he was now in advance of
+her. The next moment he was lost in a jam of people in the lobby.
+
+He moved slowly now, very slowly--allowing those behind to press by
+him on the way to the entrance. A babel of voices rose about him,
+as, tight-packed, the mass of people jostled, elbowed, and pushed
+good-naturedly. It was a voice now, her voice, that he was listening
+for; but, though it seemed that every faculty was strained and intent
+upon that one effort, his eyes, too, had in no degree relaxed their
+vigilance--and once, half grimly, half sardonically, he smiled to
+himself. There would be an unexpected aftermath to this exodus
+of expensively gowned and bejewelled women with their prosperous,
+well-groomed escorts! There was the Wowzer over there--sleek, dapper,
+squirming in and out of the throng with the agility and stealth of a
+cat. As Larry the Bat he had met the Wowzer many times, as indeed he
+had met and was acquainted with most of the elite of the underworld.
+The Wowzer, beyond a shadow of doubt, in his own profession stood upon
+a plane entirely by himself--among those qualified to speak, no one yet
+had ever questioned the Wowzer's claim to the distinction of being the
+most dexterous and finished "poke getter" in the United States!
+
+The crowd thinned in the lobby, thinned down to the last few belated
+stragglers, who passed him as he still loitered in the entrance; and
+then Jimmie Dale, with a shrug of his shoulders that was a great
+deal more philosophical than the maddening sense of chagrin and
+disappointment that burned within him, stepped out to the pavement and
+headed down Broadway. After all, he had known it in his heart of hearts
+all the time--it had always been the same--it was only one more occasion
+added to the innumerable ones that had gone before in which she had
+eluded him!
+
+And now--there was the letter! Automatically he quickened his steps a
+little. It was useless, futile, profitless, for the moment, at least, to
+disturb himself over his failure--there was the letter! His lips parted
+in a strange, half-serious, half-speculative smile. The letter--that
+was paramount now. What new venture did the night hold in store for
+him? What sudden emergency was the Gray Seal called upon to face this
+time--what role, unrehearsed, without warning, must he play? What story
+of grim, desperate rascality would the papers credit him with
+when daylight came? Or would they carry in screaming headlines the
+announcement that the Gray Seal was caged and caught at last, and in
+three-inch type tell the world that the Gray Seal was--Jimmie Dale!
+
+A block down, he turned from Broadway out of the theatre crowds that
+streamed in both directions past him. The letter! Almost feverishly
+now he was seeking an opportunity to open and read it unobserved; an
+eagerness upon him that mingled exhilaration at the lure of danger
+with a sense of premonition that, irritably, inevitably was with him
+at moments such as these. It seemed, it always seemed, that, with an
+unopened letter of hers in his possession, it was as though he were
+about to open a page in the Book of Fate and read, as it were, a
+pronouncement upon himself that might mean life or death.
+
+He hurried on. People still passed by him--too many. And then a cafe,
+just ahead, making a corner, gave him the opportunity that he sought.
+Away from the entrance, on the side street, the brilliant lights from
+the windows shone out on a comparatively deserted pavement. There was
+ample light to read by, even as far away from the window as the curb,
+and Jimmie Dale, with an approving nod, turned the corner and walked
+along a few steps until opposite the farthest window--but, as he halted
+here at the edge of the street, he glanced quickly behind him at a man
+whom he had just passed. The other had paused at the corner and was
+staring down the street. Jimmie Dale instantly and nonchalantly produced
+his cigarette case, selected a cigarette, and fastidiously tapped its
+end on his thumb nail.
+
+"Inspector Burton in plain clothes," he observed musingly to himself. "I
+wonder if it's just a fluke--or something else? We'll see."
+
+Jimmie Dale took a box of matches from his pocket. The first would not
+light. The second broke, and, with an exclamation of annoyance, he flung
+it away. The third was making a fitful effort at life, as another man
+emerged hastily from the cafe's side door, hurried to the corner, joined
+the man who was still loitering there, and both together disappeared at
+a rapid pace down the street.
+
+Jimmie Dale whistled softly to himself. The second man was even better
+known than the first; there was not a crook in New York but would
+side-step Lannigan of headquarters, and do it with amazing celerity--if
+he could!
+
+"Something up! But it's not my hunt!" muttered Jimmie Dale; then, with
+a shrug of his shoulders: "Queer the way those headquarters chaps
+fascinate and give me a thrill every time I see them, even if I haven't
+a ghost of a reason for imagining that--"
+
+The sentence was never finished. Jimmie Dale's face was gray. The street
+seemed to rock about him--and he stared, like a man stricken, white to
+the lips, ahead of him. THE LETTER WAS GONE! His hand, wriggling from
+his empty pocket, swept away the sweat beads that were bursting from his
+forehead. It had come at last--the pitcher had gone once too often to
+the well!
+
+Numbed for an instant, his brain cleared now, working with lightning
+speed, leaping from premise to conclusion. The crush in the theatre
+lobby--the pushing, the jostling, the close contact--the Wowzer, the
+slickest, cleverest pickpocket in the United States! For a moment he
+could have laughed aloud in a sort of ghastly, defiant mockery--he
+himself had predicted an unexpected aftermath, had he not!
+
+Aftermath! It was--the END! An hour, two hours, and New York would be
+metamorphosed into a seething caldron of humanity bubbling with the
+news. It seemed that he could hear the screams of the newsboys now
+shouting their extras; it seemed that he could see the people, roused to
+frenzy, swarming in excited crowds, snatching at the papers; he seemed
+to hear the mob's shouts swell in execration, in exultation--it seemed
+as though all around him had gone mad. The mystery of the Gray Seal was
+solved! It was Jimmie Dale, Jimmie Dale, Jimmie, Dale, the millionaire,
+the lion of society--and there was ignominy for an honoured name, and
+shame and disaster and convict stripes and sullen penitentiary walls--or
+death! A felon's death--the chair!
+
+He was running now, his hands clenched at his sides; his mind, working
+subconsciously, urging him onward in a blind, as yet unrealised,
+objectless way. And then gradually impulse gave way to calmer reason,
+and he slowed his pace to a quick, less noticeable walk. The Wowzer!
+That was it! There was yet a chance--the Wowzer! A merciless rage,
+cold, deadly, settled upon him. It was the Wowzer who had stolen his
+pocketbook, and with it the letter. There could be no doubt of that.
+Well, there would be a reckoning at least before the end!
+
+He was in a downtown subway train now--the roar in his ears in
+consonance, it seemed, with the turmoil in his brain. But now, too, he
+was Jimmie Dale again; and, apart from the slightly outthrust jaw, the
+tight-closed lips, impassive, debonair, composed.
+
+There was yet a chance. As Larry the Bat he knew every den and lair
+below the dead line, and he knew, too, the Wowzer's favourite haunts.
+There was yet a chance, only one in a thousand, it was true, almost too
+pitiful to be depended upon--but yet a chance. The Wowzer had probably
+not worked alone, and he and his pal, or pals, would certainly not
+remain uptown either to examine or divide their spoils--they would wait
+until they were safe somewhere in one of their hell holes on the East
+Side. If he could find the Wowzer, reach the man BEFORE THE LETTER WAS
+OPENED--Jimmie Dale's lips grew tighter. THAT was the chance! It he
+failed in that--Jimmie Dale's lips drooped downward in grim curves at
+the corners. A chance! Already the Wowzer had at least a half hour's
+lead, and, worse still, there was no telling which one of a dozen places
+the man might have chosen to retreat to with his loot.
+
+Time passed. His mind obsessed, Jimmie Dale's physical acts were
+almost wholly mechanical. It was perhaps fifteen minutes since he had
+discovered the loss of the letter, and he was walking now through the
+heart of the Bowery. Exactly how he had got there he could not have
+told; he had only a vague realisation that, following an intuitive
+sense of direction, he had lost not a second of time in making his way
+downtown.
+
+And now he found himself hesitating at the corner of a cross street. Two
+blocks east was that dark, narrow alleyway, that side door that made the
+entrance to the Sanctuary. It would be safer, a hundred times safer, to
+go there, change his clothes and his personality, and emerge again as
+Larry the Bat--infinitely safer in that role to explore the dens of the
+underworld, many of them indeed unknown and undreamed of by the police
+themselves, than to trust himself there in well-cut, fashionable
+tweeds--but that would take time. Time! When, with every second, the
+one chance he had, desperate as that already was, was slipping away from
+him. No; what was apparently the greater risk at least held out the only
+hope.
+
+He went on again--his brain incessantly at work. At the worst, there
+was one mitigating factor in it all. He had no need to think of her.
+Whatever the ruin and disaster that faced him in the next few hours, she
+in any case was safe. There was no clew to HER identity in the letter;
+and where he, for months on end, with even more to work upon, had failed
+at every turn to trace her, there was little fear that any one else
+would have any better success. She was safe. As for himself--that was
+different. The Gray Seal would be referred to in the letter, there would
+be the outline, the data for the "crime" she had planned for that night;
+and the letter, though unaddressed, being found in his pocketbook,
+where cards and notes and a dozen different things among its contents
+proclaimed him Jimmie Dale, needed no further evidence as to its
+ownership nor the identity of the Gray Seal.
+
+Jimmie Dale's fingers crept inside his vest and fumbled there for a
+moment--and a diamond stud, extracted from his shirt front, glistened
+sportively in the necktie that was now tucked jauntily in at one side of
+his shirt bosom. He had reached the Blue Dragon, one of Wowzer's usual
+hang outs, and, swerving from the sidewalk, entered the place. There was
+wild tumult within--a constant storm of applause, derision, and hilarity
+that was hurled from the tables around the room at the turkey-trotting,
+tango-writhing couples on the somewhat restricted space of polished
+hardwood flooring in the centre. Jimmie Dale swaggered down the room,
+a cigar tilted up at an angle between his teeth, his soft felt hat a
+little rakishly on one side of his head and well over his nose.
+
+At the end of the room, at the bar, Jimmie Dale leaned toward the
+barkeeper and talked out of the corner of his mouth. There were private
+rooms upstairs, and he jerked his head surreptitiously ceilingward.
+
+"Say, is de Wowzer up dere?" he inquired in a cautious whisper.
+
+The man behind the bar, well known to Jimmie Dale as one of the Wowzer's
+particular pals, favoured him with a blank stare.
+
+"Never heard of de guy!" he announced brusquely. "Wot's yours?"
+
+"Gimme a mug of suds," said Jimmie Dale, reaching for a match. He puffed
+at his cigar, blew out the match, and, after a moment, flung the charred
+end away--but on his hand, as, palm outward, he raised it to take his
+glass, the match had traced a small black cross.
+
+The barkeeper put down the beer he had just drawn, wiped his hand
+hurriedly, and with sudden enthusiasm thrust it across the bar.
+
+"Glad to know youse, cull!" he exclaimed. "Wot's de lay?"
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled.
+
+"Nix!" said Jimmie Dale. "I just blew in from Chicago. Used to know de
+Wowzer dere. He said dis place was on de level, an' I could always find
+him here, dat's all."
+
+"Sure, youse can!" returned the barkeeper heartily. "Only he ain't here
+now. He beat it about fifteen minutes ago, him an' Dago Jim. I guess
+youse'll find him at Chang's, I heard him an' Dago say dey was goin'
+dere. Know de place?"
+
+Jimmie Dale shook his head.
+
+"I ain't much wise to New York," he explained.
+
+"Aw, dat's easy," whispered the barkeeper. "Go down to Chatham Square,
+an' den any guy'll show youse Chang Foo's." He winked confidentially. "I
+guess youse won't bump yer head none gettin' around inside."
+
+Jimmie Dale nodded, grinned back, emptied his glass, and dug for a coin.
+
+"Forget it!" observed the barkeeper cordially. "Dis is on me. Any friend
+of de Wowzer's gets de glad hand here any time."
+
+"T'anks!" said Jimmie Dale gratefully, as he turned away. "So long,
+then--see youse later."
+
+Chang Foo's! Jimmie Dale's face set even a little harder than it
+had before, as he swung on again down the Bowery. Yes; he knew Chang
+Foo's--too well. Underground Chinatown--where a man's life was worth the
+price of an opium pill--or less! Mechanically his hand slipped into his
+pocket and closed over the automatic that nestled there. Once in--where
+he had to go--and the chances were even, just even, that was all, that
+he would ever get out. Again he was tempted to return to the Sanctuary
+and make the attempt as Larry the Bat. Larry the Bat was well enough
+known to enter Chang Foo's unquestioned, and--but again he shook his
+head and went on. There was not time. The Wowzer and his pal--it was
+Dago Jim it seemed--had evidently been drinking and loitering their way
+downtown from the theatre, and he had gained that much on them; but
+by now they would be smugly tucked away somewhere in that maze of dens
+below the ground, and at that moment probably were gloating over the
+biggest night's haul they had ever made in their lives!
+
+And if they were! What then? Once they knew the contents of that
+letter--what then? Buy them off for a larger amount than the many
+thousands offered for the capture of the Gray Seal? Jimmie Dale gritted
+his teeth. That meant blackmail from them all his life, an intolerable
+existence, impossible, a hell on earth--the slave, at the beck and call
+of two of the worst criminals in New York! The moisture oozed again to
+Jimmie Dale's forehead. God, if he could get that letter before it was
+opened--before they KNEW! If he could only get the chance to fight for
+it--against ANY odds! Life! Life was a pitiful consideration against the
+alternative that faced him now!
+
+From the Blue Dragon to Chang Foo's was not far; and Jimmie Dale covered
+the distance in well under five minutes. Chang Foo's was just a tea
+merchant's shop, innocuous and innocent enough in its appearance,
+blandly so indeed, and that was all--outwardly; but Jimmie Dale, as he
+reached his destination, experienced the first sensation of uplift he
+had known that night, and this from what, apparently, did not in the
+least seem like a contributing cause.
+
+"Luck! The blessed luck of it!" he muttered grimly, as he surveyed
+the sight-seeing car drawn up at the curb, and watched the passengers
+crowding out of it to the ground. "It wouldn't have been as easy to fool
+old Chang as it was that fellow back at the Dragon--and, besides, if I
+can work it, there's a better chance this way of getting out alive."
+
+The guide was marshalling his "gapers"--some two dozen in all, men and
+women. Jimmie Dale unostentatiously fell in at the rear; and, the guide
+leading, the little crowd passed into the tea merchant's shop. Chang
+Foo, a wizened, wrinkled-faced little Celestial, oily, suave, greeted
+them with profuse bows, chattering the while volubly in Chinese.
+
+The guide made the introduction with an all-embracing sweep of his hand.
+
+"Chang Foo--ladies and gentlemen," he announced; then held up his hand
+for silence. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said impressively, "this is one
+of the most notorious, if not THE most notorious dive in Chinatown, and
+it is only through special arrangement with the authorities and at great
+expense that the company is able exclusively to gain an entree here for
+its patrons. You will see here the real life of the Chinese, and in half
+an hour you will get what few would get in a lifetime spent in China
+itself. You will see the Chinese children dance and perform; the Chinese
+women at their household tasks; the joss, the shrine of his hallowed
+ancestors, at which Chang Foo here worships; and you will enter the most
+famous opium den in the United States. Now, if you will all keep close
+together, we will make a start."
+
+In spite of his desperate situation, Jimmie Dale smiled a little
+whimsically. Yes; they would see it all--UPSTAIRS! The same old bunk
+dished out night after night at so much a head--and the nervous little
+schoolma'am of uncertain age, who fidgeted now beside him, would go
+back somewhere down in Maine and shiver while she related her "wider
+experiences" in tremulous whispers into the shocked ears of envious
+other maiden ladies of equally uncertain age. The same old bunk--and a
+profitable one for Chang Foo for more reasons than one. It was dust in
+the eyes of the police. The police smiled knowingly at mention of Chang
+Foo. Who should know, if they didn't, that it was all harmless fake, all
+bunk! And so it was--UPSTAIRS!
+
+They were passing out of the shop now, bowed out through a side door by
+the obsequious and oily Chang Foo. And now they massed again in a sort
+of little hallway--and Chang Foo, closing the door upon Jimmie Dale, who
+was the last in the line, shuffled back behind the counter in his shop
+to resume his guard duty over customers of quite another ilk. With the
+door closed, it was dark, pitch dark. And this, too, like everything
+else connected with Chang Foo's establishment, for more reasons than
+one--for effect--and for security. Nervous little twitters began to
+emanate from the women--the guide's voice rose reassuringly:
+
+"Keep close together, ladies and gentlemen. We are going upstairs now
+to--"
+
+Jimmie Dale hugged back against the wall, sidled along it, and like a
+shadow slipped down to the end of the hall. The scuffling of two dozen
+pairs of feet mounting the creaky staircase drowned the slight sound as
+he cautiously opened a door; the darkness lay black, impenetrable, along
+the hall. And then, as cautiously as he had opened it, he closed the
+door behind him, and stood for an instant listening at the head of a
+ladder-like stairway, his automatic in his hand now. It was familiar
+ground to Larry the Bat. The steps led down to a cellar; and diagonally
+across from the foot of the steps was an opening, ingeniously hidden by
+a heterogeneous collection of odds and ends, boxes, cases, and rubbish
+from the pseudo tea shop above; a low opening in the wall to a passage
+that led on through the cellars of perhaps half a dozen adjoining
+houses, each of which latter was leased, in one name or another--by
+Chang Foo.
+
+Jimmie Dale crept down the steps, and in another moment had gained the
+farther side of the cellar; then, skirting around the ruck of cases, he
+stooped suddenly and passed in through the opening in the wall. And
+now he halted once more. He was straining his eyes down a long, narrow
+passage, whose blackness was accentuated rather than relieved by curious
+wavering, gossamer threads of yellow light that showed here and there
+from under makeshift thresholds, from doors slightly ajar. Faint noises
+came to him, a muffled, intermittent clink of coin, a low, continuous,
+droning hum of voices; the sickly sweet smell of opium pricked at his
+nostrils.
+
+Jimmie Dale's face set rigidly. It was the resort, not only of the most
+depraved Chinese element, but of the worst "white" thugs that made New
+York their headquarters--here, in the succession of cellars, roughly
+partitioned off to make a dozen rooms on either side of the passage,
+dope fiends sucked at the drug, and Chinese gamblers spent the greater
+part of their lives; here, murder was hatched and played too often to
+its hellish end; here, the scum of the underworld sought refuge from the
+police to the profit of Chang Foo; and here, somewhere, in one of these
+rooms, was--the Wowzer.
+
+The Wowzer! Jimmie Dale stole forward silently, without a sound,
+swiftly--pausing only to listen for a second's space at the doors as he
+passed. From this one came that clink of coin; from another that jabber
+of Chinese; from still another that overpowering stench of opium--and
+once, iron-nerved as he was, a cold thrill passed over him. Let this
+lair of hell's wolves, so intent now on their own affairs, be once
+roused, as they certainly must be roused before he could hope to finish
+the Wowzer, and his chances of escape were--
+
+He straightened suddenly, alert, tense, strained. Voices, raised in a
+furious quarrel, came from a door just beyond him on the other side
+of the passage, where a film of light streamed out through a cracked
+panel--it was the Wowzer and Dago Jim! And drunk, both of them--and both
+in a blind fury!
+
+It happened quick then, almost instantaneously it seemed to Jimmie Dale.
+He was crouched now close against the door, his eye to the crack in the
+panel. There was only one figure in sight--Dago Jim--standing beside
+a table on which burned a lamp, the table top littered with watches,
+purses, and small chatelaine bags. The man was lurching unsteadily on
+his feet, a vicious sneer of triumph on his face, waving tauntingly
+an open letter and Jimmie Dale's pocket-book in his hands--waving them
+presumably in the face of the Wowzer, whom, from the restrictions of the
+crack, Jimmie Dale could not see. He was conscious of a sickening sense
+of disaster. His hope against hope had been in vain--the letter had been
+opened and read--THE IDENTITY OF THE GRAY SEAL WAS SOLVED.
+
+Dago Jim's voice roared out, hoarse, blasphemous, in drunken rage:
+
+"De Gray Seal--see! Youse betcher life I knows! I been waitin' fer
+somet'ing like dis, damn youse! Youse been stallin' on me fer a year
+every time it came to a divvy. Youse've got a pocketful now youse
+snitched to-night dat youse are tryin' to do me out of. Well, keep
+'em"--he shoved his face forward. "I keeps dis--see! Keep 'em Wowzer,
+youse cross-eyed--"
+
+"Everyt'ing I pinched to-night's on de table dere wid wot youse pinched
+yerself," cut in the Wowzer, in a sullen, threatening growl.
+
+"Youse lie, an' youse knows it!" retorted Dago Jim. "Youse have given me
+de short end every time we've pulled a deal!"
+
+"Dat letter's mine, youse--" bawled the Wowzer furiously.
+
+"Why didn't youse open it an' read it, den, instead of lettin' me do it
+to keep me busy while youse short-changed me?" sneered Dago Jim. "Youse
+t'ought it was some sweet billy-doo, eh? Well, t'anks, Wowzer--dat's wot
+it is! Say," he mocked, "dere's a guy'll cash a t'ousand century notes
+fer dis, an' if he don't--say, dere's SOME reward out fer the Gray
+Seal! Wouldn't youse like to know who it is? Well, when I'm ridin' in
+me private buzz wagon, Wowzer, youse stick around an' mabbe I'll tell
+youse--an' mabbe I won't!"
+
+"By God"--the Wowzer's voice rose in a scream--"youse hand over dat
+letter!"
+
+"Youse go to--"
+
+Red, lurid red, a stream of flame seemed to cut across Jimmie Dale's
+line of vision, came the roar of a revolver shot--and like a madman
+Jimmie Dale flung his body at the door. Rickety at best, it crashed
+inward, half wrenched from its hinges, precipitating him inside. He
+recovered himself and leaped forward. The room was swirling with blue
+eddies of smoke; Dago Jim, hands flung up, still grasping letter and
+pocketbook, pawed at the air--and plunged with a sagging lurch face
+downward to the floor. There was a yell and an oath from the Wowzer--the
+crack of another revolver shot, the hum of the bullet past Jimmie Dale's
+ear, the scorch of the tongue flame in his face, and he was upon the
+other.
+
+Screeching profanity, the Wowzer grappled; and, for an instant, the two
+men rocked, reeled, and swayed in each other's embrace; then, both
+men losing their balance, they shot suddenly backward, the Wowzer,
+undermost, striking his head against the table's edge--and men, table,
+and lamp crashed downward in a heap to the floor.
+
+It had been no more, at most, than a matter of seconds since Jimmie Dale
+had hurled himself into the room; and now, with a gurgling sigh,
+the Wowzer's arms, that had been wound around Jimmie Dale's back and
+shoulders, relaxed, and, from the blow on his head the man, lay
+back inert and stunned. And then it seemed to Jimmie Dale as though
+pandemonium, unreality, and chaos at the touch of some devil's hand
+reigned around him. It was dark--no, not dark--a spurt of flame was
+leaping along the line of trickling oil from the broken lamp on the
+floor. It threw into ghastly relief the sprawled form of Dago
+Jim. Outside, from along the passageway, came a confused jangle of
+commotion--whispering voices, shuffling feet, the swish of Chinese
+garments. And the room itself began to spring into weird, flickering
+shadows, that mounted and crept up the walls with the spreading fire.
+
+There was not a second to lose before the room would be swarming with
+that rush from the passageway--and there was still the letter, the
+pocketbook! The table had fallen half over Dago Jim--Jimmie Dale pushed
+it aside, tore the crushed letter and the pocketbook from the man's
+hands--and felt, with a grim, horrible sort of anxiety, for the other's
+heartbeat, for the verdict that meant life or death to himself. There
+was no sign of life--the man was dead.
+
+Jimmie Dale was on his feet now. A face, another, and another showed
+in the doorway--the Wowzer was regaining his senses, stumbling to his
+knees. There was one chance--just one--to take those crowding figures by
+surprise. And with a yell of "Fire!" Jimmie Dale sprang for the doorway.
+
+They gave way before his rush, tumbling back in their surprise against
+the opposite wall; and, turning, Jimmie Dale raced down the passageway.
+Doors were opening everywhere now, forms were pushing out into the
+semi-darkness--only to duck hastily back again, as Jimmie Dale's
+automatic barked and spat a running fire of warning ahead of him. And
+then, behind, the Wowzer's voice shrieked out:
+
+"Soak him! Kill de guy! He's croaked Dago Jim! Put a hole in him, de--"
+
+Yells, a chorus of them, took up the refrain--then the rush of following
+feet--and the passageway seemed to racket as though a Gatling gun were
+in play with the fusillade of revolver shots. But Jimmie Dale was at
+the opening now--and, like a base runner plunging for the bag, he flung
+himself in a low dive through and into the open cellar beyond. He was
+on his feet, over the boxes, and dashing up the stairs in a second. The
+door above opened as he reached the top--Jimmie Dale's right hand shot
+out with clubbed revolver--and with a grunt Chang Foo went down before
+the blow and the headlong rush. The next instant Jimmie Dale had sprung
+through the tea shop and was out on the street.
+
+A minute, two minutes more, and Chinatown would be in an uproar--Chang
+Foo would see to that--and the Wowzer would prod him on. The danger was
+far from over yet. And then, as he ran, Jimmie Dale gave a little gasp
+of relief. Just ahead, drawn up at the curb, stood a taxicab--waiting,
+probably, for a private slumming party. Jimmie Dale put on a spurt,
+reached it, and wrenched the door open.
+
+"Quick!" he flung at the startled chauffeur. "The nearest subway
+station--there's a ten-spot in it for you! Quick man--QUICK! Here they
+come!"
+
+A crowd of Chinese, pouring like angry hornets from Chang Foo's shop,
+came yelling down the street--and the taxi took the corner on two
+wheels--and Jimmie Dale, panting, choking for his breath like a man
+spent, sank back against the cushions.
+
+But five minutes later it was quite another Jimmie Dale, composed,
+nonchalant, imperturbable, who entered an up-town subway train, and,
+choosing a seat alone near the centre of the car, which at that hour
+of night in the downtown district was almost deserted, took the crushed
+letter from his pocket. For a moment he made no attempt to read it,
+his dark eyes, now that he was free from observation, full of troubled
+retrospect, fixed on the window at his side. It was not a pleasant
+thought that it had cost a man his life, nor yet that that life was also
+the price of his own freedom. True, if there were two men in the city of
+New York whose crimes merited neither sympathy nor mercy, those two men
+were the Wowzer and Dago Jim--but yet, after all, it was a human life,
+and, even if his own had been in the balance, thank God it had been
+through no act of his that Dago Jim had gone out! The Wowzer, cute and
+cunning, had been quick enough to say so to clear himself, but--Jimmie
+Dale smiled a little now--neither the Wowzer, nor Chang Foo, nor
+Chinatown would ever be in a position to recognise their uninvited
+guest!
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted to the letter speculatively, gravely. It
+seemed as though the night had already held a year of happenings, and
+the night was not over yet--there was the letter! It had already cost
+one life; was it to cost another--or what?
+
+It began as it always did. He read it through once, in amazement; a
+second time, with a flush of bitter anger creeping to his cheeks; and
+a third time, curiously memorising, as it were, snatches of it here and
+there.
+
+
+"DEAR PHILANTHROPIC CROOK: Robbery of Hudson-Mercantile National
+Bank--trusted employee is ex-convict, bad police record, served term in
+Sing Sing three years ago--known to police as Bookkeeper Bob, real name
+is Robert Moyne, lives at ---- Street, Harlem--Inspector Burton
+and Lannigan of headquarters trailing him now--robbery not yet made
+public--"
+
+
+There was a great deal more--four sheets of closely written data. With
+an exclamation almost of dismay, Jimmie Dale pulled out his watch. So
+that was what Burton and Lannigan were up to! And he had actually run
+into them! Lord, the irony of it! The--And then Jimmie Dale stared at
+the dial of his watch incredulously. It was still but barely midnight!
+It seemed impossible that since leaving the theatre at a few minutes
+before eleven, he had lived through but a single hour!
+
+Jimmie Dale's fingers began to pluck at the letter, tearing it into
+pieces, tearing the pieces over and over again into tiny shreds. The
+train stopped at station after station, people got on and off--Jimmie
+Dale's hat was over his eyes, and his eyes were glued again to the
+window. Had Bookkeeper Bob returned to his flat in Harlem with the
+detectives at his heels--or were Burton and Lannigan still trailing the
+man downtown somewhere around the cafe's? If the former, the theft
+of the letter and its incident loss of time had been an irreparable
+disaster; if the latter--well, who knew! The risk was the Gray Seal's!
+
+At One Hundred and Twenty-Fifth Street Jimmie Dale left the train; and,
+at the end of a sharp four minutes' walk, during which he had dodged in
+and out from street to street, stopped on a corner to survey the block
+ahead of him. It was a block devoted exclusively to flats and apartment
+houses, and, apart from a few belated pedestrians, was deserted. Jimmie
+Dale strolled leisurely down one side, crossed the street at the end of
+the block, and strolled leisurely back on the other side--there was no
+sign of either Burton or Lannigan. It was a fairly safe presumption then
+that Bookkeeper Bob had not returned yet, or one of the detectives at
+least would have been shadowing the house.
+
+Jimmie Dale, smiling a little grimly, retraced his steps again, and
+turned deliberately into a doorway--whose number he had noted as he had
+passed a moment or so before. So, after all, there was time yet!
+This was the house. "Number eighteen," she had said in her letter. "A
+flat--three stories--Moyne lives on ground floor."
+
+Jimmie Dale leaned against the vestibule door--there was a faint
+click--a little steel instrument was withdrawn from the lock--and Jimmie
+Dale stepped into the hall, where a gas jet, turned down, burned dimly.
+
+The door of the ground-floor apartment was at his right, Jimmie Dale
+reached up and turned off the light. Again those slim, tapering,
+wonderfully sensitive fingers worked with the little steel instrument,
+this time in the lock of the apartment door--again there was that almost
+inaudible click--and then cautiously, inch by inch, the door opened
+under his hand. He peered inside--down a hallway lighted, if it could be
+called lighted at all, by a subdued glow from two open doors that gave
+upon it--peered intently, listening intently, as he drew a black silk
+mask from his pocket and slipped it over his face. And then, silent as
+a shadow in his movements, the door left just ajar behind him, he stole
+down the carpeted hallway.
+
+Opposite the first of the open doorways Jimmie Dale paused--a curiously
+hard expression creeping over his face, his lips beginning to droop
+ominously downward at the corners. It was a little sitting room, cheaply
+but tastefully furnished, and a young woman, Bookkeeper Bob's wife
+evidently, and evidently sitting up for her husband, had fallen sound
+asleep in a chair, her head pillowed on her arms that were outstretched
+across the table. For a moment Jimmie Dale held there, his eyes on the
+scene--and the next moment, his hand curved into a clenched fist, he had
+passed on and entered the adjoining room.
+
+It was a child's bedroom. A night lamp burned on a table beside the bed,
+and the soft rays seemed to play and linger in caress on the tousled
+golden hair of a little girl of perhaps two years of age--and something
+seemed to choke suddenly in Jimmie Dale's throat--the sweet, innocent
+little face, upturned to his, was smiling at him as she slept.
+
+Jimmie Dale turned away his head--his eyelashes wet under his mask.
+"BENEATH THE MATTRESS OF THE CHILD'S BED," the letter had said. His face
+like stone, his lips a thin line now, Jimmie Dale's hand reached
+deftly in without disturbing the child and took out a package--and then
+another. He straightened up, a bundle of crisp new hundred-dollar notes
+in each hand--and on the top of one, slipped under the elastic band that
+held the bills together, an unsealed envelope. He drew out the latter,
+and opened it--it was a second-class steamship passage to Vera Cruz,
+made out in a fictitious name, of course, to John Davies, the booking
+for next day's sailing. From the ticket, from the stolen money, Jimmie
+Dale's eyes lifted to rest again on the little golden head, the smiling
+lips--and then, dropping the packages into his pockets, his own lips
+moving queerly, he turned abruptly to the door.
+
+"My God, the shame of it!" he whispered to himself.
+
+He crept down the corridor, past the open door of the room where the
+young woman still sat fast asleep, and, his mask in his pocket again,
+stepped softly into the vestibule, and from there to the street.
+
+Jimmie Dale hurried now, spurred on it seemed by a hot, insensate fury
+that raged within him--there was still one other call to make that
+night--still those remaining and minute details in the latter part of
+her letter, grim and ugly in their portent!
+
+It was close upon one o'clock in the morning when Jimmie Dale stopped
+again--this time before a fashionable dwelling just off Central Park.
+And here, for perhaps the space of a minute, he surveyed the house from
+the sidewalk--watching, with a sort of speculative satisfaction, a man's
+shadow that passed constantly to and fro across the drawn blinds of one
+of the lower windows. The rest of the house was in darkness.
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale, nodding his head, "I rather thought so. The
+servants will have retired hours ago. It's safe enough."
+
+He ran quickly up the steps and rang the bell. A door opened almost
+instantly, sending a faint glow into the hall from the lighted room; a
+hurried step crossed the hall--and the outer door was thrown back.
+
+"Well, what is it?" demanded a voice brusquely.
+
+It was quite dark, too dark for either to distinguish the other's
+features--and Jimmie Dale's hat was drawn far down over his eyes.
+
+"I want to see Mr. Thomas H. Carling, cashier of the Hudson-Mercantile
+National Bank--it's very important," said Jimmie Dale earnestly.
+
+"I am Mr. Carling," replied the other. "What is it?"
+
+Jimmie Dale leaned forward.
+
+"From headquarters--with a report," he said, in a low tone.
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed the bank official sharply. "Well, it's about time! I've
+been waiting up for it--though I expected you would telephone rather
+than this. Come in!"
+
+"Thank you," said Jimmie Dale courteously--and stepped into the hall.
+
+The other closed the front door. "The servants are in bed, of course,"
+he explained, as he led the way toward the lighted room. "This way,
+please."
+
+Behind the other, across the hall, Jimmie Dale followed and close at
+Carling's heels entered the room, which was fitted up, quite evidently
+regardless of cost, as a combination library and study. Carling, in
+a somewhat pompous fashion, walked straight ahead toward the
+carved-mahogany flat-topped desk, and, as he reached it, waved his hand.
+
+"Take a chair," he said, over his shoulder--and then, turning in the act
+of dropping into his own chair, grasped suddenly at the edge of the desk
+instead, and, with a low, startled cry, stared across the room.
+
+Jimmie Dale was leaning back against the door that was closed now behind
+him--and on Jimmie Dale's face was a black silk mask.
+
+For an instant neither man spoke nor moved; then Carling, spare-built,
+dapper in evening clothes, edged back from the desk and laughed a little
+uncertainly.
+
+"Quite neat! I compliment you! From headquarters with a report, I think
+you said?"
+
+"Which I neglected to add," said Jimmie Dale, "was to be made in
+private."
+
+Carling, as though to put as much distance between them as possible,
+continued to edge back across the room--but his small black eyes, black
+now to the pupils themselves, never left Jimmie Dale's face.
+
+"In private, eh?"--he seemed to be sparring for time, as he smiled. "In
+private! You've a strange method of securing privacy, haven't you? A bit
+melodramatic, isn't it? Perhaps you'll be good enough to tell me who you
+are?"
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled indulgently.
+
+"My mask is only for effect," he said. "My name is--Smith."
+
+"Yes," said Carling. "I am very stupid. Thank you. I--" he had reached
+the other side of the room now--and with a quick, sudden movement jerked
+his hand to the dial of the safe that stood against the wall.
+
+But Jimmie Dale was quicker--without shifting his position, his
+automatic, whipped from his pocket, held a disconcerting bead on
+Carling's forehead.
+
+"Please don't do that," said Jimmie Dale softly. "It's rather a good
+make, that safe. I dare say it would take me half an hour to open it. I
+was rather curious to know whether it was locked or not."
+
+Carling's hand dropped to his side.
+
+"So!" he sneered. "That's it, is it! The ordinary variety of sneak
+thief!" His voice was rising gradually. "Well, sir, let me tell you
+that--"
+
+"Mr. Carling," said Jimmie Dale, in a low, even tone, "unless you
+moderate your voice some one in the house might hear you--I am quite
+well aware of that. But if that happens, if any one enters this room,
+if you make a move to touch a button, or in any other way attempt to
+attract attention, I'll drop you where you stand!" His hand, behind his
+back, extracted the key from the door lock, held it up for the other to
+see, then dropped it into his pocket--and his voice, cold before, rang
+peremptorily now. "Come back to the desk and sit down in that chair!" he
+ordered.
+
+For a moment Carling hesitated; then, with a half-muttered oath, obeyed.
+
+Jimmie Dale moved over, and stood in front of Carling on the other side
+of the desk--and stared silently at the immaculate, fashionably groomed
+figure before him.
+
+Under the prolonged gaze, Carling's composure, in a measure at least,
+seemed to forsake him. He began to drum nervously with his fingers on
+the desk, and shift uneasily in his chair.
+
+And then, from first one pocket and then the other, Jimmie Dale took
+the two packages of banknotes, and, still with out a word, pushed them
+across the desk until they lay under the other's eyes.
+
+Carling's fingers stopped their drumming, slid to the desk edge,
+tightened there, and a whiteness crept into his face. Then, with an
+effort, he jerked himself erect in his chair.
+
+"What's this?" he demanded hoarsely.
+
+"About ten thousand dollars, I should say," said Jimmie Dale slowly. "I
+haven't counted it. Your bank was robbed this evening at closing time, I
+understand?"
+
+"Yes!" Carling's voice was excited now, the colour back in his face.
+"But you--how--do you mean that you are returning the money to the
+bank?"
+
+"Exactly," said Jimmie Dale.
+
+Carling was once more the pompous bank official. He leaned back and
+surveyed Jimmie Dale critically with his little black eyes.
+
+"Ah, quite so!" he observed. "That accounts for the mask. But I am still
+a little in the dark. Under the circumstances, it is quite impossible
+that you should have stolen the money yourself, and--"
+
+"I didn't," said Jimmie Dale. "I found it hidden in the home of one of
+your employees."
+
+"You found it--WHERE?"
+
+"In Moyne's home--up in Harlem."
+
+"Moyne, eh?" Carling was alert, quick now, jerking out his words. "How
+did you come to get into this, then? His pal? Double-crossing him, eh? I
+suppose you want a reward--we'll attend to that, of course. You're
+wiser than you know, my man. That's what we suspected. We've had the
+detectives trailing Moyne all evening." He reached forward over the desk
+for the telephone. "I'll telephone headquarters to make the arrest at
+once."
+
+"Just a minute," interposed Jimmie Dale gravely. "I want you to listen
+to a little story first."
+
+"A story! What has a story got to do with this?" snapped Carling.
+
+"The man has got a home," said Jimmie Dale softly. "A home, and a
+wife--and a little baby girl."
+
+"Oh, that's the game then, eh? You want to plead for him?" Carling flung
+out gruffly. "Well, he should have thought of all that before! It's
+quite useless for you to bring it up. The man has had his chance
+already--a better chance than any one with his record ever had before.
+We took him into the bank knowing that he was an ex-convict, but
+believing that we could make an honest man of him--and this is the
+result."
+
+"And yet--"
+
+"NO!" said Carling icily.
+
+"You refuse--absolutely?" Jimmie Dale's voice had a lingering, wistful
+note in it.
+
+"I refuse!" said Carling bluntly. "I won't have anything to do with it."
+
+There was just an instant's silence; and then, with a strange, slow,
+creeping motion, as a panther creeps when about to spring, Jimmie Dale
+projected his body across the desk--far across it toward the other. And
+the muscles of his jaw were quivering, his words rasping, choked with
+the sweep of fury that, held back so long, broke now in a passionate
+surge.
+
+"And shall I tell you why you won't? Your bank was robbed to-night of
+one hundred thousand dollars. There are ten thousand here. THE OTHER
+NINETY THOUSAND ARE IN YOUR SAFE!"
+
+"You lie!" Ashen to the lips, Carling had risen in his chair. "You lie!"
+he cried. "Do you hear! You lie! I tell you, you lie!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips parted ominously.
+
+"Sit down!" he gritted between his teeth.
+
+The white in Carling's face had turned to gray, his lips were
+working--mechanically he sank down again in his chair.
+
+Jimmie Dale still leaned over the desk, resting his weight on his right
+elbow, the automatic in his right hand covering Carling.
+
+"You cur!" whispered Jimmie Dale. "There's just one reason, only one,
+that keeps me from putting a bullet through you while you sit there.
+We'll get to that in a moment. There is that little story first--shall
+I tell it to you now? For the past four years, and God knows how many
+before that, you've gone the pace. The lavishness of this bachelor
+establishment of yours is common talk in New York--far in excess of a
+bank cashier's salary. But you were supposed to be a wealthy man in your
+own right; and so, in reality you were--once. But you went through
+your fortune two years ago. Counted a model citizen, an upright man, an
+honour to the community--what were you, Carling? What ARE you? Shall I
+tell you? Roue, gambler, leading a double life of the fastest kind. You
+did it cleverly, Carling; hid it well--but your game is up. To-night,
+for instance, you are at the end of your tether, swamped with debts,
+exposure threatening you at any moment. Why don't you tell me again that
+I lie--Carling?"
+
+But now the man made no answer. He had sunk a little deeper in his
+chair--a dawning look of terror in the eyes that held, fascinated, on
+Jimmie Dale.
+
+"You cur!" said Jimmie Dale again. "You cur, with your devil's work! A
+year ago you saw this night coming--when you must have money, or face
+ruin and exposure. You saw it then, a year ago, the day that Moyne,
+concealing nothing of his prison record, applied through friends for a
+position in the bank. Your co-officials were opposed to his appointment,
+but you, do you remember how you pleaded to give the man his chance--and
+in your hellish ingenuity saw your way then out of the trap! An
+ex-convict from Sing Sing! It was enough, wasn't it? What chance had
+he!" Jimmie Dale paused, his left hand clenched until the skin formed
+whitish knobs over the knuckles.
+
+Carling's tongue sought his lips, made a circuit of them--and he tried
+to speak, but his voice was an incoherent muttering.
+
+"I'll not waste words," said Jimmie Dale, in his grim monotone. "I'm not
+sure enough myself--that I could keep my hands off you much longer. The
+actual details of how you stole the money to-day do not matter--NOW. A
+little later perhaps in court--but not now. You were the last to leave
+the bank, but before leaving you pretended to discover the theft of a
+hundred thousand dollars--that, done up in a paper parcel, was even then
+reposing in your desk. You brought the parcel home, put it in that safe
+there--and notified the president of the bank by telephone from here of
+the robbery, suggesting that police headquarters be advised at once. He
+told you to go ahead and act as you saw best. You notified the police,
+speciously directing suspicion to--the ex-convict in the bank's employ.
+You knew Moyne was dining out to-night, you knew where--and at a hint
+from you the police took up the trail. A little later in the evening,
+you took these two packages of banknotes from the rest, and with this
+steamship ticket--which you obtained yesterday while out at lunch by
+sending a district messenger boy with the money and instructions in a
+sealed envelope to purchase for you--you went up to the Moynes' flat in
+Harlem for the purpose of secreting them somewhere there. You pretended
+to be much disappointed at finding Moyne out--you had just come for a
+little social visit, to get better acquainted with the home life of your
+employees! Mrs. Moyne was genuinely pleased and grateful. She took you
+in to see their little girl, who was already asleep in bed. She left
+you there for a moment to answer the door--and you--you"--Jimmie Dale's
+voice choked again--"you blot on God's earth, you slipped the money and
+ticket under the child's mattress!"
+
+Carling came forward with a lurch in his chair--and his hands went out,
+pawing in a wild, pleading fashion over Jimmie Dale's arm.
+
+Jimmie Dale flung him away.
+
+"You were safe enough," he rasped on. "The police could only construe
+your visit to Moyne's flat as zeal on behalf of the bank. And it
+was safer, much more circumspect on your part, not to order the flat
+searched at once, but only as a last resort, as it were, after you
+had led the police to trail him all evening and still remain without
+a clew--and besides, of course, not until you had planted the evidence
+that was to damn him and wreck his life and home! You were even generous
+in the amount you deprived yourself of out of the hundred thousand
+dollars--for less would have been enough. Caught with ten thousand
+dollars of the bank's money and a steamship ticket made out in a
+fictitious name, it was prima-facie evidence that he had done the job
+and had the balance somewhere. What would his denials, his protestations
+of innocence count for? He was an ex-convict, a hardened criminal caught
+red-handed with a portion of the proceeds of robbery--he had succeeded
+in hiding the remainder of it too cleverly, that was all."
+
+Carling's face was ghastly. His hands went out again--again his tongue
+moistened his dry lips. He whispered:
+
+"Isn't--isn't there some--some way we can fix this?"
+
+And then Jimmie Dale laughed--not pleasantly.
+
+"Yes, there's a way, Carling," he said grimly. "That's why I'm here." He
+picked up a sheet of writing paper and pushed it across the desk--then a
+pen, which he dipped into the inkstand, and extended to the other. "The
+way you'll fix it will be to write out a confession exonerating Moyne."
+
+Carling shrank back into his chair, his head huddling into his
+shoulders.
+
+"NO!" he cried. "I won't--I can't--my God!--I--I--WON'T!"
+
+The automatic in Jimmie Dale's hand edged forward the fraction of an
+inch.
+
+"I have not used this--yet. You understand now why--don't you?" he said
+under his breath.
+
+"No, no!" Carling pushed away the pen. "I'm ruined--ruined as it is. But
+this would mean the penitentiary, too--"
+
+"Where you tried to send an innocent man in your place, you hound; where
+you--"
+
+"Some other way--some other way!" Carling was babbling. "Let me out of
+this--for God's sake, let me out of this!"
+
+"Carling," said Jimmie Dale hoarsely, "I stood beside a little bed
+to-night and looked at a baby girl--a little baby girl with golden hair,
+who smiled as she slept."
+
+Carling shivered, and passed a shaking hand across his face.
+
+"Take this pen," said Jimmie Dale monotonously; "or--THIS!" The
+automatic lifted until the muzzle was on a line with Carling's eyes.
+
+Carling's hand reached out, still shaking, and took the pen; and his
+body, dragged limply forward, hung over the desk. The pen spluttered on
+the paper--a bead of sweat spurting from the man's forehead dropped to
+the sheet.
+
+There was silence in the room. A minute passed--another. Carling's pen
+travelled haltingly across the paper then, with a queer, low cry as
+he signed his name, he dropped the pen from his fingers, and, rising
+unsteadily from his chair, stumbled away from the desk toward a couch
+across the room.
+
+An instant Jimmie Dale watched the other, then he picked up the sheet of
+paper. It was a miserable document, miserably scrawled:
+
+
+"I guess it's all up. I guess I knew it would be some day. Moyne hadn't
+anything to do with it. I stole the money myself from the bank to-night.
+I guess it's all up.
+
+"THOMAS H. CARLING."
+
+
+From the paper, Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted to the figure by the
+couch--and the paper fluttered suddenly from his fingers to the desk.
+Carling was reeling, clutching at his throat--a small glass vial rolled
+upon the carpet. And then, even as Jimmie Dale sprang forward, the other
+pitched head long over the couch--and in a moment it was over.
+
+Presently Jimmie Dale picked up the vial--and dropped it back on the
+floor again. There was no label on it, but it needed none--the strong,
+penetrating odor of bitter almonds was telltale evidence enough. It was
+prussic, or hydrocyanic acid, probably the most deadly poison and the
+swiftest in its action that was known to science--Carling had provided
+against that "some day" in his confession!
+
+For a little space, motionless, Jimmie Dale stood looking down at the
+silent, outstretched form--then he walked slowly back to the desk, and
+slowly, deliberately picked up the signed confession and the steamship
+ticket. He held them an instant, staring at them, then methodically
+began to tear them into little pieces, a strange, tired smile hovering
+on his lips. The man was dead now--there would be disgrace enough for
+some one to bear, a mother perhaps--who knew! And there was another way
+now--since the man was dead.
+
+Jimmie Dale put the pieces in his pocket, went to the safe, opened it,
+and took out a parcel, locked the safe carefully, and carried the parcel
+to the desk. He opened it there. Inside were nearly two dozen little
+packages of hundred-dollar bills. The other two packages that he had
+brought with him he added to the rest. From his pocket he took out the
+thin metal insignia case, and with the tiny tweezers lifted up one of
+the gray-coloured, diamond-shaped paper seals. He moistened the
+adhesive side, and, still holding it by the tweezers, dropped it on
+his handkerchief and pressed the seal down on the face of the topmost
+package of banknotes. He tied the parcel up then, and, picking up the
+pen, addressed it in printed characters:
+
+
+HUDSON-MERCANTILE NATIONAL BANK,
+
+NEW YORK CITY.
+
+
+"District messenger--some way--in the morning," he murmured.
+
+Jimmie Dale slipped his mask into his pocket, and, with the parcel under
+his arm, stepped to the door and unlocked it. He paused for an instant
+on the threshold for a single, quick, comprehensive glance around the
+room--then passed on out into the street.
+
+At the corner he stopped to light a cigarette--and the flame of the
+match spurting up disclosed a face that was worn and haggard. He threw
+the match away, smiled a little wearily--and went on.
+
+The Gray Seal had committed another "crime."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE THIEF
+
+
+Choosing between the snowy napery, the sparkling glass and silver, the
+cozy, shaded table-lamps, the famous French chef of the ultra-exclusive
+St. James Club, his own home on Riverside Drive where a dinner fit for
+an epicure and served by Jason, that most perfect of butlers, awaited
+him, and Marlianne's, Jimmie Dale, driving in alone in his touring car
+from an afternoon's golf, had chosen--Marlianne's.
+
+Marlianne's, if such a thing as Bohemianism, or, rather, a concrete
+expression of it exists, was Bohemian. A two-piece string orchestra
+played valiantly to the accompaniment of a hoarse-throated piano; and
+between courses the diners took up the refrain--and, as it was always
+between courses with some one, the place was a bedlam of noisy riot.
+Nevertheless, it was Marlianne's--and Jimmie Dale liked Marlianne's. He
+had dined there many times before, as he had just dined in the person of
+Jimmie Dale, the millionaire, his high-priced imported car at the curb
+of the shabby street outside--and he had dined there, disreputable in
+attire, seedy in appearance, with the police yelping at his heels, as
+Larry the Bat. In either character Marlianne's had welcomed him with
+equal courtesy to its spotted linen and most excellent table-d'hote with
+VIN ORDINAIRE--for fifty cents.
+
+And now, in the act of reaching into his pocket for the change to pay
+his bill, Jimmie Dale seemed suddenly to experience some difficulty in
+finding what he sought, and his fingers went fumbling from one pocket
+to another. Two men at the table in front of him were talking--their
+voices, over a momentary lull in violin squeaks, talk, laughter,
+singing, and the clatter of dishes, reached him:
+
+"Carling commit suicide! Not on your life! No; of course he didn't! It
+was that cursed Gray Seal croaked him, just as sure as you sit in that
+chair!"
+
+The other grunted. "Yes; but what'd the Gray Seal want to pinch a
+hundred thousand out of the bank for, and then give it back again the
+next morning?"
+
+"What's he done a hundred other things for to cover up the real object
+of what he's after?" retorted the first speaker, with a short, vicious
+laugh; then, with a thump of his fist on the table: "The man's a devil,
+a fiend, and anywhere else but New York he'd have been caught and sent
+to the chair where he belongs long ago, and--"
+
+A burst of ragtime drowned out the man's words. Jimmie Dale placed a
+fifty-cent piece and a tip beside it on his dinner check, pushed
+back his chair, and rose from the table. There was a half-tolerantly
+satirical, half-angry glint in his dark, steady eyes. It was not only
+the police who yelped at his heels, but every man, woman, and child in
+the city. The man had not voiced his own sentiments--he had voiced the
+sentiments of New York! And it was quite on the cards that if he, Jimmie
+Dale, were ever caught his destination would not even be the death cell
+and the chair at Sing Sing--his fellow citizens had reached a pitch
+where they would be quite capable of literally tearing him to pieces if
+they ever got their hands on him!
+
+And yet there were a few, a very few, a handful out of five millions,
+who sometimes remembered perhaps to thank God that the Gray Seal
+lived--that was his reward. That--and SHE, whose mysterious letters
+prompted and impelled his, the Gray Seal's, acts! She--nameless,
+fascinating in her brilliant resourcefulness, amazing in her power, a
+woman whose life was bound up with his and yet held apart from him in
+the most inexplicable, absorbing way; a woman he had never seen, save
+for her gloved arm in the limousine that night, who at one unexpected
+moment projected a dazzling, impersonal existence across his path, and
+the next, leaving him battling for his life where greed and passion and
+crime swirled about him, was gone!
+
+Jimmie Dale threaded the small, crowded rooms--the interior of
+Marlianne's had never been altered from the days when the place had been
+a family residence of some pretension--and, reaching the hall, received
+his hat from the frowsy-looking boy in attendance. He passed outside,
+and, at the top of the steps, paused as he took his cigarette case
+from his pocket. It was nearly a week since Carling, the cashier of
+the Hudson-Mercantile National Bank, had been found dead in his home,
+a bottle that had contained hydrocyanic acid on the floor beside him;
+nearly a week since Bookkeeper Bob, unaware that he had ever been under
+temporary suspicion for the robbery of the bank, had, equally unknown
+to himself, been cleared of any complicity in that affair--and yet, as
+witness the conversation of a moment ago, it was still the topic of New
+York, still the vital issue that filled the maw of the newspapers
+with ravings, threats, and execrations against the Gray Seal, snarling
+virulently the while at the police for the latter's ineptitude,
+inefficiency, and impotence!
+
+Jimmie Dale closed his cigarette case with a snap that was almost human
+in its irony, dropped it back into his pocket, and lighted a match--but
+the flame was arrested halfway to the tip of his cigarette, as his eyes
+fixed suddenly and curiously on a woman's form hurrying down the street.
+She had turned the corner before he took his eyes from her, and the
+match between his fingers had gone out. Not that there was anything very
+strange in a woman walking, or even half running, along the street; nor
+that there was anything particularly attractive or unusual about
+her, and if there had been the street was too dark for him to have
+distinguished it. It was not that--it was the fact that she had neither
+passed by the house on whose steps he stood, nor come out of any of the
+adjoining houses. It was as though she had suddenly and miraculously
+appeared out of thin air, and taken form on a sidewalk a little way down
+from Marlianne's.
+
+"That's queer!" commented Jimmie Dale to himself. "However--" He took
+out another match, lighted his cigarette, jerked the match stub away
+from him, and, with a lift of his shoulders, went down the steps.
+
+He crossed the pavement, walked around the front of his machine, since
+the steering wheel was on the side next to the curb, and, with his hand
+out to open the car door--stopped. Some one had been tampering with
+it--it was not quite closed. There was no mistake. Jimmie Dale made
+no mistakes of that kind, a man whose life hung a dozen times a day on
+little things could not afford to make them. He had closed it firmly,
+even with a bang, when he had got out.
+
+Instantly suspicious, he wrenched the door wide open, switched on
+the light under the hood, and, with a sharp exclamation, bent quickly
+forward. A glove, a woman's glove, a white glove lay on the floor of the
+car. Jimmie Dale's pulse leaped suddenly into fierce, pounding beats. It
+was HERS! He KNEW that intuitively--knew it as he knew that he breathed.
+And that woman he had so leisurely watched as she had disappeared from
+sight was, must have been--she!
+
+He sprang from the car with a jump, his first impulse to dash after
+her--and checked himself, laughing a little bitterly. It was too late
+for that now--he had already let his chance slip through his fingers.
+Around the corner was Sixth Avenue, surface cars, the elevated,
+taxicabs, a multitude of people, any one of a hundred ways in which
+she could, and would, already have discounted pursuit from him--and,
+besides, he would not even have been able to recognise her if he saw
+her!
+
+Jimmie Dale's smile was mirthless as he turned back to the car, and
+picked up the glove. Why had she dropped it there? It could not have
+been intentional. Why had--he began to tear suddenly at the glove's
+little finger, and in another second, kneeling on the car's step, his
+shoulders inside, he was holding a ring close under the little electric
+bulb.
+
+It was a gold seal ring, a small, dainty thing that bore a crest:
+a bell, surmounted by a bishop's mitre--the bell, quaint in design,
+harking the imagination back to some old-time belfry tower. And
+underneath, in the scroll--a motto. It was a full minute before Jimmie
+Dale could decipher it, for the lettering was minute and the words, of
+course, reversed. It was in French: SONNEZ LE TOCSIN.
+
+He straightened up, the glove and ring in his hand, a puzzled expression
+on his face. It was strange! Had she, after all, dropped the glove
+there intentionally; had she at last let down the barriers just a little
+between them, and given him this little intimate sign that she--
+
+And then Jimmie Dale laughed abruptly, self-mockingly. He was only
+trying to deceive himself, to argue himself into believing what, with
+heart and soul, he wanted to believe. It was not like her--and neither
+was it so! His eyes had fixed on the seat beside the wheel. He had not
+used the lap rug all that day, he couldn't use a rug and drive, he had
+left it folded and hanging on the rack in the tonneau--it was now neatly
+folded and reposing on the front seat!
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale, a sort of self-pity in his tones, "I might have
+known."
+
+He lifted the rug. Beneath it on the leather seat lay a white envelope.
+Her letter! The letter that never came save with the plan of some grim,
+desperate work outlined ahead--the call to arms for the Gray Seal.
+SONNEZ LE TOCSIN! Ring the Tocsin! Sound the alarm! The Tocsin!
+The words were running through his brain. A strange motto on that
+crest--that seemed so strangely apt! The Tocsin! Never once in all the
+times that he had heard from her, never once in the years that had gone
+since that initial letter of hers had struck its first warning note,
+had any communication from her been but to sound again a new alarm--the
+Toscin! The Tocsin--the word seemed to visualise her, to give her a
+concrete form and being, to breathe her very personality.
+
+"The Tocsin!"--Jimmie Dale whispered the word softly, a little
+wistfully. "Yes; I shall call you that--the Tocsin!"
+
+He folded the glove very carefully, placed it with the ring in his
+pocketbook, picked up the letter--and, with a sharp exclamation, turned
+it quickly over in his fingers, then bent hurriedly with it to the
+light.
+
+Strange things were happening that night! For the first time, the letter
+was not even SEALED! That was not like her, either! What did it mean?
+Quick, alert now, anxious even, he pulled the double, folded sheets
+from the envelope, glanced rapidly through them--and, after a moment, a
+smile, whimsical, came slowly to his lips.
+
+It was quite plain now--all of it. The glove, the ring, and the unsealed
+letter--and the postscript held the secret; or, rather, what had been
+intended for a postscript did, for it comprised only a few words, ending
+abruptly, unfinished: "Look in the cupboard at the rear of the room. The
+man with the red wig is--" That was all, and the words, written in ink,
+were badly blurred, as though the paper had been hastily folded before
+the ink was dry.
+
+It was quite plain; and, in view of the real explanation of it all,
+eminently characteristic of her. With the letter already written, she
+had come there, meaning to place it on the seat and cover it with the
+rug, as, indeed, she had done; then, deciding to add the postscript, and
+because she would attract less attention that way than in any other, she
+had climbed into the car as though it belonged to her, and had seated
+herself there to write it. She would have been hurried in her movements,
+of course, and in pulling off her glove to use the fountain pen the ring
+had come with it. The rest was obvious. She had but just begun to write
+when he had appeared on the steps. She had slipped instantly down to
+the floor of the car, probably dropping the glove from her lap, hastily
+inclosed the letter in the envelope which she had no time to seal,
+thrust the envelope under the rug, and, forgetting her glove and fearful
+of risking his attention by attempting to close the door firmly,
+had stolen along the body of the car, only to be noticed by him too
+late--when she was well down the street!
+
+And at that latter thought, once more chagrin seized Jimmie Dale--then
+he turned impulsively to the letter. All this was extraneous, apart--for
+another time, when every moment was not a priceless asset as it very
+probably was now.
+
+"Dear Philanthropic Crook"--it always began that way, never any other
+way. He read on more and more intently, crouched there close to the
+light on the floor of his car, lips thinning as he proceeded--read it to
+the end, absorbing, memorising it--and then the abortive postscript:
+
+"Look in the cupboard at the rear of the room. The man with the red wig
+is--"
+
+For an instant, as mechanically he tore the letter into little shreds,
+he held there hesitant--and the next, slamming the door tight, he flung
+himself into the seat behind the wheel, and the big, sixty-horse-power,
+self-starting machine was roaring down the street.
+
+The Tocsin! There was a grim smile on Jimmie Dale's lips now. The alarm!
+Yes, it was always an alarm, quick, sudden, an emergency to face on the
+instant--plans, decisions to be made with no time to ponder them, with
+only that one fact to consider, staggering enough in itself, that a
+mistake meant disaster and ruin to some one else, and to himself, if
+the courts were merciful where he had little hope for mercy, the
+penitentiary for life!
+
+And now to-night again, as it almost always was when these mysterious
+letters came, every moment of inaction was piling up the odds against
+him. And, too, the same problem confronted him. How, in what way, in
+what role, must he play the night's game to its end? As Larry the Bat?
+
+The car was speeding forward. He was heading down Broadway now, lower
+Broadway, that stretched before him, deserted like some dark, narrow
+canyon where, far below, like towering walls, the buildings closed
+together and seemed to converge into some black, impassable barrier. The
+street lights flashed by him; a patrolman stopped the swinging of his
+night-stick, and turned to gaze at the car that rushed by at a rate
+perilously near to contempt of speed laws; street cars passed at
+indifferent intervals; pedestrians were few and far between--it was the
+lower Broadway of night.
+
+Larry the Bat? Jimmie Dale shook his head impatiently over the steering
+wheel. No; that would not do. It would be well enough for this young
+Burton, perhaps, but not for old Isaac, the East Side fence--for Isaac
+knew him in the character of Larry the Bat. His quick, keen brain,
+weaving, eliminating, devising, scheming, discarded that idea. The final
+coup of the night, as yet but sensed in an indefinite, unshaped way, if
+enacted in the person of Larry the Bat would therefore stamp Larry the
+Bat and the Gray Seal as one--a contretemps but little less fatal, in
+view of old Issac, than to bracket the Gray Seal and Jimmie Dale! Larry
+the Bat was not a character to be assumed with impunity, nor one to
+jeopardize--it was a bulwark of safety, at it were, to which more than
+once he owed escape from capture and discovery.
+
+He lifted his shoulders with a sudden jerk of decision as the car
+swerved to the left and headed for the East Side. There was only
+one alternative then--the black silk mask that folded into such tiny
+compass, and that, together with an automatic and the curious, thin
+metal case that looked so like a cigarette case, was always in his
+pocket for an emergency!
+
+The car turned again, and, approaching its destination, Jimmie Dale
+slowed down the speed perceptibly. It was a strange case, not a pleasant
+one--and the raw edges where they showed were ugly in their nakedness.
+Old Isaac Pelina, young Burton, and Maddon--K. Wilmington Maddon, the
+wall-paper magnate! Curious, that of the three he should already know
+two--old Isaac and Maddon! Everybody in the East Side, every denizen
+of the underworld, and many who posed on a far higher plane knew old
+Isaac--fence to the most select clientele of thieves in New York,
+unscrupulous, hand in glove with any rascality or crime that promised
+profit, a money lender, a Shylock without even a Shylock's humanity as
+a saving grace! Yes; as Larry the Bat he knew old Isaac, and he knew him
+not only personally but by firsthand reputation--he had heard the man
+cursed in blasphemous, whole-souled abandon by more than one crook who
+was in the old fence's toils. They dealt with him, the crooks, while
+they swore to "get" him because he was "safe," but--Jimmie Dale's lips
+parted in a mirthless smile--some day old Isaac would be found in that
+spiders' den of his back of the dingy loan office with a knife in his
+heart or a bullet through his head! And K. Wilmington Maddon--Jimmie
+Dale's smile grew whimsical--he had known Maddon quite intimately for
+years, had even dined with him at the St. James Club only a few nights
+before. Maddon was a man in his own "set"--and Maddon, interfered with,
+was likely to prove none too tractable a customer to handle. And young
+Burton, the letter had said, was Maddon's private and confidential
+secretary. Jimmie Dale's lips thinned again. Well, Burton's acquaintance
+was still to be made! It was a curious trio--and it was dirty work, more
+raw than cunning, more devilish than ingenious; blackmail in its most
+hellish form; the stake, at the least calculation, a cool half million.
+A heavy price for a single slip in a man's life!
+
+He brought the car abruptly to a halt at the edge of the curb, and
+sprang out to the ground. He was in front of "The Budapest" restaurant,
+a garish establishment, most popular of all resorts for the moment on
+the East Side, where Fifth Avenue, in the fond belief that it was seeing
+the real thing in "seamy" life, engaged its table a week in advance.
+Jimmie Dale pushed a bill into the door attendant's hand, accompanied by
+an injunction to keep an eye on the machine, and entered the cafe.
+
+But for a sort of tinselled ostentation the place might well have been
+the Marlianne's that he had just left--it was crowded and riot was
+at its height; a stringed orchestra in Hungarian costume played what
+purported to be Hungarian airs; shouts, laughter, clatter of dishes,
+and thump of steins added to the din. He made his way between the
+close-packed tables to the stairs, and descended to the lower floor.
+Here, if anything, the confusion was greater than above; but here,
+too, was an exit through to the rear street--and a moment later he was
+sauntering past the front of an unkempt little pawnshop, closed for
+the night, over whose door, in the murk of a distant street lamp, three
+balls hung in sagging disarray, tawny with age, and across whose dirty,
+unwashed windows, letters missing, ran the legend:
+
+
+IS AC PELINA Pawn brok r
+
+
+The pawnshop made the corner of a very dark and narrow lane--and, with a
+quick glance around him to assure himself that he was unobserved, Jimmie
+Dale stepped into the alleyway, and, lost instantly in the blacker
+shadows, stole along by the wall of the pawnshop. Old Isaac's business
+was not all done through the front door.
+
+And then suddenly Jimmie Dale shrank still closer against the wall. Was
+it intuition, premonition--or reality? There seemed an uncanny feeling
+of PRESENCE around him, as though perhaps he were watched, as though
+others beside himself were in the lane. Yes; ahead of him a shadow
+moved--he could just barely distinguish it now that his eyes had grown
+accustomed to the darkness. It, like himself, was close against the
+wall, and now it slunk noiselessly down the length of the lane until he
+lost sight of it. AND WHAT WAS THAT? He strained his ears to listen. It
+seemed like a window being opened or closed, cautiously, stealthily, the
+fraction of an inch at a time. And then he located the sound--it came
+from the other side of the lane and very nearly opposite to where, on
+the second floor, a dull, yellow glow shone out from old Isaac's private
+den in the rear of the pawnshop's office.
+
+Jimmie Dale's brows were gathered in sharp furrows. There was evidently
+something afoot to-night of which the Tocsin had NOT sounded the alarm.
+And then the frown relaxed, and he smiled a little. Miraculous as was
+the means through which she obtained the knowledge that was the basis of
+their strange partnership, it was no more miraculous than her unerring
+accuracy in the minutest details. The Tocsin had never failed him yet.
+It was possible that something was afoot around him, quite probable,
+indeed, since he was in the most vicious part of the city, in the heart
+of gangland; but whatever it might be, it was certainly extraneous to
+his mission or she would have mentioned it.
+
+The lane was empty now, he was quite sure of that--and there was
+no further sound from the window opposite. He started forward once
+more--only to halt again for the second time as abruptly as before,
+squeezing if possible even more closely against the wall. Some one had
+turned into the lane from the sidewalk, and, walking hurriedly, choosing
+with evident precaution the exact centre of the alleyway, came toward
+him.
+
+The man passed, his hurried stride a half run; and, a few feet beyond,
+halted at old Isaac's side door. From somewhere inside the old building
+Jimmie Dale's ears caught the faint ringing of an electric bell; a
+long ring, followed in quick succession by three short ones--then the
+repeated clicking of a latch, as though pulled by a cord from above, and
+the man passed in through the door, closing it behind him.
+
+Jimmie Dale nodded to himself in the darkness. It was a spring lock; the
+signal was one long ring and three short ones--the Tocsin had not missed
+even those small details. Also, Burton was late for his appointment, for
+that must have been Burton--business such as old Isaac had in hand
+that night would have permitted the entrance of no other visitor but K.
+Wilmington Maddon's private secretary.
+
+He moved down the lane to the door, and tried it softly. It was locked,
+of course. The slim, tapering, sensitive fingers, whose tips were eyes
+and ears to Jimmie Dale, felt over the lock--and a slender little steel
+instrument slipped into the keyhole. A moment more and the catch was
+released, and the door, under his hand, began to open. With it ajar,
+he paused, his eyes searching intently up and down the lane. There was
+nothing, no sign of any one, no moving shadows now. His gaze shifted to
+the window opposite. Directly facing it now, with the dull reflection
+upon it from the lighted window of old Isaac's den above his head, he
+could make out that it was open--but that was all.
+
+Once more he smiled--a little tolerantly at himself this time. Some one
+had been in the lane; some one had opened the window of his or her
+room in that tenement house across from him--surely there was nothing
+surprising, unnatural, or even out of the commonplace in that. He had
+been a little bit on edge himself, perhaps, and the sudden movement of
+that shadow, unexpected, had startled him for the moment, as, in all
+probability, the opening of the window had startled the skulking figure
+itself into action.
+
+The door was open now. He stepped noiselessly inside, and closed it
+noiselessly behind him. He was in a narrow hall, where a few yards away,
+a light shone down a stairway at right angles to the hall itself.
+
+"Rear door of pawnshop opens into hall, and exactly opposite very short
+flight of stairs leading directly to doorway of Isaac's den above.
+Ramshackle old place, low ceilings. Isaac, when sitting in his den, can
+look down, and, by means of a transom over the rear door of the shop,
+see the customers as they enter from the street, while he also keeps an
+eye on his assistant. Latter always locks up and leaves promptly at six
+o'clock--" Jimmie Dale was subconsciously repeating to himself snatches
+from the Tocsin's letter, which, as subconsciously in reading, he had
+memorised almost word for word.
+
+And now voices reached him--one, excited, nervous, as though the
+speaker were labouring under mental strain that bordered closely on
+the hysterical; the other, curiously mingling a querulousness with an
+attempt to pacify, but dominantly contemptuous, sneering, cold.
+
+Jimmie Dale moved along the hall--very slowly--without a sound--testing
+each step before he threw his body weight from one leg to the other. He
+reached the foot of the stairs. The Tocsin had been right; it was a very
+short flight. He counted the steps--there were eight. Above, facing him,
+a door was open. The voices were louder now. It was a sordid-looking
+room, what he could see of it, poverty-stricken in its appearance,
+intentionally so probably for effect, with no attempt whatever at
+furnishing. He could see through the doorway to the window that opened
+on the alleyway, or, rather, just glimpse the top of the window at an
+angle across the room--that and a bare stretch of floor. The two men
+were not in the line of vision.
+
+Burton's voice--it was unquestionably Burton speaking--came to Jimmie
+Dale now distinctly.
+
+"No, I didn't! I tell you, I didn't! I--I hadn't the nerve."
+
+Jimmie Dale slipped his black silk mask over his face; and with extreme
+caution, on hands and knees, began to climb the stairs.
+
+"So!" It was old Isaac now, in a half purr, half sneer. "And I was so
+sure, my young friend, that you had. I was so sure that you were not
+such a fool. Yes; I could even have sworn that they were in your pocket
+now--what? It is too bad--too bad! It is not a pleasant thing to think
+of, that little chair up the river in its horrible little room where--"
+
+"For God's sake, Isaac--not that! Do you hear--not that! My God, I
+didn't mean to--I didn't know what I was doing!"
+
+Jimmie Dale crept up another step, another, and another. There was
+silence for a moment in the room; then Burton again, hoarse-voiced:
+
+"Isaac, I'll make good to you some other way. I swear I will--I swear
+it! If I'm caught at this I'll--I'll get fifteen years for it."
+
+"And which would you rather have?" Jimmie Dale could picture the oily
+smirk, the shrug of his shoulders, the outthrust hands, palms upward,
+elbows in at the hips, the fingers curved and wide apart--"fifteen
+years, or what you get--for murder? Eh, my friend, you have thought of
+that--eh? It is a very little price I ask--yes?"
+
+"Damn you!" Burton's voice was shrill, then dropped to a half sob. "No,
+no, Isaac, I didn't mean that. Only, for God's sake be merciful! It is
+not only the risk of the penitentiary; it's more than that. I--I tried
+to play white all my life, and until that cursed night there's no man
+living could say I haven't. You know that--you know that, Isaac. I tell
+you I couldn't do it this afternoon--I tell you I couldn't. I tried to
+and--and I couldn't."
+
+Jimmie Dale was lying flat on the little landing now, peering into the
+room. Back a short distance from the doorway, a repulsive-looking
+little man in unkempt clothes and soiled linen, with yellowish-skinned,
+parchment face, out of which small black eyes shone cunningly and
+shrewdly, sat at a bare deal table in a rickety chair; facing him across
+the table stood a young man of not more than twenty-five, clean cut,
+well dressed, but whose face was unnaturally white now, and whose hand,
+as he extended it in a pleading gesture toward the other, trembled
+visibly. Jimmie Dale's hand made its way quietly to his side pocket and
+extracted his automatic.
+
+Old Isaac humped his shoulders, and leered at his visitor.
+
+"We talk a great deal, my young friend. What is the use? A bargain is
+a bargain. A few rubies in exchange for your life. A few rubies and my
+mouth is shut. Otherwise"--he humped his shoulders again. "Well?"
+
+Burton drew back, swept his hand in a dazed way across his eyes--and
+laughed out suddenly in bitter mirth.
+
+"A few rubies!" he cried. "The most magnificent stones on this side of
+the water--a FEW rubies! It's been Maddon's life hobby. Every child in
+New York knows that! A few--yes, there's only a few--but those few are
+worth a fortune. He trusts me, the man has been like a father to me,
+and--"
+
+"So you are the very last to be suspected," observed old Isaac suavely.
+"Have I not told you that? There is nothing to fear. Did we not arrange
+everything so nicely--eh, my young friend? See, it was to-night that
+Maddon gives a little reception to his friends, and did you not say that
+the rubies would be taken from the safe-deposit vault this afternoon
+since his friends always clamoured to see them as a very fitting
+conclusion to an evening's entertainment? And did you not say that you
+very naturally had access to the safe in the library where you worked,
+and that he would not notice they were gone until he came to look
+for them some time this evening? I think you said all that. And what
+suspicion let alone proof, would attach itself to you? You were out of
+the room once when he, too, was absent for perhaps half an hour. It
+is very simple. In that half hour, some one, somehow, abstracted them.
+Certainly it was not you. You see how little I ask--and I pay well, do I
+not? And so I gave you until to-night. Three days have gone, and I have
+said nothing, and the body has not been found--eh? But to-night--eh--it
+was understood! The rubies--or the chair."
+
+Burton's lips moved, but it was a moment before he could speak.
+
+"You wouldn't dare!" he whispered thickly. "You wouldn't dare! I'd tell
+the story of--of what you tried to make me do, and they'd send you up
+for it."
+
+Old Isaac shrugged with pitying contempt.
+
+"Is it, after all, a fool I am dealing with!" he sneered. "And I--what
+should I say? That you had stolen the stones from your employer and
+offered them as a bribe to silence me, and that I had refused. The very
+act of handing you over to the police would prove the truth of what I
+said and rob you of even a chance of leniency--FOR THAT OTHER THING. Is
+it not so--eh? And why did I not hand you over at once three nights ago?
+Believe me, my young friend, I should have a very good reason ready, a
+dozen, if necessary, if it came to that. But we are borrowing trouble,
+are we not? We shall not come to that--eh?"
+
+For a moment it seemed to Jimmie Dale, as he watched, that Burton would
+hurl himself upon the other. White to the lips, the muscles of his face
+twitching, Burton clenched his fists and leaned over the table--and
+then, with sudden revulsion of emotion, he drew back once more, and once
+more came that choked sob:
+
+"You'll pay for this, Isaac--your turn will come for this!
+
+"I have been threatened very often," snapped the other contemptuously.
+"Bah, what are threats! I laugh at them--as I always will." Then, with
+a quick change of front, his voice a sudden snarl: "Well, we have
+talked enough. You have your choice. The stones or--eh? And it is
+to-night--NOW!"
+
+The old pawnbroker sprawled back in his chair, a cunning leer on his
+vicious face, a gleam of triumph, greed, in the beady, ratlike eyes that
+never wavered from the other. Burton, moisture oozing from his forehead,
+stood there, hesitant, staring back at old Isaac, half in a fascinated
+gaze, half as though trying to read some sign of weakness in the bestial
+countenance that confronted him. And then, very slowly, in an automatic,
+machine-like way, his hand groped into the inside pocket of his
+vest--and old Isaac cackled out in derision.
+
+"So! You thought you could bluff me, eh--you thought you could fool old
+Isaac! Bah! I read you like a book! Did I not tell you a while back that
+you had them in your pocket? I know your kind, my young friend; I know
+your kind very well indeed--it is my business. You would not have
+dared to come here to-night without the price. So! You took them this
+afternoon as we agreed. Yes, yes; you did well. You will not regret it.
+And now let me see them"--his voice rose eagerly--"let me see them now,
+my young friend."
+
+"Yes, I took them." Burton spoke listlessly. "God help me!"
+
+Old Isaac, quivering, excited, like a different creature now, sprang
+from his chair, and, as Burton drew a long, flat, leather case from
+his pocket, snatched it from the other's hand. His fingers in their
+rapacious haste could not at first manipulate the catch, and then
+finally, with the case open, he bent over the table feverishly. The
+light reflected back as from some living mass of crimson fire, now
+shading darkly, now glowing into wondrous, colourful transparency as he
+moved the case to and fro with jerky motions of his hands--and he was
+babbling, crooning to himself like one possessed.
+
+"Ah, the little beauties! Ah, the pretty little things! Yes, yes; these
+are the ones! This is the great Aracon--see, see, the six-sided prism
+terminated by the six-sided pyramid. But it must be cut--it must be cut
+to sell it, eh? Ah, it is too bad--too bad! And this, this one here, I
+know them all, this is--"
+
+But his sentence was never finished--it was Jimmie Dale, on his feet
+now, leaning against the jamb of the door, his automatic covering the
+two men at the table, who spoke.
+
+"Quite so, Isaac," he said coolly; "you know them all! Quite so,
+Isaac--but be good enough to DROP them!"
+
+The case fell from Isaac's hand, the flush on his cheeks died to a
+sickly pallor, and, his mouth half open, he stood like a man turned to
+stone, his hands with curved fingers still outstretched over the table,
+over the crimson gems that, spilled from the case, lay scattered now
+on the tabletop. Burton neither spoke nor moved--a little whiter, the
+misery in his face almost apathetic, he moistened his lips with the tip
+of his tongue.
+
+Jimmie Dale walked across the room, halted at the end of the table,
+and surveyed the two men grimly. And then, while one hand with revolver
+extended rested easily on the table, the other gathered up the stones,
+placed them in the case, and, the case in his pocket, Jimmie Dale's lips
+parted in an uninviting smile.
+
+"I guess I'm in luck to-night, eh, Isaac?" he drawled. "Between you and
+your young friend, as I believe you call him, it would appear as though
+I had fallen on my feet. That Aracon's worth--what would you say?--a
+hundred, two hundred thousand alone, eh? A very famous stone, that--had
+your eye on it for quite a time, Isaac, you miserable blood leech, eh?"
+
+Isaac did not answer; but, while he still held back from the table, he
+seemed to be regaining a little of his composure--burglars of whatever
+sort were no novelty to him--and was staring fixedly at Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Can't place me--though there's not many in the profession you don't
+know? Is that it?" inquired Jimmie Dale softly. "Well, don't try, Isaac;
+it's hardly worth your while. I'VE got the stones now, and--"
+
+"Wait! Wait! Listen!" It was Burton, speaking for the first time, his
+words coming in a quick, nervous rush. "Listen! You don't--"
+
+"Hold your tongue!" cried old Isaac, with sudden fierceness. "You are a
+fool!" He leaned toward Jimmie Dale, a crafty smile on his face, quite
+in control of himself once more. "Don't listen to him--listen to me.
+You're right. I can't place you, and it doesn't make any difference"--he
+took a step forward--"but--"
+
+"Not too close, Isaac!" snapped Jimmie Dale sharply. "I know YOU!"
+
+"So!" ejaculated old Isaac, rubbing his hands together. "So! That is
+good! That is what I want. Listen, we will make a bargain. We are birds
+of a feather, eh? All thieves, eh? You've got the drop on us who did all
+the work, but you'll give us our share--eh? Listen! You couldn't get rid
+of those stones alone. You know that; you're not so green at the game,
+eh? You'd have to go to some one. You know me; you know old Isaac, you
+say. Well, then, you know there isn't another man in New York could
+dispose of those rubies and play SAFE doing it except me. I'll make a
+good bargain with you."
+
+"Isaac," said Jimmie Dale pensively, "you've made a good many 'good'
+bargains. I wonder when you'll make your last! There's more than one
+looking for 'interest' on those bargains in a pretty grim sort of way."
+
+"Bah!" ejaculated old Isaac. "It is an old story. They are all alike. I
+am afraid of none of them. I hold them all like--THAT!" His hand opened
+and closed like a taloned claw.
+
+"And you'd add me to the lot, eh?" said Jimmie Dale. He lifted the
+revolver, its muzzle on old Isaac, examined the mechanism thoughtfully,
+and lowered it again. "Very well, I'll make a bargain with
+you--providing it is agreeable to your young friend here."
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed old Isaac shrilly. "So! That is good! It is done then."
+He chuckled hoarsely. "Any bargain I make he will agree to. Is it not
+so?" He fixed his eyes on Burton. "Well, is it not so? Speak up! Say--"
+
+He stopped--the words cut short off on his lips. It came without
+warning--a crash, a pound on the door below--another.
+
+Burton shrank back against the wall.
+
+"My God! The police!" he gasped. "Maddon's found out! We're--we're
+caught!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes, on old Isaac, narrowed. The pounding in the alleyway
+grew louder, more insistent. And then his first suspicion passed--it
+was no "game" of Isaac's. Crafty though the old fox was, the other's
+surprise and agitation was too genuine to be questioned.
+
+Still the pounding continued--some one was kicking viciously at the
+door, and banging a tattoo on the panels with his fists.
+
+Old Isaac's clawlike hands doubled suddenly.
+
+"It is some drunken sot," he snarled out, "that knows no better than to
+come here and rouse the whole neighbourhood! It is true, in a moment we
+will have the police running in from the street. But wait--wait--I'll
+teach the fool a lesson!" He dashed around the table, ran for the
+window, wrenched the catch up, flung the window open, and, snarling
+again, leaned out--and instantly the knocking ceased.
+
+And instantly then, with a sharp cry, as the whole ghastly meaning of it
+swept upon him, Jimmie sprang after the other--too late! Came the
+roar of a revolver shot, a stream of flame cutting the darkness of the
+alleyway from the window in the house opposite--and, without a sound,
+old Isaac crumpled up, hung limply for a moment over the sill, and slid
+in a heap to the floor.
+
+On his hands and knees, protected from the possibility of another bullet
+by the height of the sill, Jimmie Dale, quick in every movement now,
+dragged the inert form toward the table away from the window, and bent
+hurriedly over the other. A minute perhaps he stayed there--and then
+rose slowly.
+
+Burton, horror-stricken, unmanned, beside himself, was hanging,
+clutching with both hands at the table edge.
+
+"He's dead," said Jimmie Dale laconically.
+
+Burton flung out his hands.
+
+"Dead!" he whispered hoarsely. "I--I think I'm going mad. Three days of
+hell--and now this. We'd--we'd better get out of here quick--they'll get
+us if--"
+
+Jimmie Dale's hand fell with a tight grip on Burton's shoulder.
+
+"There won't be any more shots fired--pull yourself together!"
+
+Burton stared at him in a demented way.
+
+"What's--what's it mean?" he stammered.
+
+"It means that I didn't put two and two together," said Jimmie Dale a
+little bitterly. "It means that there's a dozen crooks been dancing
+old Isaac's tune for a long time--and that some of them have got him at
+last."
+
+Burton reached out suddenly and clutched Jimmie Dale's arm.
+
+"Then I'm safe!" He mumbled the words, but there was dawning hope,
+relief in his white face. "Safe! I'm safe--if you'll only give me back
+those stones. Give them back to me, for God's sake give them back to me!
+You don't know--you don't understand. I stole them because--because he
+made me--because I--it was the only chance I had. Oh, my God, you don't
+know what the last three days have been! Give them back to me, won't
+you--won't you? You--you don't know!"
+
+"Don't lose your nerve!" said Jimmie Dale sharply. "Sit down!" He pushed
+the other into the chair. "There's no one will disturb us here for some
+time at least. What is it that I don't know? That three nights ago
+you were in a gambling hell, Sagosto's, to be exact, one of the most
+disreputable in New York--and you went there on the invitation of a
+stray acquaintance, a man named Perley--shall I describe him for you? A
+short, slim-built man, black eyes, red hair, beard, and--"
+
+"YOU know that!" The misery, the hopelessness was back in Burton's face
+again--and suddenly he bent over the table and buried his head in his
+outflung arms.
+
+There was silence for a moment. Tight-lipped, Jimmie Dale's eyes
+travelled from Burton's shaking shoulders to the motionless form on the
+floor. Then he spoke again:
+
+"You're a bit of a rounder, Burton, but I think you've had a lesson that
+will last you all your life. You were half-drunk when you and Perley
+began to hobnob over a downtown bar. He said he'd show you some real
+life, and you went with him to Sagosto's. He gave you a revolver before
+you went in, and told you the place wasn't safe for an unarmed man. He
+introduced you to Sagosto, the proprietor, and you were shown to a
+back room. You drank quite a little there. You and Perley were alone,
+throwing dice. You got into a quarrel. Perley tried to draw his
+revolver. You were quicker. You drew the one he had given you--and
+fired. He fell to the floor--you saw the blood gush from his breast just
+above the heart--he was dead. In a panic you rushed from the place and
+out into the street. I don't think you went home that night."
+
+Burton raised his head, showing his haggard face.
+
+"I guess it's no use," he said dully. "If you know, others must. I
+thought only Isaac and Sagosto knew. Why haven't I been arrested? I wish
+to God I had--I wouldn't have had to-day to answer for."
+
+"I am not through yet," said Jimmie Dale gravely. "The next day old
+Isaac here sent for you. He said Sagosto had told him of the murder, and
+had offered to dispose of the corpse and keep his mouth shut for fifty
+thousand dollars--that no one in his place knew of it except himself.
+Isaac, for his share, wanted considerably more. You told him you had no
+such sums, that you had no money. He told you how you could get it--you
+had access to Maddon's safe, you were Maddon's confidential
+secretary, fully in your employer's trust, the last man on earth to be
+suspected--and there were Maddon's famous, priceless rubies."
+
+Jimmie Dale paused. Burton made no answer.
+
+"And so," said Jimmie Dale presently, "to save yourself from the death
+penalty you took them."
+
+"Yes," said Burton, scarcely above his breath. "Are you an officer? If
+you are, take me, have done with it! Only for Heaven's sake end it! If
+you're not--"
+
+Jimmie Dale was not listening. "The cupboard at the rear of the room,"
+she had said. He walked across to it now, opened it, and, after a little
+search, found a small bundle. He returned with it in his hand, and,
+kneeling beside the dead man on the floor, his back to Burton, untied
+it, took out a red wig and beard, and slipped them on to old Isaac's
+head and face.
+
+"I wonder," he said grimly, as he stood up, "if you ever saw this man
+before?"
+
+"My God--PERLEY!" With a wild cry, Burton was on his feet, straining
+forward like a man crazed.
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale, "Perley! Sort of an ironic justice in his end
+as far as you are concerned, isn't there? I think we'll leave him like
+that--as Perley. It will provide the police with an interesting little
+problem--which they will never solve, and--STEADY!"
+
+Burton was rocking on his feet, the tears were streaming down his face.
+He lurched heavily--and Jimmie Dale caught him, and pushed him back into
+the chair again.
+
+"I thought--I thought there was blood on my hands," said Burton brokenly;
+"that--that I had taken a man's life. It was horrible, horrible! I've
+lived through three days that I thought would drive me mad, while I--I
+tried to do my work, and--and talk to people, just as if nothing had
+happened. And every one that spoke to me seemed so carefree and happy,
+and I would have sold my soul to have changed places with them." He
+stared at the form on the floor, and shivered suddenly. "It--it was like
+that I saw him last!" he whispered. "But--but I do not understand."
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled a little wearily.
+
+"It was simple enough," he said. "Old Isaac had had his eyes on those
+rubies for a long time. The easiest way of getting them was through you.
+The revolver he gave you before you entered Sagosto's was loaded with
+blank cartridges, the blood you saw was the old, old trick--a punctured
+bladder of red pigment concealed under the vest."
+
+"Let us get out of here!" Burton shuddered again. "Let us get out of
+here--at once--now. If we're found here, we'll be accused of--THAT!"
+
+"There is no hurry," Jimmie Dale answered quietly. "I have told you that
+no one is liable to come here to-night--and whoever did this certainly
+will not raise an alarm. And besides, there is still the matter of the
+rubies--Burton."
+
+"Yes," said Burton, with a quick intake of his breath.
+
+"Yes--the rubies--what are you going to do with them? I--I had forgotten
+them. You'll--" He stopped, stared at Jimmie Dale, and burst into a
+miserable laugh. "I'm a fool, a blind fool!" he moaned. "It does not
+matter what you do with them. I forgot Sagosto. When they find Isaac
+here, Sagosto will either tell his story, which will be enough to
+convict me of this night's work, the REAL murder, even though I'm
+innocent; or else he'll blackmail me just as Isaac did."
+
+Jimmie Dale shook his head.
+
+"You are doing Isaac's cunning an injustice," he said grimly. "Sagosto
+was only a tool, one of many that old Isaac had in his power--and, for
+that matter, as likely as any one else to have had a hand in Isaac's
+murder to-night. Sagosto saw you once when Isaac brought you into his
+place--not because Isaac wanted Sagosto to see you, but because he
+wanted YOU to see Sagosto. Do you understand? It would make the story
+that Sagosto came to him with the tale of the murder the next day ring
+true. Sagosto, however, did not go to old Isaac the next day to tell
+about any fake murder--naturally. Sagosto would not know you again
+from Adam--neither does he know anything about the rubies, nor what old
+Isaac's ulterior motives were. He was paid for his share in the game in
+old Isaac's usual manner of payment probably--by a threat of exposure
+for some old-time offence, that Isaac held over him, if he didn't keep
+his mouth shut."
+
+Burton's hand brushed his eyes.
+
+"Yes," he muttered. "Yes--I see it now."
+
+Jimmie Dale stooped down, picked up the paper from the floor in which
+the wig and beard had been wrapped, walked back with it, and replaced
+it in the cupboard. And then, with his back to Burton again, he took
+the case of gems from his pocket, opened it, and laid it on the cupboard
+shelf. Also from his pocket came that thin metal case, and from the
+case, with a pair of tweezers that obviated the possibility of telltale
+finger prints, a gray, diamond-shaped piece of paper, adhesive on
+one side that, cursed by the distracted authorities in every police
+headquarters on both sides of the Atlantic, and raved at by a virulent
+press whose printed reproductions had made it familiar in every
+household in the land--was the insignia of the Gray Seal. He moistened
+the adhesive side, dropped it from the tweezers to his handkerchief, and
+pressed it down firmly on the inside of the cover of the jewel case. He
+put both cases back in his pockets, and returned to Burton.
+
+"Burton," he said a little sharply, "while I was outside that doorway
+there, I heard you beg old Isaac to let you keep the rubies, and three
+times already you have asked the same of me. What would you do with them
+if I gave them back to you?"
+
+Burton did not reply for a moment--he was gazing at the masked face in a
+half-eager, half-doubtful way.
+
+"You--you mean you will give them back!" he burst out finally.
+
+"Answer my question," prompted Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Do with them?" Burton repeated slowly. "Why, I've told you. They'd go
+back to Mr. Maddon--I'd take them back."
+
+"Would you?" Jimmie Dale's voice was quizzical.
+
+A puzzled expression came to Burton's face.
+
+"I don't know what you mean by that," he said. "Of course, I would!"
+
+"How?" asked Jimmie Dale. "Do you know the combination of Mr. Maddon's
+safe?"
+
+"No," said Burton
+
+"And the safe would be locked, wouldn't it?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Quite so," said Jimmie Dale musingly. "Then, granted that Mr. Maddon
+has not already discovered the theft, how would you replace the stones
+before he does discover it? And if he already knows that they are gone,
+how would you get them back into his hands?"
+
+"Yes, I know," Burton answered a little listlessly. "I've thought of
+that. There's only one way--to take them back to him myself, and make a
+clean breast of it, and--" He hesitated.
+
+"And tell him you stole them," supplied Jimmie Dale.
+
+Burton nodded his head. "Yes," he said.
+
+"And then?" prodded Jimmie Dale. "What will Maddon do? From what I've
+heard of him, he's not a man to trifle with, nor a man to take an overly
+complacent view of things--not the man whose philosophy is 'all's well
+that ends well.'"
+
+"What does it matter?" Burton's voice was low. "It isn't that so much.
+I'm ready for that. It's the fact that he trusted me implicitly, and
+I--well, I played the fool, or I'd never have got into a mess like
+this."
+
+For an instant Jimmie Dale looked at the other searchingly, and then,
+smiling strangely, he shook his head.
+
+"There's a better way than that, Burton," he said quietly.
+
+"I think, as I said before, you've had a lesson to-night that will last
+you all your life. I'm going to give you another chance--with Maddon.
+Here are the stones." He reached into his pocket and laid the case on
+the table.
+
+But now Burton made no effort to take the case--his eyes, in that
+puzzled way again, were on Jimmie Dale.
+
+"A better way?" he repeated tensely. "What do you mean? What way?"
+
+"Well, say at the expense of another man's reputation--of mine,"
+suggested Jimmie Dale, with his whimsical smile. "You need only say that
+a man came to you this evening, told you that he stole these rubies from
+Mr. Maddon during the afternoon, and asked you, as Mr. Maddon's private
+secretary, to restore them with his compliments to their owner."
+
+A slow flush of disappointment, deepening to one of anger dyed Burton's
+cheeks.
+
+"Are you trying to make a fool of me?" he cried out. "Go to Maddon with
+a childish tale like that! There's no man living would believe such a
+cock-and-bull story!"
+
+"No?" inquired Jimmie Dale softly. "And yet I am inclined to think there
+are a good many--that even Maddon would, hard-headed as he is. You
+might say that when the man handed you the case you thought it was some
+practical joke being foisted on you, until you opened the case"--Jimmie
+Dale pushed it a little farther across the table, and Burton,
+mechanically, his eyes still on Jimme Dale, loosened the catch with his
+thumb nail--"until you opened the case, saw the rubies, and--"
+
+"The Gray Seal!" Burton had snatched the case toward him, and was
+straining his eyes at the inside cover. "You--the Gray Seal!"
+
+"Well?" said Jimmie Dale whimsically.
+
+Motionless, the case held open in his hands, Burton stood there.
+
+"The Gray Seal!" he whispered. Then, with a catch in his voice: "You
+mean this? You mean to let me have these back--you mean--you mean all
+you've said? For God's sake, don't play with me--the Gray Seal, the most
+notorious criminal in the country, to give back a fortune like this!
+You--you--"
+
+"Dog with a bad name," said Jimmie Dale, with a wry smile; then, a
+little gruffly: "Put it in your pocket!"
+
+Slowly, almost as though he expected the case to be snatched back from
+him the next instant, Burton obeyed.
+
+"I don't understand--I CAN'T understand!" he murmured. "They say that
+you--and yet I believe you now--you've saved me from a ruined life
+to-night. The Gray Seal! If--if every one knew what you had done,
+they--"
+
+"But every one won't," Jimmie Dale broke in bluntly, "Who is to tell
+them? You? You couldn't very well, when you come to think of it--could
+you? Well, who knows, perhaps there have been others like you!"
+
+"You mean," said Burton excitedly, "you mean that all these crimes of
+yours that have seemed without motive, that have been so inexplicable,
+have really been like to-night to--"
+
+"I don't mean anything at all," interposed Jimmie Dale a little
+hurriedly. "Nothing, Burton--except that there is still one little thing
+more to do to bolster up that 'childish' story of mine--and then get
+out of here." He glanced sharply, critically around the room, his eyes
+resting for a moment at the last on the form on the floor. Then tersely:
+"I am going to turn out the light--we will have to pass the window to
+get to the door, and we will invite no chances. Are you ready?"
+
+"No; not yet," said Burton eagerly. "I haven't said what I'd like to say
+to you, what I--"
+
+"Walk straight to the door," said Jimmie Dale curtly. There was the
+click of an electric-light switch, and the room was in darkness. "Now,
+no noise!" he instructed.
+
+And Burton, perforce, made his way across the room--and at the door
+Jimmie Dale joined him and led him down the short flight of stairs. At
+the bottom, he opened the door leading into the rear of the pawnshop
+itself, and, bidding Burton follow, entered.
+
+"We can't risk even a match; it could be seen from the street," he said
+brusquely, as he fumbled around for a moment in the darkness. "Ah--here
+it is!" He lifted a telephone receiver from its hook, and gave a number.
+
+Burton caught him quickly by the arm.
+
+"Good Lord, man, what are you doing?" he protested anxiously. "That's
+Mr. Maddon's house!"
+
+"So I believe," said Jimmie Dale complacently. "Hello! Is Mr. Maddon
+there? . . . I beg pardon? . . . Personally, yes, if you please."
+
+There was a moment's wait. Burton's hand was still nervously clutching
+at Jimmie Dale's sleeve. Then:
+
+"Mr. Maddon?" asked Jimmie Dale pleasantly. "Yes? . . . I am very sorry
+to trouble you, but I called you up to inquire if you were aware that
+your rubies, and among them your Aracon, had been stolen? . . . I beg
+pardon! . . . Rubies--yes. . . . You weren't. . . . Oh, no, I am quite
+in my right mind; if you will take the trouble to open your safe you
+will find they are gone--shall I hold the line while you investigate?
+. . . What? . . . Don't shout, please--and stand a little farther away
+from the mouthpiece." Jimmie Dale's tone was one of insolent composure
+now. "There is really no use in getting excited. . . . I beg pardon? . . .
+Certainly, this is the Gray Seal speaking. . . . What?" Jimmie Dale's
+voice grew plaintive, "I really can't make out a word when you yell like
+that. . . . Yes. . . . I had occasion to use them this afternoon, and I
+took the liberty of borrowing them temporarily--are you still there, Mr.
+Maddon? . . . Oh, quite so! Yes, I hear you NOW. . . . No, that is
+all, only I am returning them through your private secretary, a very
+estimable young man, though I fear somewhat excitable and shaky, who is
+on his way to you with them now. . . . WHAT'S THAT YOU SAY? You repeat
+that," snapped Jimmie Dale suddenly, icily, "and I'll take them
+from under your nose again before morning! . . . Ah! That is better!
+Good-night--Mr. Maddon."
+
+Jimmie Dale hung up the receiver and shoved Burton toward the door.
+
+"Now then, Burton, we'll get out of her--and the sooner you reach Fifth
+Avenue and Mr. Maddon's house the better. No; not that way!" They had
+reached the hall, and Burton had turned toward the side door that opened
+on the alleyway. "Whoever they were who settled their last account with
+Isaac may still be watching. They've nothing against any one else,
+but they know some one was in here at the time, and, if the police
+are clever enough ever to get on their track, they might find it
+very convenient to be able to say WHO was in the room when Isaac was
+murdered--there's nothing to show, since Isaac so obligingly opened the
+window for them, that the shot was fired THROUGH the window and not from
+the inside of the room. And even if they have already taken to their
+heels"--Jimmie Dale was leading Burton up the stairs again as he
+talked--"it might prove exceedingly inconvenient for us if some
+passer-by should happen to recollect that he saw two men of our general
+appearance leaving the premises. Now keep close--and follow me."
+
+They passed the door of Isaac's den, turned down a narrow corridor that
+led to the rear of the house--Jimmie Dale guiding unerringly, working
+from the mental map of the house that the Tocsin had drawn for
+him--descended another short flight of stairs that gave on the kitchen,
+crossed the kitchen, and Jimmie Dale opened a back door. He paused here
+for a moment to listen; then, cautioning Burton to be silent, moved on
+again across a small back yard and through a gate into a lane that
+ran at right angles to the alleyway by which both had entered the
+house--and, a minute later, they were crouched against a building, a
+half block away, where the lane intersected the cross street.
+
+Here Jimmie Dale peered out cautiously. There was no one in sight. He
+touched Burton's shoulder, and pointed down the street.
+
+"That's your way, Burton--mine's the other. Hurry while you've got the
+chance. Good-night."
+
+Burton's hand reached out, caught Jimmie Dale's, and wrung it.
+
+"God bless you!" he said huskily. "I--"
+
+And Jimmie Dale pushed him out on to the street.
+
+Burton's steps receded down the sidewalk. Jimmie Dale still crouched
+against the wall. The steps grew fainter in the distance and died
+finally away. Jimmie Dale straightened up, slipped the mask from his
+face to his pocket, stepped out on the street--and five minutes later
+was passing through the noisy bedlam of the Hungarian restaurant on his
+way to the front door and his car.
+
+"SONNEZ LE TOCSIN," Jimmie Dale was saying softly to himself. "I wonder
+what she'll do when she finds I've got the ring?"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+THE MAN HIGHER UP
+
+
+The Tocsin! By neither act, sign, nor word had she evidenced the
+slightest interest in that ring--and yet she must know, she certainly
+must know that it was now in his possession. Jimmie Dale was
+disappointed. Somehow, he had counted more than he had cared to admit on
+developments from that ring.
+
+He pulled a little viciously at his cigarette, as he stared out of the
+St. James Club window. That was how long ago? Ten days? Yes; this would
+be the eleventh. Eleven days now and no word from her--eleven days since
+that night at old Isaac's, since she had last called him, the Gray Seal,
+to arms. It was a long while--so long a while even that what had come
+to be his prerogative in the newspapers, the front page with three-inch
+type recounting some new exploit of that mysterious criminal the Gray
+Seal, was being usurped. The papers were howling now about what they,
+for the lack of a better term, were pleased to call a wave of crime that
+had inundated New York, and of which, for once, the Gray Seal was not
+the storm centre, but rather, for the moment, forgotten.
+
+He drew back from the window, and, settling himself again in the big
+leather lounging chair, resumed the perusal of the evening paper. His
+eye fell on what was common to every edition now, a crime editorial--and
+the paper crackled suddenly under the long, slim, tapering fingers,
+so carefully nurtured, whose sensitive tips a hundred times had made
+mockery of the human ingenuity squandered on the intricate mechanism
+of safes and vaults. No; he was wrong--the Gray Seal had not been
+forgotten.
+
+"We should not be surprised," wrote the editor virulently, "to discover
+at the bottom of these abominable atrocities that the guiding spirit,
+in fact, was the Gray Seal--they are quite worthy even of his diabolical
+disregard for the laws of God and man."
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips straightened ominously, and an angry glint crept into
+his dark, steady eyes. There was nothing then, nothing too vile that,
+in the public's eyes, could not logically be associated with the Gray
+Seal--even this! A series of the most cold-blooded, callous murders
+and robberies, the work, on the face of it, of a well-organized band
+of thugs, brutal, insensate, little better than fiends, though clever
+enough so far to have evaded capture, clever enough, indeed, to have
+kept the police still staggering and gasping after a clew for one
+murder--while another was in the very act of being committed! The Gray
+Seal! What exquisite irony! And yet, after all, the papers were not
+wholly to blame for what they said; he had invited much of it. Seeming
+crimes of the Gray Seal had apparently been genuine beyond any question
+of doubt, as he had intended them to appear, as in the very essence of
+their purpose they had to be.
+
+Yes; he had invited much--he and she together--the Tocsin and himself.
+He, Jimmie Dale, millionaire, clubman, whose name for generations in
+New York had been the family pride, was "wanted" as the Gray Seal for so
+many "crimes" that he had lost track of them himself--but from any one
+of which, let the identity of the Gray Seal be once solved, there was
+and could be no escape! What exquisite irony--yet full, too, of the most
+deadly consequences!
+
+Once more Jimmie Dale's eyes sought the paper, and this time scanned the
+headlines of the first page:
+
+
+BRUTAL MURDER OF MILL PAYMASTER.
+
+THE CRIME WAVE STILL AT ITS HEIGHT.
+
+HERMAN ROESSLE FOUND DEAD NEAR HIS CAR.
+
+ASSASSINS ESCAPE WITH $20,000.
+
+
+Jimmie Dale read on--and as he read there came again that angry set to
+his lips. The details were not pleasant. Herman Roessle, the paymaster
+of the Martindale-Kensington Mills, whose plant was on the Hudson, had
+gone that morning in his runabout to the nearest town, three miles away,
+for the monthly pay roll; had secured the money from the bank, a sum of
+twenty-odd thousand dollars; and had started back with it for the
+mill. At first, it being broad daylight and a well-frequented road, his
+nonappearance caused no apprehension; but as early afternoon came and
+there was still no sign of Roessle the mill management took alarm.
+Discovering that he had left the bank for the return journey at a few
+minutes before eleven, and that nothing had been seen of him at his
+home, the police were notified. Followed then several hours of fruitless
+search, until finally, with the whole countryside aroused and the
+efforts of the police augumented by private search parties, the car was
+found in a thicket at the edge of a crossroad some four miles back from
+the river, and, a little way from the car, the body of Roessle, dead,
+the man's head crushed in where it had been fiendishly battered by some
+blunt, heavy object. There was no clew--no one could be found who had
+seen the car on the crossroad--the murderer, or murderers, and the
+twenty-odd thousand dollars in cash had disappeared leaving no trace
+behind.
+
+There were several columns of this, which Jimmie Dale skimmed through
+quickly; but at the end he stared for a long time at the last paragraph.
+Somehow, strange, to relate, the paper had neglected to turn its "sob"
+artist loose, and the few words, added almost as though they were
+an afterthought, for once rang true and full of pathos in their very
+simplicity--at the Roessle home, where Mrs. Roessle was prostrated,
+two little tots of five and seven, too young to understand, had gravely
+received the reporter and told him that some bad man had hurt their
+daddy.
+
+"Mr. Dale, sir!"
+
+Jimmie Dale lowered his paper. A club attendant was standing before him,
+respectfully extending a silver card tray. From the man, Jimmie Dale's
+eyes fixed on a white envelope on the tray. One glance was enough--it
+was HERS, that letter. The Tocsin again! His brain seemed suddenly to be
+afire, and he could feel his pulse quicken, the blood begin to pound
+in fierce throbs at his heart. Life and death lay in that white,
+innocent-looking, unaddressed envelope, danger, peril--it was always
+life and death, for those were the stakes for which the Tocsin played.
+But, master of many things, Jimmie Dale was most of all master of
+himself. Not a muscle of his face moved. He reached nonchalantly for the
+letter.
+
+"Thank you," said Jimmie Dale.
+
+The man bowed and started away. Jimmie Dale laid the envelope on the
+arm of the lounging chair. The man had reached the door when Jimmie Dale
+stopped him.
+
+"Oh, by the way," said Jimmie Dale languidly, "where did this come
+from?"
+
+"Your chauffeur, sir," replied the other. "Your chauffeur gave it to the
+hall porter a moment ago, sir."
+
+"Thank you," said Jimmie Dale again.
+
+The door closed.
+
+Jimmie Dale glanced around the room. It was the caution of habit, that
+glance; the habit of years in which his life had hung on little things.
+He was alone in one of the club's private library rooms. He picked up
+the envelope, tore it open, took out the folded sheets inside, and began
+to read. At the first words he leaned forward, suddenly tense in his
+chair. He read on, turning the pages hurriedly, incredulity, amazement,
+and, finally, a strange menace mirroring itself in turn upon his face.
+
+He stood up--the letter in his hand.
+
+"My God!" whispered Jimmie Dale.
+
+It was a call to arms such as the Gray Seal had never received
+before--such as the Tocsin had never made before. And if it were true
+it--True! He laughed aloud a little gratingly. True! Had the Tocsin,
+astounding, unbelievable, mystifying as were the means by which she
+acquired her knowledge not only of this, but of countless other affairs,
+ever by so much as the smallest detail been astray. If it were true!
+
+He pulled out his watch. It was half-past nine. Benson, his chauffeur,
+had sent the letter into the club. Benson had been waiting outside
+there ever since dinner. Jimmie Dale, for the first time since the
+first communication that he had ever received from the Tocsin, did not
+immediately destroy her letter now. He slipped it into his pocket--and
+stepped quickly from the room.
+
+In the cloakroom downstairs he secured his hat and overcoat, and,
+though it was a warm evening, put on the latter since he was in evening
+clothes, then walked leisurely out of the club.
+
+At the curb, Benson, the chauffeur, sprang from his seat, and, touching
+his cap, opened the door of a luxurious limousine.
+
+Jimmie Dale shook his head.
+
+"I shall not keep you waiting any longer, Benson," he said. "You may
+take the car home, and put it up. I shall probably be late to-night."
+
+"Very good, sir," replied the chauffeur.
+
+"You sent in a letter a moment or so ago, Benson?" observed Jimmie Dale
+casually, opening his cigarette case.
+
+"Yes, sir," said Benson. "I hope I didn't do wrong, sir. He said it was
+important, and that you were to have it at once."
+
+"He?" Jimmie Dale was lighting his cigarette now.
+
+"A boy, sir," Benson amplified. "I couldn't get anything out of him. He
+just said he'd been told to give it to me, and tell me to see that you
+got it at once. I hope, sir, I haven't--"
+
+"Not at all, Benson," said Jimmie Dale pleasantly. "It's quite all
+right. Good-night, Benson."
+
+"Good-night, sir," Benson answered, climbing back to his seat.
+
+There was a queer little smile on Jimmie Dale's lips, as he watched the
+great car swing around in the street and glide noiselessly away--a queer
+little smile that still held there even after he himself had started
+briskly along the avenue in a downtown direction. It was invariably the
+same, always the same--the letters came unexpectedly, when least
+looked for, now by this means, now by that, but always in a manner that
+precluded the slightest possibility of tracing them to their source. Was
+there anything, in his intimate surroundings, in his intimate life,
+that she did not know about him--who knew absolutely nothing about her!
+Benson, for instance--that the man was absolutely trustworthy--or else
+she would never for an instant have risked the letter in his possession.
+Was there anything that she did not--yes, one thing--she did not know
+him in the role he was going to play to-night. That at least was one
+thing that surely she did not know about him; the role in which, many
+times, for weeks on end, he had devoted himself body and soul in an
+attempt to solve the mystery with which she surrounded herself; the
+role, too, that often enough had been a bulwark of safety to him when
+hard pressed by the police; the role out of which he had so carefully,
+so painstakingly created a now recognised and well-known character of
+the underworld--the role of Larry the Bat.
+
+Jimmie Dale turned from Fifth Avenue into Broadway, continued on down
+Broadway, across to the Bowery, kept along the Bowery for several more
+blocks--and finally headed east into the dimly lighted cross street on
+which the Sanctuary was located.
+
+And now Jimmie Dale became cautious in his movements. As he approached
+the black alleyway that flanked the miserable tenement, he glanced
+sharply behind and about him; and, at the alleyway itself, without
+pause, but with a curious lightning-like side step, no longer Jimmie
+Dale now, but the Gray Seal, he disappeared from the street, and was
+lost in the deep shadows of the building.
+
+In a moment he was at the side door, listening for any sound from
+within--none had ever seen or met the lodger or the first floor either
+ascending or descending, except in the familiar character of Larry
+the Bat. He opened the door, closed it behind him, and in the utter
+blackness went noiselessly up the stairs--stairs so rickety that it
+seemed a mouse's tread alone would have set them creaking. There seemed
+an art in the play of Jimmie Dale's every muscle; in the movements,
+lithe, balanced, quick, absolutely silent. On the first landing he
+stopped before another door, there was the faint click of a key turning
+in the lock; and then this door, too, closed behind him. Sounded the
+faint click of the key as it turned again, and Jimmie Dale drew a long
+breath, stepped across the room to assure himself that the window blind
+was down, and lighted the gas jet.
+
+A yellow, murky flame spurted up, pitifully weak, almost as though it
+were ashamed of its disreputable surroundings. Dirt, disorder, squalour,
+the evidence of low living testified eloquently enough to any one,
+the police, for instance, in times past inquisitive until they were
+fatuously content with the belief that they knew the occupant for what
+he was, that the place was quite in keeping with its tenant, a mute
+prototype, as it were, of Larry the Bat, the dope fiend.
+
+For a little space, Jimmie Dale, immaculate in his evening clothes,
+stood in the centre of the miserable room, his dark eyes, keen, alert,
+critical, sweeping comprehensively over every object about him--the
+position of a chair, of a cracked drinking glass on the broken-legged
+table, of an old coat thrown with apparent carelessness on the floor at
+the foot of the bed, of a broken bottle that had innocently strewn some
+sort of white powder close to the threshold, inviting unwary foot tracks
+across the floor. And then, taking out the Tocsin's letter, he laid it
+upon the table, placed what money he had in his pockets beside it, and
+began rapidly to remove his clothes. The Sanctuary had not been invaded
+since his last visit there.
+
+He turned back the oilcloth in the far corner of the room, took up the
+piece of loose flooring, which, however, strangely enough, fitted
+so closely as to give no sign of its existence even should it
+inadvertently, by some curious visitor again be trod upon; and from the
+aperture beneath lifted out a bundle of clothes and a small box.
+
+Undressed now, he carefully folded the clothes he had taken off, laid
+them under the flooring, and began to dress again, his wardrobe supplied
+by the bundle he had taken out in exchange--an old pair of shoes, the
+laces broken; mismated socks; patched trousers, frayed at the bottoms; a
+soiled shirt, collarless, open at the neck. Attired to his satisfaction,
+he placed the box upon the table, propped up a cracked mirror, sat down
+in front of it, and, with a deft, artist's touch, began to apply stain
+to his hands, wrists, neck, throat, and face--but the hardness, the grim
+menace that now grew into the dominant characteristic of his features
+was not due to the stain alone.
+
+"Dear Philanthropic Crook"--his eyes were on the Tocsin's letter that
+lay before him. He read on--for once, even to Jimmie Dale's keen, facile
+mind, a first reading had failed to convey the full significance of what
+she had written. It was too amazing, almost beyond belief--the series of
+crimes, rampant for the past few weeks, at which the community had
+stood aghast, the brutal murder of Roessle but a few hours old, lay bare
+before his eyes. It was all there, all of it, the details, the hellish
+cleverness, the personnel even of the thugs, all, everything--except the
+proof.
+
+"Get him, Jimmie--the man higher up. Get him, Jimmie--before another
+pays forfeit with his life"--the words seemed to leap out at him from
+the white page in red, dancing lines--"Get him--Jimmie--the man higher
+up."
+
+Jimmie Dale finished the second reading of the letter, read it again
+for the third time, then tore it into tiny fragments. His fingers delved
+into the box again, and the transformation of Jimmie Dale, member of New
+York's most exclusive social set, into a low, vicious-featured denizen
+of the underworld went on--a little wax applied skilfully behind the
+ears, in the nostrils and under the upper lip.
+
+It was all there--all except the proof. And the proof--he laughed aloud
+suddenly, unpleasantly. There seemed something sardonic in it; ay, more
+than that, all that was grim in irony. The proof, in Stangeist's own
+writing, sworn to before witnesses in the presence of a notary, the
+text of the document, of course, unknown to both witnesses and notary,
+evidence, absolute and final, that would be admitted in any court, for
+Stangeist was a lawyer, and would see to that, was in Stangeist's own
+safe, for Stangeist's own protection--Stangeist, who was himself the
+head and brains of this murder gang--Stangeist, who was the man higher
+up!
+
+It was amazing, without parallel in the history of crime--and yet
+ingenious, clever, full of the craft and cunning that had built up the
+shyster lawyer's reputation below the dead line.
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips were curiously thin now. So it was Stangeist! A
+Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde with a vengeance! He knew Stangeist--not
+personally; not by the reputation Stangeist held, low even as that was,
+among his brother members of the profession; but as the man was known
+for what he really was among the crooks and criminals of the underworld,
+where, in that strange underground exchange, whispered confidences
+passed between those whose common enemy was the law, where Larry the Bat
+himself was trusted in the innermost circles.
+
+Stangeist was a power in the Bad Lands. There were few among that unholy
+community that Stangeist, at one time or another, in one way or another,
+had not rescued from the clutches of the law, resorting to any trick or
+cunning, but with perjury, that he could handle like the master of
+it that he was, employed as the most common weapon of defence for his
+clients--provided he were paid well enough for it. The man had become
+more than the attorney for the crime world--he had become part of
+it. Cunning, shrewd, crafty, conscienceless, cold-blooded--that was
+Stangeist.
+
+The form and features of the man pictured themselves in Jimmie Dale's
+mind--the six-foot muscular frame, that was invariably clothed in attire
+of the most fashionable cut; the thin lips with their oily, plausible
+smile, the straight black hair that straggled into pin point, little
+black eyes, the dark face with its high cheek bones, which, with the
+pronounced aquiline nose and the persistent rumour that he was a
+quarter caste, had led the underworld, prejudiced always in favour of a
+"monaker," to dub the man the "Indian Chief."
+
+Jimmie Dale laughed again--still unpleasantly. So Stangeist had taken
+the plunge at last and branched out into a wider field, had he? Well,
+there was nothing surprising in that--except that he had not done it
+before! The irony of it lay in the fact that at last he had been TOO
+clever, overstepped himself in his own cleverness, that was all. It was
+Australian Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane that Stangeist had gathered
+around him, the Tocsin had said--and there were none worse in Larry the
+Bat's wide range of acquaintanceship than those three. Stangeist had
+made himself master of Australian Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane--and
+he had driven them a little too hard on the division of the spoils--and
+laughed at them, and cracked the whip much after the fashion that the
+trainer in the cage handles the growling beasts around him.
+
+A dozen of the crimes that had appalled and staggered New York they had
+committed under his leadership; and then, it seemed, they had quarrelled
+furiously, the three pitted against Stangeist, threatening him,
+demanding a more equitable share of the proceeds. None was better aware
+than Stangeist that threats from men of their calibre were likely to
+result in a grim aftermath--and Stangeist, yesterday, the Tocsin said,
+had answered them as no other man than Stangeist would either have
+thought of or have dared to do. One by one, at separate times, covering
+the other with a revolver, Stangeist had permitted them to read
+a document that was addressed to the district attorney. It was a
+confession, complete in every detail, of every crime the four together
+had committed, implicating Stangeist as fully and unreservedly as it
+did the other three. It required no commentary! If anything happened
+to Stangeist, a stab in the dark, for instance, a bullet from some dark
+alleyway, a blackjack deftly wielded, as only Australian Ike, The Mope
+or Clarie Deane knew how to wield it--the document automatically became
+a DEATH SENTENCE for Australian Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane!
+
+It was very simple--and, evidently, it had been effective, as witness
+the renewal of their operations in the murder of Roessle that afternoon.
+Fear and avarice had both probably played their part; fear of the man
+who would with such consummate nerve fling his life into the balance
+to turn the tables upon them, while he jeered at them; avarice that
+prompted them to get what they could out of Stangeist's brains and
+leadership, and to be satisfied with what they COULD get--since they
+could get no more!
+
+Satisfied? Jimmie Dale shook his head. No; that was hardly the
+word--cowed, perhaps, for the moment, would be better. But afterward,
+with a document like that in existence, when they would never be safe
+for an instant--well, beasts in the cages had been known to get the
+better of the man with the whip, and beasts were gentle things compared
+with Australian Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane! Some day they would
+reverse the tables on the Indian Chief--if they could. And if they
+couldn't it would not be for the lack of trying.
+
+There would be another act in that drama of the House Divided before the
+curtain fell! And there would be a sort of grim, poetic justice in it, a
+temptation almost to let the play work itself out to its own inevitable
+conclusion, only--Jimmie Dale, the final touches given to his features,
+stood up, and his hands clenched suddenly, fiercely--it was not just the
+man higher up alone, there were the other three as well, the whole
+four of them, all of them, crimes without number at their door, brutal,
+fiendish acts, damnable outrages, murder to answer for, with which the
+public now was beginning to connect the name of the Gray Seal! The Gray
+Seal!
+
+Jimmie Dale's hands, whose delicate fingers were artfully grimed and
+blackened now beneath the nails, clenched still tighter--and then, with
+a quick shrug of his shoulders, a thinning of the firmly compressed
+lips, he picked up the coat from where it lay upon the floor, put it on,
+put the money that was on the table in his pocket, and replaced the box
+under the flooring.
+
+In quick succession, from the same hiding place, an automatic, a black
+silk mask, an electric flashlight, that thin metal box like a cigarette
+case, and a half dozen vicious-looking little blued-steel burglar's
+tools were stowed away in his pockets, the flooring carefully replaced,
+the oilcloth spread back again; and then, pulling a slouch hat well down
+over his eyes, he reached up to turn off the gas.
+
+For an instant his hand held there, while his eyes, sweeping around the
+apartment, took in every single detail about him in that same alert,
+comprehensive way as when he had entered--then the room was in darkness,
+and the Gray Seal, as Larry the Bat, a shuffling, unkempt creature
+of the underworld, alias Jimmie Dale, the lionised of clubs, the
+matrimonial target of exclusive drawing-rooms, closed the door of the
+Sanctuary behind him, shuffled down the stairs, shuffled out into the
+lane, and shuffled along the street toward the Bowery.
+
+A policeman on the corner accosted him familiarly.
+
+"Hello, Larry!" grinned the officer.
+
+"'Ello!" returned Jimmie Dale affably through the side of his mouth.
+"Fine night, ain't it?"--and shuffled on along the street.
+
+And now Jimmie Dale began to hurry--still with that shuffling tread, but
+covering the ground nevertheless with amazing celerity. He had lost
+no time since receiving the Tocsin's letter, it was true, but, for all
+that, it was now after ten o'clock. Stangeist's house was "dark" that
+evening, she had said, meaning that the occupants, Stangeist as well
+as whatever servants there might be, for Stangeist had no family, were
+out--the servants in town for a theatre or picture show probably--and
+Stangeist himself as yet not back, presumably from that Roessle affair.
+The stub of an old cigar, unlighted, shifted with a sudden, savage twist
+of the lips from one side of Jimmie Dale's mouth to the other. There was
+need for haste. There was no telling when Stangeist might get back--as
+for the servants, that did not matter so much; servants in suburban
+homes had a marked affinity for "last trains!"
+
+Jimmie Dale boarded a cross-town car, effected a transfer, and in
+a quarter of an hour after leaving the Sanctuary was huddled, an
+inoffensive heap, like a tired-out workingman, in a corner seat of a
+Long Island train. From here, there was only a short run ahead of him,
+and, twenty minutes later, descending from the train at Forest Hills, he
+had passed through the more thickly settled portion of the little place,
+and was walking briskly out along the country road.
+
+Stangeist's house lay, approximately, a mile and a half from the
+station, quite by itself, and set well back from the road. Jimmie Dale
+could have found it with his eyes blindfolded--the Tocsin's directions
+had lacked none of their usual explicit minuteness. The road was quite
+deserted. Jimmie Dale met no one. Even in the houses that he passed the
+lights were in nearly every instance already out.
+
+Something, merciless in its rage, swept suddenly over Jimmie Dale, as,
+unbidden, of its own volition, the last paragraph he had read in that
+evening's paper began to repeat itself over and over again in his mind.
+The two little kiddies--it seemed as though he could see them standing
+there--and from Jimmie Dale's lips, not given to profanity, there came
+a bitter oath. It might possibly be that, even if he were successful in
+what was before him to-night, the authors of the Roessle murder would
+never be known. That confession of Stangeist's was written prior to what
+had happened that afternoon, and there would be no mention, naturally,
+of Roessle. And, for a moment, that seemed to Jimmie Dale the one thing
+paramount to all others, the one thing that was vital; then he shook
+his head, and laughed out shortly. After all, it did not matter--whether
+Stangeist and the blood wolves he had gathered around him paid the
+penalty specifically for one particular crime or for another could make
+little difference--they would PAY, just as surely, just as certainly,
+once that paper was in his possession!
+
+Jimmie Dale was counting the houses as he passed--they were more
+infrequent now, farther apart. Stangeist was no fool--not the fool that
+he would appear to be for keeping a document like that, once he had had
+the temerity to execute it, in his own safe; for, in a day or two, the
+Tocsin had hinted at this, after holding it over the heads of Australian
+Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane again to drive the force of it a little
+deeper home, he would undoubtedly destroy it--and the SUPPOSITION that
+it was still in existence would have equally the same effect on the
+minds of the other three! Stangeist was certainly alive to the peril
+that he ran with such a thing in his possession, only the peril had not
+appealed to him as imminent either from the three thugs with whom he had
+allied himself, or, much less, from any one else, that was all.
+
+Jimmie Dale halted by a low, ornamental stone fence, some three feet
+high, and stood there for a moment, glancing about him. This was
+Stangeist's house--he could just make out the building as it loomed up a
+shadowy, irregular shape, perhaps two hundred yards back from the fence.
+The house was quite dark, not a light showed in any window. Jimmie Dale
+sat down casually on the fence, looked carefully again up and down
+the road--then, swinging his legs over, quick now in every action, he
+dropped to the other side, and stole silently across the grass to the
+rear of the house.
+
+Here he stopped again, reached up to a window that was about on a level
+with his shoulders, and tested its fastenings. The window--it was the
+window of Stangeist's private sanctum, according to the plan in
+her letter--was securely locked. Jimmie Dale's hands went into his
+pocket--and the black silk mask was slipped over his face. He listened
+intently--then a little steel instrument began to gnaw like a rat.
+
+A minute passed--two of them. Again Jimmie Dale listened. There was not
+a sound save the night sounds--the light breeze whispering through
+the branches of the trees; the far-off rumble of a train; the whir of
+insects; the hoarse croaking of a frog from some near-by creek or pond.
+The window sash was raised an inch, another, and gradually to the top.
+Like a shadow, Jimmie Dale pulled himself up to the sill, and, poised
+there, his hand parted the heavy portieres that hung within. It was too
+dark to distinguish even a single object in the room. He lowered himself
+to the floor, and slipped cautiously between the portieres.
+
+From somewhere in the house, a clock began to strike. Jimmie Dale
+counted the strokes. Eleven o'clock. It was getting late--TOO late!
+Stangeist was likely to be back at any moment. The flashlight, in Jimmie
+Dale's hand now, circled the room with its little round white ray,
+lingering an instant in a queer, inquisitive sort of way here and there
+on this object and that--and went out. Jimmie Dale nodded--the flat desk
+in the centre of the floor, the safe in the corner by the rear wall, the
+position of everything in the room, even to the chairs, was photographed
+on his mind.
+
+He stepped from the portieres to the safe, and the flashlight played
+again--this time reflecting back from the glistening nickelled knobs.
+Jimmie Dale's lips tightened. It was a small safe, almost ludicrously
+small; but to such height as the art of safe design had been carried,
+that design was embodied in the one before him.
+
+"Type K-four-two-eight-Colby," muttered Jimmie Dale. "A nasty little
+beggar--and it's eleven o'clock now! I'd use 'soup' for once, if it
+weren't that it would put Stangeist wise, and give him a chance to make
+his get-away before the district attorney got the nippers on the four of
+them."
+
+The light went out. Jimmie Dale dropped to his knees; and, while his
+left hand passed swiftly, tentatively over dials and handle, he rubbed
+the fingers of his right hand rapidly to and fro over the carpet.
+Wonderful finger tips were those of Jimmie Dale, sensitive to an
+abnormal degree; and now, tingling with the friction, the nerves
+throbbing at the skin surface, they closed in a light, delicate touch
+upon the knob of the dial--and Jimmie Dale's ear pressed close against
+the face of the safe.
+
+Time passed. The silence grew heavy--seemed to palpitate through the
+room. Then a deep breath, half like a sigh, half like a fluttering sob
+as of a strong man taxed to the uttermost of his endurance, came from
+Jimmie Dale, and his left hand swept away the sweat beads that had
+spurted to his forehead.
+
+"Eight--thirteen--twenty-two," whispered Jimmie Dale.
+
+There was a click, a low metallic thud as the bolts slid back, and the
+door swung open.
+
+And now the flashlight again, searching the mechanism of the inner
+door--then darkness once more.
+
+Five minutes, ten minutes went by. The clock struck again--and the
+single stroke seemed to boom out through the house in a weird, raucous,
+threatening note, and seemed to linger, throbbing in the air.
+
+The inner door was open--the flashlight's ray was flooding a nest
+of pigeonholes and little drawers. The pigeonholes were crammed with
+papers, as, presumably, too, were the drawers. Jimmie Dale sucked in his
+breath. He had already been there well over half an hour--every minute
+now, every second was counting against him, and to search that mass of
+papers before Stangeist returned was--
+
+"Ah!"--it came in a fierce little ejaculation from Jimmie Dale. From
+the centre pigeonhole, almost the first paper he had touched, he drew
+a long, sealed envelope and at a single swift glance had read the
+inscription upon it, written in longhand:
+
+
+TO THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY, NEW YORK CITY.
+
+IMPORTANT. URGENT.
+
+
+The words in the corners were underscored three times.
+
+Swiftly, deftly, Jimmie Dale's hands rolled the rounded end of one of
+his collection of the legal instruments under the flap of the envelope,
+turned the sheets over and drew out the folded document inside. There
+were eight sheets of legal foolscap, neatly fastened together at the top
+left-hand corner with green tape. He opened them out, read a few words
+here and there, and turned the pages hurriedly over to scrutinise
+the last one--and nodded grimly. Three witnesses had testified to the
+signature of Stangeist, and a notary's seal, accompanied by the usual
+legal formula, was duly affixed.
+
+Jimmie Dale slipped the document into his pocket, and, with the envelope
+in his hand, moved to the desk. He opened first one drawer and then
+another, and finally discovering a pile of blank foolscap, took out four
+sheets, folded them, and placed them in the envelope, sealing the
+flap of the latter again. That it did not seal very well now brought a
+quizzical twitch to Jimmie Dale's lips. Sealed or unsealed, perhaps, it
+made little difference; but, for all that, he was not through with it
+yet. Apart from bringing the four to justice, there was, after all, a
+chance to vindicate the Gray Seal in this matter at least, and repudiate
+the newspaper theory which the public, to whom the Gray Seal was already
+a monster of iniquity, would seize upon with avidity.
+
+There was no further need of light now. Jimmie Dale replaced the
+flashlight in his pocket, took out the thin, metal case, opened it, and
+with the tiny pair of tweezers that likewise nestled there, lifted out
+one of the gray, diamond-shaped paper seals. There was no question but
+that, once under arrest, Stangeist's effects would be immediately
+and thoroughly searched by the authorities! Jimmie Dale's smile from
+quizzical became ironic. It would afford the police another little,
+bewildering reminder of the Gray Seal, and give Carruthers, good old
+Carruthers of the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, so innocently ignorant that the
+Gray Seal was his old college pal, yet the one editor of them all who
+was not forever barking and yelping at the Gray Seal's heels, a chance
+to vindicate himself a little, too! Jimmie Dale moistened the adhesive
+side of the gray seal, and, still mindful of tell-tale finger prints,
+laid it with the tweezers on the flap of the envelope, and pressed it
+firmly into place with his elbow.
+
+And then, suddenly, every faculty instantly on the alert, he snatched up
+the envelope from the desk, and listened. Was it imagination, a trick
+of nerves, or--no, there it was again!--a footfall on the gravel walk at
+the front of the house. The sound became louder, clearer--two footfalls
+instead of one. It was Stangeist, and somebody was with him.
+
+In an instant Jimmie Dale was across the room and kneeling again before
+the safe. His fingers were flying now. The envelope shot back into the
+pigeonhole from which he had taken it--the inner door of the safe closed
+silently and swiftly.
+
+A dry chuckle came from Jimmie Dale's lips. It was just like fiction,
+just precisely time enough to have accomplished what he had come for
+before he was interrupted, not a second more or less, the villain foiled
+at the psychological moment! The key was rattling in the front door
+now--they were in the hall--he could hear Stangeist's voice--there came
+a dull glow from the hallway, following the click of an electric-light
+switch. The outer door of the safe swung shut, the bolts slid into
+place, the dial whirled under Jimmie Dale's fingers. It was only a
+step to the portieres, the open window--and escape. He straightened up,
+stepped back, the portieres closed behind him--and the chuckle died on
+Jimmie Dale's lips.
+
+He was trapped--caught without so much as a corner in which to turn!
+Stangeist was even then coming into the room--and OUTSIDE, darkly
+outlined, two forms stood just beneath the window. Instinctively, quick
+as a flash, Jimmie Dale crouched below the sill. Who were they? What did
+it mean? Questions swept in swift sequence through his brain. Had they
+seen him? It would be very dark against the background of the portieres,
+but yet if they were watching--he drew a breath of relief. He had not
+been seen. Their voices reached him in low, guarded whispers.
+
+"Say, youse, Ike, pipe it! Dere's a window open in the snitch's room.
+Come on, we'll get in dere. It'll make the hair stand up on the back of
+his neck fer a starter."
+
+"Aw, ferget it!" replied another voice. "Can the tee-ayter stunt!
+Clarie leaves the front door unfastened, don't he? An' dey'll be in dere
+in a minute now. Wotcher want ter do? Crab the game? He might hear us
+an' fix Clarie before we had a chanst, the skinny old fox! An' dere's
+the light now--see! Beat it on yer toes fer the front of the house!"
+
+The room was flooded with light. Through the portieres, that Jimmie Dale
+parted by the barest fraction of an inch, he could see Stangeist and
+another man, a thick-set, ugly-faced-looking customer--Clarie Deane,
+according to that brief, whispered colloquy that he had heard outside.
+He looked again through the window. The two dark forms had disappeared
+now, but they had disappeared just a few seconds too late--with the two
+other men now in the room, and one of them so close that Jimmie Dale
+could almost have reached out and touched him, it was impossible to
+get through the window without being detected, when the slightest sound
+would attract instant attention and equally instant suspicion. It was a
+chance to be taken only as a last resort.
+
+Jimmie Dale's face grew hard, as his fingers closed around his automatic
+and drew the weapon from his pocket. It was all plain enough. That last
+act in the drama which he had speculatively anticipated was being staged
+with little loss of time--and in a grim sort of way the thought flashed
+across his mind that, perilous as his own position was, Stangeist at
+that moment was in even greater peril than himself. Australian Ike, The
+Mope, and Clarie Deane, given the chance, and they seemed to have made
+that chance now, were not likely to deal in half measures--Clarie Deane
+had dropped into a chair beside the desk; and The Mope and Australian
+Ike were creeping around to the front door!
+
+The parting in the portieres widened a little more, a very little more,
+slowly, imperceptibly, until Jimmie Dale, by the simple expedient of
+moving his head, could obtain an unobstructed view of the entire room.
+
+Stangeist tossed a bag he had been carrying on the desk, pulled up a
+chair opposite to Clarie Deane, and sat down. Both men were side face to
+Jimmie Dale.
+
+"You tell the boys," said Stangeist abruptly, "to fade away after this
+for a while. Things are getting too hot. And you tell The Mope I dock
+him five hundred for that extra crunch on Roessle's skull. That sort
+of thing isn't necessary. That's the kind of stunt that gets the public
+sore--the man was dead enough as it was. See?"
+
+"Sure!" Clarie Deane's ejaculation was a grunt.
+
+Stangeist opened the bag, and dumped the contents on the desk--pile
+after pile of banknotes, the pay roll of the Martindale-Kensington
+Mills.
+
+"Some haul!" observed Clarie Deane, with a hoarse chuckle. "The papers
+said over twenty thousand."
+
+"You can't always believe what the papers say," returned Stangeist
+curtly; and, taking a scribbling pad from the desk, began to check up
+the packages.
+
+Clarie Deane's cigar had gone out. He rolled the short stub in his
+mouth, and leaned forward.
+
+The bills were evidently just as they had been delivered to the murdered
+paymaster at the bank, done up with little narrow paper bands in
+packages of one hundred notes each, save for a small bundle of loose
+bills which latter, with the rolls of silver, Stangeist swept to one
+side of the desk.
+
+Package by package, Stangeist went on jotting the amounts down on the
+pad.
+
+"Nix!" growled Clarie Deane suddenly. "Cut that out! Them's fivers in
+that wad. Make that five hundred instead of one--I'm onter yer!"
+
+"Mistake," said Stangeist suavely, changing the figures with his pencil.
+"You're pretty wide awake for this time of night, aren't you, Clarie?"
+
+"Oh, I dunno!" responded Clarie Deane gruffly. "Not so very!"
+
+Stangeist, finished with the packages, picked up the loose bills, and,
+with a short laugh, tossed them into the bag and followed them with the
+rolls of silver. He pushed the bag toward Clarie Deane.
+
+"That's a little extra for you," he said. "The trouble with you fellows
+is that you don't know when you're well off--but the sooner you find it
+out the better, unless you want another lesson like yesterday." He made
+the addition on the pad. "Fifteen thousand, eight hundred dollars," he
+announced softly. "That's seven thousand, nine hundred for the three of
+you to divide, less five hundred from The Mope."
+
+Clarie Deane's eyes narrowed. His hands were on his knees, hidden by the
+desk.
+
+"There's more'n twenty there," he said sullenly--and drew a match across
+the under edge of the desk with a long, crackling noise.
+
+Stangeist's face lost its suavity, a snarl curled his lips; but, about
+to reply, he sprang suddenly to his feet instead, his head turned
+sharply toward the door.
+
+"What's that!" he said hoarsely. "It's not the servants, they wouldn't
+dare to--"
+
+Stangeist's words ended in a gulp. He was staring into the muzzle of a
+heavy-calibered revolver that Clarie Deane had jerked up from under the
+desk.
+
+"You sit down, or I'll blow your block off!" said Clarie Deane, with a
+sudden leer.
+
+It happened then almost before Jimmie Dale could grasp the details;
+before even Clarie Deane himself could interfere. The door burst open,
+two men rushed in--and one, with a bound, flung himself at Stangeist.
+The man's hand, grasping a clubbed revolver, rose in the air, descended
+on Stangeist's head--and Stangeist went down in a limp heap, crashed
+into the chair, and slid from the chair with a thud to the floor.
+
+There was an oath from Clarie Deane. He jumped from his seat, and with a
+violent shove sent the man reeling half across the room.
+
+"Blast you, Mope!" he snarled. "You're too blamed fly! D'ye wanter queer
+the whole biz?"
+
+"Aw, wot's the matter wid youse!" The Mope, purple-faced with rage,
+little black eyes glittering, mouth working under a flattened nose that
+some previous encounter had broken and bent over the side of his face,
+advanced belligerently.
+
+Australian Ike, who had entered the room with him, pulled him back.
+
+"Ferget it!" he flung out. "Clarie's dealin' the deck. Ferget it!"
+
+The Mope glared from one to the other; then shook his fist at Stangeist
+on the floor.
+
+"Youse two make me sick!" he sneered. "Wot's the use of waitin' all
+night? We was to bump him off, anyway, wasn't we? Dat's wot youse said
+yerselves, 'cause wot was ter stop him writin' out another paper if we
+didn't fix him fer keeps?"
+
+"That's all right," rejoined Clarie Deane; "but that's the second act,
+you bonehead, see! We ain't got the paper yet, have we? Say, take a look
+at that safe! It's easier ter scare him inter openin' it than ter crack
+it, ain't it?"
+
+Jimmie Dale, from his crouched position, began to rise to his feet
+slowly, making but the slightest movement at a time, cautious of the
+least sound. His lips were like a thin line, his fingers tightly pressed
+over the automatic in his hand. There was not room for him between the
+portieres and the window; and, do what he could, the hangings bulged a
+little. Let one of the three notice that, or inadvertently brush against
+the portieres, and his life would not be worth an instant's purchase.
+
+They were lifting Stangeist up now, propping him up in the chair.
+Stangeist moaned, opened his eyes, stared in a dazed way at the three
+faces that leered into his, then dawning intelligence came, and his
+face, that had been white before, took on a pasty, grayish pallor.
+
+"You--the three of you!" he mumbled. "What's this mean?"
+
+And then Clarie Deane laughed in a low, brutal way.
+
+"Wot d'ye think it means? We want that paper, an' we want it damn
+quick--see! D'ye think we was goin' ter stand fer havin' a trip ter Sing
+Sing an' the wire chair danglin' over our heads!"
+
+Stangeist closed his eyes. When he opened them again, something of the
+old-time craftiness was in his face.
+
+"Well, what are you going to do about it?" he inquired, almost sharply.
+"You know what will happen to you, if anything happens to me."
+
+"Don't youse kid yerself!" retorted Clarie Deane. "D'ye think we're
+fools? This ain't like it was yesterday--see! We GETS the paper this
+time--so there won't nothin' happen to us. You come across with it
+blasted quick now, or The Mope'll give you another on the bean that'll
+put you to sleep fer keeps!"
+
+The blood was running down Stangeist's face. He wiped it away from his
+eyes.
+
+"It's not here," he said innocently. "It's in my box in the
+safety-deposit vaults."
+
+"Aw," blurted out Australian Ike, pushing suddenly forward, "youse can't
+work dat crawl on--"
+
+"Cut it out, Ike!" snapped Clarie Dane. "I'm runnin' this! So it's in
+the vaults, eh?" He shoved his face toward Stangeist's.
+
+"Yes," said Stangeist easily. "You see--I was looking for something like
+this."
+
+Clarie Deane's fist clenched.
+
+"You lie!" he choked. "The Mope, here, was the last of us you showed
+the paper to yesterday afternoon, an' the vaults was closed then--an' you
+ain't been there to-day, 'cause you've been watched. That's why we fixed
+it fer to-night after the divvy that you've just tried ter do us on
+again, 'cause we knew you had it here."
+
+"I tell you, it's not here," said Stangeist evenly.
+
+"You lie!" said Clarie Deane again. "It's in that safe. The Mope heard
+you tell the girl in yer office that if anything happened to you she was
+ter wise up the district attorney that there was a paper in your safe
+at home fer him that was important. Now then, you beat it over ter that
+safe, an' open it up--we'll give you a minute ter do it in."
+
+"The paper's not there, I tell you," said Stangeist once more.
+
+"That's all right," submitted Clarle Deane grimly. "There's a quarter of
+that minute gone."
+
+"I won't!" Stangeist flashed out violently.
+
+"That's all right," repeated Clarie Deane. "There's half of that minute
+gone."
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes, in a fascinated sort of way, were on Stangeist. The
+man's face was twitching now, moisture began to ooze from his forehead,
+as the callous brutality of the scowling faces seemed to get him--and
+then he lurched suddenly forward in his chair.
+
+"My God!" he cried out, a ring of terror in his voice "What do you mean
+to do? You'll pay for it! They'll get you! The servants will be back in
+a minute."
+
+"Two skirts!" jeered Clarie Deane. "We ain't goin' ter run away from
+them. If they comes before we goes, we'll fix 'em. That minute's up!"
+
+Stangeist licked his lips with his tongue.
+
+"Suppose--suppose I refuse?" he said hoarsely.
+
+"You can suit yerself," said Clarie Deane, with a vicious grin. "We know
+the paper's there, an' we gets it before we leaves here--see? You can
+take yer choice. Either you goes over ter the safe an' opens it yerself,
+or else"--he paused and produced a small bottle from his pocket--"this
+is nitro-glycerin', an' we opens it fer you with this. Only if we does
+the job we does it proper. We ties you up and sets you against the door
+of the safe before we touches off the 'soup,' an' mabbe if yer a good
+guesser you can guess the rest."
+
+There was a short, raucous guffaw from The Mope.
+
+Stangeist turned a drawn face toward the man, stared at him, and
+stared in a miserable way at the other two in turn. He licked his lips
+again--none was in a better position than himself to know that there
+would be neither scruples nor hesitancy to interfere with carrying out
+the threat.
+
+"Suppose," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "suppose I open the
+safe--what then--afterward?"
+
+"We ain't got the safe open yet," countered Clarie Deane
+uncompromisingly. "An' we ain't got no more time ter fool over it,
+either. You get a move on before I counts five, or The Mope an' Ike ties
+you up! One--"
+
+Stangeist staggered to his feet, wiped the blood out of his eyes for the
+second time, and, with lips working, went unsteadily across the room to
+the safe.
+
+He knelt before it, and began to manipulate the dial; while the others
+crowded around behind him. The Mope was fingering his revolver again
+club fashion. Australian Ike's elbow just grazed the portieres, and
+Jimmie Dale flattened himself against the window, holding his breath--a
+smile on his lips that was mirthless, deadly, cold. The end was not far
+off now; and then--WHAT?
+
+Stangeist had the outer door of the safe open now--and now the inner
+door swung back. He reached in his hand to the pigeonhole, drew out the
+envelope--and with a sudden, wild cry, reeled to his feet.
+
+"My God!" he screamed out. "What's--what's this!"
+
+Clarie Deane snatched the envelope from him.
+
+"THE GRAY SEAL!"--the words came with a jerk from his lips. He ripped
+the envelope open frantically--and like a man stunned gazed at the four
+blank sheets, while the colour left his face. "IT'S GONE!" he cried out
+hoarsely.
+
+"Gone!" There was a burst of oaths from Australian Ike. "Gone! Den we're
+nipped--de lot of us!"
+
+The Mope's face was like a maniac's as he whirled on Stangeist.
+
+"Sure!" he croaked. "But youse gets yers first, youse--"
+
+With a cry, Stangeist, to elude the blow, ducked blindly backward--into
+the portieres--and with a rip and tear the hangings were wrenched apart.
+
+It came instantaneously--a yell of mingled surprise and fury from the
+three--the crash and spit of Jimmie Dale's revolver as he fired one shot
+at the floor to stop their rush--then he flung himself at the window,
+through it, and dropped sprawling to the ground.
+
+A stream of flame cut the darkness above him, a bullet whistled by his
+head--another--and another. He was on his feet, quick as a cat, and
+running close alongside of the wall of the house. He heard a thud behind
+him, still another, and yet a third--they were dropping through the
+window after him. Came another shot, an angry hum of the bullet closer
+than before--then the pound of racing feet.
+
+Jimmie Dale swung around the corner of the house, running at top speed.
+Something that was like a hot iron suddenly burned and seared along the
+side of his head just above the ear. He reeled, staggered, recovered
+himself, and dashed on. It nauseated him, that stinging in his head,
+and all at once seemed to be draining his strength away. The shouts, the
+shots, the running feet became like a curious buzzing in his ears. It
+seemed strange that they should have hit him, that he should be wounded!
+If he could only reach the low stone wall by the road, he could at least
+make a fight for his life on the other side!
+
+Red streaks swam before Jimmie Dale's eyes. The wall was such a long way
+off--a yard or two was a very long way more to go--the weakness
+seemed to be creeping up now even to numb his brain. No, here was the
+wall--they hadn't hit him again--he laughed in a demented way--and
+rolled his body over, and fell to the other side.
+
+"JIMMIE!"
+
+The cry seemed to reach some inner consciousness, revive him, send the
+blood whipping through his veins. That voice! It was her--HERS! The
+Tocsin! There was an automobile, engine racing, standing there in the
+road. He won to his feet--dark, rushing forms were almost at the wall.
+He fired--once--twice--fired again--and turned, staggering for the car.
+
+"Jimmie! Jimmie--QUICK!"
+
+Panting, gasping, he half fell into the tonneau. The car leaped forward,
+yells filled the air--but only one thing was dominant in Jimmie Dale's
+reeling brain now. He pulled himself up to his feet, and leaned over the
+back of the seat, reaching for the slim figure that was bent over the
+wheel.
+
+"It's you--you at last!" he cried. "Your face--let me lee your face!"
+
+A bullet split the back panel of the car--little spurting flames were
+dancing out from the roadway behind.
+
+"Are you mad!" she shouted back at him. "Let me steer--do you want them
+to hit me!"
+
+"No-o," said Jimmie Dale, in a queer singsong sort of way, and his
+head seemed to spin dizzily around. "No--I guess--" He choked. "The
+paper--it's in--my pocket"--and he went down unconscious on the floor of
+the car.
+
+When he recovered his senses he was lying on a couch in a plainly
+furnished room, and a man, a stranger, red, jovial-faced, farmerish
+looking, was bending over him.
+
+"Where am I?" he demanded finally, propping himself up on his elbow.
+
+"You're all right," replied the man. "She said you'd come around in a
+little while."
+
+"Who said so?" inquired Jimmie Dale.
+
+"She did. The woman who brought you here about five minutes ago. She
+said she ran you down with her car."
+
+"Oh!" said Jimmie Dale. He felt his head--it was bandaged, and it was
+bandaged, he was quite sure, with a piece of torn underskirt. He looked
+at the man again. "You haven't told me yet where I am."
+
+"Long Island," the other answered. "My name's Hanson. I keep a bit of a
+truck garden here."
+
+"Oh," said Jimmie Dale again.
+
+The man crossed the room, picked up an envelope from the table, and came
+back to Jimmie Dale.
+
+"She said to give you this as soon as you got your senses, and asked us
+to put you up for a while, as long as you wanted to stay, and paid
+us for it, too. She's all right, she is. You don't want to hold the
+accident up against her, she was mighty sorry about it. And now I'll go
+and see if the old lady's got your room ready while you're readin' your
+letter."
+
+The man left the room.
+
+Jimmie Dale sat up on the couch, and tore the envelope open. The note,
+scrawled in pencil, began abruptly:
+
+
+"You were quite a problem. I couldn't take you HOME--could I? I couldn't
+take you to what you call the Sanctuary could I? I couldn't take you to
+a hospital, nor call in a doctor--the stain you use wouldn't stand it.
+But, thank God! I know it's only a flesh wound, and you are all right
+where you are for the day or two that you must keep quiet and take care
+of yourself. By the time you read this the paper will be on the way to
+the proper hands, and by morning the four where they should be. There
+were a few articles in your clothes I thought it better to take charge
+of in case--well, in case of ACCIDENT."
+
+
+Jimmie Dale tore the note up, and smiled wryly at the door. He felt
+in his pockets. Mask, revolver, burglar's tools, and the thin metal
+insignia case were gone.
+
+"And I had the sublime optimism," murmured Jimmie Dale, "to spend months
+trying to find her as Larry the Bat!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+TWO CROOKS AND A KNAVE
+
+
+The bullet wound along the side of his head and just above his ear would
+have been a very awkward thing indeed, in more ways than one, for Jimmie
+Dale, the millionaire, to have explained at his club, in his social set,
+or even to his servants, and of these latter to Jason the Solicitous
+in particular; but for Jimmie Dale as Larry the Bat it was a matter of
+little moment. There was none to question Larry the Bat, save in a most
+casual and indifferent way; and a bandage of any description, primarily
+and above all one that he could arrange himself, with only himself to
+take note of the incongruous hues of skin where the stain, the grease
+paint, and the make-up was washed off, would excite little attention
+in that world where daily affrays were common-place happenings, and a
+wound, for whatever reason, had long since lost the tang of novelty. Why
+then should it arouse even a passing interest if Larry the Bat, credited
+as the most confirmed of dope fiends, should have fallen down the
+dark, rickety stairs of the tenement in one of his orgies, and, in the
+expressive language of the Bad Lands, cracked his bean!
+
+And so Jimmie Dale had been forced to maintain the role of Larry the Bat
+for a far longer period than he had anticipated when, ten days before,
+he had assumed it for the night's work that had so nearly resulted
+fatally for himself, though it had placed Roessle's murderers behind
+the bars. For, the next day, unwilling to court the risk of remaining
+in that neighbourhood, he had left Hanson's, the farmer's, house on
+Long Island where the Tocsin had carried him in an unconscious state,
+telephoned Jason that he had been unexpectedly called out of town for
+a few days, and returned to the Sanctuary in New York. And here, to his
+grim dismay, he had found the underworld in a state of furious, angry
+unrest, like a nest of hornets, stirred up, seeking to wreak vengeance
+on an unseen assailant.
+
+For years, as the Gray Seal, Jimmie Dale had lived with the slogan of
+the police, "The Gray Seal dead or alive--but the Gray Seal!" sounding
+in his ears; with the newspapers screaming their diatribes, arousing
+the people against him, nagging the authorities into sleepless, frenzied
+efforts to trap him; with a price upon his head that was large enough to
+make a man, not too pretentious, rich for life--but in the underworld,
+until then, the name of the Gray Seal had been one to conjure with, for
+the underworld had sworn by the unknown master criminal, and had
+spoken his name with a reverence that was none the less genuine even if
+pungently tainted with unholiness. But now it was different. Up and down
+through the Bad Lands, in gambling hells, in vicious resorts, in the
+hiding places where thugs and crooks burrowed themselves away from
+the daylight, through the heart and the outskirts of the underworld
+travelled the fiat, whispered out of mouths crooked to one side--DEATH
+TO THE GRAY SEAL!
+
+Gangland differences were forgotten in the larger issue of the common
+weal. The gang spirit became the spirit of a united whole, and the crime
+fraternity buzzed and hummed poisonously, spurred on by hatred, thirst
+for revenge, fear, and, perhaps most potent of all, a hideous suspicion
+now of each other.
+
+The underworld had received a shock at which it stood aghast, and which,
+with its terrifying possibilities, struck consternation into the soul
+of every individual of that brotherhood whose bond was crime, who was
+already "wanted" for some offence or other, whether it ranged from
+murder in the first degree to some petty piece of sneak thievery.
+Stangeist, the Indian chief, the lawyer whose cunning brain had stood as
+a rampart between the underworld and a prison cell, was himself now in
+the Tombs with the certainty of the electric chair before him; and with
+him, the same fate equally assured, were Australian Ike, The Mope, and
+Clarie Deane! Aristocrats of the Bad Lands, peers of that inglorious
+realm were those four--and the blow had fallen with stunning force,
+a blow that in itself would have been enough to have stirred the
+underworld to its depths. But that was not all--from the cells in the
+Tombs, from the four came the word, and passed from mouth to mouth in
+that strange underground exchange until all had heard it, that the Gray
+Seal had "SQUEALED." The Gray Seal who, though unknown, they had counted
+the most eminent among themselves, had squealed! Who was the Gray Seal?
+It he had held the secrets of Stangeist and his band, what else might
+he not know? Who else might not fall next? The Gray Seal had become
+a snitch, a menace, a source of danger that stalked among them like a
+ghastly spectre. Who was the Gray Seal? None knew.
+
+"Death to the Gray Seal! Run him to earth!" went the whisper from lip
+to lip; and with the whisper men stared uncertainly into each other's
+faces, fearful that the one to whom they spoke might even be--the Gray
+Seal!
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips twisted queerly as he looked around him at the
+squalid appointments of the Sanctuary. The police were bad enough, the
+papers were worse; but this was a still graver peril. With every denizen
+of the underworld below the dead line suspicious of each other, their
+lives, the penitentiary, or a prison sentence the stakes against which
+each one played, the role of Larry the Bat, clever as was the make-up
+and disguise, was fraught now more than ever before with danger and
+peril. It seemed as though slowly the net was beginning at last to
+tighten around him.
+
+The murky, yellow flame of the gas jet flickered suddenly, as though
+in acquiescence with the quick, impulsive shrug of Jimmie Dale's
+shoulders--and Jimmie Dale, bending to peer into the cracked mirror that
+was propped up on the broken-legged table, knotted his dress tie almost
+fastidiously. The hair, if just a trifle too long, covered the scar on
+his head now, the wound no longer required a bandage, and Larry the Bat,
+for the time being at least, had disappeared. Across the foot of the
+bed, neatly folded, lay his dress coat and overcoat, but little creased
+for all that they had lain in that hiding-place under the flooring since
+the night when, hurrying from the club, he had placed them there to
+assume instead the tatters of Larry the Bat. It was Jimmie Dale in his
+own person again who stood there now in Larry the Bat's disreputable
+den, an incongruous figure enough against the background of his
+miserable surroundings, in perfect-fitting shoes and trousers, the
+broad expanse of spotless white shirt bosom glistening even in the
+poverty-stricken flare from the single, sputtering gas jet.
+
+Jimmie Dale took the watch from his pocket that had not been wound for
+many days, wound it mechanically, set it by guesswork--it was not far
+from eight o'clock--and replaced it in his pocket. Carefully then, one
+at a time, he examined his fingers, long, slim, sensitive, tapering
+fingers, magical masters of safes and locks and vaults of the most
+intricate and modern mechanism--no single trace of grime remained,
+they were metamorphosed hands from the filthy paws of Larry the Bat. He
+nodded in satisfaction; and picked up the mirror for a final inspection
+of himself, that, this time, did not miss a single line in his face or
+neck. Again Jimmie Dale nodded. As though he had vanished into thin
+air, as though he had never existed, not a trace of Larry the Bat
+remained--except the heap of rags upon the floor, the battered slouch
+hat, the frayed trousers, the patched boots with their broken laces, the
+mismated socks, the grimy flannel shirt, and the old coat that he had
+just discarded.
+
+The mirror was replaced on the table; and, pushing the heap of clothes
+before him with his foot, Jimmie Dale knelt down in the corner of the
+room where the oilcloth had been turned up and the loose planking of the
+floor removed, and began to pack the articles away in the hole. Jimmie
+Dale rolled the trousers of Larry the Bat into a compact little bundle,
+and stuffed them under the flooring. The gas jet seemed to blink again
+in a sort of confidential approval, as though the secret lay inviolate
+between itself and Jimmie Dale. Through the closed window, shade tightly
+drawn, came, low and muffled, the sound of distant life from the Bowery,
+a few blocks away. The gas jet, suffering from air somewhere within the
+pipes, hissed angrily, the yellow flame died to a little blue, forked
+spurt--and Jimmie Dale was on his feet, his face suddenly hard and white
+as marble.
+
+SOME ONE WAS KNOCKING AT THE DOOR!
+
+For the fraction of a second Jimmie Dale stood motionless. Found as
+Jimmie Dale in the den of Larry the Bat, and the consequences required
+no effort of the imagination to picture them; police or denizen of the
+underworld who was knocking there, it was all the same, the method of
+death would be a little different, that was all--one legalised, the
+other not. Jimmie Dale, Larry the Bat, the Gray Seal, once uncovered,
+could expect as much quarter as would be given to a cornered rat. His
+eyes swept the room with a swift, critical glance--evidences of Larry
+the Bat, the clothes, were still about, even if he in the person of
+Jimmie Dale, alone damning enough, were not standing there himself.
+And he was even weaponless--the Tocsin had taken the revolver from
+his pocket, together with those other telltale articles, the mask, the
+flashlight, the little blued-steel tools, before she had intrusted him
+that night, wounded and unconscious, to Hanson's care.
+
+Jimmie Dale slipped his feet out of his low evening pumps, snatched up
+the old coat and hat from the pile, put them on, and, without a
+sound, reached the gas jet and turned it off. A second had gone by--no
+more--the knocking still sounded insistently on the door. It was dark
+now, perfectly black. He started across the room, his tread absolutely
+silent as the trained muscles, relaxing, threw the body weight gradually
+upon one foot before the next step was taken. It was like a shadow,
+a little blacker in outline than the surrounding blackness, stealing
+across the floor.
+
+Halfway to the door he paused. The knocking had ceased. He listened
+intently. It was not repeated. Instead, his ear caught a guarded step
+retreating outside in the hall. Jimmie Dale drew a breath of relief.
+He went on again to the door, still listening. Was it a trap--that step
+outside?
+
+At the door now, tense, alert, he lowered his ear to the keyhole. There
+came the faintest creak from the stairs. Jimmie Dale's brows gathered.
+It was strange! The knocking had not lasted long. Whoever it was was
+going away--but it required the utmost caution to descend those stairs,
+rickety and tumble-down as they were, with no more sound than that!
+Why such caution? Why not a more determined and prolonged effort at his
+door--the visitor had been easily satisfied that Larry the Bat was not
+within. TOO easily satisfied! Jimmie Dale turned the key noiselessly in
+the lock. He opened the door cautiously--half inch--an inch, there was
+no sound of footsteps now. Occasionally a lodger moved about on the
+floor above; occasionally from somewhere in the tenement came the murmur
+of voices as from behind closed door--that was all. All else was silence
+and darkness now.
+
+The door, on its well-oiled hinges, swung wide open. Jimmie Dale thrust
+out his head into the hall--and something fell upon the threshold with
+a little thud--but for a moment Jimmie Dale did not move. Listening,
+trying to pierce the darkness, he was as still as the silence around
+him; then he stooped and groped along the threshold. His hand closed
+upon what seemed like a small box wrapped in paper. He picked it up,
+closed and locked the door again, and retreated back across the room. It
+was strange--unpleasantly strange--a box propped stealthily against the
+door so that it would fall to the threshold when the door was opened!
+And why the stealth? What did it mean? Had the underworld with its
+thousand eyes and ears already succeeded in a few days where the police
+had failed signally for years--had they sent him this, whatever it was,
+as some grim token that they had run Larry the Bat to earth? He shook
+his head. No; gangland struck more swiftly, with less finesse than
+that--the "cat-and-mouse" act was never one it favoured, for the mouse
+had been known to get away.
+
+Jimmie Dale lighted the gas again, and turned the package over in his
+hands. It was, as he had surmised, a small cardboard box; and it was
+wrapped in plain paper and tied with a string. He untied the string,
+and still suspicious, as a man is suspicious in the knowledge that he is
+stalked by peril at every turn, removed the wrapper a little gingerly.
+It was still without sign or marking upon it, just an ordinary cardboard
+box. He lifted off the cover, and, with a short, sudden laugh, stared, a
+little out of countenance, at the contents.
+
+On the top lay a white, unaddressed envelope. HERS! Beneath--he emptied
+the box on the table--his black silk mask, his automatic revolver, the
+kit of fine, small blued-steel burglar's tools, his pocket flashlight,
+and the thin metal insignia case. The Tocsin! Impulsively Jimmie Dale
+turned toward the door--and stopped. His shoulders lifted in a shrug
+that, meant to be philosophical, was far from philosophical. He could
+not, dared not venture far through the tenement dressed as he was; and
+even if he could there were three exits to the Sanctuary, a fact that
+now for the first time was not wholly a source of unmixed satisfaction
+to him; and besides--she was gone!
+
+Jimmie Dale opened the letter, a grim smile playing on his lips. He had
+forgotten for the moment that the illusion he had cherished for years
+in the belief that she did not know Larry the Bat as an alias of
+Jimmie Dale was no more than--an illusion. Well, it had been a piece of
+consummate egotism on his part, that was all. But, after all, what did
+it matter? He had had his innings, tried in the role of Larry the Bat
+to solve her identity, devoted weeks on end to the attempt--and failed.
+Some day, perhaps, his turn would come; some day, perhaps, she would no
+longer be able to elude him, unless--the letter crackled suddenly in
+his fingers--unless the house that they had built on such strange
+and perilous foundations crashed at some moment, without an instant's
+warning, in disaster and ruin to the ground. Who knew but that this
+letter now, another call to the Gray Seal to act, another peril invited,
+would be the LAST? There must be an end some day; luck and nerve had
+their limitations--it had almost ended last week!
+
+
+"Dear Philanthropic Crook"--it was the same inevitable beginning. "You
+are well enough again, aren'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. He had not
+been far wrong. From what the night promised now, this might well be the
+last letter. Who knew? There would be need of all the wit and luck and
+nerve to-night that the Gray Seal had ever had before.
+
+With a jerk, Jimmie Dale roused himself from the momentary reverie into
+which he had fallen; and, all action now, stuffed the torn pieces of the
+letter into his trousers pocket to be disposed of later in the street;
+took off the old coat and slouch hat again, and resumed the disposal of
+Larry the Bat's effects under the flooring.
+
+This accomplished, he replaced the planking and oilcloth, stood up, put
+on his dress coat and light overcoat, and, from the table, stowed the
+black silk mask, the automatic, the little kit of tools, the flashlight,
+and the thin metal case away in his pockets.
+
+Jimmie Dale raised his hand to the gas fixture, circled the room with a
+glance that missed no single detail--then the light went out, the door
+closed behind him, locked, a dark shadow crept silently down the stairs,
+out through the side door into the alleyway, along the alleyway close to
+the wall of the tenement where it was blackest, and, satisfied that
+for the moment there were no passers-by, emerged on the street, walking
+leisurely toward the Bowery.
+
+Once well away from the Sanctuary, however, Jimmie Dale quickened his
+steps; and twenty minutes later, having stopped but once to telephone to
+his home on Riverside Drive for his touring car, he was briskly mounting
+the steps of the St. James Club on Fifth Avenue. Another twenty minutes
+after that, and he had dismissed Benson, his chauffeur, and, at
+the wheel of his big, powerful machine, was speeding uptown for the
+Palais-Metropole Hotel.
+
+It was twelve minutes after nine when he drew up at the curb in front of
+the side entrance of the hotel--his watch, set by guesswork, had been a
+little slow, and he had corrected it at the club. He was replacing the
+watch in his pocket as he sauntered around the corner, and passed in
+through the main entrance to the big lobby.
+
+Jimmie Dale avoided the elevators--it was only one flight up, and
+elevator boys on occasions had been known to be observant. At the top
+of the first landing, a long, wide, heavily carpeted corridor was before
+him. "Number one hundred and forty-eight, the corner room on the right,"
+the Tocsin had said. Jimmie Dale walked nonchalantly along--past No.
+148. At the lower end of the hall a group of people were gathered around
+the elevator doors; halfway down the corridor a bell boy came out of a
+room and went ahead of Jimmie Dale.
+
+And then Jimmie Dale stopped suddenly, and began to retrace his steps.
+The group had entered the elevator, the bell boy had disappeared around
+the farther end of the hall into the wing of the hotel--the corridor
+was empty. In a moment he was standing before the door of No. 148;
+in another, under the persuasion of a little steel instrument, deftly
+manipulated by Jimmie Dale's slim, tapering fingers, the lock clicked
+back, the door opened, and he stepped inside, closing and locking the
+door again behind him.
+
+It was already a quarter past nine, but no one was as yet in the
+connecting room--the fanlight next door had been dark as he passed. His
+flashlight swept about him, located the connecting door--and went out.
+He moved to the door, tried it, and found it locked. Again the little
+steel instrument came into play, released the lock, and Jimmie Dale
+opened the door. Again the flashlight winked. The door opened into a
+bathroom that, obviously, at will, was either common to the two rooms or
+could, by the simple expedient of locking one door or the other, be used
+by one of the rooms alone. In the present instance, the occupant of the
+adjoining apartment had taken "a room with a bath."
+
+Jimmie Dale passed through the bathroom to the opposite door. This was
+already three-quarters open, and swung outward into the bedroom, near
+the lower end of the room by the window. Through the crack of the door
+by the hinges, Jimmie Dale flashed his light, testing the radius of
+vision, pushed the door a few inches wider open, tested it again with
+the flashlight--and retreated back into No. 148, closing the door on his
+side until it was just ajar.
+
+He stood there then silently waiting. It was Hamvert's room next door,
+and Hamvert and the Weasel were already late. A step sounded outside in
+the corridor. Jimmie Dale straightened intently. The step passed on
+down the hallway and died away. A false alarm! Jimmie Dale smiled
+whimsically. It was a strange adventure this that confronted him, quite
+the strangest in a way that the Tocsin had ever planned--and the night
+lay before him full of peril in its extraordinary complications. To win
+the hand he must block Hamvert and the Weasel without allowing them an
+inkling that his interference was anything more than, say, the luck of
+a hotel sneak thief at most. The Weasel was a dangerous man, one of the
+slickest second-story workers in the country, with safe cracking as one
+of his favourite pursuits, a man most earnestly desired by the police,
+provided the latter could catch him "with the goods." As for Hamvert,
+he did not know Hamvert, who was a stranger in New York, except that
+Hamvert had fleeced a man named Michael Breen out of his share in a
+claim they had had together when Breen had first gone to Alaska to try
+his luck, and now, having discovered that Breen, when prospecting alone
+somewhere in the interior a month or so ago, had found a rich vein and
+had made a map or diagram of its location, he, Hamvert, had followed
+the other to New York for the purpose of getting it by hook or crook.
+Breen's "find" had been too late; taken sick, he had never worked his
+claim, had barely got back home before he died, and only in time to hand
+his wife the strange legacy of a roughly scrawled little piece of paper,
+and--Jimmie Dale straightened up alertly once more. Steps again--and
+this time coming from the direction of the elevator; then voices; then
+the opening of the door of the next room; then a voice, distinctly
+audible:
+
+"Pull up a chair, and we'll get down to business. You're late, as it is.
+We haven't any time to waste, if we're going to wash pay-dirt to-night."
+
+"Aw, dat's all right!" responded another voice--quite evidently the
+Weasel's. "Don't youse worry--de game's cinched to a fadeaway."
+
+There was the sound of chairs being moved across the floor. Jimmie Dale
+slipped the black silk mask over his face, opened the door on his side
+of the bathroom cautiously, and, without a sound, stepped into the
+bathroom that was lighted now, of course, by the light streaming in
+through the partially opened door of Hamvert's room. The two were
+talking earnestly now in lower tones. Jimmie Dale only caught a word
+here and there--his faculties for the moment were concentrated on
+traversing the bathroom silently. He reached the farther door, crouched
+there, peered through the crack--and the old whimsical smile flickered
+across his lips again.
+
+The Palais-Metropole was high class and exclusive, and the Weasel for
+once looked quite the gentleman, and, for all his sharp, ferret face,
+not entirely out of keeping with his surroundings--else he would never
+have got farther than the lobby. The other was a short, thickset,
+heavy-jowled man, with a great shock of sandy hair, and small black eyes
+that looked furtively out from overhanging, bushy eyebrows.
+
+"Well," Hamvert was saying, "the details are your concern. What I
+want is results. We won't waste time. You're to be back here by
+daylight--only see that there's no come-back."
+
+"Leave it to me!" returned the Weasel, with assurance. "How's dere
+goin' ter be any come-back? Mittel keeps it in his safe, don't he? Well,
+gentlemen's houses has been robbed before--an' dis job'll be a good one.
+De geographfy stunt youse wants gets pinched wid de rest, dat's all. It
+disappears--see? Who's ter know youse gets yer claws on it? It's just
+lost in de shuffle."
+
+"Right!" agreed Hamvert briskly--and from his inside pocket produced
+a package of crisp new bills, yellow-backs, and evidently of large
+denominations. "Half down and half on delivery--that's our deal."
+
+"Dat's wot!" assented the Weasel curtly.
+
+Hamvert began to count the bills.
+
+Jimmie Dale's hand stole into his pocket, and came out with his
+handkerchief and the thin metal insignia case. From the latter, with its
+little pair of tweezers, he took out one of the adhesive gray seals.
+His eyes warily on the two men, he dropped the seal on his handkerchief,
+restored the thin metal case to his pocket--and in its stead the
+blue-black ugly muzzle of his automatic peeped from between his fingers.
+
+"Five thousand down," said Hamvert, pushing a pile of notes across the
+table, and tucking the remainder back into his pocket; "and the other
+five's here for you when you get back with the map. Ordinarily, I
+wouldn't pay a penny in advance, but since you want it that way and
+the map's no good to you while the rest of the long green is, I--" He
+swallowed his words with a startled gulp, clutched hastily at the money
+on the table, and began to struggle up from his chair to his feet.
+
+With a swift, noiseless side-step through the open door, Jimmie Dale was
+standing in the room.
+
+Jimmie Dale's tones were conversational. "Don't get up," said Jimmie
+Dale coolly. "And take your hand off that money!"
+
+The Weasel, whose back had been to the door, squirmed around in his
+chair--and in his turn stared into the muzzle of Jimmie Dale's revolver,
+while his jaw dropped and sagged.
+
+"Good-evening, Weasel," observed Jimmie Dale casually. "I seem to be in
+luck to-night. I got into that room next door, but an empty room is slim
+picking. And then it seemed to me I heard some one in here mention five
+thousand dollars twice, which makes ten thousand, and which happens to
+be just exactly the sum I need at the present moment--if I can't get any
+more! I haven't the honour of your wealthy friend's acquaintance, but
+I am really charmed to meet him. You--er--understand, both of you, that
+the slightest sound might prove extremely embarrassing."
+
+Hamvert's face was white, and he stirred uneasily in his chair; but
+into the Weasel's face, the first shock of surprised dismay past, came
+a dull, angry red, and into the eyes a vicious gleam--and suddenly he
+laughed shortly.
+
+"Why, youse damned fool," jeered the Weasel, "d'youse t'ink youse can
+get away wid dat! Say, take it from me, youse are a piker! Say, youse
+make me tired. Wot d'youse t'ink youse are? D'youse t'ink dis is a
+tee-ayter, an' dat youse are a cheap-skate actor strollin' acrost de
+stage? Aw, beat it, youse make me sick! Why, say, youse pinch dat money,
+an' youse have got de same chanst of gettin' outer dis hotel as a guy
+has of breakin' outer Sing Sing! By de time youse gets five feet from de
+door of dis room we has de whole works on yer neck."
+
+"Do you think so, Weasel?" inquired Jimmie Dale politely. He carried his
+handkerchief to his mouth to cloak a cough--and his tongue touched
+the adhesive side of the little diamond-shaped gray seal. Hand and
+handkerchief came back to the table, and Jimmie Dale leaned his weight
+carelessly upon it, while the automatic in his right hand still covered
+the two men. "Do you think so, Weasel?" he repeated softly. "Well,
+perhaps you are right; and yet; somehow, I am inclined to disagree with
+you. Let me see, Weasel--it was Tuesday night, two nights ago; wasn't
+it, that a trifling break in Maiden Lane at Thorold and Sons disturbed
+the police? It was a three-year job for even a first offender, ten
+for one already on nodding terms with the police and fifteen to twenty
+for--well, say, for a man like you, Weasel--IF HE WERE CAUGHT! Am I
+making myself quite plain?"
+
+The colour in the Weasel's cheeks faded a little--his eyes were holding
+in sudden fascination upon Jimmie Dale.
+
+"I see that I am," observed Jimmie Dale pleasantly. "I said, 'if he were
+caught,' you will remember. I am going to leave this room in a moment,
+Weasel, and leave it entirely to your discretion as to whether you will
+think it wise or not to stir from that chair for ten minutes after
+I shut the door. And now"--Jimmie Dale nonchalantly replaced his
+handkerchief in his pocket, nonchalantly followed it with the banknotes
+which he picked up from the table--and smiled.
+
+With a gasp, both men had strained forward, and were staring, wild-eyed,
+at the gray seal stuck between them on the tabletop.
+
+"The Gray Seal!" whispered the Weasel, and his tongue circled his lips.
+
+Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"That WAS a bit theatrical, Weasel," he said apologetically; "and yet
+not wholly unnecessary. You will recall Stangeist, The Mope, Australian
+Ike, and Clarie Deane, and can draw your own inference as to what might
+happen in the Thorold affair if you should be so ill-advised as to force
+my hand. Permit me"--the slim, deft fingers, like a streak of lightning,
+were inside Hamvert's coat pocket and out again with the remainder of
+the banknotes--and Jimmie Dale was backing for the door--not the door
+of the bathroom by which he had entered, but the door of the room itself
+that opened on the corridor. There he stopped, and his hand swept around
+behind his back and turned the key in the locked door. He nodded at the
+two men, whose faces were working with incongruously mingled expressions
+of impotent rage, bewilderment, fear, and fury--and opened the door a
+little. "Ten minutes, Weasel," he said gently. "I trust you will not
+have to use heroic measures to restrain your friend for that length of
+time, though if it is necessary I should advise you for your own sake to
+resort almost--to murder. I wish you good evening, gentlemen."
+
+The door opened farther; Jimmie Dale, still facing inward, slipped
+between it and the jamb, whipped the mask from his face, closed the door
+softly, stepped briskly but without any appearance of haste along the
+corridor to the stairs, descended the stairs, mingled with a crowd in
+the lobby for an instant, walked, seemingly a part of it, with a group
+of ladies and gentlemen down the hall to the side entrance, passed
+out--and a moment later, after drawing on a linen dust coat which he
+took from under the seat, and exchanging his hat for a tweed cap, the
+car glided from the curb and was lost in a press of traffic around the
+corner.
+
+Jimmie Dale laughed a little harshly to himself. So far, so good--but
+the game was not ended yet for all the crackle of the crisp notes in
+his pocket. There was still the map, still the robbery at Mittel's
+house--the ten-thousand-dollar "theft" would not in any way change that,
+and it was a question of time now to forestall any move the Weasel might
+make.
+
+Through the city Jimmie Dale alternately dodged, spurted, and dragged
+his way, fuming with impatience; but once out on the country roads and
+headed toward New Rochelle, the big machine, speed limits thrown to the
+winds, roared through the night--a gray streak of road jumping under the
+powerful lamps; a village, a town, a cluster of lights flashing by him,
+the steady purr of his sixty-horse-power engines; the gray thread of
+open road again.
+
+It was just eleven o'clock when Jimmie Dale, the road to himself for the
+moment at a spot a little beyond New Rochelle, extinguished his lights,
+and very carefully ran his car off the road, backing it in behind a
+small clump of trees. He tossed the linen dust coat back into the car,
+and set off toward where, a little distance away, the slap of waves from
+the stiff breeze that was blowing indicated the shore line of the Sound.
+There was no moon, and, while it was not particularly dark, objects and
+surroundings at best were blurred and indistinct; but that, after all,
+was a matter of little concern to Jimmie Dale--the first house beyond
+was Mittel's. He reached the water's edge and kept along the shore.
+There should be a little wharf, she had said. Yes; there it was--and
+there, too, was a gleam of light from the house itself.
+
+Jimmie Dale began to make an accurate mental note of his surroundings.
+From the little wharf on which he now stood, a path led straight to the
+house, bisecting what appeared to be a lawn, trees to the right, the
+house to the left. At the wharf, beside him, two motor boats were
+moored, one on each side. Jimmie Dale glanced at them, and, suddenly
+attracted by the familiar appearance of one, inspected it a little more
+closely. His momentarily awakened interest passed as he nodded his head.
+It had caught his attention, that was all--it was the same type and
+design, quite a popular make, of which there were hundreds around New
+York, as the one he had bought that year as a tender for his yacht.
+
+He moved forward now toward the house, the rear of which faced him--the
+light that flooded the lawn came from a side window. Jimmie Dale was
+figuring the time and distance from New York as he crept cautiously
+along. How quickly could the Weasel make the journey? The Weasel would
+undoubtedly come, and if there was a convenient train it might prove a
+close race--but in his own favour was the fact that it would probably
+take the Weasel quite some little time to recover his equilibrium from
+his encounter with the Gray Seal in the Palais-Metropole, also the
+further fact that, from the Weasel's viewpoint, there was no desperate
+need of haste. Jimmie Dale crossed the lawn, and edged along in the
+shadows of the house to where the light streamed out from what now
+proved to be open French windows. It was a fair presumption that he
+would have an hour to the good on the Weasel.
+
+The sill was little more than a couple of feet from the ground, and,
+from a crouched position on his knees below the window, Jimmie Dale
+raised himself slowly and peered guardedly inside. The room was empty.
+He listened a moment--the black silk mask was on his face again--and
+with a quick, agile, silent spring he was in the room.
+
+And then, in the centre of the room, Jimmie Dale stood motionless,
+staring around him, an expression, ironical, sardonic, creeping into his
+face. THE ROBBERY HAD ALREADY BEEN COMMITTED! At the lower end of the
+room everything was in confusion; the door of a safe swung wide, the
+drawers of a desk had been wrenched out, even a liqueur stand, on which
+were well-filled decanters, had been broken open, and the contents of
+safe and desk, the thief's discards as it were, littered the floor in
+all directions.
+
+For an instant Jimmie Dale, his eyes narrowed ominously, surveyed the
+scene; then, with a sort of professional instinct aroused, he stepped
+forward to examine the safe--and suddenly darted behind the desk
+instead. Steps sounded in the hall. The door opened--a voice reached
+him:
+
+"The master said I was to shut the windows, and I haven't dast to go in.
+And he'll be back with the police in a minute now. Come on in with me,
+Minnie."
+
+"Lord!" exclaimed another voice. "Ain't it a good thing the missus is
+away. She'd have highsteericks!"
+
+Steps came somewhat hesitantly across the floor--from behind the desk,
+Jimmie Dale could see that it was a maid, accompanied by a big, rawboned
+woman, sleeves rolled to the elbows over brawny arms, presumably the
+Mittels' cook.
+
+The maid closed the French windows, there were no others in the room,
+and bolted them; and, having gained a little confidence, gazed about
+her.
+
+"My, but wasn't he cute!" she ejaculated. "Cut the telephone wires, he
+did. And ain't he made an awful mess! But the master said we wasn't to
+touch nothing till the police saw it."
+
+"And to think of it happening in OUR house!" observed the cook heavily,
+her hands on her hips, her arms akimbo. "It'll all be in the papers, and
+mabbe they'll put our pictures in, too."
+
+"I won't get over it as long as I live!" declared the maid. "The yell
+Mr. Mittel gave when he came downstairs and put his head in here,
+and then him shouting and using the most terrible language into
+the telephone, and then finding the wires cut. And me following him
+downstairs half dead with fright. And he shouts at me. 'Bella,' he
+shouts, 'shut those windows, but don't you touch a thing in that room.
+I'm going for the police.' And then he rushes out of the house."
+
+"I was going to bed," said the cook, picking up her cue for what was
+probably the twentieth rehearsal of the scene, "when I heard Mr. Mittel
+yell, and--Lord, Bella, there he is now!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's hands clenched. He, too, had caught the scuffle of
+footsteps, those of three or four men at least, on the front porch.
+There was one way, only one, of escape--through the French windows!
+It was a matter of seconds only before Mittel, with the police at his
+heels, would be in the room--and Jimmie Dale sprang to his feet. There
+was a wild scream of terror from the maid, echoed by another from the
+cook--and, still screaming, both women fled for the door.
+
+"Mr. Mittel! Mr. Mittel!" shrieked the maid--she had flung herself out
+into the hall. "He's--he's back again!"
+
+Jimmie Dale was at the French windows, tearing at the bolts. They
+stuck. Shouts came from the front entryway. He wrenched viciously at the
+fastenings. They gave now. The windows flew open. He glanced over his
+shoulder. A man, Mittel presumably, since he was the only one not in
+uniform, was springing into the room. There was a blur of forms and
+brass buttons behind Mittel--and Jimmie Dale leaped to the lawn,
+speeding across it like a deer.
+
+But quick as he ran, Jimmie Dale's brain was quicker, pointing the
+single chance that seemed open to him. The motor boat! It seemed like a
+God-given piece of luck that he had noticed it was like his own; there
+would be no blind, and that meant fatal, blunders in the dark over its
+mechanism, and he could start it up in a moment--just the time to cast
+her off, that was all he needed.
+
+The shouts swelled behind him. Jimmie Dale was running for his life. He
+flung a glance backward. One form--Mittel, he was certain--was perhaps a
+hundred yards in the rear. The others were just emerging from the
+French windows--grotesque, leaping things they looked, in the light that
+streamed out behind them from the room.
+
+Jimmie Dale's feet pounded the planking of the wharf. He stooped and
+snatched at the mooring line. Mittel was almost at the wharf. It seemed
+an age, a year to Jimmie Dale before the line was clear. Shouts rang
+still louder across the lawn--the police, racing in a pack, were more
+than halfway from the house. He flung the line into the boat, sprang in
+after it--and Mittel, looming over him, grasped at the boat's gunwhale.
+
+Both men were panting from their exertions.
+
+"Let go!" snarled Jimmie Dale between clenched teeth.
+
+Mittel's answer was a hoarse, gasping shout to the police to hurry--and
+then Mittel reeled back, measuring his length upon the wharf from a blow
+with a boat hook full across the face, driven with a sudden, untamed
+savagery that seemed for the moment to have mastered Jimmie Dale.
+
+There was no time--not a second--not the fraction of a second.
+Desperately, frantically he shoved the boat clear of the wharf.
+Once--twice--three times he turned the engine over without success--and
+then the boat leaped forward. Jimmie Dale snatched the mask from his
+face, and jumped for the steering wheel. The police were rushing out
+along the wharf. He could just faintly discern Mittel now--the man was
+staggering about, his hands clapped to his face. A peremptory order to
+halt, coupled with a threat to fire, rang out sharply--and Jimmie Dale
+flung himself flat in the bottom of the boat. The wharf edge seemed to
+open in little, crackling jets of flame, came the roar of reports like a
+miniature battery in action, then the FLOP, FLOP, FLOP, as the lead tore
+up the water around him, the duller thud as a bullet buried its nose in
+the boat's side, and the curious rip and squeak as a splinter flew. Then
+Mittel's voice, high-pitched, as though in pain:
+
+"Can't any of you run a motor boat? He's got me bad, I'm afraid. That
+other one there is twice as fast."
+
+"Sure!" another voice responded promptly. "And if that's right, he's run
+his head into a trap. Cast loose, there, MacVeay, and pile in, all of
+you! You go back to the house, Mr. Mittel, and fix yourself up. We'll
+get him!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips thinned. It was true! If the other boat had any speed
+at all, it was only a question of time before he would be overtaken.
+The only point at issue was how much time. It was dark--that was in his
+favour--but it was not so dark but that a boat could be distinguished on
+the water for quite a distance, for a longer distance than he could hope
+to put between them. There was no chance of eluding the police that
+way! The keen, facile brain that had saved the Gray Seal a hundred times
+before was weaving, planning, discarding, eliminating, scheming a way
+out--with death, ruin, disaster the price of failure. His eyes swept
+the dim, irregular outline of the shore. To his right, in the opposite
+direction from where he had left his car, and perhaps a mile ahead, as
+well as he could judge, the land seemed to run out into a point. Jimmie
+Dale headed for it instantly. If he could reach it with a little lead to
+the good, there was a chance! It would take, say, six minutes, granting
+the boat a speed of ten miles an hour--and she could do that. The others
+could hardly overtake him in that time--they hadn't got started yet. He
+could hear them still shouting and talking at the wharf. And Mittel's
+"twice as fast" was undoubtedly an exaggeration, anyhow.
+
+A minute more passed, another--and then, astern, Jimmie Dale caught the
+racket from the exhaust of a high-powered engine, and a white streak
+seemed to shoot out upon the surface of the water from where, obscured
+now, he placed the wharf. A quarter-mile lead, roughly four hundred
+yards; yes, he had as much as that--but that, too, was very little.
+
+He bent over his engine, coaxing it, nursing it to its highest
+efficiency; his eyes strained now upon the point ahead, now upon his
+pursuers behind. He was running with the wind, thank Heaven! or the
+small boat would have had a further handicap--it was rolling up quite a
+sea.
+
+The steering gear, he found, was corded along the side of the boat,
+permitting its manipulation from almost any position, and, abruptly now,
+Jimmie Dale left the engine to rummage through the little locker in the
+stern of the boat. But as he rummaged, his eyes held speculatively on
+the boat astern. She was gaining unquestionably, steadily, but not as
+fast as he had feared. He would still have a hundred yards' lead, at
+least, abreast the point--and, he was smiling grimly now, a hundred
+yards there meant life to the Gray Seal! The locker was full of a
+heterogeneous collection of odds and ends--a suit of oilskins, tools,
+tins, and cans of various sizes and descriptions. Jimmie Dale emptied
+the contents, some sort of powder, of a small, round tin box overboard,
+and from his pocket took out the banknotes, crammed them into the box,
+crammed his watch in on top of them, and screwed the cover on tightly.
+His fingers were flying now. A long strip torn from the trousers' leg of
+the oilskins was wrapped again and again around the box--and the box was
+stuffed into his pocket.
+
+The flash of a revolver shot cut the blackness behind him, then another,
+and another. They were firing in a continuous stream again. It was
+fairly long range, but there was always the chance of a stray bullet
+finding its mark. Jimmie Dale, crouching low, made his way to the bow of
+the boat again.
+
+The point was looming almost abreast now. He edged in nearer, to hug
+it as closely as he dared risk the depth of the water. Behind,
+remorselessly, the other boat was steadily closing the gap; and the
+shots were not all wild--one struck, with a curious singing sound, on
+some piece of metal a foot from his elbow. Closer to the shore, running
+now parallel with the head of the point, Jimmie Dale again edged in the
+boat, his jaws, clamped, working in little twitches.
+
+And then suddenly, with a swift, appraising glance behind him, he
+swerved the boat from her course and headed for the shore--not directly,
+but diagonally across the little bay that, on the farther side of the
+point, had now opened out before him. He was close in with the edge of
+the point, ten yards from it, sweeping past it--the point itself came
+between the two boats, hiding them from each other--and Jimmie Dale,
+with a long spring, dove from the boat's side to the water.
+
+The momentum from the boat as he sank robbed him for an instant of all
+control over himself, and he twisted, doubled up, and rolled over and
+over beneath the water--but the next moment his head was above the
+surface again, and he was striking out swiftly for the shore. It was
+only a few yards--but in a few SECONDS the pursuing boat, too, would
+have rounded the point. His feet touched bottom. It was haste now,
+nothing else, that counted. The drum of the racing engines, the
+crackling roar of the exhaust from the oncoming boat was in his ears. He
+flung himself upon the shore and down behind a rock. Around the point,
+past him, tore the police boat, dark forms standing clustered in the
+bow--and then a sudden shout:
+
+"There she is! See her? She's heading into the bay for the shore!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips relaxed. There was no doubt that they had sighted
+their quarry again--a perfect fusillade of revolver shots directed at
+the now empty boat was quite sufficient proof of that! With something
+that was almost a chuckle, Jimmie Dale straightened up from behind the
+rock and began to run back along the shore. The little motor boat would
+have grounded long before they overtook her, and, thinking naturally
+enough, that he had leaped ashore from her, they would go thrashing
+through the woods and fields searching for him!
+
+It was a longer way back by the shore, a good deal longer; now over
+rough, rocky stretches where he stumbled in the darkness, now through
+marshy, sodden ground where he sank as in a quagmire time and again over
+his ankles. It was even longer than he had counted on, and time, with
+the Weasel on one hand and the return of the police on the other, was
+a factor to be reckoned with again, as, a half hour later, Jimmie Dale
+stole across the lawn of Mittel's house for the second time that night,
+and for the second time crouched beneath the open French windows.
+
+Masked again, the water still dripping from what were once immaculate
+evening clothes but which now sagged limply about him, his collar a
+pasty string around his neck, the mud and dirt splashed to his knees,
+Jimmie Dale was a disreputable and incongruous-looking object as he
+crouched there, shivering uncomfortably from his immersion in spite of
+his exertions. Inside the room, Mittel passed the windows, pacing the
+floor, one side of his face badly cut and bruised from the blow with the
+boat hook--and as he passed, his back turned for an instant, Jimmie Dale
+stepped into the room.
+
+Mittel whirled at the sound, and, with a suppressed cry, instinctively
+drew back--Jimmie Dale's automatic was dangling carelessly in his right
+hand.
+
+"I am afraid I am a trifle melodramatic," observed Jimmie Dale
+apologetically, surveying his own bedraggled person; "but I assure you
+it is neither intentional nor for effect. As it is, I was afraid I would
+be late. Pardon me if I take the liberty of helping myself; one gets a
+chill in wet clothes so easily"--he passed to the liqueur stand, poured
+out a generous portion from one of the decanters, and tossed it off.
+
+Mittel neither spoke nor moved. Stupefaction, surprise, and a very
+obvious regard for Jimmie Dale's revolver mingled themselves in a
+helpless expression on his face.
+
+Jimmie Dale set down his glass and pointed to a chair in front of the
+desk.
+
+"Sit down, Mr. Mittel," he invited pleasantly. "It will be quite
+apparent to you that I have not time to prolong our interview
+unnecessarily, in view of the possible return of the police at any
+moment, but you might as well be comfortable. You will pardon me again
+if I take another liberty"--he crossed the room, turned the key in the
+lock of the door leading into the hall, and returned to the desk. "Sit
+down, Mr. Mittel!" he repeated, a sudden rasp in his voice.
+
+Mittel, none too graciously, now seated himself.
+
+"Look here, my fine fellow," he burst out, "you're carrying things with
+a pretty high hand, aren't you? You seem to have eluded the police for
+the moment, somehow, but let me tell you I--"
+
+"No," interrupted Jimmie Dale softly, "let ME tell you--all there is
+to be told." He leaned over the desk and stared rudely at the bruise on
+Mittel's face. "Rather a nasty crack, that," he remarked.
+
+Mittel's fists clenched, and an angry flush swept his cheeks.
+
+"I'd have made it a good deal harder," said Jimmie Dale, with sudden
+insolence, "if I hadn't been afraid of putting you out of business and
+so precluding the possibility of this little meeting. Now then"--the
+revolver swung upward and held steadily on a line with Mittel's eyes--
+"I'll trouble you for the diagram of that Alaskan claim that belongs to
+Mrs. Michael Breen!"
+
+Mittel, staring fascinated into the little, round, black muzzle of the
+automatic, edged back in his chair.
+
+"So--so that's what you're after, is it?" he jerked out. "Well"--he
+laughed unnaturally and waved his hand at the disarray of the
+room--"it's been stolen already."
+
+"I know that," said Jimmie Dale grimly. "By--YOU!"
+
+"Me!" Mittel started up in his chair, a whiteness creeping into his
+face. "Me! I--I--"
+
+"Sit down!" Jimmie Dale's voice rang out ominously cold. "I haven't any
+time to spare. You can appreciate that. But even if the police return
+before that map is in my possession, they will still be TOO LATE as
+far as you are concerned. Do you understand? Furthermore, if I am
+caught--you are ruined. Let me make it quite plain that I know
+the details of your little game. You are a curb broker, Mr.
+Mittel--ostensibly. In reality, you run what is nothing better than an
+exceedingly profitable bucket shop. The Weasel has been a customer
+and also a stool for you for years. How Hamvert met the Weasel is
+unimportant--he came East with the intention of getting in touch with a
+slick crook to help him--the Weasel is the coincidence, that is all. I
+quite understand that you have never met Hamvert, nor Hamvert you, nor
+that Hamvert was aware that you and the Weasel had anything to do
+with one another and were playing in together--but that equally is
+unimportant. When Hamvert engaged the Weasel for ten thousand dollars
+to get the map from you for him, the Weasel chose the line of least
+resistance. He KNEW you, and approached you with an offer to split the
+money in return for the map. It was not a question of your accepting his
+offer--it was simply a matter of how you could do it and still protect
+yourself. The Weasel was well qualified to point the way--a fake robbery
+of your house would answer the purpose admirably--you could not be held
+either legally or morally responsible for a document that was placed,
+unsolicited by you, in your possession, if it were stolen from you."
+
+Mittel's face was ashen, colourless. His hands were opening and shutting
+with nervous twitches on the top of the desk.
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips curled.
+
+"But"--Jimmie Dale was clipping off his words now viciously--"neither
+you nor the Weasel were willing to trust the other implicitly--perhaps
+you know each other too well. You were unwilling to turn over the map
+until you had received your share of the money, and you were equally
+unwilling to turn it over until you were SAFE; that is, until you had
+engineered your fake robbery even to the point of notifying the police
+that it had been committed; the Weasel, on the other hand, had some
+scruples about parting with any of the money without getting the map in
+one hand before he let go of the banknotes with the other. It was very
+simply arranged, however, and to your mutual satisfaction. While you
+robbed your own house this evening, he was to get half the money in
+advance from Hamvert, giving Hamvert to understand that HE had planned
+to commit the robbery himself to-night. He was to come out here then,
+receive the map from you in exchange for your share of the money, return
+to Hamvert with the map, and receive in turn his own share. I might
+say that Hamvert actually paid down the advance--and it was perhaps
+unfortunate for you that you paid such scrupulous attention to details
+as to cut your own telephone wires! I had not, of course, an exact
+knowledge of the hour or minute in which you proposed to stage your
+little play here. The object of my first visit a little while ago was
+to forestall your turning the diagram over to the Weasel. Circumstances
+favoured you for the moment. I am back again, however, for the same
+purpose--the map!"
+
+Mittel, in a cowed way, was huddled back in his chair. He smiled
+miserably at Jimmie Dale.
+
+"QUICK!" Jimmie Dale flung out the word in a sharp, peremptory bark. "Do
+you need to be told that the CARTRIDGES are dry?"
+
+Mittel's hand, trembling, went into his pocket and produced an envelope.
+
+"Open it!" commanded Jimmie Dale. "And lay it on the desk, so that I can
+read it--I am too wet to touch it."
+
+Mittel obeyed--like a dog that has been whipped.
+
+A glance at the paper, and Jimmie Dale's eyes lifted again--to sweep the
+floor of the room. He pointed to a pile of books and documents in one
+corner that had been thrown out of the safe.
+
+"Go over there and pick up that check book!" he ordered tersely.
+
+"What for?" Mittel made feeble protest.
+
+"Never mind what for!" snapped Jimmie Dale. "Go and get it--and HURRY!"
+
+Once more Mittel obeyed--and dropped the book hesitantly on the desk.
+
+Jimmie Dale stared silently, insolently, contemptuously at the other.
+
+Mittel stirred uneasily, sat down, shifted his feet, and his fingers
+fumbled aimlessly over the top of the desk.
+
+"Compared with you," said Jimmie Dale, in a low voice, "the Weasel, ay,
+and Hamvert, too, crooks though they are, are gentlemen! Michael Breen,
+as he died, told his wife to take that paper to some one she could
+trust, who would help her and tell her what to do; and, knowing no one
+to go to, but because she scrubbed your floors and therefore thought
+you were a fine gentleman, she came timidly to you, and trusted you--you
+cur!"
+
+Jimmie Dale laughed suddenly--not pleasantly. Mittel shivered.
+
+"Hamvert and Breen were partners out there in Alaska when Breen first
+went out," said Jimmie Dale slowly, pulling the tin can wrapped in
+oilskin from his pocket. "Hamvert swindled Breen out of the one strike
+he made, and Mrs. Breen and her little girl back here were reduced to
+poverty. The amount of that swindle was, I understand, fifteen thousand
+dollars. I have ten of it here, contributed by the Weasel and Hamvert;
+and you will, I think, recognise therein a certain element of poetic
+justice--but I am still short five thousand dollars."
+
+Jimmie Dale removed the cover from the tin can. Mittel gazed at the
+contents numbly.
+
+"You perhaps did not hear me?" prompted Jimmie Dale coldly. "I am still
+short five thousand dollars."
+
+Mittel circled his lips with the tip of his tongue.
+
+"What do you want?" he whispered hoarsely.
+
+"The balance of the amount." There was an ominous quiet in Jimmie
+Dale's voice. "A check payable to Mrs. Michael Breen for five thousand
+dollars."
+
+"I--I haven't got that much in the bank," Mittel fenced, stammering.
+
+"No? Then I should advise you to see that you have by ten o'clock
+to-morrow morning!" returned Jimmie Dale curtly. "Make out that check!"
+
+Mittel hesitated. The revolver edged insistently a little farther across
+the desk--and Mittel, picking up a pen, wrote feverishly. He tore the
+check from its stub, and, with a snarl, pushed it toward Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Fold it!" instructed Jimmie Dale, in the same curt tones. "And fold
+that diagram with it. Put them both in this box. Thank you!" He wrapped
+the oilskin around the box again, and returned the box to his pocket.
+And again with that insolent, contemptuous stare, he surveyed the man at
+the desk--then he backed to the French windows. "It might be as well to
+remind you, Mittel," he cautioned sternly, "that if for any reason this
+check is not honoured, whether through lack of funds or an attempt by
+you to stop payment, you'll be in a cell in the Tombs to-morrow for this
+night's work--that is quite understood, isn't it?"
+
+Mittel was on his feet--sweat glistened on his forehead.
+
+"My God!" he cried out shrilly. "Who are you?"
+
+And Jimmie Dale smiled and stepped out on the lawn.
+
+"Ask the Weasel," said Jimmie Dale--and the next instant, lost in the
+shadows of the house, was running for his car.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+THE ALIBI
+
+
+DEATH TO THE GRAY SEAL!"--through the underworld, in dens and dives that
+sheltered from the law the vultures that preyed upon society, prompted
+by self-fear, by secret dread, by reason of their very inability
+to carry out their purpose, the whispered sentence grew daily more
+venomous, more insistent. THE GRAY SEAL, DEAD OR ALIVE--BUT THE GRAY
+SEAL!" It was the "standing orders" of the police. Railed at by a
+populace who angrily demanded at its hands this criminal of criminals,
+mocked at and threatened by a virulent press, stung to madness by the
+knowledge of its own impotence, flaunted impudently to its face by this
+mysterious Gray Seal to whose door the law laid a hundred crimes, for
+whom the bars of a death cell in Sing Sing was the certain goal could
+he but be caught, the police, to a man, was like an uncaged beast that,
+flicked to the raw by some unseen assailant and murderous in its fury,
+was crouched to strike. Grim paradox--a common bond that linked the
+hands of the law with those that outraged it!
+
+Death to the Gray Seal! Was it, at last, the beginning of the end?
+Jimmie Dale, as Larry the Bat, unkempt, disreputable in appearance,
+supposed dope fiend, a figure familiar to every denizen below the dead
+line, skulked along the narrow, ill-lighted street of the East Side
+that, on the corner ahead, boasted the notorious resort to which Bristol
+Bob had paid the doubtful, if appropriate, compliment of giving his
+name. From under the rim of his battered hat, Jimmie Dale's eyes, veiled
+by half-closed, well-simulated drug-laden lids, missed no detail either
+of his surroundings or pertaining to the passers-by. Though already late
+in the evening, half-naked children played in the gutters; hawkers of
+multitudinous commodities cried their wares under gasoline banjo torches
+affixed to their pushcarts; shawled women of half a dozen races, and men
+equally cosmopolitan, loitered at the curb, or blocked the pavement,
+or brushed by him. Now a man passed him, flinging a greeting from
+the corner of his mouth; now another, always without movement of the
+lips--and Jimmie Dale answered them--from the corner of his mouth.
+
+But while his eyes were alert, his mind was only subconsciously attune
+to his surroundings. Was it indeed the beginning of the end? Some day,
+he had told himself often enough, the end must come. Was it coming
+now, surely, with a sort of grim implacability--when it was too late to
+escape! Slowly, but inexorably, even his personal freedom of action
+was narrowing, being limited, and, ironically enough, through the very
+conditions he had himself created as an avenue of escape.
+
+It was not only the police now; it was, far more to be feared, the
+underworld as well. In the old days, the role of Larry the Bat had been
+assumed at intervals, at his own discretion, when, in a corner, he had
+no other way of escape; now it was forced upon him almost daily. The
+character of Larry the Bat could no longer be discarded at will. He had
+flung down the gauntlet to the underworld when, as the Gray Seal, he had
+closed the prison doors behind Stangeist, The Mope, Australian Ike, and
+Clarie Deane, and the underworld had picked the gauntlet up. Betrayed,
+as they believed, by the one who, though unknown to them; they had
+counted the greatest among themselves, and each one fearful that his own
+betrayal might come next, every crook, every thug in the Bad Lands
+now eyed his oldest pal with suspicion and distrust, and each was a
+self-constituted sleuth, with the prod of self-preservation behind him,
+sworn to the accomplishment of that unhallowed slogan--death to the Gray
+Seal. Almost daily now he must show himself as Larry the Bat in some
+gathering of the underworld--a prolonged absence from his haunts was not
+merely to invite certain suspicion, where all were suspicious of each
+other, it was to invite certain disaster. He had now either to carry
+the role like a little old man of the sea upon his back, or renounce it
+forever. And the latter course he dared not even consider--the Sanctuary
+was still the Sanctuary, and the role of Larry the Bat was still a
+refuge, the trump card in the lone hand he played.
+
+He reached the corner, pushed open the door of Bristol Bob's, and
+shuffled in. The place was a glare of light, a hideous riot of noise. On
+a polished section of the floor in the centre, a turkey trot was in
+full swing; laughter and shouting vied raucously with an impossible
+orchestra.
+
+Jimmie Dale slowly made the circuit of the room past the tables, that,
+ranged around the sides, were packed with occupants who thumped their
+glasses in tempo with the music and clamoured at the rushing waiters
+for replenishment. A dozen, two dozen, men and women greeted him. Jimmie
+Dale indifferently returned their salutes. What a galaxy of crooks--the
+cream of the underworld! His eyes, under half-closed lids, swept the
+faces--lags, dips, gatmen, yeggs, mob stormers, murderers, petty sneak
+thieves, stalls, hangers-on--they were all there. He knew them all; he
+was known to all.
+
+He shuffled on to the far end of the room, his leer a little arrogant,
+a certain arrogance, too, in the tilt of his battered hat. He also
+was quite a celebrity in that gathering--Larry the Bat was of the
+aristocracy and the elite of gangland. Well, the show was over; he had
+stalked across the stage, performed for his audience--and in another
+hour now, free until he must repeat the same performance the next day in
+some other equally notorious dive, he would be sitting in for a rubber
+of bridge at that most exclusive of all clubs, the St. James, where none
+might enter save only those whose names were vouched for in the highest
+and most select circles, and where for partners he would possibly have
+a justice of the supreme court, or mayhap an eminent divine! He looked
+suddenly around him, as though startled. It always startled him, that
+comparison. There was something too stupendous to be simply ironical in
+the incongruity of it. If--if he were ever run to earth!
+
+His eyes met those of a heavy-built, coarse-featured man, the chewed end
+of a cigar in his mouth, who stepped from behind the bar, carrying a tin
+tray with two full glasses upon it. It was Bristol Bob, ex-pugilist, the
+proprietor.
+
+"How're you, Larry?" grunted the man, with what he meant to be a smile.
+
+Jimmie Dale was standing in the doorway of a passage that prefaced a
+rear exit to the lane. He moved aside to allow the other to pass.
+
+"'Ello, Bristol," he returned dispassionately.
+
+Bristol Bob went on along down the passage, and Jimmie Dale shuffled
+slowly after him. He had intended to leave the place by the rear
+door--it obviated the possibility of an undesirable acquaintance joining
+company with him if he went out by the main entrance. But now his
+eyes were fixed on the proprietor's back with a sort of speculative
+curiosity. There was a private room off the passage, with a window on
+the lane; but they must be favoured customers indeed that Bristol Bob
+would condescend to serve personally--any one who knew Bristol Bob knew
+that.
+
+Jimmie Dale slowed his shuffling gait, then quickened it again. Bristol
+Bob opened the door and passed into the private room--the door was just
+closing as Jimmie Dale shuffled by. He had had only a glance inside--but
+it was enough. They were favoured customers indeed! It was no wonder
+that Bristol Bob himself was on the job! Two men were in the room:
+Lannigan of headquarters, rated the smartest plain-clothes man in the
+country--and, across the table from Lannigan, Whitey Mack, as clever,
+finished and daring a crook as was to be found in the Bad Lands, whose
+particular "line" was diamonds, or, in the vernacular of his ilk, "white
+stones," that had earned him the sobriquet of "Whitey." Lannigan of
+headquarters, Whitey Mack of the underworld, sworn enemies those two--in
+secret session! Bristol Bob might well play the part of outer guard. If
+a choice few of those outside in the dance hall could get a glimpse into
+that private room it would be "good-night" to Whitey Mack.
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes were narrowed a little as he shuffled on down the
+passage. Lannigan and Whitey Mack with their heads together! What was
+the game? There was nothing in common between the two men. Lannigan, it
+was well known, could not be "reached." Whitey Mack, with his ingenious
+cleverness, coupled with a cold-blooded fearlessness that had made him
+an object of unholy awe and respect in the eyes of the underworld, was a
+thorn that was sore beyond measure in the side of the police.
+Certainly, it was no ordinary thing that had brought these two together;
+especially, since, with the unrest and suspicion that was bubbling
+and seething below the dead line, and with which there was none more
+intimate than Whitey Mack, Whitey Mack was inviting a risk in "making
+up" with the police that could only be accounted for by some urgent and
+vital incentive.
+
+Jimmie Dale pushed open the door that gave on the lane. Behind him,
+Bristol Bob closed the door of the private room and retreated back along
+the passage. Jimmie Dale stepped out into the lane--and instinctively
+his eyes sought the window of the private room. The shade was drawn,
+only a yellow murk filtered out into the black, unlighted lane, but
+suddenly he started noiselessly toward it. The window was open a bare
+inch or so at the bottom!
+
+The sill was just shoulder high, and, placing his ear to the opening,
+he flattened himself against the wall. He could not see inside, for the
+shade was drawn well to the bottom; but he could hear as distinctly as
+though he were at the table beside the two men--and at the first words,
+the loose, disjointed frame of Larry the Bat seemed to tauten curiously
+and strain forward lithe and tense.
+
+"This Gray Seal dope listens good, Whitey; but, coming from you, I'm
+leery. You've got to show me."
+
+"Don't you want him?" There was a nasty laugh from Whitey Mack.
+
+"You BET I want him!" returned the headquarters man with a suppressed
+savagery that left no doubt as to his earnestness. "I want him fast
+enough, but--"
+
+"Then, blast him, so do I!" Whitey Mack rapped out with a vicious snarl.
+"So does every guy in the fleet down here. We got it in for him. You
+get that, don't you? He's got Stangeist and his gang steered for the
+electric chair now; he put a crimp in the Weasel the other night--get
+that? He's like a blasted wizard with what he knows. And who'll he deal
+the icy mitt to next? Me--damn him--me, for all I know!"
+
+"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--"
+
+"Can that!" snapped Whitey Mack threateningly. "Can that sort of spiel
+right now--or quit! I ain't telling you his name--yet. BUT I'LL TAKE
+YOU TO HIM TO-NIGHT--and you and me nabs him together. Is that straight
+enough goods for you?"
+
+"Don't get sore," said Lannigan, more pacifically. "Yes, if you'll do
+that it's good enough for any man. But lay your cards on the table face
+up, Whitey--I want to see what you opened the pot on."
+
+"You've seen 'em," Whitey Mack answered ungraciously. "I've told you
+already. The Gray Seal goes out for keeps--curse him for a snitch! If
+I bumped him off, or wised up any of the guys to it, and we was caught,
+we'd get the juice for it even if it was the Gray Seal, wouldn't we?
+Well, what's the use! If one of you dicks get him, he gets bumped off
+just the same, only regular, up in the wire parlour at Sing Sing. I
+ain't looking for that kind of trouble when I can duck it. See?"
+
+"Sure," said Lannigan.
+
+"Besides, and moreover," continued Whitey Mack, "there's SOME reward
+hung out for him that I'm figuring to born in on. I'd swipe it all
+myself, don't you make any mistake about that, and you'd never get a
+look-in, only, sore as the mob is on the Gray Seal, it ain't healthy for
+any guy around these parts to get the reputation of being a snitch, no
+matter who he snitches on. Bump him off--sure! Snitching--well, you get
+the idea, eh? I'm ducking that too. Get me?"
+
+"I get you," said Lannigan, with a short, pleased laugh.
+
+"Well, then," announced Whitey Mack, "here's my proposition, and it's my
+turn to hand out the 'look-out-for-your-self' dope. I'm busting the game
+wide open for you to play, but you throw me down, and"--his voice sank
+into a sullen snarl again--"you can take it from me, I'll get you for
+it!"
+
+"All right," responded Lannigan soberly. "Let's hear it. If I agree to
+it, I'll stick to it."
+
+"I believe you," said Whitey Mack curtly. "That's why I picked you out
+for the medal they'll pin on you for this. And here's getting down to
+tacks! I'll lead you to the Gray Seal to-night and help you nab him and
+stay with you to the finish, but there's to be nobody but you and me on
+the job. When it's done I fade away, and nobody's to know I snitched,
+and no questions asked as to how I found out about the Gray Seal.
+I ain't looking for any of the glory--you can fix that up to suit
+yourself. The cash is different--you come across with half the reward
+the day they pay it."
+
+"You'll get it!" There was savage elation in Lannigan's voice, the
+emphatic smash of a fist on the table. "You're on, Whitey. And if we get
+the Gray Seal to-night, I'll do better by you than that."
+
+"We'll get him!" said Whitey Mack, with a vicious oath. "And--"
+
+Jimmie Dale crouched suddenly low down, close against the wall. The
+crunch of a footstep sounded from the end of the lane. Some one had
+turned in from the cross street, some fifty yards away, and was heading
+evidently for the back entrance to Bristol Bob's. Jimmie Dale edged
+noiselessly, cautiously back past the doorway, kept on, pressed close
+against the wall, and finally paused. He had not been seen. The back
+door of Bristol Bob's opened and closed. The man had gone in.
+
+For a moment Jimmie Dale stood hesitant. There was a wild surging in his
+brain, something like a myriad batteries of trip hammers seemed to be
+pounding at his temples. Then, almost blindly, he kept on down the lane
+in the same direction in which he had started to retreat--as well one
+cross street as another.
+
+He turned into the cross street, went along it--and presently emerged
+into the full tide of the Bowery. It was garishly lighted; people
+swarmed about him. Subconsciously, there were crowded sidewalks;
+subconsciously, he was on the Bowery--that was all.
+
+Ruin, disaster, peril faced him--faced him, and staggered him with the
+suddenness of the shock. Was it true? No; it could not be true! It was
+a bluff--Whitey Mack was bluffing. Jimmie Dale's lips grew thin in a
+mirthless smile as he shook his head. Neither Whitey Mack nor any other
+man would dare to bluff like that. It was too straight, too open-handed,
+Whitey Mack had laid his cards too plainly on the table. Whitey Mack's
+words rang in his ears: "I'll LEAD you to the Gray Seal to-night and
+help you nab him and stay with you to the finish." The man meant what he
+said, meant what he said, too, about the "finish" of the Gray Seal; not
+a man in the Bad Lands but meant--death to the Gray Seal! But how, by
+what means, when, where had Whitey Mack got his information? "I'm the
+only one that's wise," Whitey Mack had said. It seemed impossible. It
+WAS impossible! Whitey Mack was sincere enough probably in what he had
+said, but the man simply could not know. Whitey Mack could only have
+spotted some one that, for some reason or other, he IMAGINED was the
+Gray Seal. That was it--must be it! Whitey Mack had made a mistake. What
+clew could he have obtained to--
+
+Over the unwashed face of Larry the Bat a gray pallor spread slowly. His
+fingers were plucking at the frayed edge of his inside vest pocket.
+The dark eyes seemed to turn coal-black. A laugh, like the laugh of one
+damned, rose to his lips, and was choked back. It was gone! GONE! That
+thin metal case, like a cigarette case, that, between the little sheets
+of oil paper, held those diamond-shaped, gray-coloured, adhesive seals,
+the insignia of the Gray Seal--was gone! Clew! It seemed as though there
+were an overpowering nausea upon him. CLEW! That little case was not a
+clew--it was a death warrant!
+
+His hands clenched fiercely. If he could only think for a moment! The
+lining of his pocket had given away. The case had dropped out. But there
+was nothing about the case to identify any one as the Gray Seal unless
+it were found in one's actual possession. Therefore Whitey Mack, to have
+solved his identity, must have seen him drop the case. There could be no
+question about that. It was equally obvious then that Whitey Mack would
+know the Gray Seal as Larry the Bat. Did he also know him as Jimmie
+Dale? Yes, or no? It was a vital question. His life hung on it.
+
+That keen, facile brain, numbed for the moment, was beginning to work
+with lightning speed. It was four o'clock that afternoon when he had
+assumed the character of Larry the Bat--some time between four o'clock
+and the present, it was now well after eleven, the case had dropped from
+his pocket. There had been ample time then for Whitey Mack to have
+made that appointment with Lannigan--and ample time to have made a
+surreptitious visit to the Sanctuary. Had Whitey Mack gone there? Had
+Whitey Mack found that hiding place in the flooring under the oilcloth?
+Had Whitey Mack discovered that the Gray Seal was not only Larry the
+Bat--but Jimmie Dale?
+
+Jimmie Dale swept his hand across his forehead. It was damp from
+little clinging beads of moisture. Should he go to the Sanctuary and
+change--become Jimmie Dale again? Was it the safest thing to do--or the
+most dangerous? Even if Whitey Mack had been there and discovered the
+dual personality of Larry the Bat, how would he, Jimmie Dale, know it?
+The man would have been crafty enough to have left no sign behind him.
+Was it to the Sanctuary that Whitey Mack meant to lead Lannigan that
+evening--or did Whitey Mack know him as Jimmie Dale, and to make it
+the more sensational, plan to carry out the coup, say, at the St. James
+Club? Whitey Mack and Lannigan were still at Bristol Bob's; he had
+probably time, if he so elected, to reach the Sanctuary, change, and get
+away again. But every minute was priceless now. What should he do? Run
+from the city as he was for cover--or take the gambler's chance? Whitey
+Mack knew him as Larry the Bat--it was not certain that Whitey Mack knew
+him as Jimmie Dale.
+
+He had halted, absorbed, in front of a moving-picture theatre. Great
+placards, at first but a blur of colour, suddenly forced themselves in
+concrete form upon his consciousness. Letters a foot high leaped out at
+him: "THE DOUBLE LIFE." There was the picture of a banker in his private
+office hastily secreting a forged paper as the hero in the guise of a
+clerk entered; the companion picture was the banker in convict stripes
+staring out from behind the barred doors of a cell. There seemed a
+ghastly augury in the coincidence. Why should a thing like that be
+thrust upon him to shake his nerve when he needed nerve now more than he
+had ever needed it in his life before?
+
+He raised his hand to jerk aimlessly at the brim of his hat, dropped
+his hand abruptly to his side again, and started quickly, hurriedly away
+through the throng around him. A sort of savagery had swept upon him.
+In a flash he had made his decision. He would take the gambler's chance!
+And afterward--Jimmie Dale's lips were like a thin, straight line--it
+was Whitey Mack's life or his own! Whitey Mack had said he was the only
+one that was wise--and Whitey Mack had not told Lannigan yet, wouldn't
+tell Lannigan until the show-down. If he, Jimmie Dale, got to the
+Sanctuary, became Jimmie Dale and got away again, even if Whitey Mack
+knew him as Jimmie Dale, there was still a chance. It was his life or
+Whitey Mack's--Whitey Mack, with his lean-jawed, clean-shaven wolf's
+face! If he could get Whitey Mack before the other was ready to tell
+Lannigan! Surely he had the right of self-preservation! Surely his life
+was as valuable as Whitey Mack's, as valuable as a man's who, as those
+in the secrets of the underworld knew well enough, had blood upon his
+hands, who lived by crime, who was a menace to the community! Had he not
+the right to preserve his own life at the expense of one such as that?
+He had never taken life--the thought was abhorrent! But was there any
+other way in event of Whitey Mack knowing him as Jimmie Dale? His
+back was against the wall; he was trapped; certain death, and, worse,
+dishonour stared him in the face. Lannigan and Whitey Mack would be
+together--the odds would be two to one against him--and he had no
+quarrel with Lannigan--somehow he must let Lannigan out of it.
+
+The other side of the street was less crowded. He crossed over, and,
+still with the shuffling tread that dozens around him knew as the
+characteristic gait of Larry the Bat, but covering the ground with
+amazing celerity, he hurried along. It was only at the end of the block,
+that cross street from the Bowery that led to the Sanctuary. How much
+time had he? He turned the corner into the darker cross street. Whitey
+Mack would have learned from Bristol Bob that Larry the Bat had just
+been there; that is, that Larry the Bat was not at the Sanctuary. Whitey
+Mack would probably be in no hurry--he and Lannigan might wait until
+later, until Whitey Mack should be satisfied that Larry the Bat had gone
+home. It was the line of least resistance; they would not attempt to
+scour the city for him. They might even wait in that private room at
+Bristol Bob's until they decided that it was time to sally out. He might
+perhaps still find them there when he got back; at any rate, from there
+he must pick up their trail again. On the other hand--all this was but
+supposition--they might make at once for the Sanctuary to lie in wait
+for him. In any case there was need, desperate need, for haste.
+
+He glanced sharply around him; and, by the side of the tenement house
+now that bordered on the alleyway, with a curious, swift, gliding
+motion, he seemed to blend into the shadow and darkness. It was the
+Sanctuary, that room on the first floor of the tenement, the tenement
+that had three entrances, three exits--a passageway through to the
+saloon on the next street that abutted on the rear, the usual front
+door, and the side door in the alleyway. Gone was the shuffling gait.
+Quick, alert, he ran, crouching, bent down, along the alleyway, reached
+the side door, opened it stealthily, closed it behind him with equal
+caution, and, in the dark entry, stood motionless, listening intently.
+
+There was no sound. He began to mount the rickety, dilapidated stairs;
+and, where it seemed that the lightest tread must make them creak out in
+blatant protest, his trained muscles, delicately compensating his body
+weight, carried him upward with a silence that was almost uncanny. There
+was need of silence, as there was need of haste. He was not so sure
+now of the time at his disposal--that he had even reached the Sanctuary
+FIRST. How long had he loitered in that half-dazed way on the Bowery?
+He did not know--perhaps longer than he had imagined. There was the
+possibility that Whitey Mack and Lannigan were already above, waiting
+for him; but, even if they were not already there and he got away before
+they came, it was imperative that no one should know that Larry the Bat
+had come and gone.
+
+He reached the landing, and paused again, his right hand, with a vicious
+muzzle of his automatic peeping now from between his fingers, thrown
+a little forward. It was black, utterly black, around him. Again that
+stealthy, catlike tread--and his ear was at the keyhole of the Sanctuary
+door. A full minute, priceless though it was, passed; then, satisfied
+that the room was empty, he drew his head back from the keyhole, and
+those slim, tapering fingers, that in their tips seemed to embody
+all the human senses, felt over the lock. Apparently it had been
+undisturbed; but that was no proof that Whitey Mack had not been there
+after finding the metal case. Whitey Mack was known to be clever with a
+lock--clever enough for that, anyhow.
+
+He slipped in the key, turned it, and, on hinges that were always oiled,
+silently pushed the door open and stepped across the threshold. He
+closed the door until it was just ajar, that any sound might reach him
+from without--and, whipping off his coat, began to undress swiftly.
+
+There was no light. He dared not use the gas; it might be seen from the
+alleyway. He was moving now quickly, surely, silently here and there.
+It was like some weird spectre figure, a little blacker than the
+surrounding darkness, flitting about the room. The oilcloth in the
+corner was turned back, the loose flooring lifted, the clothes of Jimmie
+Dale taken out, the rags of Larry the Bat put in. The minutes flew by.
+It was not the change of clothing that took long--it was the eradication
+of Larry the Bat's make-up from his face, throat, neck, wrists, and
+hands. Occasionally his head was turned in a tense, listening attitude;
+but always the fingers were busy, working with swift deftness.
+
+It was done at last. Larry the Bat had vanished, and in his place
+stood Jimmie Dale, the young millionaire, the social lion of New York,
+immaculate in well-tailored tweeds. He stooped to the hole in the
+flooring, and, his fingers going unerringly to their hiding place, took
+out a black silk mask and an electric flashlight--his automatic was
+already in his possession. His lips parted grimly. Who knew what part
+a flashlight might not play--and he would need the mask for Lannigan's
+benefit, even if it did not disguise him from Whitey Mack. Had he left
+any telltale evidence of his visit? It was almost worth the risk of a
+light to make sure. He hesitated, then shook his head, and, stooping
+again, carefully replaced the flooring and laid the oilcloth over it--he
+dared not show a light at any cost.
+
+But now even more caution than before was necessary. At times, the
+lodgers had naturally enough seen their fellow lodger, Larry the Bat,
+enter and leave the tenement--none had ever seen Jimmie Dale either
+leave or enter. He stole across the room to the door, halted to assure
+himself that the hall was empty, slipped out into the hall, and locked
+the door behind him. Again that trained, long-practiced, silent tread
+upon the stairs. It seemed as though an hour passed before he reached
+the bottom, and his brain was shrieking at him to hurry, hurry,
+HURRY! The entryway at last, the door, the alleyway, a long breath of
+relief--and he was on the cross street.
+
+A step, two, he took in the direction of the Bowery--and he was bending
+down as though to tie his shoe, his automatic, from his side pocket,
+concealed in his hand. WAS THAT SOME ONE THERE? He could have sworn he
+saw a shadow-like form start out from behind the steps of the house on
+the opposite side of the street as he had emerged from the alleyway.
+In his bent posture, without seemingly turning his head, his eyes swept
+sharply up and down the other side of the ill-lighted street. Nothing!
+There was not even a pedestrian in sight on the block from there to the
+Bowery.
+
+Jimmie Dale straightened up nonchalantly, and stooped almost instantly
+again, as though the lace were still proving refractory. Again that
+sharp, searching glance. Again--nothing! He went forward now in apparent
+unconcern; but his right hand, instead of being buried in his coat
+pocket, swung easily at his side.
+
+It was strange! His ineffective ruse to the contrary, he was certain
+that he had not been mistaken. Was it Whitey Mack? Was the question
+answered? Was the Gray Seal known, too, as Jimmie Dale? Were they
+trailing him now, with the climax to come at the club, at his own
+palatial home, wherever the surroundings would best lend themselves
+to assuaging that inordinate thirst for the sensational that was so
+essentially a characteristic of the confirmed criminal? What a headline
+in the morning's papers it would make!
+
+At the corner he loitered by the curb to light a cigarette--still not a
+soul in sight on either side of the street behind him, except a couple
+of Italians who had just passed by. Strange again! The intuition, if it
+were only intuition, was still strong. He swung abruptly on his heel,
+mingled with the passers-by on the Bowery, walked a rapid half dozen
+steps until the building hid the cross street, then ran across the road
+to the opposite side of the Bowery, and, in a crowd now, came back to
+the corner. He crossed from curb to curb slowly, sheltered by a fringe
+of people that, however, in no way obstructed his view down the side
+street. And then Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders. He had evidently
+been mistaken, after all. He was overexcited; his nerves were raw--that,
+perhaps, was the solution. Meanwhile, every minute was counting, if
+Whitey Mack and Lannigan should still be at Bristol Bob's.
+
+He kept on down the Bowery, hurrying with growing impatience through the
+crowds that massed in front of various places of amusement. He had not
+intended to come along the Bowery, and, except for what had occurred,
+would have taken a less frequented street. He would turn off at the next
+block.
+
+He was in front of that moving-picture theatre again. "THE DOUBLE
+LIFE"--his eyes were attracted involuntarily to the lurid, overdone
+display. It seemed to threaten him; it seemed to dangle before him a
+premonition as it were, of what the morning held in store; but now, too,
+it seemed to feed into flame that smouldering fury that possessed him.
+His life--or Whitey Mack's! Men, women, and the children who turned
+night into day in that quarter of the city were clustered thick around
+the signs, hiving like bees to the bald sensationalism. Almost savagely
+he began to force his way through the crowd--and the next instant, like
+a man stunned, had stopped in his tracks. His fingers had closed in a
+fierce, spasmodic clutch over an envelope that had been thrust suddenly
+into his hand.
+
+"JIMMIE!" from somewhere came a low, quick voice. "Jimmie, it is
+half-past eleven now--HURRY."
+
+He whirled, scanning wildly this face, then that. It was her voice--HER
+voice! The Tocsin! The sensitive fingers were telegraphing to his brain,
+as they always did, that the texture of the envelope, too, was hers.
+Her voice; yes, anywhere, out of a thousand voices, he would distinguish
+hers--but her face, he had never seen that. Which, out of all the crowd
+around him, was hers? Surely he could tell her by her dress; she would
+be different; her personality alone must single her out. She--
+
+"Say, have youse got de pip, or do youse t'ink youse owns de earth!" a
+man flung at him, heaving and pushing to get by.
+
+With a start, though he scarcely heard the man, Jimmie Dale moved on.
+His brain was afire. All the irony of the world seemed massed in a
+sudden, overwhelming attack upon him. It was useless--intuitively he
+had known it was useless from the instant he had heard her voice. It was
+always the same--always! For years she had eluded him like that, come
+upon him without warning and disappeared, but leaving always that
+tangible proof of her existence--a letter, the call of the Gray Seal to
+arms. But to-night it was as it had never been before. It was not alone
+baffled chagrin now, not alone the longing, the wild desire to see her
+face, to look into her eyes--it was life and death. She had come at the
+very moment when she, perhaps alone of all the world, could have pointed
+the way out, when life, liberty, everything that was common to them both
+was at stake, in deadly peril--and she had gone, ignorant of it all,
+leaving him staggered by the very possibility of the succour that was
+held up before his eyes only to be snatched away without power of his to
+grasp it. His intuition had not been at fault--he had made no mistake
+in that shadow across the street from the Sanctuary. It had been the
+Tocsin. He had been followed; and it was she who had followed him,
+until, in a crowd, she had seized the opportunity of a moment ago.
+Though ultimately, perhaps, it changed nothing, it was a relief in a way
+to know that it was she, not Whitey Mack, who had been lurking there;
+but her persistent, incomprehensible determination to preserve the
+mystery with which she surrounded herself was like now to cost them both
+a ghastly price. If he could only have had one word with her--just one
+word!
+
+The letter in his hand crackled under his clenched fist. He stared at
+it in a half-blind, half-bitter way. The call of the Gray Seal to arms!
+Another coup, with its incident danger and peril, that she had planned
+for him to execute! He could have laughed aloud at the inhuman mockery
+of it. The call of the Gray Seal to arms--NOW! When with every faculty
+drained to its last resource, cornered, trapped, he was fighting for his
+very existence!
+
+"Jimmie, it is half-past eleven now--HURRY!" The words were jangling
+discordantly in his brain.
+
+And now he laughed outright, mirthlessly. A young girl hanging on her
+escort's arm, passing, glanced at him and giggled. It was a different
+Jimmie Dale for the moment. For once his immobility had forsaken him. He
+laughed again--a sort of unnatural, desperate indifference to everything
+falling upon him. What did it matter, the moment or two it would take to
+read the letter? He looked around him. He was on the corner in front
+of the Palace Saloon, and, turning abruptly, he stepped in through the
+swinging doors. As Larry the Bat, he knew the place well. At the rear of
+the barroom and along the side of the wall were some half dozen
+little stalls, partitioned off from each other. Several of these were
+unoccupied, and he chose the one farthest from the entrance. It was
+private enough; no one would disturb him.
+
+From the aproned individual who presented himself he ordered a drink.
+The man returned in a moment, and Jimmie Dale tossed a coin on the
+table, bidding the other keep the change. He wanted no drink; the
+transaction was wholly perfunctory. The waiter was gone; he pushed the
+glass away from him, and tore the envelope open.
+
+A single sheet, closely written on both sides of the paper, was in his
+hand. It was her writing; there was no mistaking that, but every word,
+every line bore evidence of frantic haste. Even that customary formula,
+"dear philanthropic crook," that had prefaced every line she had ever
+written him before, had been omitted. His eyes traversed the first few
+lines with that strange indifference that had settled upon him. What,
+after all, did it matter what it was; he could do nothing--not even save
+himself probably. And then, with a little start, he read the lines over
+again, muttering snatches from them.
+
+
+". . . Max Diestricht--diamonds--the Ross-Logan stones--wedding--sliding
+panel in wall of workshop--end of the room near window--ten boards to
+the right from side wall--press small knot in the wood in the centre of
+the tenth board--to-night . . ."
+
+
+It brought a sudden thrill of excitement to Jimmie Dale that, impossible
+as he would have believed it an instant ago, for the moment overshadowed
+the realisation of his own peril. A robbery such as that, if it were
+ever accomplished, would stir the country from end to end; it would set
+New York by the ears; it would loose the police in full cry like a pack
+of bloodhounds with their leashes slipped. The society columns of the
+newspapers had been busy for months featuring the coming marriage of the
+Ross-Logans' daughter to one of the country's young merchant princes.
+The combined fortunes of the two families would make the young couple
+the richest in America. The prospective groom's wedding gift was to be
+a diamond necklace of perfectly matched, large stones that would eclipse
+anything of the kind in the country. Europe, the foreign markets, had
+been literally combed and ransacked to supply the gems. The stones had
+arrived in New York the day before, the duty on them alone amounting to
+over fifty thousand dollars. All this had appeared in the papers.
+
+Jimmie Dale's brows drew together in a frown. On just exactly what
+percentage the duty was figured he did not know; but it was high
+enough on the basis of fifty thousand dollars to assume safely that the
+assessed value of the stones was not less than four times that amount.
+Two hundred thousand dollars--laid down, a quarter of a million! Well,
+why not? In more than one quarter diamonds were ranked as the soundest
+kind of an investment. Furthermore, through personal acquaintance with
+the "high contracting parties," who were in his own set, he knew it to
+be true.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders. The papers, too, had thrown the limelight on
+Max Diestricht, who, though for quite a time the fashion in the social
+world, had, up to the present, been comparatively unknown to the average
+New Yorker. His own knowledge of Max Diestricht went deeper than the
+superficial biography furnished by the newspapers--the old Hollander
+had done more than one piece of exquisite jewelry work for him. The old
+fellow was a character that beggared description, eccentric to the point
+of extravagance, and deaf as a post; but, in craftmanship, a modern
+Cellini. He employed no workmen, lived alone over his shop on one of
+the lower streets between Fifth and Sixth Avenues near Washington
+Square--and possessed a splendid contempt for such protective
+contrivances as safes and vaults. If his prospective patrons
+expostulated on this score before intrusting him with their valuables,
+they were at liberty to take their work elsewhere. It was Max Diestricht
+who honoured you by accepting the commission; not you who honoured Max
+Diestricht by intrusting him with it. "Of what use is it to me, a safe!"
+he would exclaim. "It hides nothing; it only says, 'I am inside; do
+not look farther; come and get me!' Yes? It is to explode with the
+nitro-glycerin--POUF!--and I am deaf and I hear nothing. It is a
+foolishness, that"--he had a habit of prodding at one with a levelled
+fore-finger--"every night somewhere they are robbed, and have I been
+robbed? HEIN, tell me that; have I been robbed?"
+
+It was true. In ten years, though at times having stones and precious
+metal aggregating large amounts deposited with him by his customers, Max
+Diestricht had never lost so much as the gold filings. There was a
+queer smile on Jimmie Dale's lips now. The knot in the tenth board
+was significant! Max Diestricht was scrupulously honest, a genius in
+originality and conception of design, a master in the perfection and
+delicacy of his finished work--he had been commissioned to design and
+set the Ross-Logan necklace.
+
+The brain works quickly. All this and more had flashed almost
+instantaneously through Jimmie Dale's mind. His eyes fell to the letter
+again, and he read on. Halfway through, a sudden whiteness blanched
+his face, and, following it, a surging tide of red that mounted to his
+temples. It dazed him; it seemed to rob him for the moment of the
+power of coherent thought. He was wrong; he had not read aright. It was
+incredible, dare-devil beyond belief--and yet in its very audacity lay
+success. He finished the letter, read it once more--and his fingers
+mechanically began to tear it into little shreds. His brain was in a
+whirl, a vortex of conflicting emotions. Had Whitey Mack and Lannigan
+left Bristol Bob's yet? Where were they now? Was there time for--this?
+He was staring at the little torn scraps of paper in his hand. He thrust
+them suddenly into his pocket, and jerked out his watch. It was nearly
+midnight. The broad, muscular shoulders seemed to square back curiously,
+the jaws to clamp a little, the face to harden and grow cold until it
+was like stone. With a swift movement he emptied his glass into the
+cuspidor, set the glass back on the table, and stepped out from the
+stall. His destination was Max Diestricht's.
+
+The Palace Saloon was near the upper end of the Bowery, and, failing a
+taxicab, of which none was in sight, his quickest method was to walk,
+and he started briskly forward. It was not far; and it was barely
+ten minutes from the time he had left the Palace Saloon when he swung
+through Washington Square to Fifth Avenue, and, a moment later, turned
+from that thoroughfare, heading west toward Sixth Avenue, along one of
+those streets which, with the city's northward trend, had quite lost
+any distinctive identity, and from being once a modestly fashionable
+residential section had now become a conglomerate potpourri of small
+tradesmen's stores, shops and apartments of the poorer class. He knew
+Max Diestricht's--he could well have done without the aid of the arc
+lamp which, even if dimly, indicated that low, almost tumble-down,
+two-story structure tucked away between the taller buildings on either
+side that almost engulfed it. It was late. The street was quiet. The
+shops and stores had long since been closed, Max Diestricht's among
+them--the old Hollanders' name in painted white letters stood out
+against the background of a darkened workshop window. In the story
+above, the lights, too, were out; Max Diestricht was probably fast
+asleep--and he was stone deaf!
+
+A glance up and down the street, and Jimmie Dale was standing, or,
+rather, leaning against Max Diestricht's door. There was no one to see,
+and if there were, what was there to attract attention to a man standing
+nonchalantly for a moment in a doorway? It was only for a moment. Those
+master fingers of Jimmie Dale were working surely, swiftly, silently. A
+little steel instrument that was never out of his possession was in the
+lock and out again. The door opened, closed; he drew the black silk mask
+from his pocket and slipped it over his face. Immediately in front of
+him the stairs led upward; immediately to his right was the door into
+the shop--the modest street entrance was common to both.
+
+The door into the workshop was not locked. He opened it, stepped inside,
+and closed it quietly behind him. The place was in blackness. He stood
+for a moment silent, straining his ears to catch the slightest sound,
+reconstructing the plan of his surroundings in his mind as he remembered
+it. It was a narrow, oblong room, running the entire depth of the
+building, a very long room, blank walls on either side, a window in the
+middle of the rear wall that gave on a back yard, and from the back yard
+there was access to the lane; also, as he remembered the place, it was
+a riot of disorder, with workbenches and odds and ends strewn without
+system or reason in every direction--one had need of care to negotiate
+it in the dark. He took his flashlight from his pocket, and, preliminary
+to a more intimate acquaintance with the interior, glanced out through
+the front window near which he stood--and, with a suppressed cry, shrank
+back instinctively against the wall.
+
+Two men were crossing the street, heading directly for the shop door.
+The arc lamp lighted up their faces. IT WAS INSPECTOR LANNIGAN OF
+HEADQUARTERS AND WHITEY MACK! The quick intake of Jimmie Dale breath was
+sucked through clenched teeth. They were close on his heels then--far
+closer than he had imagined. It would take Whitey Mack scarcely any
+longer to open that front door than it had taken him. Close on his
+heels! His face was rigid. He could hear them now at the door. The
+flashlight in his hand winked down the length of the room. If was a
+dangerous thing to do, but it was still more dangerous to stumble into
+some object and make a noise. He darted forward, circuiting a workbench,
+a stool, a small hand forge. Again the flashlight gleamed. Against the
+side wall, near the rear, was another workbench, with a sort of coarse
+canvas curtain hanging part way down in front of it, evidently to
+protect such things as might be stored away beneath it from dust,
+and Jimmie Dale sprang for it, whipped back the canvas, and crawled
+underneath. He was not an instant too soon. As the canvas fell back into
+place, the shop door opened, closed, and the two men had stepped inside.
+
+Whitey Mack's voice, in a low whisper though it was, seemed to echo
+raucously through the shop.
+
+"Mabbe we'll have a sweet wait, but I got the straight dope on this.
+He's going to make a try for Dutchy's sparklers to-night. We'll let him
+go the limit, and we don't either of us make a move till he's pinched
+them, and then we get him with the goods on him. He can't get away;
+he hasn't a hope! There's only two ways of getting in here or getting
+out--this door and window here, and a window that's down there at the
+back. You guard this, and I'll take care of the other end. Savvy?"
+
+"Right!" Lannigan answered grimly. "Go ahead!"
+
+There was the sound of footsteps moving forward, then a vicious bump,
+the scraping of some object along the floor, and a muffled curse from
+Whitey Mack.
+
+"Use your flashlight!" advised the inspector, in a guarded voice.
+
+"I haven't got one, damn it!", growled Whitey Mack. "It's all right.
+I'll get along."
+
+Again the steps, but more warily now, as though the man were cautiously
+feeling ahead of him for possible obstacles. Jimmie Dale for a moment
+held his breath. He could have reached out and touched the man as the
+other passed. Whitey Mack went on until he had taken up a position
+against the rear wall. Jimmie Dale heard him as he brushed against it.
+
+Then silence fell. He was between them now. Stretched full length on the
+floor, Jimmie Dale raised the lower portion of the canvas away from
+in front of his face. He could see nothing; the place was in Stygian
+blackness; but it had been close and stifling, and, at least, it gave
+him more air.
+
+The minutes dragged by--each more interminable than the one that
+had gone before. Not a movement, not a sound, and then, through the
+stillness, very faint at first, came the regular, repressed breathing
+of Whitey Mack, who was much the nearer of the two men. And, once
+noticeable, almost imperceptible as it was it seemed to pervade the room
+and fill it with a strange, ominous resonance that rose and fell until
+the blackness palpitated with it.
+
+Slowly, very slowly, Jimmie Dale's hand crept into his pocket--and crept
+out again with his automatic. He lay motionless once more. Time in any
+concrete sense ceased to exist. Fancied shapes began to assume form
+in the darkness. By the door, Lannigan stirred uneasily, shifting his
+position slightly.
+
+Was it hours--was it only minutes? It seemed to ring through the
+nerve-racking stillness like the shriek of a hurtling shell--and it was
+only a whisper.
+
+"Watch yourself, Lannigan," whispered Whitey Mack. "He's coming now
+through the yard! Don't move till I start something. Let him get his
+paws on the sparklers."
+
+Silence again. And then a low rasping at the window, like the gnawing of
+a rat; then, inch by inch, the sash was lifted. There was the sound as
+of a body forcing its way over the sill cautiously, then a step upon the
+floor inside, another, and still another. The figure of a man loomed up
+suddenly against the glow of a flashlight as he threw the round, white
+ray inquisitively here and there over the rear wall. And now he appeared
+to be counting the boards. One, two, three--ten. His hand ran up and
+down the tenth board. Again and again he repeated the operation, and
+something like the snarl of a baited beast echoed through the room. He
+half turned to snatch at something in his pocket, and the light for
+a moment showed a black-bearded, lowering face, partially hidden by a
+peaked cap that was pulled far down over his eyes.
+
+There was the rip and tear of rending wood, as a steel jimmy, in lieu of
+the spring the man evidently could not find, bit in between the boards,
+a muttered oath of satisfaction, and a portion of the wall slid back,
+disclosing what looked like a metal-lined cupboard. He reached in,
+seized one of a dozen little boxes, and wrenched off the cover. A blue,
+scintillating gleam seemed to leap out to meet the white ray of the
+flashlight. The man chuckled hoarsely, and began to cram the rest of the
+boxes into his pockets.
+
+Jimmie Dale stirred. On hands and knees he was creeping now from beneath
+the workbench. Something caught and tore behind him--the canvas curtain.
+And at the sound, with a sharp cry, the man at the wall whirled, the
+light went out, and he sprang toward the window. Jimmie Dale gained his
+feet and leaped forward. A revolver shot cut a lane of fire through the
+blackness; and, above the roar of the report, Whitey Mack's voice in a
+fierce yell:
+
+"It's all right, Lannigan! I got him! No--HELL!" There was a terrific
+crash of breaking glass. "He's got away!"
+
+"Not yet, he hasn't!" gritted Jimmie Dale between his teeth, and his
+clubbed revolver swung crashing to the head of a dark form in front of
+him.
+
+There was a half sigh, half moan. The form slid limply to the floor.
+Lannigan was floundering down the shop, leaping obstacles in a mad rush,
+his flashlight picking out the way.
+
+Jimmie Dale stepped swiftly backward, and his hand groped out for the
+droplight, over the end of the bench, that he had knocked against in
+his own rush. His fingers clutched it--and the lower end of the shop was
+flooded with light. Except for his felt hat that lay a little distance
+away, there was no sign of Whitey Mack; the huddled form of the man,
+who but a moment since had chuckled as he pocketed old Max Diestricht's
+gems, lay sprawled, inert, upon the floor, and Lannigan was staring into
+the muzzle of Jimmie Dale's automatic.
+
+"Drop that gun, Lannigan!" said Jimmie Dale coolly. "And I'll trouble
+you not to make a noise; it might attract attention from the street;
+there's been too much already. DROP THAT GUN!"
+
+The revolver clattered from Lannigan's hand to the floor. A step
+forward, and Jimmie Dale's toe sent it spinning under a bench. Another
+step, and, his revolver still covering the other, he had whipped a pair
+of handcuffs from the officer's side pocket.
+
+Lannigan, as though the thought had never occurred to him, offered no
+resistance. He was staring in a dazed sort of way back and forth from
+Jimmie Dale to the man on the floor.
+
+"What's this mean?" he burst out suddenly, "Where's--"
+
+"Your wrist, please!" requested Jimmie Dale pleasantly. "No--the left
+one. Thank you"--as the handcuff snapped shut. "Now go over there and
+sit down on the floor beside that fellow. QUICK!" Jimmie Dale's voice
+rasped suddenly, imperatively.
+
+Still bewildered, but a little sullen now, Lannigan obeyed. Jimmie Dale
+stooped quickly, and snapped the other link of the handcuff over the
+unconscious man's right wrist.
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled.
+
+"That's the approved way of taking your man, isn't it? Left wrist to the
+prisoner's right. He's only stunned; he'll be around in a moment. Know
+him?"
+
+Lannigan shook his head.
+
+"Take a good look at him," invited Jimmie Dale. "You ought to know most
+of them in the business."
+
+Lannigan bent over a little closer, and then, with an amazed cry, his
+free hand shot forward and tore away the other's beard.
+
+IT WAS WHITEY MACK!
+
+"My God!" gasped Lannigan.
+
+"Quite so!" said Jimmie Dale evenly. "You'll find the diamonds in his
+pockets, and, excuse me"--his fingers were running through Whitey Mack's
+clothes--"ah, here it is"--the thin metal case was in his hand--"a
+little article that belongs to me, and whose loss, I am free to admit,
+caused me considerable concern until I was informed that he had only
+found it without having the slightest idea as to whom it belonged.
+It made quite a difference!" He had opened the case carelessly before
+Lannigan's eyes. "'The Gray Seal!' I'll say it for you," said Jimmie
+Dale whimsically. "This is what probably put the idea into his head,
+after first, in some way, having discovered old Max Diestricht's hiding
+place; and, if I had given him time enough, he would probably have stuck
+one of these seals, in clumsy imitation of that little eccentricity of
+mine, on the wall over there to stamp the job as genuine. You begin to
+get it, don't you Lannigan? Pretty sure-fire as an alibi, eh? And he'd
+have got away with it, too, as far as you were concerned. He had only
+to fire that shot, smash the window, tuck his false beard, mustache, and
+peaked cap into his pocket, put on his own hat that you see there on the
+floor--and yell that the man had escaped. He'd help you chase the thief,
+too! Rather neat, don't you think, Lannigan? And worth the risk, too,
+considering the howl that would go up at the theft of those stones, and
+that, known as the slickest diamond thief in the country, he would be
+the first to be suspected--except that the police themselves, in the
+person of Inspector Lannigan of headquarters, would be prepared to prove
+a perfectly good alibi for him."
+
+Lannigan's head was thrust forward; his eyes, hard, were riveted on
+Whitey Mack.
+
+"My God!" he said again under his breath. Then fiercely: "He'll get his
+for this!"
+
+It was a moment before Jimmie Dale spoke; he was musingly examining the
+automatic in his hand.
+
+"I am going now, Lannigan," he observed quietly. "I require, say,
+fifteen minutes in which to effect my escape. It is, of course, obvious
+that an alarm raised by you might prove extremely awkward, but a piece
+of canvas from that bench there, together with a bit of string, would
+make a most effective gag. I prefer, however, not to submit you to that
+indignity. Instead, I offer you the alternative of giving me your word
+to remain quietly where you are for--fifteen minutes."
+
+Lannigan hesitated.
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled.
+
+"I agree," said Lannigan shortly.
+
+Jimmie Dale stepped back. The electric-light switch clicked. The place
+was in darkness. There was a moment, two, of utter stillness; then
+softly, from the front end of the shop, a whisper:
+
+"If I were you, Lannigan, I'd take that gun from Whitey's pocket before
+he comes round and beats you to it."
+
+And the door had closed silently behind Jimmie Dale.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+THE STOOL-PIGEON
+
+
+In the subway, ten minutes before, a freckled-faced messenger boy had
+squeezed himself into a seat beside Jimmie Dale, yanked a dime novel
+from a refractory pocket, and, blissfully lost to all the world, had
+buried his head in its pages. Jimmie Dale's glance at the youngster had
+equally, perforce, embraced the lurid title of the thriller, "Dicing
+with Death," so imperturbably thrust under his nose. At the time, he had
+smiled indulgently; but now, as he left the subway and headed for his
+home on Riverside Drive, the words not only refused to be ignored, but
+had resolved themselves into a curiously persistent refrain in his
+mind. They were exactly what they purported to be, dime-novelish, of
+the deepest hue of yellow, melodramatic in the extreme; but also, to him
+now, they were grimly apt and premonitorily appropriate. "Dicing with
+Death"--there was not an hour, not a moment in the day, when he was not
+literally dicing with death; when, with the underworld and the police
+allied against him, a single false move would lose him the throw that
+left death the winner!
+
+The risk of the dual life enforced upon him grew daily greater, and in
+the end there must be the reckoning. He would have been a madman to have
+shut his eyes in the face of what was obvious--but it was worth it all,
+and in his soul he knew that he would not have had it otherwise even
+now. To-night, to-morrow, the day after, would come another letter
+from the Tocsin, and there would be another "crime" of the Gray Seal's
+blazoned in the press--would that be the last affair, or would there
+be another--or to-night, to-morrow, the day after, would he be trapped
+before even one more letter came!
+
+He shrugged his shoulders, as he ran up the steps of his house. Those
+were the stakes that he himself had laid on the table to wager upon the
+game, he had no quarrel there; but if only, before the end came, or even
+with the end itself, he could find--HER!
+
+With his latchkey he let himself into the spacious, richly furnished,
+well-lighted reception hall, and, crossing this, went up the broad
+staircase, his steps noiseless on the heavy carpet. Below, faintly, he
+could hear some of the servants--they evidently had not heard him close
+the door behind him. Discipline was relaxed somewhat, it was quite
+apparent, with Jason, that peer of butlers, away. Jason, poor chap, was
+in the hospital. Typhoid, they had thought it at first, though it had
+turned out to be some milder form of infection. He would be back in a
+few days now; but meanwhile he missed the old man sorely from the house.
+
+He reached the landing, and, turning, went along the hall to the door of
+his own particular den, opened the door, closed it behind him--and in an
+instant the keen, agile brain, trained to the little things that never
+escaped it, that daily held his life in the balance, was alert. The room
+was unusually dark, even for night-time. It was as though the window
+shades had been closely drawn--a thing Jason never did. But then Jason
+wasn't there! Jimmie Dale, smiling then a little quizzically at himself,
+reached up for the electric-light switch beside the door, pressed
+it--and, his finger still on the button, whipped his automatic from his
+pocket with his other hand. THE ROOM WAS STILL IN DARKNESS.
+
+The smile on Jimmie Dale's lips was gone, for his lips now had closed
+together in a tight, drawn line. The lights in the rest of the house, as
+witness the reception hall, were in order. This was no ACCIDENT! Silent,
+motionless, he stood there, listening. Was he trapped at last--in his
+own house! By whom? The police? The thugs of the underworld? It made
+little difference--the end would differ only in the method by which it
+was attained! What was that! Was there a slight stir, a movement at the
+lower end of the room--or was it his imagination? His hand fell from the
+electric-light switch to the doorknob behind his back. Slowly, without
+a sound, it began to turn under his slim, tapering fingers, whose deft,
+sensitive touch had made him known and feared as the master cracksman of
+them all; and, as noiselessly, the door began to open.
+
+It was like a duel--a duel of silence. What was the intruder, whoever he
+might be, waiting for? The abortive click of the electric-light switch,
+to say nothing of the opening of the door when he had entered, was
+evidence enough that he was there. Was the other trying to place him
+exactly through the darkness to make sure of his attack! The door was
+open now. And suddenly Jimmie Dale laughed easily aloud--and on the
+instant shifted his position.
+
+"Well?" inquired Jimmie Dale coolly from the other side of the
+threshold.
+
+It seemed like a long-drawn sigh fluttering through the room, a gasp of
+relief--and then the blood was pounding madly at his temples, and he was
+back in the room again, the door closed once more behind him.
+
+"Oh, Jimmie--why didn't you speak? I had to be sure that it was you."
+
+It was her voice! HERS! The Tocsin! HERE! She was here--here in his
+house!
+
+"You!" he cried. "You--here!" He was pressing the electric-light switch
+frantically, again and again.
+
+Her voice came out of the darkness from across the room:
+
+"Why are you doing that, Jimmie? You know already that I have turned off
+the lights."
+
+"At the sockets--of course!" He laughed out the words almost
+hysterically. "Your face--I have never seen your face, you know." He was
+moving quickly toward the reading lamp on his desk.
+
+There was a quick, hurried swish of garments, and she was blocking his
+way.
+
+"No," she said, in a low voice; "you must not light that lamp."
+
+He laughed again, shortly, fiercely now. She was close to him, his hands
+reached out for her, touched her, and thrilling at the touch, swept her
+toward him.
+
+"Jimmie--Jimmie--are you mad!" she breathed.
+
+Mad! Yes--he was mad with the wildest, most passionate exhilaration he
+had ever known. He found his voice with an effort.
+
+"These months and years that I have tried until my soul was sick to find
+you!" he cried out. "And you are here now! Your face--I must see your
+face!"
+
+She had wrenched herself away from him. He could hear her breath coming
+sharply in little gasps. He groped his way onward toward the desk.
+
+"WAIT!"--her tones seemed to ring suddenly vibrant through the room.
+"Wait, before you touch that lamp! I--I put you on your honour not to
+light it."
+
+He stopped abruptly.
+
+"My--honour?" he repeated mechanically.
+
+"Yes! I came here to-night because there was no other way. No other
+way--do you understand? I came, trusting to your honour not to take
+advantage of the conditions that forced me to do this. I had no fear
+that I was wrong--I have no fear now. You will not light that lamp,
+and you will not make any attempt to prevent my going away as I
+came--unknown. Is there any question about it, Jimmie? I am in YOUR
+house."
+
+"You don't know what you are saying!" he burst out wildly. "I've risked
+my life for a chance like this again and again; I've gone through hell,
+living in squalour for a month on end as Larry the Bat in the hope that
+I might discover who you are--and do you think I'll let anything stop me
+now! I tell you, no--a thousand times no!"
+
+She made no answer. There was only her low, quick breathing coming from
+somewhere near him. He made another step toward the lamp--and stopped.
+
+"I tell you, no!" he said again, and took another step forward--and
+stopped once more.
+
+Still she made no answer. A minute passed--another. His hand lifted and
+swept across his forehead in an agitated way. Still silence. She neither
+moved nor spoke. His hand dropped slowly to his side. There was a queer,
+twisted smile upon his lips.
+
+"You win!" he said hoarsely.
+
+"Thank you, Jimmie," she said simply.
+
+"And your name, who you are"--he was speaking, but he did not seem to
+recognise his own voice--"the hundred other things I've sworn I'd make
+you explain when I found you, are all taboo as well, I suppose!"
+
+"Yes," she said.
+
+He laughed bitterly.
+
+"Don't you know," he cried out, "that between the police and the
+underworld, our house of cards is likely to collapse at any minute--that
+they are hunting the Gray Seal day and night! Is it to be always like
+this--that I am never to know--until it is too late!"
+
+She came toward him out of the darkness impulsively.
+
+"They will never get you, Jimmie," she said, in a suppressed voice. "And
+some day, I promise you now, you shall have your reward for to-night.
+You shall know--everything."
+
+"When?" The word came from him with fierce eagerness.
+
+"I do not know," she answered gently. "Soon, perhaps--perhaps sooner
+than either of us imagine."
+
+"And by that you mean--what?" he asked, and his hand reached out for her
+again through the blackness.
+
+This time she did not draw away. There was an instant's hesitation; then
+she spoke again hurriedly, a note of anxiety in her voice.
+
+"You are beginning all over again, aren't you, Jimmie? And I have told
+you that to-night I can explain nothing. And, besides, it is what has
+brought me here that counts now, and every moment is of--"
+
+"Yes. I know," he interposed; "but, then, at least you will tell me one
+thing: Why did you come to-night, instead of sending me a letter as you
+always have before?"
+
+"Because it is different to-night than it ever was before," she replied
+earnestly. "Because there is something in what has happened that I
+cannot explain myself; because there is danger, and where I could not
+see clearly I feared a trap, and so I dared not send what, in a letter,
+could at best be only vague and incomplete details. Do you see?"
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale--but he was only listening in an abstracted way.
+If he could only see that face, so close to his! He had yearned for that
+with all his soul for years now! And she was here, standing beside him,
+and his hand was upon her arm; and here, in his own den, in his own
+house, he was listening to another call to arms for the Gray Seal from
+her own lips! Honour! Was he but a poor, quixotic fool! He had only
+to step to the desk and switch on the light! Why should--he steadied
+himself with a jerk, and drew away his hand. She was in HIS house. "Go
+on," he said tersely.
+
+"Do you know, or did you ever hear of old Luther Doyle?" she asked.
+
+"No," said Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Do you know a man, then, named Connie Myers?"
+
+Connie Myers! Who in the Bad Lands did not know Connie Myers, who
+boasted of the half dozen prison sentences already to his credit? Yes;
+he knew Connie Myers! But, strangely enough, it was not in the Bad Lands
+or as Larry the Bat that he knew the man, or that the other knew him--it
+was as Jimmie Dale. Connie Myers had introduced himself one night
+several years ago with a blackjack that had just missed its mark as the
+man had jumped out from a dark alleyway on the East Side, and he, Jimmie
+Dale, had thrashed the other to within an inch of his life. He had
+reason to know Connie Myers--and Connie Myers had reason to remember
+him!
+
+"Yes," he said, with a grim smile; "I know Connie Myers."
+
+"And the tenement across the street from where you live as Larry the
+Bat--that, of course, you know." He leaned toward her wonderingly now.
+
+"Of course!" he ejaculated. "Naturally!"
+
+"Listen, then, Jimmie!" She was speaking quickly now. "It is a strange
+story. This Luther Doyle was already over fifty, when, some eight or
+nine years ago, his parents died within a few months of each other,
+and he inherited somewhere in the neighbourhood of a hundred thousand
+dollars; but the man, though harmless enough, was mildly insane,
+half-witted, queer, and the old couple, on account of their son's mental
+defects, took care to leave the money securely invested, and so that he
+could only touch the interest. During these eight or nine years he has
+lived by himself in the same old family house where he had lived with
+his parents, in a lonely spot near Pelham. And he has lived in a most
+frugal, even miserly, manner. His income could not have been less than
+six thousand dollars a year, and his expenditures could not have been
+more than six hundred. His dementia, ironically enough from the day that
+he came into his fortune, took the form of a most pitiable and abject
+fear that he would die in poverty, misery, and want; and so, year after
+year, cashing his checks as fast as he got them, never trusting the bank
+with a penny, he kept hiding away somewhere in his house every cent he
+could scrape and save from his income--which to-day must amount, at a
+minimum calculation, to fifty thousand dollars."
+
+"And," observed Jimmie Dale quietly. "Connie Myers robbed him of it,
+and--"
+
+"No!" Her voice was quivering with passion, as she caught up his words.
+"Twice in the last month Connie Myers TRIED to rob him, but the money
+was too securely hidden. Twice he broke into Doyle's house when the old
+man was out, but on both occasions was unsuccessful in his search, and
+was interrupted and forced to make his escape on account of Doyle's
+return. To-night, an hour ago, in an empty room on the second floor
+of that tenement, in the room facing the landing, old Luther Doyle was
+MURDERED!"
+
+There was silence for an instant. Her hand had closed in a tight
+pressure on his arm. The darkness seemed to add a sort of ghastly
+significance to her words.
+
+"In God's name, how do you know all this?" he demanded wildly. "How do
+you know all these things?
+
+"Does that matter now?" she answered tensely. "You will know that when
+you know the rest. Oh, don't you understand, Jimmie, there is not a
+moment to lose now? It was easy to lure a half-witted creature like that
+anywhere; it was Connie Myers who lured him to the tenement and murdered
+him there--but from that point, Jimmie, I am not sure of our ground. I
+do not know whether Connie Myers is alone in this or not; but I do know
+that he is going to Doyle's house again to-night to make another search
+for the money. There is no question but that old Doyle was murdered to
+give Connie Myers and his accomplices, if there are any, a chance to
+tear the house inside out to find the money, to give them the whole
+night to work in without interruption if necessary--but Doyle dead in
+his own house could have interfered no more with them than Doyle dead in
+that tenement! Why was he lured to the tenement by Connie Myers when he
+could much more easily have been put out of the way in his own house?
+Jimmie, there is something behind this, something more that you must
+find out. There may be others in this besides Connie Myers, I do not
+know; but there is something here that I am afraid of. Jimmie, you must
+get that man, you must get the others if there are others, and you
+must stop them from getting the money in that house to-night! Do you
+understand now why I have come here? I could not explain in a letter;
+I do not quite seem to be explaining now. It would seem as though
+there were no need for the Gray Seal--that simply the police should be
+notified. But I KNOW, Jimmie, call it intuition, what you will, I know
+that there is need for us, for you to-night--that behind all this is a
+tragedy, deeper, blacker, than even the brutal, cold-blooded murder that
+is already done."
+
+Her voice, in its passionate earnestness, died away; and an anger,
+cold, grim, remorseless, settled upon Jimmie Dale--settled as it always
+settled upon him at her call to arms. His brain was already at work in
+its quick, instant way, probing, sifting, planning. She was right! It
+was strange, it was more than strange that, with the added risk, the
+danger, the difficulty, the man should have been brought miles to be
+done away with in that tenement! Why? Connie Myers took form before
+him--the coarse features, the tawny hair that straggled across the low
+forehead, the shifty eyes that were an indeterminate colour between
+brown and gray, the thin lips that seemed to draw in and give the jaw
+a protruding, belligerent effect. And Connie Myers knew him as Jimmie
+Dale--it would have to be then as Larry the Bat that the Gray Seal must
+work. That meant time--to go to the Sanctuary and change.
+
+"The police," he asked suddenly, aloud, "they have not yet discovered
+the body?"
+
+"Not yet," she replied hurriedly. "And that is still another reason
+for haste--there is no telling when they will. See--here!" She thrust
+a paper into his hand. "Here is a plan of old Doyle's house, and
+directions for finding it. You must get Connie Myers red-handed, you
+must make him convict himself, for the evidence through which I know him
+to be guilty can never be used against him. And, Jimmie, be careful--I
+know I am not wrong, that there is still something more behind all this.
+And now go, Jimmie, go! There is no time to lose!" She was pushing him
+across the room toward the door.
+
+Go! The word seemed suddenly to bring dismay. It was she again who was
+dominant now in his mind. Who knew if to-night, when he was taking his
+life in his hands again, would not be the last! And she was here now,
+here beside him--where she might never be again!
+
+She seemed to divine his thoughts, for she spoke again, a strange new
+note of tenderness in her voice that thrilled him.
+
+"You must never let them get you, Jimmie--for my sake. It will not last
+much longer--it is near the end--and I shall keep my promise. But go,
+now, Jimmie--go!"
+
+"Go?" he repeated numbly. "Go? But--but you?"
+
+"I?" She slipped suddenly away from him, retreating back down the room.
+"I will go--as I came."
+
+"Wait! Listen!" he pleaded.
+
+There was no answer.
+
+She was there--somewhere back there in the darkness still. He stood
+hesitant at the door. It seemed that every faculty he possessed urged
+him back there again--to her. Could he let her escape him now when she
+was so utterly in his power, she who meant everything in his life! And
+then, like a cold shock, came that other thought--she who had trusted to
+his honour! With a jerk, his hand swept out, felt for the doorknob, and
+closed upon it.
+
+"Good-night!" he said heavily, and stepped out into the hall.
+
+It seemed for a while, even after he had gained the street and made his
+way again to the subway, that nothing was concrete around him, that
+he was living through some fantastical dream. His head whirled, and he
+could not think rationally--and then slowly, little by little, his grip
+upon himself came back. She had come--and gone! With the roar of the
+subway in his ears, its raucous note seeming to strike so perfectly in
+consonance with the turmoil within him, he smiled mirthlessly. After
+all, it was as it always was! She was gone--and ahead of him lay the
+chances of the night!
+
+"Dicing with death!" The words, unbidden, came back once more. If they
+were true before, they were doubly applicable now. It was different
+to-night from what it had ever been before, as she had said. Usually, to
+the smallest detail, everything was laid open, clear before him in
+those astounding letters. To-night, it was vague at best. A man had been
+murdered. Connie Myers had committed the murder under circumstances that
+pointed strongly to some hidden motive behind and beyond the mere chance
+it afforded him to search his victim's house for the hidden cash. What
+was it?
+
+Jimmie Dale stared out at the black subway walls. The answer would not
+come. Station after station passed. At Fourteenth Street he changed from
+the express to a local, got out at Astor Place, and a few minutes later
+was walking rapidly down the upper end of the Bowery.
+
+The answer would not come--only the fact itself grew more and more
+deeply significant. The ghastly, callous fiendishness that lured an
+old, half-witted man to his death had Jimmie Dale in that grip of cold,
+merciless anger again, and there was a dull flush now upon his cheeks.
+Whatever it meant, whatever was behind it, one thing at least was
+certain--HE WOULD GET CONNIE MYERS!
+
+He was close to the Sanctuary now--it was down the next cross street. He
+reached the corner and turned it, heading east; but his brisk walk had
+changed to a nonchalant saunter--there were some people coming toward
+him. It was the Gray Seal now, alert and cautious. The little group
+passed by. Ahead, the tenement bordering on the black alleyway loomed
+up--the Sanctuary, with its three entrances and exits; the home of Larry
+the Bat. And across from it was that other tenement, that held a new
+interest for him now, where, in an empty room on the second floor,
+she had said, old Doyle still lay. Should he go there? He was thinking
+quickly now, and shook his head. It would take what he did not have to
+spare--time. It was already ten o'clock; and, granted that Connie Myers
+had committed the crime only a little over an hour ago, the man by this
+time would certainly be on his way to Doyle's house near Pelham, if,
+indeed, he were not already there. No, there was no time to spare--the
+question resolved itself simply into how long, since he had already
+searched twice and failed on both occasions, it would take Connie Myers
+to unearth old Doyle's hiding place for the money.
+
+Jimmie Dale glanced sharply around him, slipped into the alleyway, and,
+crouching against the tenement wall, moved noiselessly along to the side
+entrance. A moment more, and he had negotiated the rickety stairs with
+practiced, soundless tread, was inside the squalid quarters of Larry the
+Bat, and the door of the Sanctuary was locked and bolted behind him.
+
+Perhaps five minutes passed--and then, where Jimmie Dale, the
+millionaire, had entered, there emerged Larry the Bat, of the
+aristocracy and the elite of the Bad Lands. But instead of leaving by
+the side door and the alleyway, as he had entered, he went along the
+lower hallway to the front entrance. And here, instinctively, he paused
+a moment at the top of the steps, as his eyes rested upon the tenement
+on the opposite side of the street.
+
+It was strange that the crime should have been committed there!
+Something again seemed to draw him toward that empty room on the second
+story. He had decided once that he would not go, that there was not
+time; but, after all, it would not take long, and there was at least the
+possibility of gaining something more valuable even than time from the
+scene of the crime itself--there might even be the evidence he wanted
+there that would disclose the whole of Connie Myers' game.
+
+He went down the steps, and started across the street; but halfway over,
+he hesitated uncertainly, as a child's cry came petulantly from the
+doorway. It was dark in the street; and, likewise, it was one of those
+hot, suffocating evenings when, in the crowded tenements of the poorer
+class, miserable enough in any case, misery was added to a hundredfold
+for lack of a single God-given breath of air. These two facts,
+apparently irrelevant, caused Jimmie Dale to change his mind again.
+He had not noticed the woman with the baby in her arms, sitting on
+the doorstep; but now, as he reached the curb, he not only saw, but
+recognised her--and he swung on down the street toward the Bowery. He
+could not very well go in without passing her, without being recognised
+himself--and that was a needless risk.
+
+He smiled a little wanly. Once the crime was discovered, she would not
+have hesitated long before informing the police that she had seen him
+enter there! Mrs. Hagan was no friend of his! One could not live as he
+had lived, as Larry the Bat, and not see something in an intimate way
+of the pitiful little tragedies of the poor around him; for, bad, tough,
+and dissolute as the quarter was, all were not degraded there, some were
+simply--poor. Mrs. Hagan was poor. Her husband was a day labourer, often
+out of a job--and sometimes he drank. That was how he, Jimmie Dale,
+or rather, Larry the Bat, had come to earn Mrs. Hagan's enmity. He had
+found Mike Hagan drunk one night, and in the act of being arrested, and
+had wheedled the man away from the officer on the promise that he would
+take Hagan home. And he was Larry the Bat, a dope fiend, a character
+known to all the neighbourhood, and Mrs. Hagan had laid her husband's
+condition to HIS influence and companionship! He had taken Mike Hagan
+home--and Mrs. Hagan had driven Larry the Bat from the door of her
+miserable one-room lodging in that tenement with the bitter words on
+her tongue that only a woman can use when shame and grief and anger are
+breaking her heart.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders, as, back along the Bowery, he retraced his
+steps, but now, with the hurried shuffle of Larry the Bat where before
+had been the brisk, athletic stride of Jimmie Dale.
+
+At Astor Place again, he took the subway, this time to the Grand
+Central Station--and, well within an hour from the time he had left the
+Sanctuary, including the train journey to Pelham, he was standing in a
+clump of trees that fringed a deserted roadway. He had passed but few
+houses, once he was away from Pelham, and, as well as he could judge,
+there was none now within a quarter of a mile of him--except this one
+of old Luther Doyle's that showed up black and shadowy just beyond the
+trees.
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the place. It was little
+wonder that, known to have money, an attempt to rob old Doyle should
+have been made in a place like this! It was even more grimly significant
+than ever of some deeper meaning that, in its loneliness an ideal place
+for a murder, the man should have been lured from there for that purpose
+to a crowded tenement in the city instead! What did it mean? Why had
+it been done? He shook his head. The answer would not come now any more
+than it had come before in the subway, or in the train on the way out,
+when he had set his brain so futilely to solve the problem.
+
+From a survey of the house, Jimmie Dale gave attention to the details of
+his surroundings: the trees on either side; the open space in front, a
+distance of fifty yards to the road; the absence of any fence. And then,
+abruptly, he stole forward. There was no light to be seen anywhere about
+the house. Was it possible that Connie Myers was not yet there? He
+shook his head again impatiently. Connie Myers would not have wasted any
+time--as the Tocsin had said, there was always present the possibility
+that the crime in that tenement might be discovered at ANY moment.
+Connie Myers would have lost no time; for, let the discovery be made,
+let the police identify the body, as they most certainly would, and they
+would be out here hotfoot. Jimmie Dale stood suddenly still. What did it
+mean! He had not thought of that before! If old Doyle had been murdered
+HERE, there would not have been even the possibility of discovery until
+the morning at the earliest, and Connie Myers would have had all the
+time he wanted!
+
+WHAT WAS THAT SOUND! A low, muffled tapping, like a succession of hammer
+blows, came from within the house. Jimmie Dale darted forward, reached
+the side of the house, and dropped on hands and knees. One question at
+least was answered--Connie Myers was inside.
+
+The plan that she had given him showed an old-fashioned cellarway,
+closed by folding trapdoors, that was located a little toward the rear
+and, in a moment, creeping along, he came upon it. His hands felt over
+it. It was shut, fastened by a padlock on the outside. Jimmie Dale's
+lips thinned a little, as he took a small steel instrument from his
+pocket. Either through inadvertence or by intention, Connie Myers had
+passed up an almost childishly simple means of entrance into the house!
+One side of the trapdoor was lifted up silently--and silently closed.
+Jimmie Dale was in the cellar. The hammering, much more distinct now,
+heavy, thudding blows, came from a room in the front--the connection
+between the cellar and the house, as shown on the Tocsin's plan, was
+through another trapdoor in the floor of the kitchen.
+
+Jimmie Dale's flashlight played on a short, ladderlike stairway, and
+in an instant he was climbing upward. The sounds from the front of the
+house continued now without interruption; there was little fear that
+Connie Myers would hear anything else--even the protesting squeak of
+the hinges as Jimmie Dale cautiously pushed back the trapdoor in the
+flooring above his head. An inch, two inches he lifted it; and, his eyes
+on a level with the opening now, he peered into the room. The kitchen
+itself was intensely dark; but through an open doorway, well to one
+side so that he could not see into the room beyond, there struggled
+a curiously faint, dim glimmer of light. And then Jimmie Dale's form
+straightened rigidly on the stairs. The blows stopped, and a voice, in a
+low growl, presumably Connie Myers', reached him.
+
+"Here, take a drive at it from the lower edge!"
+
+There was no answer--save that the blows were resumed again. Jimmie
+Dale's face had set hard. Connie Myers was not alone in this, then!
+Well, the odds were a little heavier, DOUBLED--that was all! He pushed
+the trapdoor wide open, swung himself up through the opening to the
+floor; and the next instant, back a little from the connecting doorway,
+his body pressed closely against the kitchen wall, he was staring,
+bewildered and amazed, into the next room.
+
+On the floor, presumably to lessen the chance of any light rays stealing
+through the tightly drawn window shades, burned a small oil lamp. The
+place was in utter confusion. The right-hand side of a large fireplace,
+made of rough, untrimmed stone and cement, and which occupied almost
+the entire end of the room, was already practically demolished, and
+the wreckage was littered everywhere; part of the furniture was piled
+unceremoniously into one corner out of the way; and at the fireplace
+itself, working with sledge and bar, were two men. One was Connie Myers.
+An ironical glint crept into Jimmie Dale's eyes. The false beard and
+mustache the man wore would deceive no one who knew Connie Myers! And
+that he should be wearing them now, as he knelt holding the bar while
+the other struck at it, seemed both uncalled for and absurd. The other
+man, heavily built, roughly dressed, had his back turned, and Jimmie
+Dale could not see his face.
+
+The puzzled frown on Jimmie Dale's forehead deepened. Somewhere in the
+masonry of the fireplace, of course, was where old Luther Doyle had
+hidden his money. That was quite plain enough; and that Connie Myers, in
+some way or other, had made sure of that fact was equally obvious. But
+how did old Luther Doyle get his money IN there from time to time, as he
+received the interest and dividends whose accumulation, according to the
+Tocsin, comprised his hoard! And how did he get it OUT again?
+
+"All right, that'll do!" grunted Connie Myers suddenly. "We can pry this
+one out now. Lend a hand on the bar!"
+
+The other dropped his sledge, turned sideways as he stooped to help
+Connie Myers, his face came into view--and, with an involuntary start,
+Jimmie Dale crouched farther back against the wall, as he stared at the
+other. It was Hagan! Mrs. Hagan's husband! Mike Hagan!
+
+"My God!" whispered Jimmie Dale, under his breath.
+
+So that was it! That the murder had been committed in the tenement was
+not so strange now! A surge of anger swept Jimmie Dale--and was engulfed
+in a wave of pity. Somehow, the thin, tired face of Mrs. Hagan had risen
+before him, and she seemed to be pleading with him to go away, to leave
+the house, to forget that he had ever been there, to forget what he
+had seen, what he was seeing now. His hands clenched fiercely. How
+realistically, how importunately, how pitifully she took form before
+him! She was on her knees, clasping his knees, imploring him, terrified.
+
+From Jimmie Dale's pocket came the black silk mask. Slowly, almost
+hesitantly, he fitted it over his face--Mike Hagan knew Larry the Bat.
+Why should he have pity for Mike Hagan? Had he any for Connie Myers?
+What right had he to let pity sway him! The man had gone the limit;
+he was Connie Myers' accomplice--a murderer! But the man was not a
+hardened, confirmed criminal like Connie Myers. Mike Hagan--a murderer!
+It would have been unbelievable but for the evidence before his own
+eyes now. The man had faults, brawled enough, and drank enough to have
+brought him several times to the notice of the police--but this!
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes had never left the scene before him. Both men were
+throwing their weight upon the bar, and the stone that they were trying
+to dislodge--they were into the heart of the masonry now--seemed to
+move a little. Connie Myers stood up, and, leaning forward, examined the
+stone critically at top and bottom, prodding it with the bar. He turned
+from his examination abruptly, and thrust the bar into Hagan's hands.
+
+"Hold it!" he said tersely. "I'll strike for a turn."
+
+Crouched, on his hands and knees, Hagan inserted the point of the bar
+into the crevice. Connie Myers picked up the sledge.
+
+"Lower! Bend lower!" he snapped--and swung the sledge.
+
+It seemed to go black for a moment before Jimmie Dale's eyes, seemed to
+paralyse all action of mind and body. There was a low cry that was more
+a moan, the clang of the iron bar clattering on the floor, and Mike
+Hagan had pitched forward on his face, an inert and huddled heap. A half
+laugh, half snarl purled from Connie Myers' lips, as he snatched a stout
+piece of cord from his pocket and swiftly knotted the unconscious man's
+wrists together. Another instant, and, picking up the bar, prying with
+it again, the loosened stone toppled with a crash into the grate.
+
+It had come sudden as the crack of doom, that blow--too quick, too
+unexpected for Jimmie Dale to have lifted a finger to prevent it. And
+now that the first numbed shock of mingled horror and amazement was
+past, he fought back the quick, fierce impulse to spring out on Connie
+Myers. Whether the man was killed or only stunned, he could do no good
+to Mike Hagan now, and there was Connie Myers--he was staring in a
+fascinated way at Connie Myers. Behind the stone that the other had just
+dislodged was a large hollow space that had been left in the masonry,
+and from this now Connie Myers was eagerly collecting handfuls of
+banknotes that were rolled up into the shape of little cylinders, each
+one grotesquely tied with a string. The man was feverishly excited,
+muttering to himself, running from the fireplace to where the table had
+been pushed aside with the rest of the furniture, dropping the curious
+little rolls of money on the table, and running back for more. And then,
+having apparently emptied the receptacle, he wriggled his body over
+the dismantled fireplace, stuck his head into the opening, and peered
+upward.
+
+"Kinks in his nut, kinks in his nut!" Connie Myers was muttering. "I'll
+drop the bar through from the top, mabbe there's some got stuck in the
+pipe."
+
+He regained his feet, picked up the bar, and ran with it into what was
+evidently the front hall--then his steps sounded running upstairs.
+
+Like a flash, Jimmie Dale was across the room and at the fireplace. Like
+Connie Myers, he, too, put his head into the opening; and then, a queer,
+unpleasant smile on his lips, he bent quickly over the man on the floor.
+Hagan was no more than stunned, and was even then beginning to show
+signs of returning consciousness. There was a rattle, a clang, a
+thud--and the bar, too long to come all the way through, dropped into
+the opening and stood upright. Connie Myers' footsteps sounded again,
+returning on the run--and Jimmie Dale was back once more on the other
+side of the kitchen doorway.
+
+It was all simple enough--once one understood! The same queer smile
+was still flickering on Jimmie Dale's lips. There was no way to get the
+money out, except the way Connie Myers had got it out--by digging it
+out! With the irrational cunning of his mad brain, that had put the
+money even beyond his own reach, old Doyle had built his fireplace with
+a hollow some eighteen inches square in a great wall of solid stonework,
+and from it had run a two-inch pipe up somewhere to the story above;
+and down this pipe he had dropped his little string-tied cylinders of
+banknotes, satisfied that his hoard was safe! There seemed something
+pitifully ironic in the elaborate, insane craftiness of the old man's
+fear-twisted, demented mind.
+
+And now Connie Myers was back in the room again--and again a puzzled
+expression settled upon Jimmie Dale's face as he watched the other. For
+perhaps a minute the man stood by the table sifting the little rolls of
+money through his fingers gloatingly--then, impulsively, he pushed these
+to one side, produced a revolver, laid it on the table, and from another
+pocket took out a little case which, as he opened it, Jimmie Dale could
+see contained a hypodermic syringe. One more article followed the other
+two--a letter, which Connie Myers took out of an unsealed envelope. He
+dropped this suddenly on the table, as Mike Hagan, three feet away on
+the floor, groaned and sat up.
+
+Hagan's eyes swept, bewildered, confused, around him, questioningly
+at Connie Myers--and then, resting suddenly on his bound wrists, they
+narrowed menacingly.
+
+"Damn you, you smashed me with that sledge on PURPOSE!" he burst
+out--and began to struggle to his feet.
+
+With a brutal chuckle, Connie Myers pushed Hagan back and shoved his
+revolver under the other's nose.
+
+"Sure!" he admitted evenly. "And you keep quiet, or I'll finish you
+now--instead of letting the police do it!" He laughed out jarringly.
+"You're under arrest, you know, for the murder of Luther Doyle, and for
+robbing the poor old nut of his savings in his house here."
+
+Hagan wrenched himself up on his elbow.
+
+"What--what do you mean?" he stammered.
+
+"Oh, don't worry!" said Connie Myers maliciously. "I'M not making the
+arrest, I'd rather the police did that. I'm not mixing up in it, and
+by and by"--he lifted up the hypodermic for Hagan to see--"I'm going
+to shoot a little dope into you that'll keep you quiet while I get away
+myself."
+
+Hagan's face had gone a grayish white--he had caught sight of the money
+on the table, and his eyes kept shifting back and forth from it to
+Myers' face.
+
+"Murder!" he said huskily. "There is no murder. I don't know who Doyle
+is. You said this house was yours--you hired me to come here. You said
+you were going to tear down the fireplace and build another. You said I
+could work evenings and earn some extra money."
+
+"Sure, I did!" There was a vicious leer now on Connie Myers' lips. "But
+you don't think I picked you out by ACCIDENT, do you? Your reputation,
+my bucko, was just shady enough to satisfy anybody that it wouldn't be
+beyond you to go the limit. Sure, you murdered Doyle! Listen to this."
+He took up the letter:
+
+
+"TO THE POLICE: Luther Doyle was murdered this evening in the tenement
+at 67 ---- Street. You'll find his body in a room on the second floor.
+If you want to know who did it, look in Mike Hagan's room on the floor
+above. There's a paper stuck under the edge of Hagan's table with a
+piece of chewing gum, where he hid it. You'll know what it is when
+you go out and take a look at Doyle's house in Pelham. Yours truly, A
+FRIEND."
+
+
+Mike Hagan did not speak--his lips were twitching, and there was horror
+creeping into his eyes.
+
+"D'ye get me!" sneered Connie Myers. "Tell your story--who'd believe it!
+I got you cinched. Twice I tried to get this old dub's coin out here,
+and couldn't find it. But the second time I found something else--a
+piece of paper with a drawing of the fireplace on it, and a place in the
+drawing marked with an X. That was good enough, wasn't it? That's
+the paper I stuck under your table this afternoon when your wife was
+out--see? Somebody's got to stand for the job, and if it's somebody else
+it won't be me--get me! When I had a look at that fireplace I knew I
+couldn't do the job alone in a week, and I didn't dare blast it with
+'soup' for fear of spoiling what was inside. And since I had to have
+somebody to help me, I thought I might as well let him help me all the
+way through--and stand for it. I picked you, Mike--that's why I croaked
+old Doyle in your tenement to-night. I wrote this letter while I was
+waiting for you to show up at the station to come out here with me, and
+I'm going to see that the police get it in the next hour. When they
+find Doyle in the room below yours, and that paper in your room, and the
+busted fireplace here--I guess they won't look any farther for who did
+it. And say"--he leaned forward with an ugly grin--"mabbe you think I'm
+soft to be telling you all this? But don't you fool yourself. You don't
+know me--you don't know who I am. So tell 'em the TRUTH! They won't
+believe you anyway with evidence like that against you--and the neater
+the story the more they'll think it shows brains enough on your part to
+have pulled a job like this!"
+
+"My God!" Hagan was rocking on his knees, beads of sweat were starting
+out on his forehead. "You wouldn't plant a man like that!" he cried
+brokenly. "You wouldn't do it, would you? My God--you wouldn't do that!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's face under his mask was white and rigid. There was
+something primal, elemental in the savagery that was sweeping upon him.
+He had it all now--ALL! She had been right--there was need to-night for
+the Gray Seal. So that was the game, inhuman, hellish, the whole of
+it, to the last filthy dregs--Connie Myers, to protect himself, was
+railroading an innocent man to death for the crime that he himself had
+committed! There was a cold smile on Jimmie Dale's lips now, as he took
+his automatic from his pocket. No, it wasn't quite all the game--there
+was still HIS hand to play! He edged forward a little nearer to the
+door--and halted abruptly, listening. An automobile had stopped outside
+on the road. Hagan was still pleading in a frenzied way; Connie
+Myers was callously folding his letter, while he watched the other
+warily--neither of the men had heard the sound.
+
+And then, quick, almost on the instant, came a rush of feet, a crash
+upon the front door--an imperative command to open in the name of the
+law. THE POLICE! Jimmie Dale's brain was working now with lightning
+speed. Somehow the police had stumbled upon the crime in that tenement;
+and, as he had foreseen in such an event, had identified Doyle. But they
+could not be sure that any one was present here in the house now--they
+could not see a light any more than he had. He must get Mike Hagan
+away--must see that Connie Myers did NOT get away. Myers was on his
+feet now, fear struck in his turn, the letter clutched in a tight-closed
+fist, his revolver swung out, poised, in the other hand. Hagan, too, was
+on his feet, and, unheeded now by Connie Myers, was wrenching his wrists
+apart.
+
+Another crash upon the door--another. Another demand in a harsh voice to
+open it. Then some one running around to the window at the side of the
+house--and Jimmie Dale sprang forward.
+
+There was the roar of a report, a blinding flash almost in Jimmie Dale's
+eyes, as Connie Myers, whirling instantly at his entrance, fired--and
+missed. It happened quick then, in the space of the ticking of a
+watch--before Jimmie Dale, flinging himself forward, had reached the
+man. Like a defiant challenge to their demand it must have seemed to the
+officers outside, that shot of Connie Myers at Jimmie Dale, for it was
+answered on the instant by another through the side window. And the
+shot, fired at random, the interior of the room hidden from the officers
+outside by the drawn shades, found its mark--and Connie Myers, a bullet
+in his brain, pitched forward, dead, upon the floor.
+
+"QUICK!" Jimmie Dale flung at Hagan. "Get that letter out of his hand!"
+He jumped for the lamp on the floor, extinguished it, and turned again
+toward Hagan. "Have you got it?" he whispered tensely.
+
+"Yes," said Hagan, in a numbed way.
+
+"This way, then!" Jimmie Dale caught Hagan's arm, and pulled the other
+across the room and into the kitchen to the trapdoor. "Quick!" he
+breathed again. "Get down there--quick! And no noise! They don't know
+how many are in the house. When they find HIM they'll probably be
+satisfied."
+
+Hagan, stupefied, dazed, obeyed mechanically--and, in an instant, the
+trapdoor closed behind them, Jimmie Dale was standing beside the other
+in the cellar.
+
+"Not a sound now!" he cautioned once more.
+
+His flashlight winked, went out, winked again; then held steadily, in
+curious fascination it seemed, as, in its circuit, the ray fell upon
+Hagan--FELL UPON THE TORN, RAGGED EDGE OF A PAPER IN HAGAN'S HAND! With
+a suppressed cry, Jimmie Dale snatched it away from the other. It
+was but a torn HALF of the letter! "The other half! The other half,
+Hagan--where is it?" he demanded hoarsely.
+
+Hagan, almost in a state of collapse, muttered inaudibly. The crash of a
+toppling door sounded from above. Jimmie Dale shook the man desperately.
+
+"Where is it?" he repeated fiercely.
+
+"He--he was holding it tight, it--it tore in his hand," Hagan stammered.
+"Does it make any difference? Oh, let's get out of here, whoever you
+are--for God's sake let's get out of here!"
+
+Any difference! Jimmie Dale's jaws were clamped like a steel vise. Any
+difference! The difference between life and death for the man beside
+him--that was all! He was reading the portion in his hand. It was the
+last part of the letter, beginning with: "There's a paper stuck under
+the edge of Hagan's table--" From above, from the floor of the front
+room now, came the rush and trample of feet. He could not go back for
+the other half. And any attempt to conceal the fact that Connie Myers
+had been alone in the house was futile now. They would find the torn
+letter in the dead man's hand, proof enough that some one else had been
+there. What was in that part of the letter that was still clutched in
+that death grip upstairs? A sentence from it, that he had heard Connie
+Myers read, seemed to burn itself into his brain. "IF YOU WANT TO KNOW
+WHO DID IT, LOOK IN MIKE HAGAN'S ROOM ON THE FLOOR ABOVE." And then,
+suddenly, like light through the darkness, came a ray of hope. He pulled
+Hagan to the cellarway, and stealthily lifted one side of the double
+trapdoor. There was a chance, desperate enough, one in a thousand--but
+still a chance!
+
+Voices from the house came plainly now, but there was no one in sight.
+The police, to a man, were evidently all inside. From the road in front
+showed the lamp glare of their automobile.
+
+"Run for the car!" Jimmie Dale jerked out from between set teeth--and
+with Hagan beside him, steadying the man by the arm, dashed across the
+intervening fifty yards.
+
+They had not been seen. A minute more, and the car, evidently belonging
+to the local police, for it was headed in the direction of New York, and
+as though it had come from Pelham, swept down the road, swept around a
+turn, and Jimmie Dale, with a gasp of relief, straightened up a little
+from the wheel.
+
+How much time had he? The police must have heard the car; but, equally,
+occupied as they were, they might well give it no thought other than
+that it was but another car passing by. There was no telephone in the
+house; the nearest house was a quarter of a mile away, and that might or
+might not have a telephone. Could he count on half an hour? He glanced
+anxiously at the crouched figure beside him. He would have to! It was
+the only chance. They would telephone the contents of the dead man's
+half of the letter to the New York police. Could he get to Hagan's room
+FIRST! "Look in Hagan's room," their part of the letter read--but it
+did not say for WHAT, or exactly WHERE! If they found nothing, Hagan was
+safe. Connie Myers' reputation, the fact that he was found in disguise
+at Doyle's house, was, barring any incriminating evidence, quite enough
+to let Hagan out. There would only remain in the minds of the police the
+question of who, beside Connie Myers, had been in old Doyle's house that
+night? And now Jimmie Dale smiled a little whimsically. Well, perhaps he
+could answer that--and, if not quite to the satisfaction of the police,
+at least to the complete vindication of Mike Hagan.
+
+But he could not drive through towns and villages with a mask on his
+face; and there, ahead now, lights were beginning to show. And more than
+ever now, with what was before him, it was imperative that Mike Hagan
+should not recognise Larry the Bat. Jimmie Dale glanced again at
+Hagan--and slowed down the car. They were on the outskirts of a town,
+and off to the right he caught the twinkling lights of a street car.
+
+"Hagan," he said sharply, "pull yourself together, and listen to me! If
+you keep your mouth shut, you've nothing to fear; if you let out a word
+of what's happened to-night, you'll probably go to the chair for a crime
+you know nothing about. Do you understand?--keep your mouth shut!"
+
+The car had stopped. Hagan nodded his head.
+
+"All right, then. You get out here, and take a street car into New
+York," continued Jimmie Dale crisply. "But when you get there, keep away
+from your home for the next two or three hours. Hang around with some of
+the boys you know, and if you're asked anything afterward, say you were
+batting around town all evening. Don't worry--you'll find you're out of
+this when you read the morning papers. Now get out--hurry!" He pushed
+Hagan from the car. "I've got to make my own get-away."
+
+Hagan, standing in the road, brushed his hand bewilderingly across his
+eyes.
+
+"Yes--but you--I--"
+
+"Never mind about that!" Jimmie Dale leaned out, and gripped Hagan's
+arm impressively. "There's only one thing you've got to think of, or
+remember. Keep your mouth shut! No matter what happens, keep your mouth
+shut--if you want to save your neck! Good-night, Hagan!"
+
+The car was racing forward again. It shot streaking through the streets
+of the town ahead, and, dully, over its own inferno, echoed shouts,
+cries, and execrations of an outraged populace--then out into the night
+again, roaring its way toward New York.
+
+He had half an hour--perhaps! It was a good thing Hagan did not know, or
+had not grasped the significance of that torn letter--the man would have
+been unmanageable with fear and excitement. It would puzzle Hagan to
+find no paper stuck under his table when he came to look for it! But
+that was a minor consideration, that mattered not at all.
+
+Half an hour! On roared the car--towns, black roads, villages, wooded
+lands were kaleidoscopic in their passing. Half an hour! Had he done it?
+Had he come anywhere near doing it? He did not know. He was in the city
+at last--and now he had to moderate his speed; but, by keeping to the
+less frequented streets, he could still drive at a fast pace. One piece
+of good fortune had been his--the long motor coat he had found in the
+car with which to cover the rags of Larry the Bat, and without which he
+would have been obliged to leave the car somewhere on the outskirts of
+the city, and to trust, like Mike Hagan, to other and slower means of
+transportation.
+
+Blocks away from Hagan's tenement, he ran the car into a lane, slipped
+off the motor coat, and from his pocket whipped out the little metal
+insignia case--and in another moment a diamond-shaped gray seal was
+neatly affixed to the black ebony rim of the steering wheel. He smiled
+ironically. It was necessary, quite necessary that the police should
+have no doubt as to who had been in Doyle's house with Connie Myers that
+night, or to whom they had so considerately loaned their automobile!
+
+He was running now--through lanes, dodging down side streets, taking
+every short cut he knew. Had he beaten the police to Mike Hagan's room?
+It would be easy then. If they were ahead of him, then, by some means or
+other, he must still get that paper first.
+
+He was at the tenement now--shuffling leisurely up the steps. The front
+door was open. He entered, and went up the first flight of stairs, then
+along the hall, and up the next flight. He had half expected the place
+to be bustling with excitement over the crime; but the police evidently
+had kept the affair quiet, for he had seen no one since he had
+entered. But now, as he began to mount the third flight, he went more
+slowly--some one was ahead of him. It was very dark--he could not see.
+The steps above died away. He reached the landing, started along for
+Hagan's room--and a light blazed suddenly in his face, and a hard,
+quick grip on his shoulder forced him back against the wall. Then the
+flashlight wavered, glistened on brass buttons went out, and a voice
+laughed roughly:
+
+"It's only Larry the Bat!"
+
+"Larry the Bat, eh?" It was another voice, harsh and curt. "What are you
+doing here?"
+
+He was not first, after all! The telephone message from Pelham--it was
+almost certainly that--had beaten him! They were ahead of him, just
+ahead of him, they had only been a few steps ahead of him going up the
+stairs, just a second ahead of him on their way to Hagan's room! Jimmie
+Dale was thinking fast now. He must go, too--to Hagan's room with
+them--somehow--there was no other way--there was Hagan's life at stake.
+
+"Aw, I ain't done nothin'!" he whined. "I was just goin' ter borrow the
+price of a feed from Mike Hagan--lemme go!"
+
+"Hagan, eh!" snapped the questioner. "Are you a friend of his?"
+
+"Sure, I am!"
+
+The officers whispered for a moment together.
+
+"We'll try it," decided the one who appeared to be in command. "We're
+in the dark, anyhow, and the thing may be only a steer. Mabbe it'll
+work--anyway, it won't do any harm." His hand fell heavily on Jimmie
+Dale's shoulder. "Mrs. Hagan know you?" brusquely.
+
+"Sure she does!" sniffled Larry the Bat.
+
+"Good!" rasped the officer. "Well, we'll make the visit with you. And
+you do what you're told, or we'll put the screws on you--see? We're
+after something here, and you've blown the whole game--savvy? You've
+spilled the gravy--understand?"
+
+In the darkness, Jimmie Dale smiled grimly. It was far more than he had
+dared to hope for--they were playing into his hands!
+
+"But I don't know 'bout any game," grovelled Larry the Bat piteously.
+
+"Who in hell said you did!" growled the officer. "You're supposed to
+have snitched the lay to us, that's all--and mind you play your part!
+Come on!"
+
+It was two doors down the hall to Mike Hagan's room, and there one of
+the officers, putting his shoulder to the door, burst it open and sprang
+in. The other shoved Jimmie Dale forward. It was quickly done. The three
+were in the room. The door was closed again.
+
+Came a cry of terror out of the darkness, a movement as of some one
+rising up hurriedly in bed; and then Mrs. Hagan's voice:
+
+"What is it! Who is it! Mike!"
+
+The table--it was against the right-hand wall, Jimmie Date remembered.
+He sidled quickly toward it.
+
+"Strike a light!" ordered the officer in charge.
+
+Jimmie Dale's fingers were feeling under the edge of the table--a quick
+sweep along it--NOTHING! He stooped, reaching farther in--another sweep
+of his arm--and his fingers closed on a sheet of paper and a piece of
+hard gum. In an instant they were in his pocket.
+
+A match crackled and flared up. A lamp was lighted. Larry the Bat sulked
+sullenly against the wall.
+
+Terror-stricken, wide-eyed, Mrs. Hagan had clutched the child lying
+beside her to her arms, and was sitting bolt upright in bed.
+
+"Now then, no fuss about it!" said the officer in charge, with brutal
+directness. "You might as well make a clean breast of Mike's share in
+that murder downstairs--Larry the Bat, here, has already told us the
+whole story. Come on, now--out with it!"
+
+"Murder!"--her face went white. "My Mike--MURDER!" She seemed for an
+instant stunned--and then down the worn, thin, haggard face gushed the
+tears. "I don't believe it!" she cried. "I don't believe it!"
+
+"Come on now, cut that out!" prodded the officer roughly. "I tell you
+Larry the Bat, here, has opened everything up wide. You're only making
+it worse for yourself."
+
+"Him!" She was staring now at Jimmie Dale. "Oh, God!" she cried.
+"So that's what you are, are you--a stool-pigeon for the cops? Well,
+whatever you told them, you lie! You're the curse of this neighbourhood,
+you are, and if my Mike is bad at all, it's you that's helped to make
+him bad. But murder--you LIE!"
+
+She had risen slowly from the bed--a gaunt, pitiful figure, pitifully
+clothed, the black hair, gray-streaked, streaming thinly over her
+shoulders, still clutching the baby that, too, was crying now.
+
+The officers looked at one another and nodded.
+
+"Guess she's handing it straight--we'll have a look on our own hook,"
+the leader muttered.
+
+She paid no attention to them--she was walking straight to Jimmie Dale.
+
+"It's you, is it," she whispered fiercely through her sobs "that would
+bring more shame and ruin here--you that's selling my man's life away
+with your filthy lies for what they're paying you--it's you, is it,
+that--" Her voice broke.
+
+There was a frightened, uneasy look in Larry the Bat's eyes, his lips
+were twitching weakly, he drew far back against the wall--and then,
+glancing miserably at the officers, as though entreating their
+permission, began to edge toward the door.
+
+For a moment she watched him, her face white with outrage, her hand
+clenched at her side--and then she found her voice again.
+
+"Get out of here!" she said, in a choked, strained way pointing to the
+door. "Get out of here--you dirty skate!"
+
+"Sure!" mumbled Larry the Bat, his eyes on the floor. "Sure!" he
+mumbled--and the door closed behind him.
+
+
+
+PART TWO: THE WOMAN IN THE CASE
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+BELOW THE DEAD LINE
+
+
+Whisperings! Always whisperings, low, sibilant, floating errantly
+from all sides, until they seemed a component part of the drug-laden
+atmosphere itself. And occasionally another sound: the soft SLAP-SLAP
+of loose-slippered feet, the faint rustle of equally loose-fitting
+garments. And everywhere the sweet, sickish smell of opium. It was Chang
+Foo's, simply a cellar or two deeper in Chang Foo's than that in which
+Dago Jim had quarrelled once--and died!
+
+Larry the Bat, vicious-faced, unkempt, disreputable, lay sprawled out on
+one of the dive's bunks, an opium pipe beside him. But Larry the Bat was
+not smoking; instead, his ear was pressed closely against the boarding
+that formed the rather flimsy partition at the side of the bunk. One
+heard many things in Chang Foo's if one cared to listen--if one could
+first win one's way through the carefully guarded gateway, that to the
+uninitiated offered nothing more interesting than the entrance to a
+Chinese tea-shop, and an uninviting one at that!
+
+HAD HE BEEN FOLLOWED IN HERE? He had been shadowed for the last hour; of
+that, at least, he was certain. Why? By whom? For an hour he had dodged
+in and out through the dens of the underworld, as only one who was at
+home there and known to all could do--and at last he had taken refuge in
+Chang Foo's like a fox burrowing deep into its hole.
+
+Few could find their way into the most infamous opium den in all New
+York, where not only the poppy ruled as master, but where crime was
+hatched, ay, and carried to its ghastly consummation, sometimes, as
+well; and of those few, not one but was of the underworld itself. And
+it was that fact which held his muscles strained and rigid now under the
+miserable rags that covered them, and it was that which kept the keen,
+quick brain alert and active, every faculty keyed up and tense. If it
+were the police, he had little to fear, for they could not force
+their way in without warning; but if it were the underworld, he was in
+imminent peril, and had done little better than run himself into a trap
+from which there was no escape.
+
+"DEATH TO THE GRAY SEAL!"--he had heard that whispered more than once in
+this very place. Who knew at what moment the role of Larry the Bat would
+be uncovered, and the underworld, where now he held so high a place,
+would be at his throat like a pack of snarling wolves! Who had been
+shadowing him during the last hour?
+
+Whisperings! Nothing tangible! He could catch no words. Only the
+never-ending whisperings of gathered groups here and there--and
+sometimes the clink of coin where some game was in progress.
+
+The curtain before his bunk was drawn suddenly aside--and Larry
+the Bat's fingers, where his hand was carelessly hidden by his body
+tightened upon his automatic.
+
+"Smokee some more?"
+
+The fingers relaxed. It was only Sam Wah, one of the attendants.
+
+"Nix!" said Larry the Bat, in a slightly muddled tone. "Got enough."
+
+The curtain fell into place again. Larry the Bat's lips set in a thin
+smile. Ultimately it made little difference whether it was the police or
+the underworld! The smile grew thinner. It was the flip of a coin, that
+was all! With one there was the death house at Sing Sing for the Gray
+Seal; with the other--well, there were many ways, from a shot or a knife
+thrust in the open street, to his murder in some hidden dive like
+this of Chang Foo's, for instance, where he now was--the Gray Seal was
+responsible for the occupancy of too many penitentiary cells by those of
+the underworld to look for any other fate!
+
+He raised himself up sharply on his elbow. A shrill, high note, like
+the scream of a parrakeet, rang out a second time. He tore the curtain
+aside, and jumped to his feet. All around him, in the twinkling of an
+eye, Chinamen in fluttering blouses, chattering like magpies, mingled
+with snarling, cursing whites, were running madly. A voice, prefaced
+with an oath, bawled out behind him, as he sprang forward and joined the
+rush:
+
+"Beat it! De cops! Beat it!"
+
+The police! A raid! Was it for HIM? From rooms, an amazing number of
+them, more forms rushed out, joined, divided, separated, and dashed,
+some this way, some that, along branching passageways. There had been
+raids before, the police had begun to change their minds about Chang
+Foo's, but Chang Foo's was not an easy place to raid. House after house
+in that quarter of Chinese laundries, of tea shops, of chop-suey joints,
+opened one into the other through secret passages in the cellars.
+Larry the Bat plunged down a staircase, and halted in the darkness of
+a cellar, drawing back against the wall while the flying feet of his
+fellow fugitives scurried by him.
+
+Was it for HIM, this raid? If not, the police had not a hope of getting
+him if he kept his head; for back in Chang Foo's proper, which would be
+quite closed off now, Chang Foo would be blandly submitting to arrest,
+offering himself as a sort of glorified sacrifice while the police
+confiscated opium and fan-tan layouts. If the police had no other
+purpose than that in mind, Chang Foo would simply pay a fine; the next
+night the place would be in full blast again; and Chang Foo, higher than
+ever in the confidence of the underworld's aristocracy, would reap his
+reward--and that would be all there was to it.
+
+But was that all? The raid had followed significantly close upon the
+heels of his entry into Chang Foo's. Larry the Bat began to move forward
+again. He dared not follow the others, and, later on, when quiet was
+restored, issue out into the street from any one of the various houses
+in which he might temporarily have taken refuge. There was a chance in
+that, a chance that the police might be more zealous than usual, even if
+he particularly was not their game--and he could take no chance. Arrest
+for Larry the Bat, even on suspicion, could have but one conclusion--not
+a pleasant one--the disclosure that Larry the Bat was not Larry the Bat
+at all, but Jimmie Dale, the millionaire club-man, and, to complete a
+fatal triplication, that Larry the Bat and Jimmie Dale was the Gray Seal
+upon whose head was fixed a price!
+
+All was silence around him now, except that from overhead came
+occasionally the muffled tread of feet. He felt his way along into a
+black, narrow passage, emerged into a second cellar, swept the place
+with a single, circling gleam from a pocket flashlight, passed a
+stairway that led upward, reached the opposite wall, and, dropping on
+hands and knees, crawled into what, innocently enough, appeared to be
+the opening of a coal bin.
+
+He knew Chang Foo's well--as he knew the ins and outs of every den and
+place he frequented, knew them as a man knows such things when his life
+at any moment might hang upon his knowledge.
+
+He was in another passage now, and this, in a few steps, brought him to
+a door. Here he halted, and stood for a full five minutes, absolutely
+motionless, absolutely still, listening. There was nothing--not a
+sound. He tried the door cautiously. It was locked. The slim, sensitive,
+tapering fingers of Jimmie Dale, unrecognisable now in the grimy digits
+of Larry the Bat, felt tentatively over the lock. To fingers that seemed
+in their tips to possess all the human senses, that time and again
+in their delicate touch upon the dial of a safe had mocked at human
+ingenuity and driven the police into impotent frenzy, this was a pitiful
+thing. From his pocket came a small steel instrument that was quickly
+and deftly inserted in the keyhole. There was a click, the door swung
+open, and Jimmie Dale, alias Larry the Bat, stepped outside into a back
+yard half a block away from the entrance to Chang Foo's.
+
+Again he listened. There did not appear to be any unusual excitement in
+the neighbourhood. From open windows above him and from adjoining houses
+came the ordinary, commonplace sounds of voices talking and laughing,
+even the queer, weird notes of a Chinese chant. He stole noiselessly
+across the yard, out into the lane, and made his way rapidly along to
+the cross street.
+
+In a measure, now, he was safe; but one thing, a very vital thing,
+remained to be done. It was absolutely necessary that he should know
+whether he was the quarry that the police had been after in the raid, if
+it was the police who had been shadowing him all evening. If it was the
+police, there was but one meaning to it--Larry the Bat was known to be
+the Gray Seal, and a problem perilous enough in any aspect confronted
+him. Dare he risk the Sanctuary--for the clothes of Jimmie Dale? Or was
+it safer to burglarise, as he had once done before, his own mansion on
+Riverside Drive?
+
+His thoughts were running riot, and he frowned, angry with himself.
+There was time enough to think of that when he knew that it was the
+police against whom he had to match his wits.
+
+Well in the shadow of the buildings, he moved swiftly along the side
+street until he came to the corner of the street on which, halfway down
+the block, fronted Chang Foo's tea-shop. A glance in that direction, and
+Jimmie Dale drew a breath of relief. A patrol wagon was backed up to
+the curb, and a half dozen officers were busy loading it with what was
+evidently Chang Foo's far from meagre stock of gambling appurtenances;
+while Chang Foo himself, together with Sam Wah and another attendant,
+were in the grip of two other officers, waiting possibly for another
+patrol wagon. There was a crowd, too, but the crowd was at a respectful
+distance--on the opposite side of the street.
+
+Jimmie Dale still hugged the corner. A man swaggered out from a doorway,
+quite close to Chang Foo's, and came on along the street. As the other
+reached the corner, Jimmie Dale sidled forward.
+
+"'Ello, Chick!" he said, out of the corner of his mouth. "Wot's de lay?"
+
+"'Ello, Larry!" returned the other. "Aw, nuthin'! De nutcracker on
+Chang, dat's all."
+
+"I t'ought mabbe dey was lookin' for some guy dat was in dere," observed
+Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Nuthin' doin'!" the other answered. "I was in dere meself. De whole mob
+beat it clean, an' de bulls never batted an eye. Didn't youse pipe me
+make me get-away outer Shanghai's a minute ago? De bulls never went
+nowhere except into Chang's. Dere's a new lootenant in de precinct
+inaugeratin' himself, dat's all. S'long, Larry--I gotta date."
+
+"S'long, Chick!" responded Jimmie Dale--and started slowly back along
+the cross street.
+
+It was not the police, then, who were interested in his movements! Then
+who? He shook his head with a little, savage, impotent gesture. One
+thing was clear: it was too early to risk a return to the Sanctuary and
+attempt the rehabilitation of Jimmie Dale. If any one was on the
+hunt for Larry the Bat, the Sanctuary would be the last place to be
+overlooked.
+
+He turned the next corner, hesitated a moment in front of a garishly
+lighted dance hall, and finally shuffled in through the door, made his
+way across the floor, nodding here and there to the elite of gangland,
+and, with a somewhat arrogant air of proprietorship, sat down at a table
+in the corner. Little better than a tramp in appearance, certainly
+the most disreputable-looking object in the place, even the waiter who
+approached him accorded him a certain curious deference--was not Larry
+the Bat the most celebrated dope fiend below the dead line?
+
+"Gimme a mug o' suds!" ordered Jimmie Dale, and sprawled royally back in
+his chair.
+
+Under the rim of his slouch hat, pulled now far over his eyes, he
+searched the faces around him. If he had been asked to pick the actors
+for a revel from the scum of the underworld, he could not have improved
+upon the gathering. There were perhaps a hundred men and women in
+the room, the majority dancing, and, with the exception of a few
+sight-seeing slummers, they were men and women whose acquaintance with
+the police was intimate but not cordial--far from cordial.
+
+Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders, and sipped at the glass that had
+been set before him. It was grimly ironic that he should be, not only
+there, but actually a factor and a part of the underworld's intimate
+life! He, Jimmie Dale, a wealthy man, a member of New York's
+exclusive clubs, a member of New York's most exclusive society! It was
+inconceivable. He smiled sardonically. Was it? Well, then, it was none
+the less true. His life unquestionably was one unique, apart from any
+other man's, but it was, for all that, actual and real.
+
+There had been three years of it now--since SHE had come into his life.
+Jimmie Dale slouched down a little in his chair. The ice was thin,
+perilously thin, that he was skating on now. Each letter, with its
+demand upon him to match his wits against police or underworld, or
+against both combined, perhaps, made that peril a little greater, a
+little more imminent--if that were possible, when already his life
+was almost literally carried, daily, hourly, in his hand. Not that he
+rebelled against it; it was worth the price that some day he expected
+he must pay--the price of honour, wealth, a name disgraced, ruin, death.
+Was he quixotic? Immoderately so? He smiled gravely. Perhaps. But he
+would do it all over again if the choice were his. There were those who
+blessed the name of the Gray Seal, as well as those who cursed it. And
+there was the Tocsin!
+
+Who was she? He did not know, but he knew that he had come to love her,
+come to care for her, and that she had come to mean everything in life
+to him. He had never seen her, to know her face. He had never seen her
+face, but he knew her voice--ay, he had even held her for a moment, the
+moment of wildest happiness he had ever known, in his arms. That night
+when he had entered his library, his own particular den in his own
+house, and in the darkness had found her there--found her finally
+through no effort of his own, when he had searched so fruitlessly for
+years to find her, using every resource at his command to find her! And
+she, because she had come of her own volition, relying upon him, had
+held him in honour to let her go as she had come--without looking upon
+her face! Exquisite irony! But she had made him a promise then--that the
+work of the Gray Seal was nearly over--that soon there would be an end
+to the mystery that surrounded her--that he should know all--that he
+should know HER.
+
+He smiled again, but it was a twisted smile on the mechanically
+misshapen lips of Larry the Bat. NEARLY over! Who knew? That "nearly"
+might be too late! Even tonight he had been shadowed, was skulking even
+now in this place as a refuge. Who knew? Another hour, and the newsboys
+might be shrieking their "Uxtra! Uxtra! De Gray Seal caught! De
+millionaire Jimmie Dale de Jekyll an' Hyde of real life!"
+
+Jimmie Dale straightened up suddenly in his seat. There was a shout,
+an oath bawled out high above the riot of noise, a chorus of feminine
+shrieks from across the room. What was the matter with the
+underworld to-night? He seemed fated to find nothing but centres of
+disturbance--first a raid at Chang Foo's, and now this. What was the
+matter here? They were stampeding toward him from the other side of
+the room. There was the roar of a revolver shot--another. Black Ike! He
+caught an instant's glimpse of the gunman's distorted face through the
+crowd. That was it probably--a row over some moll.
+
+And then, as Jimmie Dale lunged up from his chair to his feet to escape
+the rush, pandemonium itself seemed to break loose. Yells, shots,
+screams, and oaths filled the air. The crowd surged this way and that.
+Tables were overturned and sent crashing to the floor. And then came
+sudden darkness, as some one of the attendants in misguided excitability
+switched off the lights.
+
+The darkness but served to increase the panic, not allay it. With a
+savage snap of his jaws, Jimmie Dale swung from his table in the corner
+with the intention of making his way out by a side door behind him--it
+was a case of the police again, and the patrolman outside would probably
+be pulling a riot call by now. And the police--He stopped suddenly,
+as though he had been struck. An envelope, thrust there out of the
+darkness, was in his hand; and her voice, HERS, the Tocsin's, was
+sounding in his ears:
+
+"Jimmie! Jimmie! I've been trying all evening to catch you! Quick! Get
+to the Sanctuary and change your clothes. There's not an instant to
+lose! It's for my sake to-night!"
+
+And then a surging mob was around him on every side, and, pushing,
+jostling, half lifting him at times from his feet, carried him forward
+with its rush, and with him in its midst burst through the door and out
+into the street.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE CALL TO ARMS
+
+
+Not a sound as the key turned in the lock; not a sound as the door swung
+back on its carefully oiled hinges; not a sound as Larry the Bat slipped
+like a shadow into the blackness of the room, closing the door behind
+him again. With a tread as noiseless as a cat's, he was across the room
+to satisfy himself that the shutters were tightly closed; and then the
+single gas jet flared up, murky, yellow, illuminating the miserable,
+squalid room--the Sanctuary--the home of Larry the Bat. There was need
+for silence, need for caution. In five minutes, ten at the outside, he
+must emerge again--as Jimmie Dale.
+
+With a smile on his lips that mingled curiously chagrin and
+self-commiseration, he took the letter from his pocket and tore it open.
+It was she, then, who had been following him all evening, and, like a
+blundering idiot, he had wasted precious, perhaps irreparable, hours!
+What had she meant by "It's for my sake to-night"? The words had been
+ringing in his ears since the moment she had whispered them in that
+panic-stricken crowd. Was it not always for her sake that he answered
+these calls to arms? Was it not always for her sake that he, as the
+Gray Seal, was--The mental soliloquy came to an abrupt end. He had
+subconsciously read the first sentence of the letter, and now, with
+sudden feverish eagerness and excitement, he was reading it to the last
+word.
+
+
+"DEAR PHILANTHROPIC CROOK: In an hour after you receive this, if all
+goes well, you shall know everything--everything. Who I am--yes, and
+my name. It has been more than three years now, hasn't it? It has been
+incomprehensible to you, but there has been no other way. I dared not
+take the chance of discovery by any one; I dared not expose you to
+the risk of being known by me. Your life would not have been worth
+a moment's purchase. Oh, Jimmie, am I only making the mystery more
+mystifying? But to-night, I think, I hope, I pray that it is all at an
+end: though against me, and against you to-night when you go to help
+me, is the most powerful and pitiless organisation of criminals that the
+world has ever known; and the stake we are playing for is a fortune of
+millions--and my life. And yet somehow I am afraid now, just because the
+end is so near, and the victory seems so surely won. And so, Jimmie, be
+careful; use all that wonderful cleverness of yours as you have never
+used it before, and--But there should be no need for that, it is so
+simple a thing that I am going to ask you to do. Why am I writing so
+illogically! Nothing, surely, can possibly happen. This is not like
+one of my usual letters, is it? I am beside myself to-night with hope,
+anxiety, fear, and excitement.
+
+"Listen, then, Jimmie: Be at the northeast corner of Sixth Avenue and
+Waverly Place at exactly half-past ten. A taxicab will drive up, as
+though you had signalled it in passing, and the chauffeur will say:
+'I've another fare, in half an hour, sir, but I can get you most
+anywhere in that time.' You will be smoking a cigarette. Toss it out
+into the street, make any reply you like, and get into the cab. Give the
+chauffeur that little ring of mine with the crest of the bell and belfry
+and the motto, 'Sonnez le Tocsin,' that you found the night old Isaac
+Pelina was murdered, and the chauffeur will give you in exchange a
+sealed packet of papers. He will drive you to your home, and I will
+telephone to you there.
+
+"I need not tell you to destroy this. Keep the appointment in your
+proper person--as Jimmie Dale. Carry nothing that might identify you
+as the Gray Seal if any accident should happen. And, lastly, trust the
+pseudo chauffeur absolutely."
+
+
+There was no signature. Her letters were never signed. He stood for a
+moment staring at the closely written sheets in his hand, a heightened
+colour in his cheeks, his lips pressed tightly together--and then his
+fingers automatically began to tear the letter into pieces, and the
+pieces again into little shreds. To-night! It was to be to-night, the
+end of all this mystery. To-night was to see the end of this dual life
+of his, with its constant peril! To-night the Gray Seal was to exit from
+the stage forever! To-night, a wonderful climax of the years, he was to
+see HER!
+
+His blood was quickened now, his heart pounding in a faster beat; a mad
+elation, a fierce uplift was upon him. He thrust the torn bits of paper
+into his pocket hurriedly, stepped across the room to the corner, rolled
+back the oilcloth, and lifted up the loose plank in the flooring, so
+innocently dustladen, as, more than once, to have eluded the eyes of
+inquisitive visitors in the shape of police and plain clothes men from
+headquarters.
+
+From the space beneath he removed a neatly folded pile of clothes, laid
+these on the bed, and began to undress. He was working rapidly now. Tiny
+pieces of wax were removed from his nostrils, from under his lips, from
+behind his ears; water from a cracked pitcher poured into a battered tin
+basin, and mixed with a few drops of some liquid from a bottle which he
+procured from its hiding place under the flooring, banished the make-up
+stain from his face, his neck, his wrists, and hands as if by magic.
+It was a strange metamorphosis that had taken place--the coarse,
+brutal-featured, blear-eyed, leering countenance of Larry the Bat was
+gone, and in its place, clean-cut, square-jawed, clear-eyed, was the
+face of Jimmie Dale. And where before had slouched a slope-shouldered,
+misshapen, flabby creature, a broad-shouldered form well over six feet
+in height now stood erect, and under the clean white skin the muscles
+of an athlete, like knobs of steel played back and forth with every
+movement of his body.
+
+In the streaked and broken mirror Jimmie Dale surveyed himself
+critically, methodically, and, with a nod of satisfaction, hastily
+donned the fashionably cut suit of tweeds upon the bed. He rummaged then
+through the ragged garments he had just discarded, transferred to
+his pockets a roll of bills and his automatic, and paused hesitantly,
+staring at the thin metal case, like a cigarette case, that he held in
+the palm of his hand. He shrugged his shoulders a little whimsically; it
+seemed strange indeed that he was through with that! He snapped it
+open. Within, between sheets of oil paper, lay the scores of little
+diamond-shaped, gray-coloured, adhesive paper seals--the insignia of the
+Gray Seal. Yes, it seemed strange that he was never to use another! He
+closed the case, gathered up the clothes of Larry the Bat, tucked
+the case in among them, and shoved the bundle into the hole under the
+flooring. All these things would have to be destroyed, but there was not
+time to-night; to-morrow, or the next day, would do for that. What would
+it be like to live a normal life again, without the menace of danger
+lurking on every hand, without that grim slogan of the underworld,
+"Death to the Gray Seal!" or that savage fiat of the police, "The Gray
+Seal, dead or alive--but the Gray Seal!" forever ringing in his ears?
+What would it be like, this new life--with her?
+
+The thought was thrilling him again, bringing again that eager, exultant
+uplift. In an hour, ONE hour, and the barriers of years would be swept
+away, and she would be in his arms!
+
+"It's for my sake to-night!" His face grew suddenly tense, as the words
+came back to him. That "hour" wasn't over yet! It was no hysterical
+exaggeration that had prompted her to call her enemies the most powerful
+and pitiless organisation of criminals that the world had ever known.
+It was not the Tocsin's way to exaggerate. The words would be literally
+true. The very life she had led for the three years that had gone stood
+out now as a grim proof of her assertion.
+
+Jimmie Dale replaced the flooring, carefully brushed the dust back into
+the cracks, spread the oilcloth into place, and stood up. Who and what
+was this organisation? What was between it and the Tocsin? What was this
+immense fortune that was at stake? And what was this priceless packet
+that was so crucial, that meant victory now, ay, and her life, too, she
+had said?
+
+The questions swept upon him in a sort of breathless succession. Why had
+she not let him play a part in this? True, she had told him why--that
+she dared not expose him to the risk. Risk! Was there any risk that the
+Gray Seal had not taken, and at her instance! He did not understand, he
+smiled a little uncertainly, as he reached up to turn out the gas. There
+were a good many things that he did not understand about the Tocsin!
+
+The room was in darkness, and with the darkness Jimmie Dale's mind
+centred on the work immediately before him. To enter the tenement where
+he was known and had an acknowledged right as Larry the Bat was one
+thing; for Jimmie Dale to be discovered there was quite another.
+
+He crossed the room, opened the door silently, stood for a moment
+listening, then stepped out into the black, musty, ill-smelling hallway,
+closing the door behind him. He stooped and locked it. The querulous cry
+of a child reached him from somewhere above--a murmur of voices, muffled
+by closed doors, from everywhere. How many families were housed beneath
+that sordid roof he had never known, only that there was miserable
+poverty there as well as vice and crime, only that Larry the Bat, who
+possessed a room all to himself, was as some lordly and super-being to
+these fellow tenants who shared theirs with so many that there was not
+air enough for all to breathe.
+
+He had no doors to pass--his was next to the staircase. He began to
+descend. They could scream and shriek, those stairs, like aged humans,
+twisted and rheumatic, at the least ungentle touch. But there was no
+sound from them now. There seemed something almost uncanny in the
+silent tread. Stair after stair he descended, his entire weight thrown
+gradually upon one foot before the other was lifted. The strain upon the
+muscles, trained and hardened as they were, told. As he moved from the
+bottom step, he wiped little beads of perspiration from his forehead.
+
+The door, now, that gave on the alleyway! He opened it, slipped outside,
+darted across the narrow lane, stole along where the shadows of the
+fence were blackest, paused, listening, as he reached the end of the
+alleyway, to assure himself that there was no near-by pedestrian--and
+stepped out into the street.
+
+He kept on along the block, turned into the Bowery, and, under the first
+lamp, consulted his watch. It was a quarter past ten. He could make
+it easily in a leisurely walk. He continued on up the Bowery, finally
+crossed to Broadway, and shortly afterward turned into Waverly Place.
+At the corner of Fifth Avenue he consulted his watch again--and now he
+lighted a cigarette. Sixth Avenue was only a block away. At precisely
+half-past ten, to the second, he halted on the designated corner,
+smoking nonchalantly.
+
+A taxicab, coincidentally coming from an uptown direction, swung in to
+the curb.
+
+"Taxi, sir? Yes, sir?" Then, with an admirable mingling of eagerness to
+secure the fare and a fear that his confession might cause him the loss
+of it: "I've another fare in half an hour, sir, but I can get you most
+anywhere in that time."
+
+Jimmie Dale's cigarette was tossed carelessly into the street.
+
+"St. James Club!" he said curtly, and stepped into the cab.
+
+The cab started forward, turned the corner, and headed along Waverly
+Place toward Broadway. The chauffeur twisted around in his seat in a
+matter-of-fact way, as though to ask further directions.
+
+"Have you anything for me?" he inquired casually.
+
+It lay where it always lay, that ring, between the folds of that little
+white glove in his pocketbook. Jimmie Dale took it out now, and handed
+it silently to the chauffeur.
+
+The other's face changed instantly--composure was gone, and a quick,
+strained look was in its place.
+
+"I'm afraid I've been watched," he said tersely. "Look behind you, will
+you, and tell me if you see anything?"
+
+Jimmie Dale glanced backward through the little window in the hood.
+
+"There's another taxi just turned in from Sixth Avenue," he reported the
+next instant.
+
+"Keep your eye on it!" instructed the chauffeur shortly.
+
+The speed of the cab increased sensibly.
+
+With a curious tightening of his lips, Jimmie Dale settled himself
+in his seat so that he could watch the cab behind. There was trouble
+coming, intuitively he sensed that; and, he reflected bitterly, he might
+have known! It was too marvellous, too wonderful ever to come to pass
+that this one hour, the thought of which had fired his blood and made
+him glad beyond any gladness life had ever held for him before, should
+bring its promised happiness.
+
+"Where's the cab now?" the chauffeur flung back over his shoulder.
+
+They had passed Fifth Avenue, and were nearing Broadway.
+
+"About the same distance behind," Jimmie Dale answered.
+
+"That looks bad!" the chauffeur gritted between his teeth. "We'll have
+to make sure. I'll run down Lower Broadway."
+
+"If you think we're followed," suggested Jimmie Dale quietly, "why not
+run uptown and give them the slip somewhere where the traffic is thick?
+Lower Broadway at this time of night is as empty and deserted as a
+country road."
+
+The chauffeur's sudden laugh was mirthless.
+
+"My God, you don't know what you are talking about!" he burst out. "If
+they're following, all hell couldn't throw them off the track. And I've
+got to know, I've got to be SURE before I dare make a move to-night. I
+couldn't tell up in the crowded districts if I was followed, could I?
+They won't come out into the open until their hands are forced."
+
+The car swerved sharply, rounded the corner, and, speeding up faster and
+faster, began to tear down Lower Broadway.
+
+"Watch! WATCH!" cried the chauffeur.
+
+There was no word between them for a moment; then Jimmie Dale spoke
+crisply:
+
+"It's turned the corner! It's coming this way!"
+
+The taxicab was rocking violently with the speed; silent, empty, Lower
+Broadway stretched away ahead. Apart from an occasional street car,
+probably there would be nothing between them and the Battery. Jimmie
+Dale glanced at his companion's face as a light, flashing by, threw
+it into relief. It was set and stern, even a little haggard; but, too,
+there was something else there, something that appealed instantly to
+Jimmie Dale--a sort of bulldog grit that dominated it.
+
+"If he holds our speed, we'll know!" the chauffeur was shouting now to
+make himself heard over the roar of the car. "Look again! Where is it
+now?"
+
+Once more Jimmie Dale looked through the little rear window. The cab had
+been a block behind them when it had turned the corner, and he watched
+it now in a sort of grim fascination. There was no possible doubt of it!
+The two bobbing, bouncing headlights were creeping steadily nearer. And
+then a sort of unnatural calm settled upon Jimmie Dale, and his hand
+went mechanically to his pocket to feel his automatic there, as he
+turned again to the chauffeur.
+
+"If you've got any more speed, you'd better use it!" he said
+significantly.
+
+The man shot a quick look at him.
+
+"They are following us? You are SURE?"
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale.
+
+The chauffeur laughed again in that mirthless, savage way.
+
+"Lean over here, where I can talk to you!" he rasped out. "The game's
+up, as far as I am concerned, I guess! But there's a chance for you.
+They don't know you in this."
+
+"Give her more speed--or dodge into a cross street!" suggested Jimmie
+Dale coolly. "They haven't got us yet, by a long way!"
+
+The other shook his head.
+
+"It's not only that cab behind," he answered, through set lips. "You
+don't know what we're up against. If they're really after us, there's
+a trap laid in every section of this city--the devils! It's the package
+they want. Thank God for the presentiment that made me leave it behind!
+I was going back for it, you understand, if I was satisfied that we
+weren't followed. Listen! There's a chance for you--there's none for me.
+That package--remember this!--no one else knows where it is, and it's
+life and death to the one who sent you here. It's in Box 428 at--My God,
+LOOK! Look there!" he yelled, and, with a wrench at the wheel, sent the
+taxi lurching and staggering for the car tracks in the centre of the
+street.
+
+The scene, fast as thought itself, was photographing itself in every
+detail upon Jimmie Dale's brain. From the cross street ahead, one from
+each corner, two motor cars had nosed out into Broadway, blocking the
+road on both sides. And now the car on the left-hand side was
+moving forward across the tracks to counteract the chauffeur's move,
+deliberately insuring a collision. There was no chance, no further
+room to turn, no time to stop--the man driving the other car jumped for
+safety--they would be into it in an instant.
+
+"Box 428!" Jimmie pleaded fiercely. "Go on, man! Go on! FINISH!"
+
+"Yes!" cried the chauffeur. "John Johansson, at--"
+
+But Jimmie Dale heard no more. There was the crash of impact as the
+taxicab plowed into the car that had been so craftily manoeuvered in
+front of it, and Jimmie Dale, lifted from his feet, was hurled violently
+forward with the shock, and all went black before his eyes.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE CRIME CLUB
+
+
+For what length of time he had remained unconscious, Jimmie Dale had not
+the slightest idea. He regained his senses to find himself lying on a
+couch in a strange room that had a most exquisitely brass-wrought dome
+light in the ceiling. That was what attracted his attention, because
+the light hurt his eyes, and his head was already throbbing as though a
+thousand devils were beating a diabolical tattoo upon it.
+
+He closed his eyes against the light. Where was he? What had happened?
+Oh, yes, he remembered now! That smash on Lower Broadway! He had been
+hurt. He moved first one limb and then another tentatively, and was
+relieved to find that, though his body ached as if it had been severely
+shaken, and his head was bad, he had apparently escaped without serious
+injury.
+
+Where was he? In a hospital? His fingers, resting at his side upon the
+couch, supplied him with the information that it was a very expensive
+couch, upholstered in finest leather. If he were in a hospital, he would
+be in a cot.
+
+He opened his eyes again to glance curiously around him. The room was
+quite in keeping with the artistic lighting fixture and the refined, if
+expensive, taste that was responsible for the couch. A heavy velvet
+rug of rich, dark green was bordered by a polished hardwood floor;
+panellings of dark-green frieze and beautifully grained woodwork made
+the lower walls; while above, on a background of some soft-toned paper,
+hung a few, and evidently choice, oil paintings. There was a big,
+inviting lounging chair; a massive writing table, or more properly, a
+desk of walnut; and behind the desk, his back half turned, apparently
+intent upon a book, sat a man in immaculate evening dress.
+
+Jimmie Dale closed his eyes again. There was something reassuring about
+it all, comfortably reassuring. Though why there should be any occasion
+for a feeling of reassurance at all, he could not for the moment make
+out. And then, in a sudden flash, the details of the night came back to
+him. The Tocsin's letter--the package he was to get--the taxicab--the
+chauffeur, who was not a chauffeur--the chase--the trap. He lay
+perfectly still. It was the professional Jimmie Dale now whose brain, in
+spite of the throbbing, brutally aching head, was at work, keen, alert.
+
+The chauffeur! What had happened to him? Had the man been killed in the
+auto smash; or, less fortunate than himself, fallen into the hands of
+those whose power he seemed both to fear and rate so highly? And that
+package! Box--what was the number?--yes, 428. What did that mean? What
+box? Where was it? Who was John Johansson? He hadn't heard any more than
+that; the smash had come then. And lastly, he was back again to the
+same question he had begun with: Where was he now himself? It looked as
+though some good Samaritan had picked him up. Who was this gentleman so
+quietly reading there at the desk?
+
+Jimmie Dale opened his eyes for the third time. How still, how
+absolutely silent the room was! He studied the man's back speculatively
+for a moment, then his gaze travelled on past the man to the wall,
+riveted there, and his fingers, without movement of his arm, pressed
+against the outside of his coat pocket. He thought as much! His
+automatic was gone!
+
+Not a muscle of Jimmie Dale's face moved. His eyes shifted to a picture
+on the wall. THE MAN WAS WATCHING HIM--NOT READING! Just above the level
+of the desk, a small mirror held the couch in focus--but, equally,
+it held the man in focus, and Jimmie Dale had seen the other's eyes,
+through a black mask that covered the face to the top of the upper lip,
+fixed intently upon him.
+
+There was a chill now where before there had been reassurance, something
+ominous in the very quiet and refinement of the room; and Jimmie Dale
+smiled inwardly in bitter irony--his good Samaritan wore a mask! His
+self-congratulations had come too soon. Whatever had happened to the
+chauffeur, it was evident enough that he himself was caught! What was it
+the chauffeur had said? Something about a chance through being unknown.
+Was it to be a battle of wits, then? God, if his head did not ache so
+frightfully! It was hard to think with the brain half sick with pain.
+
+Those two eyes shining in that mirror! There seemed something horribly
+spectre-like about it. He did not look again, but he knew they were
+there. It was like a cat watching a mouse. Why did not the man speak,
+or move, or do something, and--He turned his head slowly; the man was
+laughing in a low, amused way.
+
+"You appear to be taken with that picture," observed a pleasant voice.
+"Perhaps you recognise it from there? It is a Corot."
+
+Jimmie Dale, with a well-simulated start, sat up--and, with another
+quite as well simulated, stared at the masked man. The other had laid
+down his book, and swung around in his chair to face the couch. Jimmie
+Dale stood up a little shakily.
+
+"Look here!" he said awkwardly. "I--I don't quite understand. I remember
+that my taxi got into a smash-up, and I suppose I have to thank you for
+the assistance you must have rendered me; only, as I say"--he looked in
+a puzzled way around the room, and in an even more perplexed way at the
+mask on the other's face--"I must confess I am at a loss to understand
+quite the meaning of this."
+
+"Suppose that instead of trying to understand you simply accept things
+as you find them." The voice was soft, but there was a finality in it
+that its blandness only served to make the more suggestive.
+
+Jimmie Dale drew himself up, and bowed coldly.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said. "I did not mean to intrude. I have only to
+thank you again, then, and bid you good-night."
+
+The lips beneath the mask parted slightly in a politely deprecating
+smile.
+
+"There is no hurry," said the man, a sudden sharpness creeping into his
+tones. "I am sorry that the rule I apply to you does not work both ways.
+For instance, I might be quite at a loss to account for your presence in
+that taxicab."
+
+Jimmie Dale's smile was equally polite, equally deprecating.
+
+"I fail to see how it could be of the slightest possible interest to
+you," he replied. "However, I have no objection to telling you. I hailed
+the taxi at the corner of Sixth Avenue and Waverly Place, told the
+chauffeur to drive me to the St. James Club, and--"
+
+"The St. James Club," broke in the other coldly, "is, I believe, north,
+not SOUTH of Waverly Place--and on Broadway not at all."
+
+Jimmie Dale stared at the other for an instant in patient annoyance.
+
+"I am quite well aware of that," he said stiffly. "Nevertheless I told
+the man to drive me to the St. James Club. We came across Waverly Place,
+but on reaching Broadway, instead of turning uptown, he suddenly whirled
+in the other direction and sent the car flying at full speed down Lower
+Broadway. I shouted at the man. I don't know yet whether he was drunk
+or crazy or"--Jimmie Dale's eyes fixed disdainfully on the other's
+mask--"whether there might not, after all, have been method in his
+madness. I can only say that before we had gone more than two or three
+blocks, a wild effort on his part to avoid a collision with an auto
+swinging out from a side street resulted in an even more disastrous
+smash with another on the other side, and I was knocked senseless."
+
+"'Victim,' I presume, is the idea you desire to convey," observed the
+other evenly. "You were quite the victim of circumstances, as it were!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyebrows lifted slightly.
+
+"It would appear to be fairly obvious, I should say."
+
+"Very clever!" commented the man. "But now suppose we remove the buttons
+from the foils!" His voice rasped suddenly. "You are quite as well aware
+as I am that what has happened to-night was not an accident. Nor--in
+case the possibility may have occurred to you--are the police any the
+wiser, save for the existence of two wrecked cars on Lower Broadway, and
+another which escaped, and for which doubtless they are still searching
+assiduously. The ownership of the taxicab you so inadvertently entered
+they will have no difficulty in establishing--you, perhaps, however,
+are in a better position than I am to appreciate the fact that the
+establishment of its ownership will lead them nowhere. As I understand
+it, the man who drove you to-night obtained the loan of the cab from one
+of the company's chauffeur's in return for a hundred-dollar bill. Am I
+right?"
+
+"In view of what has happened," admitted Jimmie Dale simply, "I should
+not be surprised."
+
+There was a sort of sardonic admiration in the other's laugh.
+
+"As for the other car," he went on, "I can assure you that its ownership
+will never be known. When the nearest patrolman rushed up, there were
+no survivors of the disaster, save those in the third car which he was
+powerless to stop--which accounts for your presence here. You will admit
+that I have been quite frank."
+
+"Oh, quite!" said Jimmie Dale, a little wearily. "But would you mind
+telling me what all this is leading to?"
+
+The man had been leaning forward in his chair, one hand, palm downward,
+resting lightly on the desk. He shifted his hand now suddenly to the arm
+of his chair.
+
+"THIS!" he said, and on the desk where his hand had been lay the
+Tocsin's gold signet ring.
+
+Jimmie Dale's face expressed mild curiosity. He could feel the other's
+eyes boring into him.
+
+"We were speaking of ownership," said the man, in a low, menacing
+tone. "I want to know where the woman who owns this ring can be found
+to-night."
+
+There was no play, no trifling here; the man was in deadly earnest. But
+it seemed to Jimmie Dale, even with the sense of peril more imminent
+with every instant, that he could have laughed outright in savage
+mockery at the irony of the question. Where was she? Even WHO was she?
+And this was the hour in which he was to have known!
+
+"May I look at it?" he requested calmly.
+
+The other nodded, but his eyes never left Jimmie Dale.
+
+"It will give you an extra moment or so to frame your answer," he said
+sarcastically.
+
+Jimmie Dale ignored the thrust, picked up the ring, examined it
+deliberately, and set it back again on the table.
+
+"Since I do not know who owns it," he said, "I cannot answer your
+question."
+
+"No! Well, then, there is still another matter--a little package that
+was in the taxicab with you. Where is that?"
+
+"See here!" said Jimmie Dale irritably. "This has gone far enough! I
+have seen no package, large or small, or of any description whatever.
+You are evidently mistaking me for some one else. You have only to
+telephone to the St. James Club." He reached toward his pocket for his
+cardcase. "My name is--"
+
+"Dale," supplied the other curtly. "Don't bother about the card, Mr.
+Dale. We have already taken the liberty of searching you." He rose
+abruptly from his chair. "I am afraid you do not quite realise your
+position, Mr. Dale," he said, with an ominous smile. "Let me make
+it clear. I do not wish to be theatrical about this, but we do not
+temporise here. You will either answer both of those questions to my
+satisfaction, OR YOU WILL NEVER LEAVE THIS PLACE ALIVE."
+
+Jimmie Dale's face hardened. His eyes met the other's steadily.
+
+"Ah, I think I begin to see!" he said caustically. "When I have been
+thoroughly frightened I shall be offered my freedom at a price. A sort
+of up-to-date game of holdup! The penalty of being a wealthy man! If you
+had named your figure to begin with, we would have saved a lot of idle
+talk, and you would have had my answer the sooner: NOTHING!"
+
+"Do you know," said the other, in a grimly musing way, "there has always
+been one man, but only one until now, that I have wished I might add
+to my present associates. I refer to the so-called Gray Seal. To-night
+there are two. I pay you the compliment of being the other. But"--he was
+smiling ominously again--"we are wasting time, Mr. Dale. I am willing to
+expose my hand to the extent of admitting that the information you are
+withholding is infinitely more valuable to me than the mere wreaking of
+reprisal upon you for a refusal to talk. Therefore, if you will answer,
+I pledge you my word you will be free to leave here within five minutes.
+If you refuse, you are already aware of the alternative. Well, Mr.
+Dale?"
+
+Who was this man? Jimmie Dale was studying the other's chin, the lips,
+the white, even teeth, the jet-black hair. Some day the tables might be
+turned. Could he recognise again this cool, imperturbable ruffian who so
+callously threatened him with murder?
+
+"Well, Mr. Dale? I am waiting!"
+
+"I am not a magician," said Jimmie Dale contemptuously. "I could not
+answer your questions if I wanted to."
+
+The other's hand slid instantly to a row of electric buttons on the
+desk.
+
+"Very well, Mr. Dale!" he said quietly. "You do not believe, I see, that
+I would dare to carry my threat into execution; you perhaps even doubt
+my power. I shall take the trouble to convince you--I imagine it will
+stimulate your memory."
+
+The door opened. Two men were standing on the threshold, both in evening
+dress, both masked. The man behind the desk came forward, took Jimmie
+Dale's arm almost courteously, and led him from the room out into a
+corridor, where he halted abruptly.
+
+"I want to call your attention first, Mr. Dale, to the fact that as far
+as you are concerned you neither have now, nor ever will have, any idea
+whether you are in the heart of New York or fifty miles away from it.
+Now, listen! Do you hear anything?"
+
+There was nothing. Only the strange silence of that other room was
+intensified now. There was not a sound; stillness such as it seemed to
+Jimmie Dale he had never experienced before was around him.
+
+"You may possibly infer from the silence that you are NOT in the city,"
+suggested the other, after a moment's pause. "I leave you to your own
+conclusions in that respect. The cause, however, of the silence is
+internal, not external; we had sound-proof principles in mind to a
+perhaps exaggerated degree when this building was constructed. If you
+care to do so, you have my permission to shout, say, for help, to your
+heart's content. We shall make no effort to stop you."
+
+Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders. He was staring down a brilliantly
+lighted, richly carpeted corridor. There were doors on one side, windows
+on the other, the windows all hung with heavy, closely drawn portieres.
+The corridor was certainly not on the ground floor, but whether it was
+on the second or third, or even above that again, he had no means of
+knowing. From appearances, though, the place seemed more like a large,
+private mansion than anything else.
+
+"Just one word more before we proceed," continued the other. "I do not
+wish you to labour under any illusion. Here we are frankly criminals.
+This is our home. It should have some effect in impressing you with the
+power and resource at our command, and also with the class of men with
+whom you are dealing. There is not one among us whose education is not
+fully equal to your own; not one, indeed, but who is chosen, granting
+first his criminal tendencies, because he is a specialist in his own
+particular field--in commerce, in the government diplomatic service, in
+the professions of law and medicine, in the ranks of pure science.
+We are bordering on the fantastical, are we not? Dreaming, you will
+probably say, of the Utopian in crime organisation. Quite so, Mr. Dale.
+I only ask you to consider the POSSIBILITIES if what I say is true. Now
+let us proceed. I am going to take you into three rooms--the three whose
+doors you see ahead of you. You will notice that, including the one you
+have just left, there are four on this corridor. I do not wish to strain
+your credulity, or play tricks upon you; so I am going to ask you to fix
+an approximate idea of the length of the corridor in your mind, as it
+will perhaps enable you to account more readily for what may appear to
+be a discrepancy in the corresponding size of the rooms."
+
+One of the men opened the door ahead. Jimmie Dale, at a sign from his
+conductor, moved forward and entered. Just what he had expected to find
+he could not have told; his brain was whirling, partly from his aching
+head, partly from his desperate effort to conceive some way of escape
+from the peril which, for all his nonchalance, he knew only too well
+was the gravest he had ever faced; but what he saw was simply a cozily
+furnished bedroom. There was nothing peculiar about it; nothing out of
+the way, except perhaps that it was rather narrow.
+
+And then suddenly, rubbing his eyes involuntarily, he was staring in a
+dazed way before him. The whole right-hand side of the wall was sinking
+without a sound into the floor, increasing the width of the room by some
+five or six feet--and in this space was disclosed what appeared to be a
+sort of chemical laboratory, elaborately equipped, extending the entire
+length of the room.
+
+"The wall is purely a matter of mechanical construction, operated
+hydraulically." The man was speaking softly at Jimmie Dale's side.
+"The room beneath is built to correspond; the base, ceiling, and wall
+mouldings here do not have to be very ingenious to effect a disguise.
+I might say, however, that few visitors, other than yourself, have ever
+seen anything here but a bedroom." He waved his hand toward the retorts,
+the racks of test tubes, the hundred and one articles that strewed the
+laboratory bench. "As for this, its purpose is twofold. We, as well,
+as the police, have often need of analysis. We make it. If we require a
+drug, a poison, say, we compound it from its various ingredients, or,
+as the case may be, distil it, perhaps--it is, you will agree, somewhat
+more difficult to trace to its source if procured that way. And speaking
+of poisons"--he stepped forward, and lifted a glass-stoppered bottle
+containing a colourless liquid from a shelf--"in a modest way we have
+even done some original research work here. This, for instance, is
+as Utopian from our standpoint as the formation, and personnel of the
+organisation I have briefly outlined to you. It possesses very essential
+qualities. It is almost instantaneous in its action, requires a very
+small quantity, and defies detection even by autopsy." He uncorked the
+bottle, and dipped in a long glass rod. "Will you watch the experiment?"
+he invited, with a sort of ghastly pleasantry. "I do not want you to
+accept anything on trust."
+
+With a start, Jimmie Dale swung around. He had heard no sound, but
+another man was at his elbow now--and, struggling in the man's hand, was
+a little white rabbit.
+
+It was over in an instant. A single drop in the rabbit's mouth, and the
+animal had stiffened out, a lifeless thing.
+
+"It is quite as effective on the human organism," continued the other,
+"only, instead of one drop, three are required. If I make it ten"--he
+was carefully measuring the liquid into two wineglasses--"it is only
+that even you may be satisfied that the quantity is fatal." He filled up
+the glasses with what was apparently wine of some description, which he
+poured from a decanter, and held out the glasses in front of him.
+
+And again Jimmie Dale started, again he had heard no one enter, and yet
+two men had stepped forward from behind him and had taken the glasses
+from their leader's hands. He glanced around him, counting quickly--they
+were surely the two who had entered with him from the corridor. No!
+Including the leader, there were now six men, all in evening dress, all
+masked, in the room with him.
+
+A wave of the leader's hand, and the two men holding the glasses left
+the room. The man turned to Jimmie Dale again.
+
+"Shall we proceed to the second room, Mr. Dale?" he asked politely.
+"I think it is now prepared for us--I do not wish to bore you with a
+repetition of magical sliding walls."
+
+There was something now that numbed the ache in Jimmie Dale's brain--a
+sense of some deadly, remorseless thing that seemed to be constantly
+creeping closer to him, clutching at him--to smother him, to choke him.
+There was something absolutely fiendish, terrifying, in the veneer of
+culture around him.
+
+They had entered the second room. This, like the other, was a
+pseudo-bedroom; but here the movable wall was already down. Ranged along
+the right-hand side were a great number of cabinets that slid in and
+out, much after the style and fashion used by clothing dealers to stock
+and display their wares. These cabinets were now all open, displaying
+hundreds of costumes of all kinds and descriptions, and evidently
+complete to the minutest detail. The cabinets were flanked by
+full-length mirrors at each end of the room, and on little tables before
+the mirrors was an assortment, that none better than Jimmie Dale himself
+could appreciate, of make-up accessories.
+
+The man smiled apologetically.
+
+"I am afraid this is rather uninteresting," he said. "I have shown it to
+you simply that you may understand that we are alive to the importance
+of detail. Disguise, that is daily vital to us, is an art that depends
+essentially on detail. I venture to say we could impersonate any
+character or type or nationality or class in the United States at a
+moment's notice. But"--he took Jimmie Dale's arm again and conducted him
+out into the corridor, while the two men who were evidently acting
+the role of guards followed closely behind--"there is still the third
+room--here." He halted Jimmie Dale before the door. "I have asked you
+to answer two questions, Mr. Dale," he said softly. "I ask you now to
+remember the alternative."
+
+They still stood before the door. There was that uncanny silence
+again--it seemed to Jimmie Dale to last interminably. Neither of the
+three men surrounding him moved nor spoke. Then the door before him was
+opened on an unlighted room, and he was led across the threshold. He
+heard the door close behind him. The lights came on. And then it seemed
+as though he could not move, as though he were rooted to the spot---and
+the colour ebbed from his face. Three figures were before him: the two
+men who had carried the glasses from the first room, and the chauffeur
+who had driven him in the taxicab. The two men still held the
+glasses--the chauffeur was bound hand and foot in a chair. One of the
+glasses was EMPTY; the other was still significantly full.
+
+Jimmie Dale, with a violent effort at self-control, leaned forward.
+
+The man in the chair was dead.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE INNOCENT BYSTANDER
+
+
+There was not a sound. That stillness, weird, unnerving, that permeated,
+as it were, everywhere through that mysterious house, was, if that were
+possible, accentuated now. The four masked men in evening dress, five
+including their leader, for the man who had appeared in that other room
+with the rabbit was not here, were as silent, as motionless, as the dead
+man who was lashed there in the chair. And to Jimmie Dale it seemed at
+first as though his brain, stunned and stupefied at the shock, refused
+its functions, and left him groping blindly, vaguely, with only a
+sort of dull, subconscious realisation of menace and a deadly peril,
+imminent, hanging over him.
+
+He tried to rouse himself mentally, to prod his brain to action, to
+pit it in a fight for life against these self-confessed criminals and
+murderers with their mask of culture, who surrounded him now. Was there
+a way out? What was it the Tocsin had said--"the most powerful and
+pitiless organisation of criminals the world has ever known--the stake a
+fortune of millions--her life!" There had, indeed, been no overemphasis
+in the words she had used! They had taken pains themselves to make that
+ominously clear, these men! Every detail of the strange house, with its
+luxurious furnishings, its cleverly contrived appointments, breathed
+a horribly suggestive degree of power, a deadly purpose, and an
+organisation swayed by a master mind; and, grim evidence of the
+merciless, inexorable length to which they would go, was the ghastly
+white face of the dead chauffeur, bound hand and foot, in the chair
+before him!
+
+That EMPTY glass in the hand of one of the men! He could not take his
+eyes from it--except as his eyes were drawn magnetically to that FULL
+glass in the hand of one of the others. What height of sardonic irony!
+He was to drink that other glass, to die because he refused to answer
+questions that for years, with every resource at his command, risking
+his liberty, his wealth, his name, his life, with everything that he
+cared for thrown into the scales, he had struggled to solve--and failed!
+
+And then the leader spoke.
+
+"Mr. Dale," he said, with cold significance, "I regret to admit that
+your pseudo taxicab driver was so ill-advised as to refuse to answer the
+SAME questions that I have put to you."
+
+Five to one! That was the only way out--and it was hopeless. It was the
+only way out, because, convinced that he could answer those questions if
+he wanted to, these men were in deadly earnest; it was hopeless, because
+they were--five to one! And probably there were as many more, twice or
+three times as many more within call. But what did it matter how many
+more there were! He could fight until he was overpowered, that was all
+he could do, and the five could accomplish that. Still, if he could
+knock the full glass out of that man's hand, and gain the door, then
+perhaps--he turned quickly, as the door opened. It was as though they
+had read his thoughts. A number of men were grouped outside in the
+corridor, then the door closed again with a cordon ranged against it
+inside the room; and at the same instant his arms and wrists were caught
+in a powerful grasp by the two men immediately behind him, who all along
+had enacted the role of guards.
+
+Again the leader spoke.
+
+"I will repeat the questions," he said sharply. "Where is the woman
+whose ring was found on that man there in the chair? And where is the
+package that you two men had with you in the taxicab to-night?"
+
+Jimmie Dale glanced from the tall, straight, immaculately clothed figure
+of the speaker, from the threatening smile on the set lips that just
+showed under the edge of the mask, to the dead man in the chair. He had
+faced the prospect of death before many times, but it had come with the
+heat of passion accompanying it, it had come quickly, abruptly, with
+every faculty called into action to combat it, without time to dwell
+upon it, to sift, weigh, or measure its meaning, and if there had been
+fear it had been subordinate to other emotions. But it was different
+now. He could not, of course, answer those questions; nor, he was
+doggedly conscious, would he have answered them if he could--and there
+was no middle course.
+
+Death, within the next few moments, stared him in the face; and it
+seemed curiously irrelevant that, in a sort of unnatural calmness, he
+should be attempting to analyse his feelings and emotions concerning it.
+All his life it had seemed to him that the acme of human mental
+torture was the cell of a condemned criminal, with the horror of its
+hopelessness, with the time to dwell upon it; and that the acme of
+that torture itself must be that awful moment immediately preceding
+execution, when anticipation at last was to merge into soul-sickening
+reality.
+
+Strange that thought should come! Strange that he should be framing a
+brain picture of such a scene, vivid, minute in detail! No--not strange.
+He was picturing himself. The analogy was not perfect, it was true, he
+had not had the months, weeks, days and hours of suspense; but it was
+perfect enough to bring home to him with appalling force the realisation
+of his position. He was standing as a condemned man might stand in those
+last, final moments, those moments which he had imagined must be the
+most terrible that could exist in life; but that dismay of soul, the
+horror, the terror were not his--there was, instead, a smouldering fury,
+a passionate amazement that it was his own life that was threatened. It
+seemed impossible that it could be his voice that was speaking now in
+such quiet, measured tones.
+
+"Is it worth while, will it convince you now, any more than before, to
+repeat that there is some mistake here? I am no more able to answer your
+questions than you are yourselves. I never saw that man in the chair
+there in my life until the moment that I hailed him in his cab to-night.
+I do not know who the woman is to whom that ring belongs, much less do
+I know where she is. And if there was a package of any sort in the
+taxicab, as you state, I never saw it."
+
+The lips under the mask curved into a lupine smile.
+
+"Think well, Mr. Dale!" The man's voice was low, menacing. "Ethically,
+if you so choose to consider it, your refusal may be the act of a brave
+man; practically, it is the act of--a fool. Now--your answer!"
+
+"I have answered you," said Jimmie Dale--and, relaxing the muscles in
+his arms, let them hang limply for an instant in the grip of the two men
+behind him. "I have no other answer."
+
+It was only a sign, a motion of the leader's hand--but with it, quick
+as a lightning flash, Jimmie Dale was in action. The limp arms tautened
+into steel as he wrenched them loose, and, whirling around, he whipped
+his fist to the chin of one of the two guards.
+
+In an instant, with the blow, as the man staggered backward, the room
+was in pandemonium. There was a rush from the door, and two, three, four
+leaping forms hurled themselves upon Jimmie Dale. He shook them off--and
+they came again. There was no chance ultimately, he knew that; it was
+only the elemental within him that rose in fierce revolt at the thought
+of tame submission, that bade him sell his life as dearly as he could.
+Panting, gasping for breath, dragging them by sheer strength as they
+clung to him, he got his back to the wall, fighting with the savage fury
+and abandon of a wild cat.
+
+But it could not last. Where one man went down before him, two
+remorselessly appeared--the room seemed filled with men--they poured in
+through the door--he laughed at them in a half-demented way--more
+and more of them came--there was no play for his arms, no room to
+fight--they seemed so close around him, so many of them upon him, that
+he could not breathe--and he was bending, being crushed down as by an
+intolerable weight. And then his feet were jerked from beneath him, he
+crashed to the floor, and, in another moment, bound hand and foot, he
+was tied into a chair beside that other chair whose grim occupant sat in
+such ghastly apathy of the scene.
+
+The room cleared instantly of all but the original five. His head was
+drawn suddenly, violently backward, and clamped in that position; and
+a metal instrument, forced into his mouth, while his lips bled in their
+resistance, pried jaws apart and held them open.
+
+"One drop!" the leader ordered curtly.
+
+The man with the full glass bent over him, and dipped a glass rod into
+the liquid. The drop glistened a ruby red on the end of the rod--and
+fell with a sharp, acrid, burning sensation upon Jimmie Dale's tongue.
+
+For a moment Jimmie Dale's animation, mental and physical, seemed swept
+away from him in, as it were, a hiatus of hideous suspense. What was it
+to be like this passing? Why did it not act at once, as it had acted on
+the rabbit they had showed him in the other room? Yes, he remembered!
+It took more than one drop for a man; and besides, this was diluted.
+One drop had no effect on a man; it required--Good God, ONE DROP EVEN
+OF THIS WAS ENOUGH? He strained forward in the chair until the sweat in
+great beads sprang from his forehead, strained and fought and tore at
+his bonds in a paroxysm of madness to free himself while there still
+remained a little strength. There was something filming before his eyes,
+a numbed feeling was creeping through his limbs, robbing them, sapping
+them of their vitality and power. He felt himself slipping away into a
+state of utter weakness, and his brain began to grow confused.
+
+A voice seemed to float in the air near him: "For the last time--will
+you answer?"
+
+With a supreme effort, Jimmie Dale strove to rally his tottering senses.
+Did they not understand the stupendous mockery of their questions? Did
+they not understand that he did not know? He had told them so--perhaps
+he had better tell them so again.
+
+"I--" He tried to speak, and found the words thick upon his tongue.
+"I--do not--know."
+
+The glass itself was thrust abruptly between his lips. Some of the
+contents spilled and trickled upon his chin, and then a flood of it,
+burning, fiery, poured down his throat. A flood of it--and it needed but
+THREE drops and there had been TEN in the glass!
+
+So this was death--a hazy, nebulous thing! There was no pain. It was
+like--like--nothingness. And out of the nothingness SHE came. Strange
+that she should come! Alone she had fought these fiends and outwitted
+them for--how long was it? Three years! She would be more than ever
+alone now. Pray God she did not finally fall into their clutches!
+
+How it burned now, that fatal draught they had forced down his throat,
+and how it gripped at him and seemed to eat and bore its way into the
+very tissues! It was the end, and--no! It was STIMULATING him! Strength
+seemed to be returning to his limbs; it seemed as though he were being
+carried, as though the bonds about him were being loosened; and now his
+brain seemed to be growing clearer.
+
+He roused up with a startled exclamation. He was back in the same room
+in which he had first returned to consciousness after the accident. He
+was on the same couch. The same masked figure was at the same desk. Had
+he been dreaming? Was this then only some horrible, ghastly nightmare
+through which he had passed?
+
+No, it had been real enough; his clothes, rent and torn, and the blood
+upon his hands, where the skin had been scraped from his knuckles in the
+fight, bore evidence to that. He must then have lost consciousness for
+a while, though it seemed to him that at no moment, hazy, irrational
+though his brain might have been, had he become entirely oblivious to
+what was taking place around him. And yet it must have been so!
+
+The eyes from behind the mask were fixed steadily upon him, and below
+the mask there was the hard, unpleasant set to the lips that Jimmie Dale
+had grown accustomed to expect.
+
+The man spoke abruptly.
+
+"That you find yourself alive, Mr. Dale," he said grimly, "is no
+confession of weakness upon the part of those with whom you have had to
+deal here. To bear witness to that there is one who is not alive, as you
+have seen. That man we knew. With you it was somewhat different. Your
+presence in the taxicab was only suspicious. There was always the
+possibility that you might be one of those ubiquitous 'innocent
+bystanders.' Your name, your position, the improbability that you could
+have anything in common with--shall we say, the matter that so deeply
+interests us?--was all in your favour. However, presumption and
+probability are the tools of fools. We do not depend upon them--we apply
+the test. And having applied the test, we are convinced that you have
+told the truth--that is all."
+
+He rose from his chair brusquely. "I shall not apologise to you for what
+has happened. I doubt very much if you are in a frame of mind to accept
+anything of the sort. I imagine, rather, that you are promising yourself
+that we shall pay, and pay dearly, for this--that, among other things,
+we shall answer for the murder of that man in the other room. All this
+will be quite within your province, Mr. Dale--and quite fruitless.
+To-morrow morning the story that you are preparing to tell now would
+sound incredible even in your own ears; furthermore, as we shall take
+pains to see that you leave this place with as little knowledge of its
+location as you obtained when you arrived, your story, even if believed,
+would do little service to you and less harm to us. I think of nothing
+more, Mr. Dale, except--" There was a whimsical smile on the lips now.
+"Ah, yes, the matter of your clothes. We can, and shall be glad to make
+reparation to you to the slight extent of offering you a new suit before
+you go."
+
+Jimmie Dale scowled. Sick, shaken, and weak as he was, the cool,
+imperturbable impudence of the man was fast growing unbearable.
+
+The man laughed. "I am sure you will not refuse, Mr. Dale--since we
+insist. The condition of the clothes you have on at present might--I say
+'might'--in a measure support your story with some degree of tangible
+evidence. It is not at all likely, of course; but we prefer to discount
+even so remote a possibility. When you have changed, you will be motored
+back to your home. I bid you good-night, Mr. Dale."
+
+Jimmie Dale rubbed his eyes. The man was gone--through a door at the
+rear of the desk, a door that he had not noticed before, that was not
+even in evidence now, that was simply a movable section of the wall
+panelling--and for an instant Jimmie Dale experienced a sense of
+sickening impotence. It was as though he stood defenceless, unarmed,
+and utterly at the mercy of some venomous power that could crush what it
+would remorselessly and at will in its might.
+
+The place was a veritable maze, a lair of hellish cleverness. He had
+no illusions now, he laboured under no false estimate of either the
+ingenuity or the resources of this inhuman nest of vultures to whom
+murder was no more than a matter of detail. And it was against these men
+that henceforth he was to match his wits! There could be no truce, no
+armistice. It was their lives, or hers, or his! Well, he was alive now,
+the first round was over, and so far he had won. His brows furrowed
+suddenly. Had he? He was not so sure, after all. He was conscious of a
+disquieting, premonitory intuition that, in some way which he could not
+explain, the honours were not entirely his.
+
+He was apparently--the "apparently" was a mental reservation--quite
+alone in the room. He got up from the couch and walked shakily across
+the floor to the desk. A revolver lay invitingly upon the blotting pad.
+It was his own, the one they had taken from him after the accident.
+Jimmie Dale picked it up, examined it--and smiled a little sarcastically
+at himself for his trouble. It was unloaded, of course. He was twirling
+it in his hand, as a man, masked as every one in the house was masked,
+and carrying a neatly folded suit over his arm, entered from the
+corridor.
+
+"The car is ready as soon as you are dressed," announced the other
+briefly. He laid the clothes upon the couch--and settled himself
+significantly in a chair.
+
+Jimmie Dale hesitated. Then, with a shrug of his shoulders, recrossed
+the room, and began to remove his torn garments. What was the use! They
+would certainly have their own way in the end. It wasn't worth another
+fight, and there was nothing to be gained by a refusal except to offer a
+sop to his own exasperation.
+
+He dressed quickly, in what proved to be an exceedingly well-fitting
+suit; and finally turned tentatively to the man in the chair.
+
+The other stood up, and produced a heavy black silk scarf.
+
+"If you have no objections," he said curtly, "I'll tie this over your
+eyes."
+
+Again Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"I am glad enough to get out on any conditions," he answered
+caustically.
+
+"'Fortunate' would be the better word," rejoined the other
+meaningly--and, deftly knotting the scarf, led Jimmie Dale blindfolded
+from the room.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+ON GUARD
+
+
+Was he in the city? In a suburban town? On a country road? It seemed
+childishly absurd that he could not at least differentiate to that
+extent; and yet, from the moment he had been placed in the automobile
+in which he now found himself, he was forced to admit that he could not
+tell. He had started out with the belief that, knowing New York and its
+surroundings as minutely as he knew them, it would be impossible, do
+what they would to prevent it, that at the end of the journey he should
+be without a clew, and a very good clew at that, to the location of what
+he now called, appropriately enough it seemed, the Crime Club.
+
+But he had never ridden blindfolded in a car before! He could see
+absolutely nothing. And if that increased or accentuated his sense of
+hearing, it helped little--the roar of the racing car beat upon his
+eardrums the more heavily, that was all. He could tell, of course, the
+nature of the roadbed. They were running on an asphalt road, that was
+obvious enough; but city streets and suburban streets and hundreds of
+miles of country road around New York were of asphalt!
+
+Traffic? He was quite sure, for he had strained his ears in an effort to
+detect it, that there was little or no traffic; but then, it must be
+one or two o'clock in the morning, and at that hour the city streets,
+certainly those that would be chosen by these men, would be quite as
+deserted as any country road! And as for a sense of direction, he had
+none whatever--even if the car had not been persistently swerving and
+changing its course every little while. If he had been able to form even
+an approximate idea of the compass direction in which they had started,
+he might possibly have been able in a general way to counteract this
+further effort of theirs to confuse him; but without the initial
+direction he was essentially befogged.
+
+With these conclusions finally thrust home upon him, Jimmie Dale
+philosophically subordinated the matter in his mind, and, leaning back,
+composed himself as comfortably as he could upon his seat. There was a
+man beside him, and he could feel the legs of two men on the seat facing
+him. These, with the driver, would make four. He was still well guarded!
+The car itself was a closed car--not hooded, the sense of touch told
+him--therefore a limousine of some description. These facts, in a sense
+inconsequential, were absorbed subconsciously; and then Jimmie Dale's
+brain, remorselessly active, in spite of the pain from his throbbing
+head, was at work again.
+
+It seemed as though a year had passed since, in the early evening, as
+Larry the Bat, he had burrowed so ironically for refuge in Chang Foo's
+den--from her! It seemed like some mocking unreality, some visionary
+dream that, so short a while before, he had read those words of hers
+that had sent the blood coursing and leaping through his veins in mad
+exultation at the thought that the culmination of the years had come,
+that all he longed for, hoped for, that all his soul cried out for was
+to be his--"in an hour." An HOUR--and he was to have seen her, the woman
+whose face he had never seen, the woman whom he loved! And the hour
+instead, the hours since then, had brought a nightmare of events so
+incredible as to seem but phantoms of the imagination.
+
+Phantoms! He sat up suddenly with a jerk. The face of the dead
+chauffeur, the limp form lashed in that chair, the horrible picture in
+its entirety, every detail standing out in ghastly relief, took form
+before him. God knew there was no phantom there!
+
+The man beside him, at the sudden start, lifted a hand and felt
+hurriedly over the bandage across Jimmie Dale's eyes.
+
+Jimmie Dale was scarcely conscious of the act. With that face before
+him, with the scene re-enacting itself in his mind again, had come
+another thought, staggering him for a moment with the new menace that it
+brought. He had had neither time nor opportunity to think before; it had
+been all horror, all shock when he had entered that room. But now, like
+an inspiration, he saw it all from another angle. There was a glaring
+fallacy in the game these men had played for his benefit to-night--a
+fallacy which they had counted on glossing over, as it had, indeed, been
+glossed over, by the sudden shock with which they had forced that scene
+upon him; or, failing in that, they had counted on the fact that his,
+or any other man's nerve would have failed when it came to open defiance
+based on a supposition which might, after all, be wrong, and, being
+wrong, meant death.
+
+But it was not supposition. Either he was right now, or these men were
+childish, immature fools--and, whatever else they might be, they were
+not that! NOT A SINGLE DROP OF POISON HAD PASSED THE CHAUFFEUR'S LIPS.
+The man had not been murdered in that room. He had not, in a sense, been
+murdered at all. The man, absolutely, unquestionably, without a loophole
+for doubt, had either been killed outright in the automobile accident,
+or had died immediately afterward, probably without regaining
+consciousness, certainly without supplying any of the information that
+was so determinedly sought.
+
+Yes, he saw it now! Their backs were against the wall, they were at
+their wits' end, these men! The knowledge that the chauffeur possessed,
+that they KNEW he possessed, was evidently life and death to them. To
+kill the man before they had wormed out of him what they wanted to know,
+or, at least, until, by holding him a prisoner, they had exhausted every
+means at their command to make him speak, was the last thing they would
+do!
+
+Jimmie Dale sat for a long time quite motionless. The car was speeding
+at a terrific rate along a straight stretch of road. He could almost
+have sworn, guided by some intuitive sense, that they were in the
+country. Well, even if it were so, what did that prove! They might
+have started FROM New York itself--only to return to it when they had
+satisfied themselves that he was sufficiently duped. Or they might have
+started legitimately from outside New York, and be going toward the city
+now. Since the ultimate destination was New York, and they had made no
+attempt to hide that from him, it was useless to speculate--for at best
+it could be only speculation. He had decided that once before! The man
+at his side felt again over the scarf to see that it was in place.
+
+Curiously now Jimmie Dale recalled the inward monitor that had warned
+him the honours had not all been his in this first round with the Crime
+Club to-night. If they had deliberately murdered the chauffeur because
+of a refusal to answer, they would equally have done the same to him.
+Fool that he had been not to have seen that before! And yet would it
+have made any difference? He shook his head. He could not have acted to
+any better advantage than he had done. He could not--his lips curled in
+grim derision--have been any more convincing.
+
+Convincing! It was all clear enough now! If the chauffeur had suffered
+death rather than talk, even admitting the fact that they had more
+grounds for suspecting the chauffeur's complicity, would his, Jimmie
+Dale's, mere denial, his choice, too, of death, have been any the more
+convincing, or have saved his life where it had not saved the other's?
+A certain added respect for these men, against whom, until the end now,
+his victory or theirs, he realised he was fighting for his life, came
+over him as he recognised the touch of a master hand. They did not know
+where to find the Tocsin; the package that she had said was vital to
+them was still beyond their reach; the chauffeur was dead; and he,
+Jimmie Dale, alone remained--a clew that they had still to prove valid
+or invalid it was true, but the only clew in their possession. And,
+gaining nothing from him by a show of force, to throw him off his guard,
+they had let him go--meaning him to believe they were convinced he knew
+nothing, and that the episode, the adventure of the night, was, as far
+as they were concerned, ended, finished, and done with!
+
+Time passed, a very long time, as he sat there. It might have been an
+hour--he could only hazard a guess. Not one of the men in the car
+had spoken a word. But to Jimmie Dale, the car itself, the ride, its
+duration, these three strange companions, were for the time being
+extraneous. Even that sick giddiness in his head had, at least
+temporarily, gone from him.
+
+And so, all unsuspectingly, he was to lead them to the Tocsin and fall
+into the trap himself! His hands, thrust deep in his pockets, were
+tightly clenched. They were clever enough, ingenious enough, powerful
+enough to watch him henceforth at every turn--and from now on, day and
+night, they were to be reckoned with. Suppose that in some way, as it
+might well have happened, for it was now vitally necessary that she
+should communicate with him and he with her, he had played blindly into
+their hands, and through him she should have fallen into their power! It
+brought a sickening chill, a sort of hideous panic to Jimmie Dale--and
+then fury, anger, in a torrent, surged upon him, and there came a
+merciless desire to crush, to strangle, to stamp out this inhuman band
+of criminals that, with intolerable effrontery to the laws of God and
+man, were so elaborately and scientifically equipped for their monstrous
+purposes!
+
+And then Jimmie Dale, in the darkness, smiled again grimly as the
+leader's reference to the Gray Seal recurred to him. Well, perhaps, who
+knew, they would have reason more than they dreamed of to wish the
+Gray Seal enrolled in their own ranks! It was strange, curious! He had
+thought all that was ended. Only a few short hours before he had hidden
+away all, everything that was incident to the life of the Gray Seal, the
+clothes of Larry the Bat, that little metal case with the gray-coloured,
+adhesive seals, a dozen other things, believing that it only remained
+for him to return and destroy them at his leisure as a finishing touch
+to the Gray Seal's career--and now, instead, he was face to face with
+the gravest and most dangerous problem that she had ever called upon him
+to undertake!
+
+Well, at least, the odds were not all in the Crime Club's favour. Where
+they now certainly believed him to be entirely off his guard, he was
+thoroughly on his guard; and where they might suspect him, watch him,
+they would suspect and watch only the character, the person of Jimmie
+Dale, and count not at all upon either Larry the Bat or--the Gray Seal.
+
+A sort of savage elation fell upon Jimmie Dale. His brain, that had been
+stagnant, confused, physically sick with pain and suffering, was working
+now with its old-time vigour and ease, mapping, planning, scheming the
+way ahead. To strike, and strike quickly--to strike FIRST! It must be
+his move next--not theirs! And he must act to-night at once, the moment
+he was given this pretence to liberty that they had in store for him,
+before they had an opportunity of closing down around him with a network
+of spies that he could not elude. By morning, Jimmie Dale would be Larry
+the Bat, and inhabiting the Sanctuary again. And a tip to Jason, his
+old butler, to the effect, say, that he had gone away for a trip,
+would account for his disappearance satisfactorily enough; it would not
+necessarily arouse their suspicions when they eventually discovered he
+was gone, for against that was always the possible, and quite likely
+presumption that, where they had succeeded in nothing else, they had
+at least succeeded in frightening him thoroughly and to the extent of
+imbuing him with a hasty desire to put a safe distance between himself
+and them.
+
+And now, with his mind made up to his course of action, an intense
+impatience to put his plan into effect, an irritation at the useless
+twistings and turnings of the car that had latterly become more
+frequent, took hold upon him. How much longer was this to last! They
+must have been fully an hour and a half on the road already, and--ah,
+the car was stopping now!
+
+He straightened up in his seat as the machine came to a halt--but the
+man at his side laid a restraining hand upon him. The car door opened,
+and one of the men got out. Jimmie Dale caught an indistinct murmur of
+voices from without, then the man returned to his seat, and the car went
+on again.
+
+Another half hour passed, that, curbing his irritation and impatience,
+was filled with the conjectures and questions that anew came crowding in
+upon his mind. Why had the car made that stop? It was rather curious. It
+was certainly a prearranged meeting place. Why? And these clothes that
+he now wore--why had they made him change? His own had not been very
+badly torn. The reason given him was, on the face of it now, in view
+of what he now knew, mere pretence. What was the ulterior motive behind
+that pretence? What did this package, that had already cost a man his
+life to-night, contain? Who was the chauffeur? What was this death feud
+between the Tocsin and these men? Did she know where the Crime Club was?
+Who and where was John Johansson? What was this box that was numbered
+428? Could she supply the links that would forge the chain into an
+unbroken whole?
+
+And then for the second time the car slowed down--and this time the man
+on the seat beside Jimmie Dale reached up and untied the scarf.
+
+"You get out here," said the man tersely.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE TRAP
+
+
+Had it not been for the stop the car had previously made, for the
+possibility that he might have obtained a glimpse outside when the door
+had been opened, the scarf over his eyes would have been superfluous;
+for now, with it removed, he could scarcely distinguish the forms of the
+three men around him, since the window curtains of the car were tightly
+drawn. Nor was he given the opportunity to do more, even had it been
+possible. The car stopped, the door was opened, he was pushed toward
+it--and even as he reached the ground, the door was closed behind him,
+and the car was speeding on again. But where he could not see before,
+it took now but a glance to obtain his bearings--he was standing on a
+corner on Riverside Drive, within a few doors of his own house.
+
+Jimmie Dale stood still for a moment, watching the car as it disappeared
+rapidly up the Drive. And with a sort of grim facetiousness his brain
+began to correlate time and distance. Where had he come from? Where
+was this Crime Club? They had been, as nearly as he could estimate, two
+hours in making the journey; and, as nearly as he could estimate, in
+their turnings and twistings had covered at least twice the distance
+that would be represented by a direct route. Granting, then, an average
+speed of forty miles an hour, which was overgenerous to be on the safe
+side, and the fact that they certainly had not crossed the Hudson, which
+now lay before him, flanking the Drive, the Crime Club was somewhere
+within the area of a semicircle, whose centre was the corner on which he
+now stood, and whose radius was forty miles--OR FORTY YARDS! He forced
+a laugh. It was just that, no more, no less--he was as likely to have
+started on his ride from within a biscuit throw of where he now stood,
+as to have started on it from miles away!
+
+But--he aroused himself with a start--he was wasting time! It must be
+very late, near morning, and he would have need for every moment that
+was left between now and daylight. He turned, walked quickly to his
+house, mounted the steps, and with his latch-key--they had at least
+permitted him to retain the contents of his pockets when they had forced
+him to change his clothes--opened the front door softly, and, stepping
+inside, closed the door as silently as he had opened it.
+
+He paused for an instant to listen. There was not a sound. The servants,
+naturally, would have been in bed hours ago. Even old Jason--Jimmie Dale
+smiled, half whimsically, half affectionately--whose paternal custom it
+was to sit up for his Master Jim, who, as he was fond of saying, he had
+dandled as a baby on his knee, had evidently given it up as a bad job
+on this occasion and had turned in himself. Jason, however, had left the
+light burning here in the big reception hall.
+
+Jimmie Dale stepped to the switch and turned off the light; then stood
+hesitant in the darkness. Was there anything to be gained by rousing
+Jason now and telling him what he intended to do--to instruct him to
+answer any inquiries by the statement that "Mr. Dale had gone away for
+a trip"? He could trust Jason; Jason already knew much--more than one
+of those mysterious letters of the Tocsin's had passed through Jason's
+hands.
+
+Jimmie Dale shook his head. No; he could communicate with Jason from
+downtown in the morning. He had half expected to find Jason up, and,
+in that case, would have taken the other, as far as necessary, into
+his confidence; but it was not a matter that pressed for the moment. He
+could get into touch with Jason at any time readily enough. Was there
+anything else before he went? He would not be able to get back as easily
+as he got out! Money! He shook his head again--a little grimly this
+time. He had been caught once before as Larry the Bat without funds!
+There was plenty of money now hidden in the Sanctuary, enough for any
+emergency, enough to last him indefinitely.
+
+He stepped forward along the hall, his tread noiseless on the rich,
+heavy rug, passed into the rear of the house, descended the back stairs,
+and reached the cellar. It was below the level of the ground, of course;
+but a narrow window here, though quite large enough to permit of egress,
+gave on the driveway at the side of the house that led to the garage in
+the rear.
+
+Cautiously now, for the cement flooring was, in the stillness, little
+less than a sounding board, Jimmie Dale reached the wall and felt along
+it to the window, the lower edge of whose sill was just slightly below
+the level of his shoulder. It opened inward, if he remembered correctly.
+His fingers were feeling for the fastenings. It was too dark to see
+a thing. He muttered in annoyance. Where were the fastenings! At
+the sides, or at the bottom? His hand began to make a circuit of the
+sill--and then suddenly, with a low, sharp cry, he leaned forward!
+
+WHAT DID THIS MEAN? Wires! No wires had ever been there before! His
+fingers were working now with feverish haste, telegraphing their message
+to his brain. The wires ran through the sill close to the corner of
+the wall--tiny fragments of wood, as from an auger, were still on the
+sill--and here was a small particle of wire insulation that, those
+sensitive finger tips proclaimed, was FRESH.
+
+A cold thrill ran through Jimmie Dale; and there came again that
+sickening sense of impotency in the face of the malignant, devilish
+cunning arrayed against him, that once before he had experienced, that
+night. He had thought to forestall them--and he had been forestalled
+himself! This could only have been done--they had had no interest in
+him before then--while they held him at the Crime Club, while he was
+spending that two hours in the car! Was that why they had taken so long
+in coming? Was that why the car had stopped that time--that those with
+him might be told that the work here had been completed, and he need no
+longer be kept away?
+
+He edged away from the window, and, as cautiously as he had come,
+retraced his steps across the cellar and up the stairs--and then, the
+possibility of being heard from without gone, he broke into a run. There
+was no need to wonder long what those wires meant. They could mean only
+one of two things--and the Crime Club would have little concern in his
+electric light! THEY HAD TAPPED HIS TELEPHONE. The mains, he knew,
+ran into the cellar from the underground service in the street. He was
+racing like a madman now. How long ago, how many hours ago, had they
+done that! Great Scott, SHE was to have telephoned! Had she done so? Was
+the game, all, everything, she herself, at their mercy already? If she
+had telephoned, Jason would have left a message on his desk--he would
+look there first--afterward he would waken Jason.
+
+He gained the door of his den on the first landing, a room that ran the
+entire length of one side of the house from front to rear, burst in,
+switched on the light---and stood stock-still in amazement.
+
+"Jason!" he cried out.
+
+The old butler, fully dressed, rubbing and blinking his eyes at the
+light, and with a startled cry, rose up from the depths of a lounging
+chair.
+
+"Jason!" exclaimed Jimmie Dale again.
+
+"I beg pardon, sir, Master Jim," stammered the man. "I--I must have
+fallen asleep, sir."
+
+"Jason, what are you doing here?" Jimmie Dale demanded sharply.
+
+"Well, sir," said Jason, still fumbling for his words, "it--it was the
+telephone, sir."
+
+"The--TELEPHONE!"
+
+"Yes, sir. A woman, begging your pardon, Master Jim, a lady, sir, has
+been telephoning every hour or so, and she--"
+
+"YES!" Jimmie Dale had jumped across the room and had caught the other
+fiercely by the shoulder. "Yes--yes! What did she say? QUICK, man!"
+
+"Good Lord, Master Jim!" faltered Jason. "I--she--"
+
+"Jason," said Jimmie Dale, suddenly as cold as ice, "what did she say?
+Think, man! Every word!"
+
+"She didn't say anything, Master Jim. Nothing at all, sir--except to
+keep asking each time if she could speak to you."
+
+"Nothing else, Jason?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"You are SURE?"
+
+"I'm sure, Master Jim. Not another thing but that, sir, just as I've
+told you."
+
+"Thank God!" said Jimmie Dale, in a low voice.
+
+"Yes, sir," said Jason mechanically.
+
+"How long ago was it since she telephoned last?" asked Jimmie Dale
+quickly.
+
+"Well, sir, I couldn't rightly say. You see, as I said, Master Jim, I
+must have gone to sleep, but--"
+
+They were staring tensely into each other's face. The telephone on the
+desk was ringing vibrantly, clamourously, through the stillness of the
+room.
+
+Jason, white, frightened, bewildered, touched his lips with the tip of
+his tongue.
+
+"That'll be her again, sir," he said hoarsely.
+
+"Wait!" said Jimmie Dale tersely.
+
+He was trying to think, to think faster than he had ever thought before.
+He could not tell Jason to say that he had not yet come in--THEY knew he
+was in, it would be but showing his hand to that "some one" who would
+be listening now on the wire. He dared not speak to her, or, above all,
+allow her to expose herself by a single inadvertent word. He dared not
+speak to her--and she was here now, calling him! He could not speak
+to her--and it was life and death almost that she should know what had
+happened; life and death almost for both of them that he should know all
+and everything she could tell him. True, it would take but a minute
+to run to the cellar and cut those wires, while Jason held her on the
+pretence of calling him, Jimmie Dale, to the 'phone; only a minute to
+cut those wires--and in so doing advertise to these fiends the fact that
+he had discovered their trick; admit, as though in so many words, that
+their suspicions of him were justified; lay himself open to some new
+move that he could not hope to foresee; and, paramount to all else, rob
+her and himself of this master trump the Crime Club had placed in his
+hands, by means of which there was a chance that he could hoist them
+with their own petard!
+
+The telephone rang again--imperatively, persistently.
+
+"Listen, Jason." Jimmie Dale was speaking rapidly, earnestly. "Say that
+I've come in and have gone to bed--in a vile humour. That you told me a
+lady had been calling, but that I said if she called again I wasn't
+to be disturbed if it was the Queen of Sheba herself--that I wouldn't
+answer any 'phone to-night for anybody. Do you understand? No argument
+with her--just that. Now, answer!"
+
+Jason lifted the receiver from the hook.
+
+"Yes--hello!" he said. "Yes, ma'am, Mr. Dale has come in, but he has
+retired. . . . Yes, I told him; but, begging your pardon, ma'am, he
+was in what I might say was a bit of a temper, and said he wasn't to be
+disturbed by any one."
+
+Jimmie Dale snatched the receiver from Jason, and put it to his own ear.
+
+"Kindly tell Mr. Dale that unless he comes to the 'phone now," a
+feminine voice, her voice, in well-simulated indignation, was saying,
+"it will be a very long day before I shall trouble myself to--"
+
+Jimmie Dale clapped his hand firmly over the mouthpiece of the
+instrument. Thank God for that clever brain of hers! She understood!
+
+"Repeat what you said before, Jason," he instructed hurriedly. "Then say
+'Good-night.'"
+
+He removed his hand from the mouthpiece.
+
+"It's quite useless, ma'am," said Jason apologetically. "In the rare
+temper he was in, he wouldn't come, to use his own words, ma'am, not for
+the Queen of Sheba herself, ma'am. Good-night, ma'am."
+
+Jimmie Dale hung the receiver back on the hook--and with his hand
+flirted away a bead of moisture that had sprung to his forehead.
+
+"Good Lord, Master Jim, what's wrong, sir? What's happened, sir?
+And--and those clothes, Master Jim, sir! They aren't the ones you went
+out in, sir--they aren't yours at all, sir!" Jason ventured anxiously.
+
+"Jason," said Jimmie Dale, "switch off the light, and go to the front
+window and look out. Keep well behind the curtains. Don't show yourself.
+Tell me if you see anything."
+
+"Yes, sir," said Jason obediently.
+
+The light went out. Jimmie Dale moved to the rear of the room--to the
+window overlooking the garage and yard.
+
+"I don't see anything, sir," Jason called.
+
+"Watch!" Jimmie Dale answered.
+
+A minute passed--two--three. Jimmie Dale was staring down into the black
+of the yard. She understood! She knew, of course, before she 'phoned
+that something had gone wrong to-night. She knew that only peril of the
+gravest moment would have kept him from the 'phone--and her. She knew
+now, as a logical conclusion, that it was dangerous to attempt to
+communicate with him at his home. Those wires! Where did they lead to?
+Not far away--that would be almost a mechanical impossibility. Was it
+into the Crime Club itself--near at hand? Or the basement, say, of that
+apartment house across the driveway? Or--where?
+
+And then Jimmie Dale spoke again:
+
+"Do you see anything, Jason?"
+
+"I'm not sure, sir," Jason answered hesitantly. "I thought I saw a man
+move behind a tree out there across the road a minute ago, sir. Yes,
+sir--there he is again!"
+
+There was a thin, mirthless smile on Jimmie Dale's lips.
+
+Below, in the shadow of the garage, a dark form, like a deeper shadow,
+stirred--and was still again.
+
+"What time is it, Jason?" Jimmie Dale asked presently.
+
+"It'll be about half-past four, sir."
+
+"Go to bed, Jason."
+
+"Yes, sir; but"--Jason's voice, low, troubled, came through the darkness
+from the upper end of the room--"Master Jim, sir, I--"
+
+"Go to bed, Jason--and not a word of this."
+
+"Yes, sir. Good-night, Master Jim."
+
+"Good-night, Jason."
+
+Jimmie Dale groped his way to the big lounging chair in which he had
+found Jason asleep, and flung himself into it. They had struck quickly,
+these ingenious, dress-suited murderers of the Crime Club! The house
+was already watched, would be watched now untiringly, unceasingly; not a
+movement of his henceforth but would be under their eyes!
+
+His hands, resting on the arms of the chair, closed slowly until they
+became tight-clenched, knotted fists. What was he to do? It was not only
+the Crime Club, it was not only the Tocsin and her peril--there was the
+underworld snapping and snarling at his heels, there was the police,
+dogged and sullen, ever on the trail of the Gray Seal! His life, even
+before this, in his fight against the underworld and the police, had
+depended upon his freedom of action--and now, at one and the same time,
+that freedom was cut away from beneath his feet, as it were, and a third
+foe, equally as deadly as the others, was added to the list!
+
+For months, to preserve and sustain the character of Larry the Bat, he
+had been forced to assume the role almost daily; for, in that sordid
+empire below the dead line, whose one common bond and aim was the
+Gray Seal's death, where suspicion, one of the other, was rampant and
+extravagant, where each might be the one against whom all swore their
+vengeance, Larry the Bat could not mysteriously disappear from his
+accustomed haunts without inviting suspicion in an active and practical
+form--an inquisitorial visit to his squalid lodgings, the Sanctuary--and
+the end of Larry the Bat!
+
+If, as he had thought only a few hours before, he was through forever
+with his dual life, that would not have mattered, the underworld would
+have been welcome to make what it chose of it--but now the preservation
+of the character of Larry the Bat was more vital and necessary to him
+than it had ever been before. It was a means of defense and offense
+against these men who lurked now outside his doors. It was the sole
+means now of communication with her; for, warned both by Jason's
+words, and what must be an obvious fact to her, that their plans had
+miscarried, that it was dangerous to communicate with him as Jimmie
+Dale, she would expect him, count on him to make that move. There
+would be no longer either reason or attempt on her part to maintain the
+mystery with which she had heretofore surrounded herself, the crisis
+had come, she would be watching, waiting, hoping, seeking for him
+more anxiously and with far more at stake than he had ever sought for
+her--until now!
+
+He got up impulsively from his chair, and, in the blackness, began to
+pace the room. The next move was clear, pitifully clear; it had been
+clear from the first, it had been clear even in that ride in the car--it
+was so clear that it seemed veritably to mock him as he prodded his
+brains for some means of putting it into execution. He must get to the
+Sanctuary, become Larry the Bat--but how? HOW! The question seemed at
+last to become resonant, to ring through the room with the weight of
+doom upon it.
+
+Schemes, plans, ideas came, bringing a momentary uplift--only to be
+discarded the next instant with a sort of bitter, desperate regret.
+These men were not men of mere ordinary intelligence; their cleverness,
+their power, the amazing scope of their organisation, all bore grim
+witness to the fact that they would be blinded not at all by any paltry
+ruse.
+
+He could walk out of the house in the morning as Jimmie Dale without
+apparent hindrance--that was obvious enough. And so long as he pursued
+the usual avocations of Jimmie Dale, he would not be interfered
+with--only WATCHED. It was useless to consider that plan for a moment.
+It would not help him to reach the Sanctuary--without leading them there
+behind him! True, there was always the chance that he might shake them
+off his trail, but he could hardly hope to accomplish anything like that
+without their knowing that it was done DELIBERATELY--and that he dared
+not risk. The strongest weapon in his hands now was his secret knowledge
+that he was being watched.
+
+That telephone there, for instance, that most curiously kept on
+insisting in his mind that it, and it alone was the way out, was the
+last thing he could place in jeopardy. Besides, there was another reason
+why such a plan would not do; for, granting even that he succeeded in
+eluding them on the way, and managed to reach the Sanctuary, his freedom
+of action would be so restricted and limited as to be practically
+worthless--he would have to return to his home here again within a
+reasonable time as Jimmie Dale, within a few hours at most--or again
+they would be in possession of the fact that he had discovered their
+surveillance.
+
+That, it was true, had been his original plan when he had entered the
+house half an hour previously, but it was an entirely different matter
+now. Then, he had counted on GETTING AWAY without their knowing it,
+before they, as he had fondly thought, would have had a chance to
+establish their espionage, and when they would have had no reason to
+suspect, for a time at least, that he was not still within the house,
+when they would have been watching, as it were, an empty cage.
+
+He stopped in his walk, and, after a moment, dropped down into the
+lounging chair again. That was it, of course. An empty cage! If he could
+escape from the house! Not so much without their seeing him; that
+was more or less a mechanical detail. But escape--and leave them in
+possession of a sort of guarantee or assurance that he was still there!
+That would give him the freedom of action that he must have. He smiled
+with bitter irony. That solved the problem! That was all there was
+to it--just that! It was very simple, exceedingly simple; it was
+only--impossible!
+
+The smile left his lips, and once more his hands, clenched fiercely. No;
+it was not impossible! It MUST be done--if he was to win through, if
+he was even to save himself! It must be done--or FAIL her! It COULD be
+done; there was a way--if he could only see it!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE "HOUR"
+
+
+As the minutes passed, many of them, Jimmie Dale sat there motionless,
+staring before him at the desk that was faintly outlined in the
+unlighted room. Then somewhere in the house a clock struck the hour.
+Five o'clock! He raised his head. YES! It could be done! There was a
+way! He had the germ of it now. And now the plan began to grow, to take
+form and shape in his mind, to dovetail, to knit the integral parts into
+a comprehensive whole. There was a way--but he must have assistance.
+Jason--yes, assuredly. Benson, his chauffeur--yes, equally as
+trustworthy as Jason. Benson was devoted to him; and moreover Benson was
+young, alert, daring, cool. He had had more than one occasion to test
+Benson's resourcefulness and nerve!
+
+Jimmie Dale rose abruptly, went to the rear window, and, parting the
+curtains cautiously, stood peering down into the courtyard. Yes, it
+was feasible; even a little more than feasible. The garage fronted the
+driveway, of course, to give free entrance and egress to the cars, but
+where the wall of the garage and the rear wall of the house overlapped,
+as it were, the space between them was not much more than ten yards;
+and here the shadows of the two walls, mingling, lay like a black,
+impenetrable pathway--not like that other shadow he had seen moving at
+the side of the garage, and that, if not for the moment discernible, was
+none the less surely still lurking there!
+
+Satisfied, Jimmie Dale swung briskly from the window, and, going now
+to his bedroom across the hall, undressed and went to bed--but not to
+sleep. There would be time enough to sleep, all day, if he wished; now,
+there were still the little details to be thought out that, more than
+anything else, could make or wreck his plans. A point overdone, the
+faintest suggestion of a false note where men of the calibre of those
+against whom he was now fighting for his life were concerned, would
+not only make his scheme abortive, but would place him utterly at their
+mercy.
+
+It was nine o'clock when he rang for Jason.
+
+"Jason," he said abruptly, as the other entered, "I want you to
+telephone for Doctor Merlin."
+
+"The doctor, sir!" exclaimed the old man anxiously. "You're--you're not
+ill, Master Jim, sir?"
+
+"Do I look ill, Jason?" inquired Jimmie Dale gravely.
+
+"Well, sir," admitted Jason, in concern; "a bit done up, sir, perhaps. A
+little pale, sir; though I'm sure--"
+
+"I'm glad to hear it," said Jimmie Dale, sitting up in bed. "The worse I
+look, the better!"
+
+"I--I beg pardon, sir?" stammered Jason.
+
+"Jason," said Jimmie Dale, gravely again, "you have had reason to know
+that on several occasions my life has been threatened. It is threatened
+now. You know from last night that this house is now watched. You
+may, or you may not have surmised--that our telephone wires have been
+tapped."
+
+"Tapped, sir!"--Jason's face had gone a little gray.
+
+"Yes; a party line, so to speak," said Jimmie Dale grimly. "Do you
+understand? You must be careful to say no more, no less than exactly
+what I tell you to say. Now go and telephone! Ask the doctor to come
+over and see me this morning. Simply say that I am not feeling well; but
+that, apart from being apparently in a very nervous condition, you do
+not know what is the matter."
+
+"Yes, sir--good Lord, sir!" gasped Jason--and left the room to carry out
+his orders.
+
+An hour later, Doctor Merlin had been and gone--and had left two
+prescriptions; one written, the other verbal. With the written one,
+Benson, in his chauffeur's livery, was dispatched to the drug store; the
+verbal one was precisely what Jimmie Dale had expected from the fussy
+old family physician: "Two or three days of quiet in the house James;
+and if you need me again, let me know."
+
+"Now, Jason," said Jimmie Dale, when the old man had returned from
+ushering Doctor Merlin from the house, "our friends out there will be
+anxious to learn the verdict. I was to dine with the Ross-Hendersons
+to-morrow night, was I not?"
+
+"Yes, sir; I think so, sir."
+
+"Make sure!" said Jimmie Dale. "Look in my engagement book there on the
+table."
+
+Jason looked.
+
+"Yes, sir, that's right," he announced.
+
+"Very good," said Jimmie Dale softly. "Now go and telephone again,
+Jason. Present my regrets and excuses to the Ross-Hendersons, and say
+that under the doctor's orders I am confined to the house for the next
+few days--and, Jason!"
+
+"Yes, sir?"
+
+"When Benson returns with the medicine let him bring it here
+himself--and I shall want you as well."
+
+Jimmie Dale propped himself up a little wearily on the pillows, as Jason
+went out of the room. After all, his condition was not entirely feigned.
+He was, as a matter of fact, pretty well played out, both mentally and
+physically. Certainly, that he should require a doctor and be confined
+to the house could not arouse suspicion even in the minds of those
+alert, aristocratic thugs of the Crime Club, prone as they would be
+to suspect anything--a man who had been knocked unconscious in an
+automobile smash the night before, had been in a fight, had been
+subjected to a terrific mental shock, to say nothing of the infernal
+drug that had been administered to him, might well be expected to be
+indisposed the next morning, and for several mornings following that!
+It might, indeed, even cause them to relax their vigilance for the time
+being--though he dared build nothing on that. Well, he had only to coach
+Benson and Jason in the parts they were to play, and the balance of the
+morning and all the afternoon was his in which to rest.
+
+He reached over to the table, picked up a pencil and paper, and began to
+jot down memoranda. He had just tossed the pencil back on the table as
+the two men entered.
+
+Jason, at a sign, closed the door quietly.
+
+Jimmie Dale looked at Benson half musingly, half whimsically, for a
+moment before he spoke.
+
+"Benson," he said, "the back seat of the large touring car is hinged and
+lifts up, once the cushion is removed, doesn't it?"
+
+"Yes, sir," Benson answered promptly.
+
+"And there's space enough for, say, a man inside, isn't there?"
+
+"Why, yes, sir; I suppose so--at a squeeze"--Benson stared blankly.
+
+"Quite so!" said Jimmie Dale calmly. "Now, another matter, Benson: I
+believe some chauffeurs have a habit, when occasion lends itself, of
+taking, shall we say, their 'best girl' out riding in their masters'
+machines?"
+
+"SOME might," Benson replied, a little stiffly. "I hope you don't think,
+sir, that--"
+
+"One moment, Benson. The point is, it's done--quite generally?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"And you have a 'best girl,' or at least could find one for such a
+purpose, if you were so inclined?"
+
+"Yes, sir," said Benson; "but--"
+
+"Very good!" Jimmie Dale interrupted. "Then to-night, Benson, taking
+advantage of my illness, and to-morrow night, and the nights after
+that until further notice, you will acquire and put into practice that
+reprehensible habit."
+
+"I--I don't understand, Mr. Dale."
+
+"No; I dare say not," said Jimmie Dale--and then the whimsicality
+dropped from him. "Benson," he said slowly, "do you remember a night,
+nearly four years ago, the first night you ever saw me? You had,
+indiscreetly, I think, displayed more money than was wise in that East
+Side neighbourhood."
+
+"I remember," said Benson, with a sudden start; then simply: "I wouldn't
+be here now, sir, if it hadn't been for you."
+
+"Well," said Jimmie Dale quietly, "the tables are turned to-day, Benson.
+As Jason already knows, this house is watched. For reasons that I cannot
+explain, I am in great danger. Bluntly, I am putting my life in your
+hands--and Jason's."
+
+Benson looked for an instant from Jimmie Dale to Jason, caught the
+strained, troubled expression on the old man's face, then back again at
+Jimmie Dale.
+
+"D'ye mean that, sir!" he cried. "Then you can count on me, Mr. Dale, to
+the last ditch!"
+
+"I know that, Benson," Jimmie Dale said softly. "And now, both of you,
+listen! It is imperative that I should get away from the house; and
+equally imperative that those watching should believe that I am still
+here. Not even the servants are to be permitted a suspicion that I am
+not here in my bed, ill. That, Jason, is your task. You will allow
+no one to wait on me but yourself; you will bring the meal trays up
+regularly--and eat the food yourself. You will answer all inquiries,
+telephone and otherwise, in person--I am not seeing any one. You
+understand perfectly, Jason?"
+
+"I understand, Master Jim. You need have no fear, sir, on that score."
+
+"Now, you, Benson," Jimmie Dale went on. "A few minutes ago I sent
+you out in your chauffeur's togs with that prescription. You were
+undoubtedly observed. I wanted you to be. It was quite necessary that
+they should know and be able to recognise you again--to disabuse their
+minds later on of the possibility that I might be masquerading in your
+clothes; and also, of course, that they should know who you were, and
+what your position was in the household. Very well! To-night, at eight
+o'clock exactly, you are to go out from the back door of the house to
+the garage. On the way out--it will be quite dark then--I want you to
+drop something, say, a bunch of keys that you had been jingling in your
+hand. You are to experience some difficulty in finding it again, move
+about a little to force any one that may be lurking by the garage to
+retreat around the corner. Grumble a bit and make a little noise; but
+you are not to overdo it--a couple of minutes at the outside is enough,
+by that time I shall be under the car seat. You will then run the
+machine out to the street and stop at the curb, jump out, and, as though
+you had forgotten something, hurry back to the garage. You must not be
+away long--enough only to permit, say, a passer-by to glance into the
+car and satisfy himself that it is empty. You understand, of course,
+Benson, that the hood must be down--no closed car to invite even the
+suggestion of concealment--that would be a fatal blunder. Drive then
+to the young lady's home by as direct a route as you can--give no
+appearance of being aware that you are followed, as you will be, and
+much less the appearance of attempting to elude pursuit. Act naturally.
+Between here and your destination I will manage readily enough to leave
+the car. You will then take the young lady for her drive--that is what
+they will be interested in--your motive for going out to-night. And, as
+I said, take her driving again on each succeeding night--establish the
+HABIT to their satisfaction."
+
+Jimmie Dale paused, glanced at the paper which he still held in his
+hand, then handed it to Benson.
+
+"Just one thing more, Benson," he said: "Listed on that paper you will
+find a different rendezvous for each night for the next five nights,
+excluding to-night, which, after you have returned the young lady to her
+home, you are to pass by on your way back here. See that your drive is
+always over in time for you to pass each night's rendezvous at half
+past eleven sharp. Don't stop unless I signal you. If I am not there,
+go right on home, and be at the next place on the following night. I am
+fairly well satisfied they will not bother about you after to-night,
+or to-morrow night at the most; but, for all that, you must take no
+chances, so, except in the route you take in going to the young lady's,
+always avoid covering the same ground twice, which might give the
+appearance of having some ulterior purpose in view--even in your drives,
+vary your runs. Is this clear, Benson?"
+
+"Yes, sir," said Benson earnestly.
+
+"Very well, then," said Jimmie Dale. "Eight o'clock to the dot,
+Benson--compare your time with Jason's. And now, Jason, see that I get a
+chance to sleep until dinner time to-night."
+
+The hours that followed were hours of sound and much-needed sleep for
+Jimmie Dale, and from which he awoke only on Jason's entrance that
+evening with the dinner tray.
+
+"I've slept like a log, Jason!" he cried briskly, as he leaped out of
+bed. "Anything new--anything happened?"
+
+"No, sir; not a thing," Jason answered. "Only, Master Jim, sir"--the old
+man twisted his hands nervously--"I--you'll excuse my saying so, sir--I
+do hope you'll be careful to-night, sir. I can't help being afraid that
+something'll happen to you, Master Jim."
+
+"Nonsense, Jason!" Jimmie Dale laughed cheerfully. "There's nothing
+going to happen--to me! You go ahead now and stay with the servants, and
+get them out of the road at the proper time."
+
+He bathed, dressed, ate his dinner, and was slipping cartridges into the
+magazine of his automatic when, within a minute or two of eight o'clock,
+Jason's whisper came from the doorway.
+
+"It's all clear now, Master Jim, sir."
+
+"Right!" Jimmie Dale responded--and followed Jason down the stairway,
+and to the head of the cellar stairs.
+
+Here Jason halted.
+
+"God keep you, Master Jim!" said the old man huskily. "Good-night,
+Jason," Jimmie Dale answered softly; and, with a reassuring squeeze on
+the other's arm, went on down to the cellar.
+
+Here he moved quickly, noiselessly across to the window--not the
+window of the night before, but another of the same description, almost
+directly beneath the one in his den above, that faced the garage and lay
+in the line of that black shadow path between the two buildings. Deftly,
+cautiously without sound, a half inch, an inch at a time he opened it.
+He stood listening, then. A minute passed. Then he heard Benson open and
+shut the back door; then Benson in the yard; and then Benson's voice in
+a muttered and irritable growl, talking to himself, as he stamped around
+on the ground.
+
+With a lithe, agile movement, Jimmie Dale pulled himself up and through
+the window--and began to creep rapidly on hands and knees toward
+the garage. It was dark, intensely dark. He could barely distinguish
+Benson's form, though, as he passed the other, the slight sounds he made
+drowned out by the chauffeur's angry mumblings, he could have reached
+out and touched Benson easily.
+
+He gained the interior of the garage, and, as Benson, came on again,
+stepped lightly into the car, lifted the seat, and wriggled his way
+inside.
+
+It was close, stuffy, abominably cramped, but Jimmie Dale was smiling
+grimly now. Thanks to Benson, there wasn't a possibility that he had
+been seen. He both felt and heard Benson start the car. Then the car
+moved forward, ran the length of the driveway, bumped slightly as it
+made the street--and stopped. He heard Benson jump out and run back--and
+then he listened intently, and the grim smile flickered on his lips
+again. Came the sound of a footstep on the sidewalk close beside the
+car--then silence--the car shook a little as though some one's weight
+was on the step--then the footsteps receded--Benson returned on the
+run--and the car started forward once more.
+
+Perhaps ten minutes passed. Three times the car had swerved sharply,
+making a corner turn. Then Jimmie Dale pushed up the seat, and,
+protected from observation from behind by the back of the car itself,
+crawled out and crouched down on the floor of the tonneau.
+
+"Don't look around, Benson," he said calmly. "Are we followed?"
+
+"Yes, sir." Benson answered. "At least, there's always been a car behind
+us, though not the same one. They're pretty clever. There must be three
+or four, each following the other. Every time I turn a corner it's a
+different car that turns it behind me."
+
+"How far behind?" Jimmie Dale asked.
+
+"Half a block."
+
+"Slow down a little," instructed Jimmie Dale; "and don't turn another
+corner until they've had a chance to accommodate themselves to your new
+speed. You are going too fast for me to jump, and I don't want them to
+notice any change in speed, except what is made in plain sight. Yes;
+that's better. Where are we, Benson?"
+
+"That's Amsterdam Avenue ahead," replied Benson.
+
+"All right," said Jimmie Dale quietly. "Turn into it. The more people
+the better. Tell me just as you are about to turn."
+
+"Yes, sir," said Benson; then, almost on the instant, "All ready, sir!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's hand reached out for the door catch, edged the door ajar,
+the car swerved, took the corner--and Jimmie Dale stepped out on the
+running board, hung there negligently for a moment as though chatting
+with Benson, and then with an airy "good-night" dropped nonchalantly
+to the ground, and the next instant had mingled with the throng of
+pedestrians on the sidewalk.
+
+A half minute later, a large gray automobile turned the corner and
+followed Benson--and Jimmie Dale, stepping out into the street again,
+swung on a downtown car. The road to the Sanctuary was open!
+
+In his impatience, now, the street car seemed to drag along every foot
+of the way; but a glance at his watch, as he finally reached the Bowery,
+and, walking then, rapidly approached the cross street a few steps ahead
+that led to the Sanctuary, told him that it was still but a quarter to
+nine. But even at that he quickened his steps a little. He was free now!
+There was a sort of savage, elemental uplift upon him. He was free! He
+could strike now in his own defense--and hers! In a few moments he would
+be at the Sanctuary; in a few more he would be Larry the Bat, and by
+to-morrow at the latest he would see--The Tocsin. After all, that "hour"
+was not to be taken from him! It was not, perhaps, the hour that she had
+meant it should be, thought and prayed, perhaps, that it might be! It
+was not the hour of victory. But it was the hour that meant to him the
+realisation of the years of longing, the hour when he should see her,
+see her for the first time face to face, when there should be no more
+barriers between them, when--
+
+"Fer Gawd's sake, mister, buy a pencil!"
+
+A hand was plucking at his sleeve, the thin voice was whining in his
+ear. He halted mechanically. A woman, old, bedraggled, ragged, was
+thrusting a bunch of cheap pencils imploringly toward him--and then,
+with a stifled cry, Jimmie Dale leaned forward. The eyes that lifted to
+his for an instant were bright and clear with the vigor of youth, great
+eyes of brown they were, and trouble, hope, fear, wistfulness, ay, and
+a glorious shyness were in their depths. And then the voice he knew so
+well, the Tocsin's was whispering hurriedly:
+
+"I will be waiting here, Jimmie--for Larry the Bat."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+THE TOCSIN
+
+
+It was only a little way back along the street from the Sanctuary to
+the corner on the Bowery where as Jimmie Dale he had left her, where as
+Larry the Bat now he was going to meet her again; it would take only
+a moment or so, even at Larry the Bat's habitual, characteristic,
+slouching, gait--but it seemed that was all too slow, that he must throw
+discretion to the winds and run the distance. His blood was tingling;
+there was elation upon him, coupled with an almost childlike dread that
+she might be gone.
+
+"The Tocsin! The Tocsin!" he kept saying to himself.
+
+Yes; she was still there, still whiningly imploring those who passed to
+buy her miserable pencils--and then, with a quick-flung whisper to him
+to follow as he slouched up close to her, she had started slowly down
+the street.
+
+"The Tocsin! The Tocsin! The Tocsin!"--his brain seemed to be ringing
+with the words, ringing with them in a note clear as a silver bell.
+The Tocsin--at last! The woman who so strangely, so wonderfully, so
+mysteriously had entered into his life, and possessed it, and filled it
+with a love and yearning that had come to mold and sway and actuate
+his very existence--the woman for whom he had fought; for whom he had
+risked, and gladly risked, his wealth, his name, his honour--everything;
+the woman for whose sake he, the Gray Seal, was sought and hounded as
+the most notorious criminal of the age; she whose cleverness, whose
+resourcefulness, whose amazing intimacy with the hidden things of the
+underworld had seemed, indeed, to border on the supernatural; she, the
+Tocsin--the woman whose face he had never seen before! The woman whose
+face he had never seen before--and who now was that wretched hag that
+hobbled along the street before him, begging, whining, and importuning
+the passers-by to purchase of her pitiful wares!
+
+He laughed a little--buoyantly. He had never pictured a first meeting
+such as this! A hag? Yes! And one as disreputable in appearance as he
+himself, as Larry the Bat, was disreputable! But he had seen her eyes!
+Inimitable as was her disguise, she could not hide her eyes, or hide the
+pledge they held of the beauty of form and feature beneath the tattered
+rags and the touch of a master in the make-up that brought haggard want
+and age into the face--and dimly he began to divine the source, the
+means by which she had acquired the information that for years had
+enabled her to plan their coups, that had enabled him to execute them
+under the guise of crime, that for years had seemed beyond all human
+reach.
+
+Where was she going? Where was she taking him? But what did it matter!
+The years of waiting were at an end--the years of mystery in a few
+moments now would be mystery no more!
+
+Ah! She had turned from the Bowery, and was heading east. He shuffled on
+after her, guardedly, a half block behind. It was well that Jimmie Dale
+had disappeared, that he was Larry the Bat again--the neighbourhood
+was growing more and more one that Jimmie Dale could not long linger
+in without attracting attention; while, on the other hand, it was the
+natural environment of such as Larry the Bat and such as she, who was
+leading him now to the supreme moment of his life. Yes, it was that--the
+fulfillment of the years! The thought of it alone filled his mind, his
+soul; it brushed aside, it blotted out for the time being the danger,
+the peril, the deadly menace that hung over them both. It was only that
+she, the Tocsin, was here--only that at last they would be together.
+
+On she went, traversing street after street, the direction always
+trending toward the river--until finally she halted before what appeared
+to be, as nearly as he could make out in the almost total darkness of
+the ill-lighted street, a small and tumble-down, self-contained dwelling
+that bordered on what seemed to be an unfenced store yard of some
+description. He drew his breath in sharply. She had halted--waiting for
+him to come up with her. She was waiting for him--WAITING for him!
+It seemed as though he drank of some strange, exhilarating elixir--he
+reached her side eagerly--and then--and then--her hand had caught his,
+and she was leading him into the house, into a black passage where he
+could see nothing, into a room equally black over whose threshold he
+stumbled, and her voice in a low, conscious way, with a little tremour,
+a half sob in it that thrilled him with its promise, was in his ears:
+
+"We are safe here, Jimmie, for a little while--but, oh, Jimmie, what
+have I done! What have I done to bring you into this--only--only--I was
+so sure, so sure, Jimmie, that there was nothing more to fear!"
+
+The blood was beating in hammer blows at his temples. It seemed all
+unreal, untrue that this moment could be his, that it was not a dream--a
+dream which was presently to be snatched from him in a bitter awakening.
+And then he laughed out wildly, passionately. No--it was true, it was
+real! Her breath was on his cheek, it was a living, pulsing hand that
+was still in his--and then soul and mind and body seemed engulfed and
+lost in a mad ecstasy--and she was in his arms, crushed to him, and he
+was raining kisses upon her face.
+
+"I love you! I love you!" he was crying hoarsely; and over and over
+again: "I love you! I love you!"
+
+She did not struggle. The warm, rich lips were yielding to his; he could
+feel the throb, the life in the young, lithe form against his own. She
+was his--his! The years, the past, all were swept away--and she was his
+at last--his for always. And there came a mighty sense of kingship
+upon him, as though all the world were at his feet, and virility, and a
+great, glad strength above all other men's, and a song was in his soul,
+a song triumphant--for she was his!
+
+"You!" he cried out--and strained her to him. "You!" he cried again--and
+kissed her lips and her eyelids and her lips again.
+
+And then her head was buried on his shoulder, and she was crying softly;
+but after a moment she raised her hands and laid them upon his face,
+and held them there, and because it was dark, dared to raise her head as
+well, and her eyes to look into his.
+
+Then for a long time they stood there so, and for a long time neither
+spoke--and then with a little startled, broken cry, as though the peril
+and the menace hanging over them, forgotten for the moment, were thrust
+like a knife stab suddenly upon her, she drew herself away, and ran from
+him, and went and got a lamp, and lighted it, and set it upon the table.
+
+And Jimmie Dale, still standing there, watched her. How gloriously her
+eyes shone, dimmed and misty with the tears that filled them though they
+were! And there was nothing incongruous in the rags that clothed her, in
+the squalour and poverty of the bare room, in the white furrows that the
+tears had plowed through the grime and make-up on her cheeks.
+
+"You wonderful, wonderful woman!" Jimmie Dale whispered.
+
+She shook her head as though almost in self-reproach.
+
+"I am not wonderful, Jimmie," she said, in a low voice. "I"--and then
+she caught his arm, and her voice broke a little--"I've brought you into
+this--probably to your death. Jimmie, tell me what happened last night,
+and since then. I--I've thought at times to-day I should go mad. Oh,
+Jimmie, there is so much to say to-night, so much to do if--if we
+are ever to be together for--for always. Last night, Jimmie--the
+telephone--I knew there was danger--that all had gone wrong--what was
+it?"
+
+His arms were around her shoulders, drawing her close to him again.
+
+"I found the wires tapped," he said slowly.
+
+"Yes, and--and the man you met--the chauffeur?"
+
+"He is dead," Jimmie Dale answered gently.
+
+He felt her hand close with a quick, spasmodic clutch upon his arm; her
+face grew white--and for a moment she turned away her head.
+
+"And--and the package?" she asked presently.
+
+"I do not know," replied Jimmie Dale. "He did not have it with him;
+he--"
+
+"Wait!" she interrupted quickly. "We are only wasting time like this!
+Tell me everything, everything just as it happened, everything from the
+moment you received my letter."
+
+And, holding her there in his arms, softening as best he could the more
+brutal details, he told her. And, at the end, for a little while she was
+silent; then in a strained, impulsive way she asked again:
+
+"The chauffeur--you are sure--you are positive that he is dead?"
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale grimly; "I am sure." And then the pent-up flood
+of questions burst from his lips. Who was the chauffeur? The package,
+the box numbered 428, and John Johansson? And the Crime Club? And
+the issue at stake? The danger, the peril that surrounded her? And
+she--above all--more than anything else--about herself--her strange
+life, its mystery?
+
+She checked him with a strangely wistful touch of her finger upon his
+lips, with a queer, pathetic shake of her head.
+
+"No, Jimmie; not that way. You would never understand. I cannot--"
+
+"But I am to know--now! Surely I am to know NOW!" he cried, a sudden
+sense of dismay upon him. Three years! Three years--and always the
+"next" time! "I must know now, if I am to help you!"
+
+She smiled a little wanly at him, as she drew herself away, and,
+dropping into a chair, placed her elbows on the rickety table, cupping
+her chin in her hands.
+
+"Yes; you are to know now," she said, almost as though she were talking
+to herself; then, with a swift intake of her breath, impulsively:
+"Jimmie! Jimmie! I had thought that it would be all so different
+when--when you came. That--that I would have nothing to fear--for
+you--for me--because--it would be all over. And now you are here,
+Jimmie--and, oh, thank God for you!--but I feel to-night almost--almost
+as though it were hopeless, that--that we were beaten."
+
+"Beaten!" He stepped quickly to the table, and sat down, and took one
+of her hands away from her face to hold it in both his own. "Beaten!"
+he laughed out defiantly; then, playfully, soothingly, to reassure her:
+"Jimmie Dale and Larry the Bat and the Gray Seal and the Tocsin--BEATEN!
+And after we have just scored the last trick!"
+
+"But we do not hold many trumps, Jimmie," she answered gravely. "You
+have seen something of this Crime Club's power, its methods, its
+merciless, cruel, inhuman cunning, and you, perhaps, think that you
+understand--but you have not begun to grasp the extent of either that
+power or cunning. This horrible organisation has been in existence for
+many years. I do not know how many. I only know that the men of whom
+it is composed are not ordinary criminals, that they do not work in
+the ordinary way--to-day, they set the machinery of fraud, deception,
+robbery, and murder in motion that ten years from now, and, perhaps,
+only then, will culminate in the final success of their schemes--and
+they play only for enormous stakes. But"--her lips grew set--"you will
+see for yourself. I must not talk any longer than is necessary; we must
+not take too much time. You count on three days before they begin to
+suspect that all is not right with Jimmie Dale--I know them better than
+you, and I give you two days, forty-eight hours at the outside, and
+possibly far less. Jimmie"--abruptly--"did you ever hear of Peter
+LaSalle?"
+
+"The capitalist? Yes!" said Jimmie Dale. "He died a few years ago. I
+know his brother Henry well--at the club, and all that."
+
+"Do you!" she said evenly. "Well, the man you know is not Peter
+LaSalle's brother; he is an impostor--and one of the Crime Club."
+
+"Not--Peter LaSalle's brother!"--Jimmie Dale repeated the words
+mechanically. And suddenly his brain was whirling. Vaguely, dimly, in
+little memory snatches, events, not pertinent then, vitally significant
+now, came crowding upon him. Peter LaSalle had come from somewhere in
+the West to live in New York; and very shortly afterward had died. The
+estate had been worth something over eleven millions. And there had
+been--he leaned quickly, tensely forward over the table, staring at her.
+"My God!" he whispered hoarsely. "You are not, you cannot be--the--the
+daughter--Peter LaSalle's daughter, who disappeared strangely!"
+
+"Yes," she said quietly. "I am Marie LaSalle."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE TOCSIN'S STORY
+
+
+LaSalle! The old French name! That old French inscription on the ring:
+"SONNEZ LE TOCSIN!" Yes; he began to understand now. She was Marie
+LaSalle! He began to remember more clearly.
+
+Marie LaSalle! They had said she was one of the most beautiful girls
+who had ever made her entree into New York society. But he had never met
+her--as Marie LaSalle; never met her--until now, as the Tocsin, in this
+bare, destitute, squalid hovel, here at bay, both of them, for their
+lives.
+
+He had been away when she had come with her father to New York; and
+on his return there had only been the father's brother in the father's
+place--and she was gone. He remembered the furor her disappearance had
+caused; the enormous rewards her uncle had offered in an effort to trace
+her; the thousand and one speculations as to what had become of her;
+and that then, gradually, as even the most startling and mystifying of
+events and happenings always do, the affair had dropped into oblivion
+and had been forgotten by the public at least. He began to count back.
+Yes, it must have been nearly five years ago; two years before she,
+as the Tocsin, and he, as the Gray Seal, had formed their amazing and
+singular partnership, that--he started suddenly, as she spoke.
+
+"I want to tell you in as few words as I can," she said abruptly,
+breaking the silence. "Listen, then, Jimmie. My mother died ten years
+ago. I was little more than a child then. Shortly after her death,
+father made a business trip to New York, and, on the advice of some
+supposed friends, he had a new will drawn up by a lawyer whom they
+recommended, and to whom they introduced him. I do not know who those
+men were. The lawyer's name was Travers, Hilton Travers." She glanced
+curiously at Jimmie Dale, and added quickly: "He was the chauffeur--the
+man who was killed last night."
+
+"You mean," Jimmie Dale burst out, "you mean that he was--but, first,
+the will! What was in the will?"
+
+"It was a very simple will," she answered. "And from the nature of it,
+it was not at all strange that my father should have been willing to
+have had it drawn by a comparative stranger, if that is what you are
+thinking. Summarised in a few words, the will left everything to me,
+and appointed my Uncle Henry as my guardian and the sole executor of the
+estate until I should have reached my twenty-fifth birthday. It provided
+for a certain sum each year to be paid to my uncle for his services as
+executor; and at the expiration of the trust period--that is, when I was
+twenty-five--bequeathed to him the sum of one hundred thousand dollars."
+
+Jimmie Dale nodded. "Go on!" he prompted.
+
+"It is hard to tell it in logical sequence," she said, hesitating a
+moment. "So many things seem to overlap each other. You must understand
+a little more about Hilton Travers. During the five years following the
+signing of the will father came frequently to New York, and became,
+not only intimate with Travers, but so much impressed with the other's
+cleverness and ability that he kept putting more and more of his
+business into Travers' hands. At the end of that five years, we moved
+to New York, and father, who was then quite an old man, retired from all
+active business, and turned over a great many of his personal affairs
+to Travers to look after for him, giving Travers power of attorney in a
+number of instances. So much for Travers. Now about my uncle. He was my
+father's only brother; in fact, they were the only surviving members of
+their family, apart from very distant connections in France, from where,
+generations back, the family originally came." Her hand touched
+Jimmie Dale's for an instant. "That ring, Jimmie, with its crest and
+inscription, is the old family coat of arms."
+
+"Yes," he said briefly; "I surmised as much."
+
+"Strange as it may seem, in view of the fact that they had not seen each
+other for twenty years," she went on hurriedly "my father and my
+uncle were more than ordinarily attached to each other. Letters passed
+regularly between them, and there was constant talk of one paying the
+other a visit--but the visit never materialised. My uncle was somewhere
+in Australia, my father was here, and consequently I never saw my uncle.
+He was quite a different type of man from father--more restless, less
+settled, more rough and ready, preferring the outdoor life of the
+Australian bush to the restrictions of any so-called civilisation, I
+imagine. Financially, I do not think he ever succeeded very well, for
+twice, in one way or another, he lost every sheep on his ranch and
+father set him up again; and I do not think he could ever have had much
+of a ranch, for I remember once, in one of the letters he wrote, that he
+said he had not seen a white man in weeks, so he must have lived a very
+lonely life. Indeed, at about the time father drew the new will, my
+uncle wrote, saying that he had decided to give up sheep running on his
+own account as it did not pay, and to accept a very favourable offer
+that had been made to him to manage a ranch in New Zealand; and his next
+letter was from the latter country, stating that he had carried out
+his intentions, and was well satisfied with the change he had made. The
+long-proposed visit still continued to occupy my father's thoughts, and
+on his retirement from business he definitely made up his mind to go
+out to New Zealand, taking me with him. In fact, the plans were all
+arranged, my uncle expressed unbounded delight in his letters, and we
+were practically on the eve of sailing, when a cable came from my uncle,
+telling us to postpone the visit for a few months, as he was obliged to
+make a buying trip for his new employer that would keep him away that
+length of time--and then"--her fingers, that had been abstractedly
+picking out the lines formed by the grain of the wood in the table top,
+closed suddenly into tight-clenched fists--"and then--my father died."
+
+Jimmie Dale turned away his head. There were tears in her eyes. The old
+sense of unreality was strong upon him again. He was listening to the
+Tocsin's story. It was strange that he should be doing that--that
+it could be really so! It seemed as though magically he had been
+transported out of the world where for years past he had lived with
+danger lurking at every turn, where men set watch about his house to
+trap him, where the denizens of the underworld yowled like starving
+beasts to sink their fangs in him, where the police were ceaselessly
+upon his trail to wreak an insensate vengeance upon him; it seemed as
+though he had been transported away from all that to something that he
+had dreamed might, perhaps, sometime happen, that he had hoped might
+happen, that he had longed for always, but now that it was his, that it
+also was full of the sense of the unreal. And yet as his mind followed
+the thread of her story, and leaped ahead and vaguely glimpsed what was
+to come, he was conscious in a sort of premonitory way of a vaster peril
+than any he had ever known, as though forces, for the moment masked,
+were arrayed against him whose strength and whose malignity were beyond
+human parallel. In what a strange, almost incoherent way his brain was
+working! He roused himself a little and looked around him--and, with a
+shock, the starkness of the room, the abject, pitiful air of destitution
+brought home to him with terrific, startling force the significance of
+the scene in which he was playing a part. His face set suddenly in
+hard lines. That she should have been brought to assume such a life as
+this--forced out of her environment of wealth and refinement, forced
+in her purity to rub shoulders with the vile, the dissolute, forced to
+exist as such a creature amid the crime and vice, the wretched horror
+of the underworld that swirled around her! There was anger now upon him,
+burning, hot--a merciless craving that was a savage, hungry lust for
+vengeance.
+
+And then she was speaking again:
+
+"Father's death occurred very shortly after my uncle's message advising
+us to postpone our trip was received. On his death, Travers, very
+naturally, as father's lawyer, cabled my uncle to come to New York
+at once; and my uncle replied, saying that he was coming by the first
+steamer."
+
+She paused again--but only for an instant, as though to frame her
+thoughts in words.
+
+"I have told you that I had never seen my uncle, that even my father had
+not seen him for twenty years; and I have told you that the man you know
+as Henry LaSalle is an impostor--I am using the word 'uncle' now when I
+refer to him simply to avoid confusion. You are, perhaps, expecting
+me to say that I took a distinctive dislike to him from the moment he
+arrived? On the contrary, I had every reason to be predisposed toward
+him; and, indeed, was rather agreeably surprised than otherwise--he was
+not nearly so uncouth and unpolished as, somehow, I had pictured his
+life would have made him. Do you understand, Jimmie? He was kind,
+sympathetic; and, in an apathetic way, I liked him. I say 'apathetic'
+because I think that best describes my own attitude toward every one and
+everything following father's death until--THAT NIGHT."
+
+She rose abruptly from her chair, as though a passive position of any
+kind had suddenly become intolerable.
+
+"Why tell you what my father and I were to each other!" she cried out
+in a low, passionate voice. "It seemed as though everything that meant
+anything had gone out of my life. I became worn out, nervous; and though
+the days were bad enough, the nights were a source of dread. I began
+to suffer from insomnia--I could not sleep. This was even before my
+supposed uncle came. I used to read for hours and hours in my room
+after I had gone to bed. But"--she flung out her hand with an impatient
+gesture--"there is no need to dwell on that. One night, about a week
+after that man had arrived, and a little over a month after father had
+died, I was in my room and had finished a book I was reading. I remember
+that it was well after midnight. I had not the slightest inclination
+to sleep. I picked up another book--and after that another. There were
+plenty in my room; but, irrationally, of course, none pleased me. I
+decided to go down to the library--not that I think I really expected
+to find anything that I actually wanted, but more because it was an
+impulse, and furnished me for the moment with some definite objective,
+something to do. I got up, slipped on a dressing gown, and went
+downstairs. The lights were all out. I was just on the point of
+switching on those in the reception hall, when suddenly it seemed as
+though I had not strength to lift my hand, and I remember that for an
+instant I grew terribly cold with dread and fear. From the room on my
+right a voice had reached me. The door was closed, but the voice was
+raised in an outburst of profanity. I--I could hear every word.
+
+"'If she's out of the way, there's no come-back,' the voice snarled. 'I
+won't listen to anything else! Do you hear! Why, you fool, what are you
+trying to do--hand me one! Turn everything into cash, and divvy, and
+beat it--eh? And I'm the goat, and I get caught and get twenty years
+for stealing trust funds--and the rest of you get the coin!' He swore
+terribly again. 'Who's taken the risk in this for the last five years!
+There'll be no smart Aleck lawyer tricks--there'll be no halfway
+measures! And who are you to dictate! She goes out--that's safe--I
+inherit as next of kin, with no one to dispute it, and that's all there
+is to it!'
+
+"I stood there and could not move. It was the voice of the man I knew
+as my uncle! My heart seemed to have stopped beating. I tried to tell
+myself that I was dreaming, that it was too horrible, too incredible to
+be real; that they could not really mean to--to MURDER me. And then I
+recognised Hilton Travers' voice.
+
+"'I am not dictating, and you are not serious, of course,' he said,
+with what seemed an uneasy laugh. 'I am only warning you that you are
+forgetting to take the real Henry LaSalle into account. He is bound to
+hear of this eventually, and then--'
+
+"Another voice broke in--one I did not recognise.
+
+"'You're talking too loud, both of you! Travers doesn't understand, but
+he's to be wised up to-night, according to orders, and--'
+
+"The voice became inaudible, muffled--I could not hear any more. I
+suppose I remained there another three or four minutes, too stunned to
+know what to do; and then I ran softly along the hall to the library
+door. The library, you understand, was at the rear of the room they
+were in, and the two rooms were really one; that is, there was only an
+archway between them. I cannot tell you what my emotions were--I do not
+know. I only know that I kept repeating to myself, 'they are going to
+kill me, they are going to kill me!' and that it seemed I must try and
+find out everything, everything I could."
+
+She turned away from the table, and began to pace nervously up and down
+the miserable room.
+
+Jimmie Dale rose impulsively from his chair--but she waved him back
+again.
+
+"No; wait!" she said. "Let me finish. I crept into the library. It took
+me a long time, because I had to be so careful not to make the slightest
+noise. I suppose it was fully six or seven minutes from the time I
+had first heard my supposed uncle's voice until I had crept far enough
+forward to be able to see into the room beyond. There were three men
+there. The man I knew as my uncle was sitting at one end of the
+table; another had his back toward me; and Travers was facing in my
+direction--and I think I never saw so ghastly a face as was Hilton
+Travers' then. He was standing up, sort of swaying, as he leaned with
+both hands on the table.
+
+"'Now then, Travers,' the man whose back was turned to me was saying
+threateningly, 'you've got the story now--sign those papers!'
+
+"It seemed as though Travers could not speak for a moment. He kept
+looking wildly from one to the other. He was white to the lips.
+
+"'You've let me in for--THIS!' he said hoarsely, at last, 'You
+devils--you devils--you devils! You've let me in for--murder! Both of
+them! Both Peter and his brother--MURDERED!'"
+
+She stopped abruptly before Jimmie Dale, and clutched his arm tightly.
+
+"Jimmie, I don't know why I did not scream out. Everything went black
+for a moment before my eyes. It was the first suspicion I had had that
+my father had met with foul play, and I--"
+
+But now Jimmie Dale swayed up from his chair.
+
+"Murdered!" he exclaimed tensely. "Your father! But--but I remember
+perfectly, there was no hint of any such thing at the time, and never
+has been since. He died from quite natural causes."
+
+She looked at him strangely.
+
+"He died from--inoculation," she said. "Did--did you not see something
+of that laboratory in the Crime Club yourself the night before
+last--enough to understand?"
+
+"Good God!" muttered Jimmie Dale, in a startled way then: "Go on! Go on!
+What happened then?"
+
+She passed her hand a little wearily across her eyes--and sank down into
+her chair again.
+
+"Travers," she continued, picking up the thread of her story, "had
+raised his voice, and the third man at the table leaned suddenly,
+aggressively toward him.
+
+"'Hold your tongue!' he growled furiously. 'All you're asked to do is
+sign the papers--not talk!'
+
+"Travers shook his head.
+
+"'I won't!' he cried out. 'I won't have any hand in another murder--in
+hers! My God, I won't--I won't, I tell you! It's horrible!'
+
+"'Look here, you fool!' the man who was posing as my uncle broke in
+then. 'You're in this too deep to get out now. If you know what's good
+for you, you'll do as you're told!'
+
+"Jimmie, I shall never forget Travers' face. It seemed to have changed
+from white to gray, and there was horror in his eyes: and then he
+seemed to lose all control of himself, shaking his fists in their faces,
+cursing them in utter abandon.
+
+"'I'm bad!' he cried. 'I've gone everything, everything but the
+limit--everything but murder. I stop there! I'll have no more to do
+with this. I'm through! You--you pulled me into this, and--and I didn't
+know!'
+
+"'Well, you know now!' the third man sneered. 'What are you going to do
+about it?'
+
+"'I'm going to see that no harm comes to Marie LaSalle,' Travers
+answered in a dull way.
+
+"The other man now was on his feet--and, I do not know quite how to
+express it, Jimmie, he seemed ominously quiet in both his voice and his
+movements.
+
+"'You'd better think that over again, Travers!' he said. 'Do you mean
+it?'
+
+"'I mean it,' Travers said. 'I mean it--God help me!'
+
+"'You may well add that!' returned the other, with an ugly laugh. He
+reached out his hand toward the telephone on the table. 'Do you know
+what will happen to you if I telephone a certain number and say that you
+have turned--traitor?'
+
+"'I'll have to take my chances,' Travers replied doggedly. 'I'm
+through!'
+
+"'Take them, then!' flung out the other. 'You'll have little time given
+you to do us any harm!'
+
+"Travers did not answer. I think he almost expected an attack upon him
+then from the two men. He hesitated a moment, then backed slowly toward
+the door. What happened in the next few moments in that room, I do not
+know. I stole out of the library. I was obsessed with the thought that
+I must see Travers, see him at all costs, before he got away from the
+house. I reached the end of the hall as the room door opened, and he
+came out. It was dark, as I said, and I could not see distinctly, but
+I could make out his form. He closed the door behind him--and then
+I called his name in a whisper. He took a quick step toward me, then
+turned and hurried toward the front door, and I thought he was going
+away--but the next instant I understood his ruse. He opened the front
+door, shut it again quite loudly, and crept back to me.
+
+"'Take me somewhere where we will be safe--quick!' he whispered.
+
+"There was only one place where I was sure we would be safe. I led
+him to the rear of the house and up the servants' stairs, and to my
+boudoir."
+
+She broke off abruptly, and once more rose from her chair, and once
+more began to pace the room. Back in his chair, Jimmie Dale, tense and
+motionless now, watched her without a word.
+
+"It would take too long to tell you all that passed between us," she
+went on hurriedly. "The man was frankly a criminal--but not to the
+extent of murder. And in that respect, at least, he was honest with
+himself. Almost the first words he said to me were: 'Miss LaSalle, I am
+as good as a dead man if I am caught by the devils behind those two men
+downstairs.' And then he began to plead with me to make my own escape.
+He did not know who the man was that was posing as my uncle, had never
+seen him before until he presented himself as Henry LaSalle; the other
+man he knew as Clarke, but knew also that 'Clarke' was merely an assumed
+name. He had fallen in with Clarke almost from the time that he had
+begun to practise his profession, and at Clarke's instigation had gone
+from one crooked deal to another, and had made a great deal of money. He
+knew that behind Clarke was a powerful, daring, and unscrupulous band of
+criminals, organised on a gigantic scale, of which he himself was, in
+a sense--a probationary sense, as he put it--a member; but he had never
+come into direct contact with them--he had received all his orders and
+instructions through Clarke. He had been told by Clarke that he was to
+cultivate father following the introduction, to win father's confidence,
+to get as many of father's affairs into his hands as possible, to reach
+the position, in fact, of becoming father's recognised attorney--and
+all this with the object, as he supposed of embezzling from father on
+a large scale. Then father died, and Travers was instructed to cable my
+uncle. He knew that the man who answered that summons was an impostor;
+but he did not know, until they had admitted it to him that night, that
+both my father and my uncle had been murdered, and that I, too, was to
+be made away with."
+
+She looked at Jimmie Dale, and suddenly laughed out bitterly.
+
+"No; you don't understand, even yet, the patient, ingenious deviltry
+of those fiends. It was they, at the time the new will was drawn, who
+offered to buy out my real uncle's sheep ranch in that lonely, unsettled
+district in Australia, and offered him that new position in New Zealand.
+My uncle never reached New Zealand. He was murdered on his way there.
+And in his place, assuming his name, appeared the man who has been
+posing as my uncle ever since. Do you begin to see! For five years
+they were patiently working out their plans, for five years before
+my father's death that man lived and became known and accepted, and
+ESTABLISHED himself as Henry LaSalle. Do you see now why he cabled us to
+postpone our visit? He ran very little risk. The chances were one in a
+thousand that any of his few acquaintances in Australia would ever run
+across him in New Zealand; and besides, he was chosen because it
+seems there was a slight resemblance between him and the real Henry
+LaSalle--enough, with his changed mode of living and more elaborate and
+pretentious surroundings, to have enabled him to carry through a bluff
+had it become necessary. He had all of my uncle's papers; and the Crime
+Club furnished him with every detail of our lives here. I forgot to
+say, too, that from the moment my uncle was supposed to have reached New
+Zealand all his letters were typewritten--an evidence in father's eyes
+that his brother had secured a position of some importance; as, indeed,
+from apparently unprejudiced sources, they took pains to assure father
+was a fact. This left them with only my uncle's signature to forge to
+the letters--not a difficult matter for them!
+
+"Believing that they had Travers so deeply implicated that he could do
+nothing, even if he had the inclination, which they had not for a moment
+imagined, and arrogant in the belief in their own power to put him out
+of the way in any case if he proved refractory, they admitted all this
+to him that night when he brought up the issue of the real Henry LaSalle
+putting in an appearance sooner or later, and when they wanted him to
+smooth their path by releasing all documents where his power of attorney
+was involved. Do you see now the part they gave Travers to play? It was
+to put the stamp of genuineness upon the false Henry LaSalle. Not but
+that they were prepared with what would appear to be overwhelmingly
+convincing evidence to prove it if it were necessary; but if the man
+were accepted by the estate's lawyer there was little chance of any one
+else questioning his identity."
+
+She halted again by the table--and forced a smile, as her eyes met
+Jimmie Dale's.
+
+"I am almost through, Jimmie. That night was a terrible one for both
+of us. Travers' life was not worth a moment's purchase once they found
+him--and mine was only under reprieve until sufficient time to obviate
+suspicion should have elapsed after father's death. We had no proof that
+would stand in any court--even if we should have been given the chance
+to adopt that course. And without absolute, irrefutable proof, it was
+all so cleverly woven, stretched over so many years, that our charge
+must have been held to be too visionary and fantastic to have any basis
+in fact.
+
+"All Travers would have been able to advance was the statement that the
+supposed Henry LaSalle had admitted being an impostor and a murderer
+to him! Who would believe it! On the face of it, it appeared to be an
+absurdity. And even granted that we were given an opportunity to bring
+the charge, they would be able to prove by a hundred influential
+and well-known men in New Zealand that the impostor was really Henry
+LaSalle; and were we able to find any of my uncle's old acquaintances in
+Australia, it would be necessary to get them here--and not one of them
+would have reached America alive.
+
+"But there was not a chance, not a chance, Jimmie, of doing that--they
+would have killed Travers the moment he showed himself in the open. The
+only thing we could do that night was to try and save our own lives; the
+only thing we could look forward to was acquiring in some way, unknown
+to them, the proof, fully established, with which we could crush them in
+a single stroke, and before they would have time to strike back.
+
+"The vital thing was proof of my uncle's death. That, if it could
+be obtained at all, could only be obtained in Australia. Travers was
+obliged to go somewhere, to disappear from that moment if he wanted to
+save his life, and he volunteered to go out there. He left the house
+that night by the back entrance in an old servant's suit, which I found
+for him--and I never heard from him again until a month ago in the
+'personal' column of the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, through which we had agreed
+to communicate.
+
+"As for myself, I left the house the next morning, telling my pseudo
+uncle that I was going to spend a few days with a friend. And this
+I actually did; but in those few days I managed to turn all my own
+securities, that had been left me by my mother and which amounted to a
+considerable sum, into cash. And then, Jimmie, I came to--this, I have
+lived like this and in different disguises, as a settlement worker, as a
+widow of means in a fashionable uptown apartment, but mostly as you see
+me now--for five years. For five years I have watched my supposed
+uncle, hoping, praying that through him I could get to know the others
+associated with him; hoping, praying that Travers would succeed; hoping,
+praying that we would get them all--and watching day after day, and year
+after year the 'personal' column of the paper, until at last I began
+to be afraid that it was all useless. And there was nothing, Jimmie,
+nothing anywhere, and I had no success"--her voice choked a little.
+"Nothing! Even Clarke never went again to the house. You can understand
+now how I came to know the strange things that I wrote to the Gray Seal,
+how the life that I have led, how this life here in the underworld, how
+the constant search for some clew on my own account brought them to my
+knowledge; and you can understand now, too, why I never dared to let
+you meet me, for I knew well enough that, while I worked to undermine my
+father's and my uncle's murderers, they were moving heaven and earth to
+find me.
+
+"That is all, Jimmie. The day before yesterday, a month after Travers'
+first message to let me know that he was coming, there was another
+'personal' giving me an hour and a telephone number. He was back! He
+had everything--everything! We dared not meet; he was afraid, suspicious
+that they had got track of him again. You know the rest. That package
+contained the proof that, with Travers' death, can probably never be
+obtained again. Do you understand why THEY want it--why it is life
+and death to me? Do you understand why my supposed uncle offered huge
+rewards for me, why secretly every resource of that hideous organisation
+has been employed to find me--that it is only by my DEATH the estate can
+pass into their hands, and now--"
+
+She flung out her hands suddenly toward Jimmie Dale. "Oh, Jimmie,
+Jimmie, I've--I've fought so long alone! Jimmie, what are we to do?"
+
+He came slowly to his feet. She had fought so long--alone. But now--now
+it was his turn to fight--for her. But how? She had not told him
+all--surely she had not told him all, for everything depended upon that
+package. There had been so much to tell that she had not thought of all,
+and she had not told him the details about that.
+
+"That box--No. 428!" he cried quickly. "What is that? What does it
+mean?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"I do not know," she answered.
+
+"Then who is this John Johansson?"
+
+"I do not know," she said again.
+
+"Nor where the Crime Club is?"
+
+"No"--dully.
+
+He stared at her for a moment in a dazed way.
+
+"My God!" Jimmie Dale murmured.
+
+And then she turned away her head.
+
+"It's--it's pretty bad, isn't it, Jimmie? I--I told you that we did not
+hold many trumps."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+SILVER MAG
+
+
+There was silence between them. Minute after minute passed. Neither
+spoke.
+
+Jimmie Dale dropped back into his chair again, and stared abstractedly
+before him. "We do not hold many trumps, Jimmie--we do not hold many
+trumps"--her words were repeating themselves over and over in his mind.
+They seemed to challenge him mockingly to deny what was so obviously a
+fact, and because he could not deny it to taunt and jeer at him--to jeer
+at him, when all that was held at stake hung literally upon his next
+move!
+
+He looked up mechanically as the Tocsin walked to a broken mirror at the
+rear of the miserable room; nodded mechanically in approval as she began
+deftly to retouch the make-up on her face where the tears had left their
+traces--and resumed his abstracted gaze before him.
+
+Box number four-two-eight--John Johansson--the Crime Club--the identity
+of the man who was posing as Henry LaSalle! If only he could hit upon a
+clew to the solution of a single one of those things, or a single phase
+of one of them--if only he could glimpse a ray of light that would at
+least prompt action, when every moment of inaction was multiplying the
+odds against them!
+
+There were the men who were watching his house at that moment on
+Riverside Drive--he, as Larry the Bat, might in turn keep watch on them.
+He had though of that. In time, perhaps, he might, by so doing, discover
+the whereabouts of the Crime Club. In time! It was just that--he had no
+time! Forty-eight hours, the Tocsin insisted, was all the time that he
+could count upon before they would become suspicious of Jimmie Dale's
+"illness," before they would discover that they were watching an empty
+house!
+
+He might--though this was even more hazardous--make an attempt to trace
+the wires that tapped those of his telephone through the basement window
+that gave on the garage driveway. And what then? True, they could not
+lead very far away; but, even if successful, what then? They would not
+lead him to the Crime Club, but simply to some confederate, to some man
+or woman playing the part of a servant, perhaps, in the house next door,
+who, in turn, would have to be shadowed and watched.
+
+Jimmie Dale shook his head. Better, of the two, to start in at once and
+shadow those who were shadowing his house. But that was not the way! He
+knew that intuitively. He hated to eliminate it from consideration,
+for he had no other move to take its place--but such a move was almost
+suicide in itself. Time, and time alone, was the vital factor. They, the
+Tocsin and he, must act quickly--and STRIKE that night if they were to
+win. His fingers, the grimy fingers, dirty-nailed, of Larry the
+Bat, that none now would recognise as the slim tapering, wonderfully
+sensitive fingers of Jimmie Dale, the fingers that had made the name of
+the Gray Seal famous, whose tips mocked at bars and safes and locks,
+and seemed to embody in themselves all the human senses, tightened
+spasmodically on the edge of the table. Time! Time! Time! It seemed to
+din in his ears. And while he sat there powerless, impotent, the
+Crime Club was moving heaven and earth to find what HE must find--that
+package--if he was to save this woman here, the woman whom he loved, she
+who had been forced, through the machinations of these hell fiends,
+to adopt the life of a wretched hag, to exist among the dregs of the
+underworld, whose squalour and vice and wantonness none knew better than
+he!
+
+Jimmie Dale's face set grimly. Somewhere--somewhere in the past five
+years of this life of hers in which she had been fighting the Crime
+Club, pitting that clever brain of hers against it, MUST lie a clew.
+She had told him her story only in baldest outline, with scarcely a
+reference to her own personal acts, with barely a single detail. There
+must be something, something that perhaps she had overlooked, something,
+just the merest hint of something that would supply a starting point,
+give him a glimmer of light.
+
+She came back from across the room, and sank down in her chair again.
+She did not speak--the question, that meant life and death to them both,
+was in her eyes.
+
+Jimmie answered the mute interrogation tersely.
+
+"Not yet!" he said. Then, almost curtly, in a quick, incisive way, as
+the keen, alert brain began to delve and probe: "You say this man Clarke
+never returned to the house after that night?"
+
+She nodded her head quietly.
+
+"You are sure of that?" he insisted.
+
+"Yes," she said. "I am sure."
+
+"And you say that all these years you have kept a watch on the man who
+is posing as your uncle, and that he never went anywhere, or associated
+with any one, that would afford you a clew to this Crime Club?"
+
+"Yes," she said again.
+
+It was a moment before Jimmie Dale spoke.
+
+"It's very strange!" he said musingly, at last. "So strange, in fact,
+that it's impossible. He must have communicated with the others, and
+communicated with them often. The game they were playing was too
+big, too full of details, to admit of any other possibility. And the
+telephone as an explanation isn't good enough."
+
+"And yet," she said earnestly, "possible or impossible, it is
+nevertheless true. That he might have succeeded in eluding me on
+occasions was perhaps to be expected; but that in all those years I
+should not catch him once in what, if you are correct, must have been
+many and repeated conferences with the same men is too improbable to be
+thought of seriously."
+
+Jimmie Dale shook his head again.
+
+"If you had been able to watch him night and day, that might be so,"
+he said crisply. "But, at best, you could only watch him a very small
+portion of the time."
+
+She smiled at him a little wanly.
+
+"Do you think, Jimmie, from what you, as the Gray Seal, know of me, that
+I would have watched in any haphazard way like that?"
+
+He glanced at her with a sudden start.
+
+"What do you mean?" he asked quickly.
+
+"Look at me!" she said quietly. "Have you ever seen me before? I mean as
+I am now."
+
+"No," he answered, after an instant. "Not that I know of."
+
+"And yet"--she smiled wanly again--"you have not lived, or made the
+place you hold in the underworld, without having heard of Silver Mag."
+
+"You!" exclaimed Jimmie Dale. "You--Silver Mag!" He stared at her
+wonderingly, as, crouch-shouldered now, the hair, gray-threaded,
+straggling out from under the hood of a faded, dark-blue, seam-worn
+cloak, she sat before him, a typical creature of the underworld, her
+role an art in its conception, perfect in its execution. Silver Mag!
+Yes, he had heard of Silver Mag--as every one in the Bad Lands had heard
+of her. Silver Mag and her pocketful of coin! Always a pocketful of
+silver, so they said, that was dispensed prodigally to the wives
+and children temporarily deprived of support by husbands and fathers
+unfortunate enough in their clashes with the law to be doing "spaces"
+up the river--and therefore the underworld swore by Silver Mag.
+Always silver, never a bill; Silver Mag had never been seen with a
+banknote--that was her eccentricity. Much or little, she gave or paid
+out of her pocketful of jangling silver. She was credited with being
+a sworn enemy of the police, and--yes, he remembered, too--with having
+done "time" herself. "I don't quite understand," he said, in a puzzled
+way. "I haven't run across you personally because you probably took
+care to see that I shouldn't; but--it's no secret--every one says you've
+served a jail sentence yourself."
+
+"That is simply enough explained," she answered gravely. "The story is
+of my own making. When I decided to adopt this life, both for my own
+safety and as the best means of keeping a watch on that man, I knew that
+I must win the confidence of the underworld, that I must have help, and
+that in order to obtain that help I must have some excuse for my enmity
+against the man known as Henry LaSalle. To be widely known in the
+underworld was of inestimable value--nothing, I knew, could accomplish
+that as quickly as eccentricity. You see now how and why I became
+known as Silver Mag. I gained the confidence of every crook in New
+York through their wives and children. I told them the story of my jail
+sentence--while I swore vengeance on Henry LaSalle. I told them that he
+had had me arrested for something I never stole while I was working for
+him as a charwoman, and that he had had me railroaded to jail. There
+wasn't one but gave me credit for the theft, perhaps; but equally,
+there wasn't one but understood, and my eccentricity helped this out,
+my wanting to 'get' Henry LaSalle. Well--do you see now, Jimmie? I had
+money, I had the confidence of the underworld, I had an excuse for my
+hatred of Henry LaSalle, and so I had all the help I wanted. Day and
+night that man has been watched. He receives no visitors--what social
+life he has is, as you know, at the club. There is not a house that he
+has ever entered that, sooner or later, I have not entered after him
+in the hope of finding the headquarters of the clique. Even the men
+and women, as far as human possibility could accomplish it, that he
+has talked to on the streets have been shadowed, and their identity
+satisfactorily established--and the net result has been failure; utter,
+absolute, complete failure!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes, that had held steadily on her face, shifted,
+troubled and perplexed, to the table top.
+
+"You are wonderful!" he said, under his breath. "Wonderful! And--and
+that makes it all the more amazing, all the more incomprehensible. It is
+still impossible that he has not been in close and constant touch with
+his accomplices. He MUST have been! We would be blind fools to argue
+against it! It could not, on the face of it, have been otherwise!"
+
+"Then how, when, where has he done it?" she asked wearily.
+
+"God knows!" he said bitterly. "And if they have been clever enough to
+escape you all these years, I'm almost inclined to say what you said a
+little while ago--that we're beaten."
+
+She watched him miserably, as he pushed back his chair impulsively and,
+standing up, stared down at her.
+
+"We're against it--HARD!" he said, with a mirthless laugh. Then, his
+lips tightening: "But we'll try another tack--the chauffeur--Travers.
+Though even here the Crime Club has a day's start of us, even if last
+night they knew no more about the whereabouts of that package than we
+know now. I'm afraid of it! The chances are more than even that they've
+already got it. If they were able to catch Travers as the chauffeur,
+they would have had something tangible to work back from"--Jimmie Dale
+was talking more to himself than to the Tocsin now, as though he were
+muttering his thoughts aloud. "How did they get track of him? When?
+Where? What has it led to? And what in Heaven's name," he burst out
+suddenly, "is this box number four-two-eight!"
+
+"A safety-deposit vault, perhaps, that he has taken somewhere," she
+hazarded.
+
+Jimmie Dale laughed mirthlessly again.
+
+"That is the one definite thing I do know--that it isn't!" he said
+positively. "It is nothing of that kind. It was half-past ten o'clock
+at night when I met him, and he said that he had intended going back for
+the package if it had been safe to do so. Deposit vaults are not open
+at that hour. The package is, or was, if they have not already got it,
+readily accessible--and at any hour. Now go over everything again, every
+detail that passed between you and Travers. He let you know that he was
+back in New York by means of a 'personal,' you said. What else was in
+that 'personal' besides the telephone number and the hour you were to
+call him? Anything?"
+
+"Nothing that will help us any," she replied colourlessly. "There were
+simply the words 'northeast corner of Sixth Avenue and Waverly Place,'
+and the signature that we had agreed upon, the two first and two last
+letters of the alphabet transposed--BAZY."
+
+"I see," said Jimmie Dale quickly. "And over the 'phone he completed his
+message. Clever enough!"
+
+"Yes," she said. "In that way, if any one were listening, or overhead
+the plan, there could be little harm come of it, for the essential
+feature of all, the place of rendezvous, was not mentioned. It has not
+been Travers' fault that this happened--and in spite of every precaution
+it has cost him his life. He wanted nothing to give them a clew to my
+whereabouts; he was trying to guard against the slightest evidence that
+would associate us one with the other. He even warned me over the
+'phone not to tell him how, where, or the mode of life I was living. And
+naturally, he dared give me no particulars about himself. I was simply
+to select a third party whom I could trust, and to follow out his
+instructions, which were those that I sent to you in my letter."
+
+Jimmie Dale began to pace nervously up and down the room.
+
+"Nothing else?" he queried, a little blankly.
+
+"Nothing else," she said monotonously.
+
+"But since last night, since you knew that things had gone wrong," he
+persisted, "surely you traced that telephone number--the one you called
+up?"
+
+"Yes," she said, and shrugged her shoulders in a tired way. "Naturally
+I did that--but, like everything else, it amounted to nothing. He
+telephoned from Makoff's pawnshop on that alley off Thompson Street,
+and--"
+
+"WHERE!" Jimmie Dale, suddenly stock-still, almost shouted the word. "He
+telephoned from--where! Say that again!"
+
+She looked at him in amazement, half rising from her chair.
+
+"Jimmie, what is it?" she cried. "You don't mean that--"
+
+He was beside her now, his hands pressed upon her shoulders, his face
+flushed.
+
+"Box number four-two-eight!" He laughed out hysterically in his
+excitement. "John Johansson--box number four-two-eight! And like a fool
+I never thought of it! Don't you see? Don't you know now yourself? THE
+UNDERGROUND POST OFFICE!"
+
+She stood up, clinging to him; a wild relief, that was based on her
+confidence in him, in her eyes and face, even while she shook her head.
+
+"No," she said frantically. "No--I do not know. Tell me, Jimmie! Tell me
+quickly! You mean at Makoff's?"
+
+"No! Not Makoff's--at Spider Jack's, on Thompson Street!"--he was
+clipping off his words, still holding her tightly by the shoulders,
+still staring into her eyes. "You know Spider Jack! Jack's little
+novelty store! Ah, you have not learned all of the underworld yet!
+Spider Jack is the craftiest 'fence' in the Bad Lands--and Makoff is
+his partner. Spider buys the crooks' stuff, and Makoff disposes of it
+through the pawnshop--it's only a step through the connecting back yard
+from one to the other, and--"
+
+"Yes--but," she interrupted feverishly, "the package--you said--"
+
+"Wait!" Jimmie Dale cried. "I'm coming to that! If Travers stood in with
+Makoff, he stood in with Spider Jack. For years Spider has been a sort
+of clearing house for the underworld--for years he has conducted, and
+profitably, too, his underground post office. Crooks from all over
+the country, let alone those in New York, communicate with each other
+through Spider Jack. These, for a fee, are registered at Spider's, and
+given a number--a box number he calls it, though, of course, there
+are no actual boxes. Letters come by mail addressed to him--the sealed
+envelope within containing the actually intended recipient's name. These
+Spider either forwards, or delivers in person when they are called
+for. Dozens of crooks, too, unwilling, perhaps, to dispose of small
+ill-gotten articles at ruinous 'fence' prices, and finding it unhealthy
+for the moment to keep them in their possession, use this means of
+depositing them temporarily for safe-keeping. You see now, don't you?
+It's certain that's where Travers left the package. He used the name
+of John Johansson, not to hoodwink Spider Jack, I should say, but as
+an added safeguard against the Crime Club. Travers must have known both
+Makoff and Spider Jack in the old days, and probably had reason, and
+good reason, to trust them both--possibly, a crook then himself, as
+he confessed, he may have acted in a legal capacity for them in their
+frequent tangles with the police."
+
+"Then," she said--and there was a glad, new note in her voice, "then,
+Jimmie--Jimmie, we are safe! You can get it, Jimmie! It is only a little
+thing for the Gray Seal to do--to get it now that we know where it is."
+
+"Yes," he said tersely. "Yes--if it is still there."
+
+"Still there!"--she repeated the words quickly, nervously. "Still there!
+What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean if they, too, have not discovered that he was at Makoff's--if
+they have not got there first!" he said grimly. "There seems to be no
+limit to their cleverness, or their power. They penetrated his disguise
+as a chauffeur, and who knows what more they have learned since last
+night? We are fighting them in the dark, and--WHAT'S THAT!" he whispered
+tensely, suddenly--and leaning forward like a flash, as he whipped his
+automatic from his pocket, he blew out the lamp.
+
+The room was in darkness. They stood there rigid, silent, listening. Her
+hand found and caught his arm.
+
+And then it came again--a low sound, the sound of a stealthy footstep
+just outside the window that faced on the storage yard.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+THE MAGPIE
+
+
+A minute passed--another. The automatic at Jimmie Dale's hip, the muzzle
+just peeping over the table top, held a steady bead on the window. Came
+the footstep again--and then suddenly, a series of low, quick tappings
+upon the windowpane. The Tocsin's hand slipped away from his arm.
+Jimmie Dale's set face relaxed as he read the underground Morse, and he
+replaced his revolver slowly in his pocket.
+
+"The Magpie!" said Jimmie Dale, in an undertone. "What's he want?"
+
+"I don't know," she answered, in a whisper. "He never came here before.
+There's a back way out, Jimmie, if you--"
+
+"No," he said quickly. "We've enemies enough, with out making one of
+the Magpie. He knows some one is here with you--our shadows were on the
+blind. Don't queer yourself. Let him in. I'll light the lamp."
+
+He struck a match, as she ran from the room, and, lifting the hot lamp
+chimney with the edge of his ragged coat, lighted the lamp. He turned
+the wick down a little, shading and dimming the room--and then, as he
+flirted a bead of moisture from his forehead, whimsically stretched out
+his hand to watch it in the lamplight.
+
+"That's bad, Jimmie," he muttered gravely to himself, as he noted an
+almost imperceptible tremour. "Got a start, didn't you! Under a bit of a
+strain, eh? Well"--grimly--"never mind! It looks as though the luck had
+turned Makoff and Spider Jack!"
+
+His hand reached up to his hat, jerked the brim at a rakish angle over
+his eyes--and he sprawled himself out on a chair. He heard the Tocsin's
+voice at the front door, and a man's voice, low and guarded, answer her.
+Then the door closed, and their steps approached the room. It was rather
+curious, that--a visit from the Magpie! What could the Magpie want? What
+could there be in common between the Magpie and Silver Mag? The Magpie,
+alias Slimmy Joe, was counted the cleverest safe worker in the United
+States, barring only and always one--a smile flickered across the lips
+of Larry the Bat--one whose pre-eminence the Magpie, much to his own
+chagrin, admitted himself--the Gray Seal!
+
+He looked up, twisting the stub of a cigarette between his grimy fingers
+and fumbling for a match, as the Tocsin and, behind her, the Magpie,
+short, slim, and wiry, shrewd-faced, with sharp, quick-glancing little
+black eyes, entered the room.
+
+"'Ello, Larry!" grinned the Magpie. "Got yer breath back yet? I felt it
+through de windowpane when youse let go at de lamp!"
+
+"'Ello, Slimmy!" returned Jimmie Dale ungraciously, speaking through the
+corner of his mouth. "Ferget it!"
+
+"Sure!" said the Magpie unconcernedly. He stared about him, and finally,
+drawing a chair up to the table, sat down, motioned the Tocsin to do the
+same, and leaned forward amiably. "I didn't mean to throw no scare into
+youse," he said, in a conciliating tone. "But I had a little business
+wid Mag, an' I was kind of interested in whether she was entertainin'
+company or not--see? I didn't know youse an' Mag was workin' together."
+
+"Mabbe," observed Jimmie Dale, as ungraciously as before, "mabbe dere's
+some more t'ings youse don't know!"
+
+"Aw, cough up de grouch!" advised the Magpie, with a hint of impatience
+creeping into his voice. "Youse don't need to be sore all night! I told
+youse I wasn't tryin' to hand youse one, didn't I?"
+
+"Never mind Larry, Slimmy," put in the Tocsin petulantly. "He's down on
+his luck, dat's all. He ain't had de price of a pinch of coke fer two
+days."
+
+"Oho!" exclaimed the Magpie, grinning again. "So dat's wot's givin'
+youse de pip, eh, Larry? Well, den, say, youse can take it from me dat
+mabbe youse'll be glad I blew around. I was lookin' fer a guy about
+yer size fer a little job to-night, an' I was t'inkin' of lettin' Young
+Dutchy in on it, but seem' youse are here an' in wid Mag, an' dat I got
+to get Mag in, too, youse are on if youse say de word."
+
+"Wot's de lay?" inquired Larry the Bat, unbending a little.
+
+The Magpie cocked his eye, and stuck his tongue in his cheek.
+
+"GOOD-night!" he said tersely. "Nothin' like dat! Are youse on, or ain't
+youse?"
+
+"Well, den, wot's in it fer me?" persisted Larrry the Bat.
+
+"More'n de price of a coke sneeze!" returned the Magpie pertinently.
+"Dere's a century note fer youse, an' mabbe two or t'ree of dem fer
+Mag."
+
+Larry the Bat's eyes gleamed avariciously.
+
+"Aw, quit yer kiddin'!" he said gruffly. "A century note--fer me!"
+
+"Dat's wot I said! Youse heard me!" rejoined the Magpie shortly. "Only
+if it listens good to youse now, I don't want no squealin' after the
+divvy. I'm takin' de chances, youse has de soft end of it. One century
+note fer youse--an' de rest is none of yer business! Dat's puttin' it
+straight, ain't it? Well, wot do youse say, an' say it quick--'cause if
+youse ain't comin' in, youse can beat it out of here so's I can talk to
+Mag."
+
+"Dere ain't nothin' I wouldn't take a chance on fer a hundred plunks!"
+declared Larry the Bat, with sudden fervency--and stared, anxiously
+expectant, at the Magpie. "Sure, I'm on Slimmy! Sure, I am! Cut it
+loose! Spill de story!"
+
+"Well, den," said the Magpie, "I wants--"
+
+"Youse ain't through yet!" interrupted the Tocsin tartly. "I ain't heard
+youse askin' me nothin'! I ain't on me uppers like Larry, an' mabbe de
+price don't cut so much ice--see?"
+
+"Aw," said the Magpie, with a smirk, "I don't have to ask youse on dis
+lay. Dis is where youse'd come in on it fer marbles. Say, dis is where
+we gets de hook into a guy by de name of Henry LaSalle! Get me?"
+
+HENRY LASALLE! Under the table, Jimmie Dale's hand clenched suddenly;
+but not a muscle of his face moved, save, as with the tip of his tongue,
+he shifted the butt of the cigarette that was hanging royally from his
+lower lip to the other corner of his mouth.
+
+"Sure! She's 'got' youse, Slimmy!" he flung out, with a grin, as the
+Tocsin wrinkled up her face menacingly and began to mumble to herself.
+"He's de guy dat handed her one when she was young, an' she's been
+layin' fer him ever since! Sure! I know! Ain't I worked him fer her till
+I wears me shoes out tryin' to get somet'ing on him! Sure, she's in on
+it! Go on, Slimmy, wot's de lay? Wot do I do fer dat century?"
+
+The Magpie hitched his chair closer to the table and, as his sharp,
+little, ferret eyes glanced around the room, motioned the two to brings
+their heads nearer.
+
+"One of me influential broker friends down on Wall Street put me wise,"
+he said, with a wink. "Dat's good enough fer youse two, as far as dat
+goes. But take it from me, I got it dead straight." He lowered his voice
+"Say, he's one of de richest mugs in New York, ain't he? Well, he's been
+sellin' stocks an' bonds all day, t'ousands an' t'ousands of dollars'
+worth--fer cash."
+
+"All dem t'ings is always sold fer cash," remarked Larry the Bat
+fatuously.
+
+"Aw, ferget it!" said the Magpie earnestly. "Fer CASH, I said--de coin,
+de long green--understand? He wasn't shovin' no checks fer what he sold
+into de bank except to get dem cashed. Dat's wot he's been doin' all
+day--gettin' de checks cashed, an' gettin' de money in big bills--see! I
+know of one bunch of eighty t'ousand--an' dat's only one!"
+
+"Wot fer?" inquired Larry the Bat. It was the question that was pounding
+at his brain, as he stared innocently at the Magpie. What did it mean?
+Why was Henry LaSalle turning, and, if the Magpie was right, feverishly
+turning every security he could lay his hands on into cash? And then,
+in a flash, the answer came. THEY HAD NOT FOUND THE PACKAGE! Equally
+to them, as to the Tocsin, sitting there before him, it meant life and
+death. If the package were found by the Tocsin instead of themselves,
+the game was up! They were preparing for eventualities. If they were
+forced to run at a moment's notice, they at least were not going to
+run empty-handed! Far from empty-handed, it seemed! It would not be
+difficult for the estate's executor to realise a vast sum in short order
+on instantly marketable, gilt-edged securities--say, half a million
+dollars. Not very bulky, either--in large bills! Five thousand
+hundred-dollar bills would make half a million. It was astonishing
+how small a hand bag, say, might hold a fortune! "Wot fer, Slimmy?" he
+inquired again, wiggling his cigarette butt on his tongue tip. "Wot'd he
+do dat fer?"
+
+"How de hell do youse suppose I knows!" demanded the Magpie, politely
+scornful. "Dat's his business--dat ain't wot's worryin' me!"
+
+"No--sure, it ain't!" admitted Larry the Bat ingratiatingly. "But go on,
+keep movin', Slimmy! Wot's he done wid de stuff?"
+
+"Done wid it!" echoed the Magpie, with a short laugh. "Wot do youse
+t'ink! He's been luggin' it home to his swell joint up dere on de
+avenoo, an' crammin' his safe full of it."
+
+Larry the Bat sucked in his breath.
+
+"Gee, dat's soft!" he murmured, and then suddenly, as though with
+painful inspiration: "Say, Slimmy--say, are youse sure youse ain't been
+handed a steer?"
+
+The Magpie grinned wickedly.
+
+"I ain't fallin' fer steers!" he said shortly. "Dis is on de level."
+
+Jimmie Dale lurched up from his chair, and, leaning over the lamp
+chimney, drew wheezily on his cigarette to get a light. His eyes sought
+the Tocsin's face. To all intents and purposes she was entirely absorbed
+in the Magpie. He sat down again to gape, with well-stimulated, doglike
+admiration, at Slimmy Joe. WAS THIS, TOO, A PLANT? Why had the Magpie
+come to THEM with this story of Henry LaSalle? And then, the next
+instant, as the Magpie spoke, his suspicions were allayed.
+
+"Let's get down to cases!" the Magpie invited crisply. "I didn't blow
+in here just by luck. Dis Henry LaSalle is de guy youse worked fer once,
+ain't he, Mag? Dat's de spiel, ain't it?--he sent youse up fer pinchin'
+de tacks out of his carpets!"
+
+"I never pinched nothin'!" snarled Silver Mag truculently. "He's a dirty
+liar! I never did!"
+
+"Cut it out! Cut it out! Can dat!" complained the Magpie patiently. "De
+point is, youse worked in his house, didn't youse?"
+
+"Sure I did!" snapped the Tocsin, sullenly aggressive; "but--"
+
+"Well, den, dat's wot I want, dat's wot I come fer, Mag--a plan of de
+house. See?"
+
+Jimmie Dale could feel the Tocsin's eyes upon him, questioning,
+searching, seeking a cue. A plan of the house--yes or no? And a decision
+on the instant!
+
+"Sure!" said Larry the Bat brightly. "Dat's wot I was t'inkin' youse
+were after all de time. Say, youse are all right, Slimmy! Youse are de
+kind to work wid! Go on, Mag, draw de dope fer Slimmy. Dat's better
+dan tryin' to put one over on de swell guy. Dis'll make him squeal fer
+fair!"
+
+The Magpie produced a pencil and a piece of paper from his pocket, and
+laid them on the table in front of the Tocsin.
+
+"Dere youse are," he announced. "Help yerself, an' go to it, Mag!"
+
+The Tocsin, evidently not quite certain of her part, wet the pencil
+doubtfully on the end of her tongue.
+
+"I ain't never drawed plans," she said anxiously. "Mabbe"--she glanced
+at Jimmie Dale--"mabbe I dunno how to do it RIGHT."
+
+"Aw, go ahead!" nodded Larry the Bat. "Youse can do it right, Mag. Youse
+don't have to make no oil paintin'! All de Magpie wants is de doors an'
+windows, eh, Slimmy?"
+
+"Sure," agreed the Magpie encouragingly. "Dat's all, Mag. Just mark
+de rooms out on de first floor, an' de basement. Youse can explain wot
+youse 're doin' as youse goes along. I'll get youse."
+
+The Tocsin cackled maliciously in assent; and then, while the Magpie got
+up from his chair and stood peering over her shoulder, she began to draw
+labouriously, her brows knitted, the pencil hooked awkwardly between
+cramped-up forefinger and thumb.
+
+Larry the Bat, slouched forward over the table, his chin in his hands,
+appeared to watch the proceedings with mild interest--but his eyes, like
+a hawk's, were following every line on the paper, transferring them to
+his brain, photographing every detail of the plan in his mind. And as
+he watched, there seemed something that was near to the acme of all that
+was ironical in the Magpie standing there, his sharp, little, black eyes
+drinking in greedily the Tocsin's work, in the Tocsin herself aiding and
+abetting in the projected theft--OF HER OWN MONEY! How far would he let
+the Magpie go? He did not know. Perhaps--who could tell!--all the way.
+Between now and then there lay that package! If it were at Makoff's, at
+Spider Jack's, if he could find it, get it--the Magpie as a temporary
+custodian of the estate's money would at least preclude its loss by
+flight if the Crime Club took alarm too quickly. Larry the Bat's eyes,
+under half-closed lids, rested musingly on the Magpie's face. The Magpie
+would not get very far away with it! On the other hand, if he failed at
+Spider Jack's, if, after all, he was wrong, and the package had never
+been there, or if they had forestalled him, turned the trick upon
+him, already secured it, then--Larry the Bat's lips, working on his
+cigarette, formed in a twisted smile--then, well then, that was quite
+another matter! Perhaps he and the Magpie might not agree so far! A half
+million dollars was perhaps not much out of eleven millions, but it was
+a salvage not to be despised! Why did he say half a million! Well, why
+not? If the Magpie knew of a single transaction of eighty thousand,
+and there had been many transactions during the day, a half million was
+little likely to prove an exaggeration--and the less likely in view
+of the fact that, if those in the Crime Club were preparing for
+an emergency, they would not stint themselves in the disposal of
+securities.
+
+The Magpie was keeping up a running fire of questions, as the Tocsin
+toiled on with her pencil. Where did the hall lead to? How many windows
+in the library? Did she remember the kind of fastenings? Did the
+servants sleep in the basement, or above? And finally, twice over, as
+she finished the clumsy drawing and pushed it toward him, he demanded
+minute details of the position of the safe.
+
+"Aw, dat's all right, Slimmy!" Larry the Bat cut in airily. "If youse
+ferget anyt'ing when youse get in dere, youse can ask me. I got it
+cinched!"
+
+The Magpie folded the paper and stowed it carefully away in his pocket.
+
+"Ask youse, eh!" he grunted sarcastically. "An' where do youse t'ink
+youse'll be about dat time?"
+
+"In dere wid youse, of course," replied Larry the Bat promptly. "Dat's
+wot youse said."
+
+"Yes, youse will--NOT!" announced the Magpie, with cold finality. "Do
+youse t'ink I want to queer myself! A hot one youse'd be on an inside
+job! Youse'll be OUTSIDE, wid yer peepers skinned for de bulls--youse
+an' Mag here, too. See! Get dat straight. While I'm on de job youse
+two plays de game. Now youse listen to me, both of youse. Don't start
+nothin' unless youse has to. If it's a cinch I got to make a get-away,
+youse two start a drunk fight. Get me? Youse know de lay. T'row de talk
+loud--an' I'll fade. Dat's all! We'll crack de crib early--it'll be
+quiet enough up dere by one o'clock."
+
+One o'clock! Larry the Bat shook his head. What time was it now? It was
+about nine when he had first met the Tocsin, then the Sanctuary, then
+the long walk as he had followed her--say a quarter of ten for that. And
+he had certainly been here with her not less than an hour and a half.
+It must be after eleven, then. One o'clock! And before that must come
+Makoff and Spider Jack! The night that half an hour ago had seemed so
+sterile, was crowding a program of events upon him now--too fast!
+
+"Nothin' doin'!" he said thoughtfully. "Youse are in wrong dere, Slimmy.
+One o'clock don't go! Say, take it from me, I've watched dat guy
+too many nights fer Mag. 'Tain't often he leaves de club before one
+o'clock--an' he ain't never in bed before two."
+
+"All right," agreed the Magpie, after a moment's reflection. "Youse
+ought to know. Make it three o'clock." He pulled a cigar from his
+pocket, lighted it, and, leaning back in his chair, stuck his feet up
+on the table. "If youse don't mind, Mag, I'll stick around a while," he
+decided calmly. "Mabbe de less I'm seen to-night de better--an' I guess
+dere won't be nobody lookin' fer me here."
+
+Larry the Bat coughed suddenly, and rose up a little heavily from his
+chair. He had not counted on that! If the Magpie was settling down for
+a prolonged stay, it devolved upon him, Jimmie Dale, to get away, and
+at once--and without exciting the Magpie's suspicions. He coughed again,
+looked nervously from the Tocsin to the Magpie--stammered--swallowed
+hard--and coughed once more.
+
+"Well, wot's bitin' youse?" inquired the Magpie ironically.
+
+"Nothin'," said Larry the Bat--and hesitated. "Nothin', only--" He
+hesitated again; and then, the words in a rush:
+
+"Say, Slimmy, couldn't youse come across wid a piece of dat century
+now?"
+
+"Wot fer?" demanded the Magpie, a little aggressively.
+
+Larry the Bat cleared his throat with a desperate effort.
+
+"Youse knows," he admitted sheepishly. "Just gimme de price of one,
+Slimmy--just one."
+
+"Coke!" exploded the Magpie. "An' get soaked to de eyes--not by a damn
+sight!"
+
+"No! Honest to Gawd, no, Slimmy--just one!" pleaded Larry the Bat.
+
+"Nix!" said the Magpie shortly.
+
+Larry the Bat thrust out a hand before the Magpie's eyes that shook
+tremulously.
+
+"I got to have it!" he declared, with sudden fierceness. "I GOT to--see!
+Look at me! I ain't goin' to be no good to-night if I don't. I tell
+youse, I got to! I ain't goin' to t'row youse down, Slimmy--honest, I
+ain't! Just one--an' it'll set me up. If I don't get none I'll be on de
+rocks before mornin'! Dat's straight, Slimmy--ask Mag, she knows."
+
+"Aw, let him go get it!" broke in the Tocsin wearily. "Dat's de best
+t'ing youse can do, Slimmy--dey're all alike when dey gets in his
+class."
+
+"Youse cocaine sniffers gives me de pip!" snorted the Magpie, in
+disgust. He dug down into his pocket, produced a bill, and flung it
+across the table to Larry the Bat. "Well, dere youse are; but youse
+can take it from me, Larry, dat if youse gets whiffed"--he swore
+threateningly--"I'll crack every bone in yer face! Get me?"
+
+"Slimmy," said Larry the Bat fervently, grabbing at the bill with a
+hungry hand, "youse can count on me. I'll be up dere on de job before
+youse are. Three o'clock, eh? Well, so long, Slimmy"--he slouched
+eagerly to the door. "So long, Mag"--he paused on the threshold for
+a single, quick-flung, significant glance. "See youse on de avenoo,
+Mag--I'll be up dere before youse are. So long!"
+
+"Oh, so long!" said the Tocsin contemptuously.
+
+And, an instant later, Jimmie Dale closed the outer door behind him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+JOHN JOHANSSON--FOUR-TWO-EIGHT
+
+
+Nearly midnight already! It was even later than he had thought. Larry
+the Bat pressed his face against a shop's windowpane on the Bowery for
+a glance at a clock that had caught his eye on the wall within. Nearly
+midnight!
+
+He slouched on again hurriedly, still debating in his mind, as he
+had been debating it all the way from the Tocsin's, the question of
+returning again to the Sanctuary. So far, the way both to Spider Jack's
+and the Sanctuary had been in the same direction--but the Sanctuary was
+on the next street.
+
+Jimmie Dale reached the corner--and hesitated. It was strange how strong
+was the intuition upon him to-night that bade him go on and make all
+speed to Spider Jack's--while equally strong was the cold, stubborn
+logic that bade him go first to the Sanctuary. There were things that he
+needed there that would probably be absolutely essential to him before
+the night was out, things without which he might be so badly handicapped
+as to invite failure from the start; and yet--it was already midnight!
+
+Ostensibly both Makoff and Spider Jack closed their places at eleven.
+But that might mean anything--depending upon their own respective
+inclinations, or on what of their own peculiar brand of deviltry might
+be afoot. If they were still about, still in evidence, he was still too
+early, midnight though it was; though, on the other hand, if the coast
+was clear, he could ill afford to lose a moment of the time between
+now and the hour that the Magpie had planned for the robbery of Henry
+LaSalle, for it would not be an easy matter, even once inside Spider
+Jack's, to find that package--since it was Spider's open boast that
+things committed to his care were where the police, or any one else,
+might as well whistle and suck their thumbs as try to find them!
+
+And then, with sudden decision, taking his hesitation, as it were, by
+the throat, Jimmie Dale hurried on again--to the Sanctuary. At most, it
+could delay him but another fifteen minutes, and by half-past twelve, or
+a quarter to one at the latest, he would be at Spider Jack's.
+
+Disdaining the secrecy of the side door on the alley, for who had a
+better right or was better known there than Larry the Bat, a tenant of
+years, he entered the tenement by the front door, scuffled up the stairs
+to the first landing, and let himself into his disreputable room. He
+locked the door behind him, lighted the choked and wheezy gas jet, in a
+single, sharp-flung glance assured himself that the blinds were tightly
+shut, and, kneeling in the far corner, threw back the oilcloth and
+lifted up the loose section of the flooring beneath. He reached inside,
+fumbling under the neatly folded clothes of Jimmie Dale, and in a moment
+laid his leather girdle with its kit of burglar's tools on the floor
+beside him; and beside that again an electric flashlight, a black silk
+mask, and--what he had never expected to use again when, early the night
+before, he had, as he had believed, put it away forever--the thin, metal
+insignia case of the Gray Seal. Another moment, and, with the flooring
+replaced, the oilcloth rolled back into position, he had stripped off
+his coat and was pulling his spotted, greasy shirt off over his head;
+then, stooping quickly, he picked up the girdle, put it on, put on
+his shirt again over it, put on his coat, put the metal case, the
+flashlight, and the mask in his pockets--and once more the Sanctuary was
+in darkness.
+
+It was perhaps fifteen minutes later that Jimmie Dale turned into the
+upper section of Thompson Street. Here he slowed his pace, that had
+been almost a run since he had left the Sanctuary, and began to shuffle
+leisurely along; for the street, that a few hours before would have been
+choked with its pushcarts and venders, its half naked children playing
+where they could find room in the gutters, its sidewalks thronged with
+shawled women and picturesquely dressed, earringed, dark-visaged men,
+a scene, as it were, transported from some foreign land, was still
+far from deserted; the quiet, if quiet it could be called, was but
+comparative, there were many yet about, and he had no desire to attract
+attention by any evidence of undue haste. And, besides, Spider Jack's
+was just ahead, making the corner of the alleyway a few hundred feet
+farther on, and he had very good reasons for desiring to approach
+Spider's little novelty store at a pace that would afford him every
+opportunity for observation.
+
+On he shuffled along the street, until, reaching Spider Jack's, a little
+two-storied, tumble-down brick structure, a muttered exclamation of
+satisfaction escaped him. The shop was closed and dark; and, though
+Spider Jack lived above the store, there were no lights even in the
+upper windows. Spider Jack presumably was either out, or in bed! So far,
+then, he could have asked for nothing more.
+
+Jimmie Dale edged in close to the building as he slouched by, so close
+that his hat brim seemed to touch the windowpane. It was possible that
+from a room at the rear of the store there might be a light with a
+telltale ray perhaps filtering through, say, a door crack. But there was
+nothing--only blackness within.
+
+He paused at the corner of the building by the alleyway. Down here,
+adjoining the high board fence of Spider Jack's back yard, Makoff made
+pretense at pawnbrokering in a small and dingy wooden building, that was
+little more pretentious than a shed--and in Makoff's place, so far as he
+could see, there was no light, either.
+
+Jimmie Dale's fingers were industriously rolling a cigarette, as, under
+the brim of his slouch hat, his eyes were noting every detail around
+him. A yard in against the wall of Spider Jack's, the wall cutting
+off the rays of the street lamp at a sharp angle, it was shadowy and
+black--and beyond that, farther in, the alleyway was like a pit. It
+would take less, far less, than the fraction of a second to gain that
+yard, but some one was approaching behind him, and a little group of
+people loitered, with annoying persistency, directly across the way on
+the other side of the street. Jimmie Dale stuck the cigarette between
+his lips, fumbled in his pockets, and finally produced a box of matches.
+The group opposite was moving on now; the footsteps he had heard behind
+him, those of a man, drew nearer, the man passed by--and the box of
+matches in Jimmie Dale's hand dropped to the ground. He reached to pick
+them up, and in his stooping posture, without seeming to turn his head,
+flung a quick glance behind him up the street. No one, for that fraction
+of a second that he needed, was near enough to see--and in that fraction
+of a second Jimmie Dale disappeared.
+
+A dozen yards down the lane, he sprang for the top of the high fence,
+gripped it, and, lithe and active as a cat, swung himself up and over,
+and dropped noiselessly to the ground on the other side. Here he stood
+motionless for a moment, close against the fence, to get his bearings.
+The rear of Spider Jack's building loomed up before him--the back
+windows as unlighted as those in front. Luck so far, at least, was with
+him! He turned and looked about him, and, his eyes growing accustomed to
+the darkness, he could just make out Makoff's place, bordering the end
+of the yard--nor, from this new vantage point, could he discover,
+any more than before, a single sign of life about the pawnbroker's
+establishment.
+
+Jimmie Dale stole forward across the yard, mounted the three steps of
+the low stoop at Spider Jack's back door, and tried the door cautiously.
+It was locked. From his pocket came the small steel instrument that
+had stood Larry the Bat in good stead a hundred times before in similar
+circumstances. He inserted it in the keyhole, worked deftly with it
+for an instant--and tried the door again. It was still locked. And
+then Jimmie Dale smiled almost apologetically. Spider Jack did not use
+ordinary locks on his back door!
+
+The discountenanced instrument went back into his pocket, and now
+Jimmie Dale's hand slipped inside his shirt, and from one of the little,
+upright pockets of the leather belt, and from still another, and from
+after that a third, came the vicious little blued-steel tools. The
+sensitive fingers travelled slowly up and down the side of the door--and
+then he was at work in earnest. A minute passed--another--there was a
+dull, low, grating sound, a snick as of metal yielding suddenly--and
+Jimmie Dale was coolly stowing away his tools again inside his shirt.
+
+He pushed the door open an inch, listened, then swung it wide, stepped
+inside, and closed it behind him. A round, white beam of light flashed
+in a quick circle--and went out. It was a sort of storeroom, innocent
+enough and orderly enough in appearance, bare-floored, with boxes and
+packing cases piled neatly against the walls. In one corner a staircase
+led to the story above--and from above, quite audibly now, he caught the
+sound of snoring. Spider Jack was in bed, then!
+
+Directly facing him was the open door of another room, and Jimmie Dale,
+moving softly forward, entered it. He had never been in Spider Jack's
+before, and his first concern was to form an intimate acquaintanceship
+with his surroundings. Again the flashlight circled, and again went out.
+
+"No windows!" muttered Jimmie Dale under his breath. "Nothing very fancy
+about the architecture! Three rooms in a row! Store in front of this
+room through that door of course. Wonder if the door's locked, though
+it's a foregone conclusion the package wouldn't be in there."
+
+Not a sound, his tread silent, he crossed to the closed door that he had
+noticed. It was unlocked, and he opened it tentatively a little way.
+A faint glow of light diffused itself through the opening. Jimmie Dale
+nodded his head and closed the door again. The street lamp, shining
+through the shop windows, accounted for the light.
+
+And now the flashlight played with steady inquisitiveness about him.
+The room in which he stood seemed to combine a sort of office, with
+a lounging room, in which Spider Jack, no doubt, entertained his
+particular cronies. There was table in the centre, cards still upon it,
+chairs about it. Against the wall farthest away from the shop stood
+a huge, old-fashioned cabinet; and a little farther along, anglewise,
+partitioning off the corner, as it were, hung, for some purpose or
+other, a cretonne curtain. Also, against the wall next to the lane,
+bringing a commiserating smile to Jimmie Dale's lips as his eyes fell
+upon it, was a clumsy, lumbering, antique safe.
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes returned to the curtain. What was it doing there?
+What was it for? Instinctively he stepped over to examine it. A single
+glance, however, as he lifted it aside, sufficed. It was nothing but
+a make-shift clothes closet. He turned from it, switched off the
+flashlight, and stood staring meditatively into the darkness. In a
+strange house, with the knowledge to begin with that what he sought was
+carefully hidden, it was no sinecure to find that package. He had never
+for a moment imagined that it would be. But of one thing, however, there
+was no uncertainty in his mind--he would get the package!--by search
+if possible, by other means if search failed. It was now close to one
+o'clock. If by two o'clock his efforts had been fruitless, Spider Jack
+would hand over the package--at the revolver point! It was quite simple!
+Meanwhile--Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders, and, going over to
+the safe, knelt down in front of it--meanwhile, as well begin here as
+anywhere else.
+
+The trained fingers closed on the handle--and on the instant, as though
+in startled amazement, shifted to the dial. They came back to the
+handle--a wrench--then a low, amused chuckle--and the door swung open.
+The great, unwieldy thing was only a monumental bluff! It not only had
+not been locked, but it COULD NOT be locked--the mechanism was out of
+order, the bolts could not be moved by so much as a hair's breadth!
+
+Still chuckling, Jimmie Dale shot the flashlight's ray into the interior
+of the safe--and the chuckle died on his lips, and into his face came a
+look of strained bewilderment. Inside, everything was in chaos,
+books, papers, a miscellany of articles, as though they had first been
+ruthlessly pulled out on the floor, then gathered up in an armful and
+crammed back inside again. For an instant he did not move, and then a
+queer, hard, mirthless smile drew down the corners of his mouth. With a
+sort of bitter, expectant nod of his head, he turned the light upon the
+door of the safe. Yes, there were the scratches that the tools had left;
+and, as though in sardonic jest, the holes, where the steel bit had
+bored, were plugged with putty and rubbed over with some black substance
+that was still wet and came off, smearing his finger, as he touched it.
+It could not have been done long ago, then! How long? A half hour--an
+hour? Not more than that!
+
+Mechanically he closed the door of the safe, rose to his feet and,
+almost heedless of noise now, the flashlight ray dancing before him,
+he jumped across to the old-fashioned cabinet and pulled the door open.
+Here, as within the safe, all inside, plain evidence of thorough, if
+hasty, search, was scattered and tossed about in hopeless confusion.
+
+He shut the cabinet door; the flashlight went out; and he stood like
+a man stunned, the sense of some abysmal disaster upon him. He was too
+late! The game was up! If it had ever been here, the package was gone
+now--GONE! The Crime Club had been here before him!
+
+"The game was up! The game was up!"--his mind seemed to keep on
+repeating that. The Crime Club had beaten him by an hour, at most,
+and had been here, and had searched. It was strange, though, that they
+should have been at such curious pains to cover their tracks by leaving
+the room in order, by such paltry efforts to make the safe appear
+untouched when the first glance that was at all critical would disclose
+immediately what had been done! Why should they need to cover their
+tracks at all; or, if it was necessary, why, above all, in such a
+pitifully inadequate way! His mind barked back to the same ghastly
+refrain--"the game was up!"
+
+NO! Not yet! There was still a chance! There was still Spider Jack!
+Suppose, in spite of their search, they had failed to find the package!
+Jimmie Dale's lips set in a thin line, as he started abruptly toward
+the door. There was still that chance, and one thing was grimly
+certain--Spider Jack would, at least, show him where the package HAD
+BEEN!
+
+And then, halfway to the door, he halted suddenly, and stood
+still--listening. An electric bell was ringing loudly, imperiously,
+somewhere upstairs. Followed almost immediately the sound of some one,
+Spider Jack presumably, moving hurriedly about overhead; and then, a
+moment later, steps coming down the staircase in the adjoining room.
+
+Jimmie Dale drew back, flattening himself against the wall. Spider Jack
+entered the room, stumbled across it, in the darkness, fumbled for the
+door that led into his little shop, opened it, passed through, fumbled
+around in there again, for matches evidently, then lighted a gas jet in
+the store, and, going to the street door, opened it.
+
+Jimmie Dale had edged along the wall a little to a position where he had
+an unobstructed view through the open doorway connecting the shop and
+the room in which he stood. Spider Jack, in trousers and shirt, hastily
+donned, no doubt, as he had got out of bed, was standing in the street
+doorway, and beyond him loomed the forms of several men. Spider Jack
+stepped aside to allow his visitors to enter--and suddenly, a cry barely
+suppressed upon his lips, Jimmie Dale involuntarily strained forward.
+Three men had entered, but his eyes were fixed, fascinated, upon
+only one--the first of the three. Was it an hallucination? Was he
+mad---dreaming? It was Hilton Travers, THE CHAUFFEUR--the man whom he
+could have sworn he had last seen dead, lashed in that chair, in that
+ghastly death chamber of the Crime Club!
+
+"Rather rough on you, Spider, to pull you out of bed at this hour," the
+chauffeur was saying apologetically.
+
+"Oh, that's all right, seein' it's you, Travers," Spider Jack answered,
+gruffly amiable. "Only I was kind of lookin' for you last night."
+
+"I know," the chauffeur replied; "but I couldn't connect with my friends
+here. Shake hands with them, Spider--Bob Marvin--Harry Stead."
+
+"Glad to know you, gents," said Spider Jack, with a handgrip apiece.
+
+The chauffeur lowered his voice a little.
+
+"I suppose we're alone here, eh, Spider? Yes? Well, then, you know what
+I've come for--that package--Marvin and Stead, here, are the ones that
+are in on it with me. Get it for me, will you, Spider?"
+
+"Sure--Mr. Johansson!" Spider grinned. "Sure! Come on into the back room
+and make yourselves comfortable. I'll be mabbe five minutes, or so."
+
+Jimmie Dale's brain was whirling. What did it mean? He could not seem
+to understand. His mind seemed to refuse its functions. Travers, the
+chauffeur--ALIVE! He drew in his breath sharply. That curtain in the
+corner! He must see this out now! They were coming! Quick, noiseless,
+he stole along the side of the wall, reached the corner, and slipped in
+behind the curtain, as Spider Jack, striking a match, entered the room.
+
+Spider Jack lighted the gas, and, as the others followed behind him,
+waved them toward the chairs around the table.
+
+"I'll just ask you gents not to leave the room," he said meaningly, over
+his shoulder, as he stepped toward the rear door. "It's kind of a fad of
+mine to keep some things even from my wife!"
+
+"All right, Spider--I understand," the chauffeur returned readily.
+
+Jimmie Dale's knife cut a tiny slit in the cretonne on a level with his
+eyes. The three men had seated themselves at the table, and appeared to
+be listening intently. Spider Jack's footsteps echoed back as he crossed
+the rear room, sounded dull and muffled descending the stoop outside,
+and died away.
+
+"I told you it wasn't in the house!" the man who had been introduced as
+Stead laughed shortly. "We wasted the hour we had here."
+
+The third man spoke crisply, incisively, to the chauffeur.
+
+"Turn down that gas jet a little! You've got across with it so far--but
+you can't stand a searchlight, Clarke!"
+
+And at the words, in a flash, the meaning of it, all of it, to the last
+detail that was spelling death, ruin, and disaster for her, the Tocsin,
+for himself as well, burst upon Jimmie Dale. That VOICE! He would have
+known it, recognised it, among a thousand--it was the masked man of the
+night before, the leader, the head of the Crime Club! And it was not
+Travers there at all! He remembered now, too well, that second room they
+had showed him in the Crime Club--its multitude of disguises, though
+in this case they had the dead man's clothes ready to their hands--the
+leader's boast that impersonation was but child's play to them! And now
+he understood why they had covered up the traces of their search in only
+so curiously inadequate a manner. They had failed to find the package,
+and, as a last resort, had adopted the ruse of impersonating Hilton
+Travers, the chauffeur, which made it necessary that when they called
+Spider Jack from his bed, as they had just done, that Spider Jack, at a
+CASUAL glance, should notice nothing amiss--but it would be no more than
+a casual glance, for, who should know better than they, he would not
+have to go for the package to any place that they had disturbed! And he,
+Jimmie Dale, could only stand here and watch them, helpless, powerless
+to move! Three of them! A step out into the room was to invite certain
+death. It would not matter, his death--if he could gain anything
+for her, for the Tocsin, by it. But what could he gain--by dying? He
+clenched his hands until the nails bit into the flesh.
+
+Spider Jack re-entered the room, carrying what looked like a large,
+bulky, manila envelope, heavily sealed, in his hand. He tossed it on the
+table.
+
+"There you are, Travers!" he said.
+
+"I wonder," suggested the leader pleasantly, "if, now that we're here,
+Travers, your friend would mind letting us have this room for a few
+minutes to ourselves to clean up the business?"
+
+"Sure!" agreed Spider Jack cordially. "You're welcome to it! I'll wait
+out here in the store until you say the word."
+
+He went out, closing the door after him. The leader picked up the
+package.
+
+"We'll take no chances with this," he said grimly. "It's been too close
+a call. After we've had a look at it, we'll put it out of harm's way on
+the spot, here, while we've got it--before we leave!"
+
+He ripped the package open, and disclosed perhaps a dozen
+official-looking documents, besides a miscellaneous number of others.
+He took up the first of the papers, glanced through it hurriedly, then
+tossed it to the pseudo chauffeur.
+
+"Tear it up, and tear it up--SMALL!" he ordered tersely. The next,
+after examining it as he had the first, he tossed to the other man. "Go
+ahead!"--curtly. "Work fast! From the looks of these, Travers had us
+cold! There's proof enough here of LaSalle's murder to send us all to
+the chair!"
+
+He went on glancing through the documents; and then suddenly, joining
+the others in their work, began to rip and tear at the papers himself.
+
+A sort of cold horror had settled upon Jimmie Dale, and his forehead
+was clammy wet. The inhuman irony of it! That he should stand there and
+watch, impotent to prevent it, the destruction of what he would have
+given his life to secure! And then slowly, a grim, hard, merciless smile
+came to his lips. He had recognised the leader's voice--now he would
+recognise the leader's FACE. At least, that was left to him--perhaps the
+master trump of all. It would not be very hard to find the Crime Club
+now--with that man to lead the way!
+
+The scraps of paper, tiny shreds, mounted into a heap on the table--and
+with the last of the contents of the package destroyed, the leader stood
+up.
+
+"Put these pieces in your pockets; we don't want to leave them here," he
+directed quietly. "And then let's get out."
+
+In scarcely a moment, the last scrap of paper had vanished. The three
+men walked to the door, passed through it, and joined Spider Jack in the
+store--and Jimmie Dale, slipping out from behind the curtain, gained the
+door of the rear room, crept through it, reached the stoop, and then,
+darting like the wind across the yard, was over the fence in a second,
+and in another was out of the alleyway and on the street.
+
+He was in time--in plenty of time. They had just left Spider Jack's,
+and were, perhaps, fifty yards or so ahead of him. He slouched on behind
+them--the cold, grim smile on his lips once more. It was the Crime Club
+now, that hell's cradle where their devil's schemes were hatched,
+that was the one thing left to him; they would lead him to that, and
+then--and then it would be his turn to STRIKE!
+
+They turned the first corner. And suddenly, as the racing engine of an
+automobile caught his ear, he broke into a run, and dashed around the
+corner after them--in time to see them jump into a car, and the car
+speed off along the street! He halted, as though he were suddenly
+dazed--started involuntarily to run forward again--stopped with a hollow
+laugh at the futility of it--and stood still and motionless on the
+sidewalk.
+
+And then he swayed a little, and his face grew gray. Failure, defeat,
+ruin--in that moment he knew them all to their bitterest dregs. How
+could he go to her! How could he face her, and tell her that they were
+beaten, that the last hope was gone, that he had failed!
+
+"God!" he cried aloud, and clenched his hands.
+
+Then deep in his consciousness a thought stirred, and he swept a shaking
+hand across his eyes. Why had it come again, that thought! Did it mean
+that HE must play--the last card! There was a way--there had always been
+a way. The way the Crime Club took--MURDER. It was their own weapon!
+If the man who posed as Henry LaSalle were killed! If that man--were
+killed!
+
+"The Magpie was to be there at three!" he muttered--and started
+mechanically back along the street.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+THE ONLY WAY
+
+
+It was a horrible thing--and it grew upon him. In a blind, mechanical
+way, his brain receptive to nothing else, Jimmie Dale walked on along
+the street. To kill a man! Death he had faced himself a hundred times,
+witnessed it a hundred times in its most violent forms, had seen murder
+done before his eyes, had been in straits where, to save his own life,
+it had seemed the one last desperate chance--and yet his hands were
+still clean! To kill a man in fair fight, in struggle, when the blood
+was hot, was terrible enough, a possibility that was always before him,
+the one thing from which he shrank, the one thing that, as the Gray
+Seal, he had always feared; but to kill a man deliberately, to creep
+upon his victim with hideous, cold-blooded premeditation--he shivered a
+little, and his hand shook as he drew it nervously across his eyes.
+
+But there was no other way! Again and again, insidiously grappling with
+his revulsion, with the horror that the impulse to murder inspired,
+came that other thought--there was no other way. If the man who posed
+as Henry LaSalle were DEAD! If he were dead! If he were dead! See, now,
+what would happen if that man were dead! How clear his brain was on that
+point! The whole plot would tumble like a house of cards about the heads
+of the Crime Club. The courts would require an auditing of the estate
+by a trustee of the courts' own appointing, who would continue to
+administer it until the Tocsin's twenty-fifth birthday, or until there
+was tangible evidence of her death--but the Tocsin, automatically with
+her pseudo uncle's death, could publicly appear again. Her death could
+no longer benefit the Crime Club, since it, the Crime Club, with the
+supposed uncle dead, could not profit through the false Henry LaSalle
+inheriting as next of kin! It was the weak link, the vulnerable point in
+the stupendous scheme of murder and crime with which these hell fiends
+had played for and won, so far, the stake of eleven millions. Not that
+they had overlooked or been blind to this, they were too clever, too
+cunning for that--it was only that they had planned to accomplish the
+Tocsin's death, as they had her father's and uncle's, and ESTABLISH
+the false Henry LaSalle in undisputed possession and ownership of the
+estate--and had failed in that--up to the present. But the material
+results remained the same, so long as the Tocsin, to save her life,
+was forced to remain in hiding, so long as proof that would convict the
+Crime Club was not forthcoming--SO LONG AS THAT MAN LIVED!
+
+Time passed to which Jimmie Dale was oblivious. At times he walked
+slowly, scarcely moving; at times his pace was a nervous, hurried
+stride, that was almost a run. And as he was oblivious to time, so was
+he oblivious to his surroundings, to the direction which he took.
+At times his forehead was damp with moisture that was not there from
+physical exertion; at times his face, deathly white, was full as of
+the vision of some shuddering, abhorrent sight; at times his lips were
+thinned into a straight line, and there was a glitter in the dark eyes
+that was not good to see, while his hands at his sides clenched until
+the skin, tight over the knuckles, was an ivory white. To kill a man!
+
+What other way was there? The proof that it had taken Hilton Travers
+years to obtain, the proof on which the Tocsin's life depended, was
+destroyed utterly, irreparably. It could never be duplicated--Hilton
+Travers was dead--MURDERED. Murder! That thought again! It was their
+own weapon! Murder! Would one kill a venomous reptile in whose fangs
+was death? What right had this man to life, whose life was forfeit even
+under the law--for murder? Was she to drag on an intolerable existence
+among the dregs and the scum of the underworld, she, in her refinement
+and her purity, to exist among the vile and dissolute, in daily, hourly
+peril of her life, because the weapons that these inhuman vultures
+had used to rob her, to destroy those she loved, to make of her life a
+hideous, joyless thing, should not be used against them?
+
+But to kill a man! To steal upon a man with cold intent in the blackness
+of the night--and take his life! To be a murderer! To know the horror
+of blood forever upon one's hands, to rise, cold-sweated, in the night,
+fearful of the very shadows around one, to live with every detail of
+that fearsome act sweeping like some dread spectre at unexpected moments
+upon the consciousness! He put up his hands before his face, as though
+to blot out the thought from him. Mind and soul recoiled before it--to
+kill a man!
+
+He walked on and on, until at last, conscious of a sense of fatigue, he
+stopped. He must have come a long way, been walking a long time. Where
+was he? He looked about him for a moment in a dazed way--and suddenly,
+with a low cry, shrank back. As though he had been drawn to it by
+some ghastly magnet, he found himself standing in front of the LaSalle
+mansion, on Fifth Avenue. No, no; it was not for that he had come--to
+kill a man! It was only--only to get that money. Yes--he remembered
+now--that money from the safe, before the Magpie got it. The Magpie was
+to be there at three o'clock--and the Tocsin was to be there, too. The
+Tocsin! That package! He had failed! It had been her one hope, and--and
+it was gone. What could he say to her? How could he tell her the
+miserable truth? But--but he had not come there in the dead of night to
+kill a man, these other things were what had--
+
+"Jimmie!" It was a quick-breathed whisper. A hand was on his arm.
+
+He turned, startled. It was the Tocsin--Silver Mag.
+
+"Jimmie!" in alarm. "Why are you standing here like this? You may be
+SEEN!"
+
+Seen! Suppose he WERE seen? He shuddered a little.
+
+"Yes; that's so!" he said hoarsely. He glanced numbly up and down the
+wide, deserted, but well-lighted, avenue. It was no place, that most
+aristocratic section of the city, for such as Silver Mag and Larry
+the Bat to be seen at that hour of night, or, rather, morning. And if
+anything HAPPENED inside that house! "I--I didn't think of that," he
+said mechanically.
+
+"Come across the street--under the stoop of that house there." She had
+his arm, and was half dragging him as she spoke, the alarm in her voice
+intensified. And then, a moment later, safe from observation: "Jimmie,
+Jimmie, what is the matter? What has happened? What makes you act so
+strangely?"
+
+"Nothing," he said. "I--"
+
+"TELL me!" she insisted wildly.
+
+And then, with a violent effort, Jimmie Dale forced his mind back to the
+immediate present. He was only inspiring her with terror--and there was
+the Magpie--and that money in the safe!
+
+"Where is the Magpie?" he asked, with quick apprehension. "Am I late? Is
+he in there already?"
+
+"No," she said. "He hasn't come yet."
+
+"What time is it?" he demanded anxiously.
+
+"About half-past two," she replied. "But, Jimmie--"
+
+"Wait!" he broke in. "Where is he now? You were both together! And
+you were both to be here at three. What are you doing here alone at
+half-past two?"
+
+A strange little exclamation, one almost of dismay, it seemed, escaped
+her.
+
+"The Magpie left my place an hour ago--to get his kit, I think. And I
+came here at once because that was what you and I understood I was to
+do, wasn't it? Jimmie, you frighten me! You are not yourself. Don't
+you remember the last words you said, as you nodded to me behind the
+Magpie's back--that you would be here BEFORE us? There was no mistaking
+your meaning--if I could get away from him, I was to come here and meet
+you."
+
+Jimmie Dale passed his hand nervously across his eyes. Of course, he
+remembered now! What a frightful turmoil his brain had been in!
+
+"Yes; of course!" He tried to speak nonchalantly. "I had forgotten for
+the moment."
+
+She caught his arm in a quick, tight hold, shaking him in a terrified
+way.
+
+"YOU--forget a thing like that! Jimmie--something terrible has happened.
+Can't you see that I am nearly mad with anxiety! What is it? What is it?
+That package, Jimmie--is it the package?"
+
+He did not answer. What could he say? It meant life, hope, joy,
+everything that the world held for her--and it was gone.
+
+"Yes--it IS the package!" she whispered frantically. "Quick, Jimmie!
+Tell me! It--it was not there? You--you could not find it?"
+
+"It was there," he said, as though the words were literally forced from
+him.
+
+"Then? Then--WHAT, Jimmie?" The clutch on his arm was like a vise.
+
+"They got it," he said. It was like a death sentence that he pronounced.
+"It is destroyed."
+
+She did not speak or move--save that her hands, as though nerveless and
+without strength, fell away from his arms, and dropped to her sides. It
+was dark there under the stoop, though not so dark but that he could see
+her face. It was gray--gray as death. And there was misery and fear
+and a pitiful helplessness in it--and then she swayed a little, and he
+caught her in his arms.
+
+"Gone!" she murmured in a dead, colourless way--and suddenly laughed out
+sharply, hysterically.
+
+"Don't! For God's sake, don't do that!" he pleaded wildly.
+
+She looked at him then for a moment in strange quiet--and lifted her
+hand and stroked his face in a numbed way.
+
+"It--it would have been better, Jimmie, wouldn't it," she said in the
+same monotonous voice, "it would have been better if--if I had never
+found out anything, and they--they had done the same to me that they did
+to--to father."
+
+"Marie! Marie!" It was the first time he had ever spoken her name, and
+it was on his lips now in an agony of tenderness and appeal. "Don't! You
+mustn't speak like that!"
+
+"I'm tired," she said. "I--I can't fight any more."
+
+She did not cry. She lay there in his arms quite still--like a weary
+child.
+
+The minutes passed. When Jimmie Dale spoke again it was
+irrelevantly--and his face was very white:
+
+"Marie, describe the upper floor of that house over there for me."
+
+She roused herself with a start.
+
+"The upper floor?" she repeated slowly. "Why--why do you ask that?"
+
+"Have YOU forgotten in turn?" he said, with a steady smile. "That money
+in the safe--it's yours--we can at least save that out of the wreck. You
+only drew the basement plan and the first floor for the Magpie--the
+more I know about the house the better, of course, in case anything goes
+wrong. Now, see, try and be brave--and tell me quickly, for I must get
+through before the Magpie comes, and I have barely half an hour."
+
+"No, Jimmie--no!" She slipped out of his arms. "Let it alone! I am
+afraid. Something--I--I have a feeling that something will happen."
+
+"It is the only way." He said it involuntarily, more to himself than to
+her.
+
+"Jimmie, let it alone!" she said again.
+
+"No," he said. "I am going--so tell me quickly. Every minute that we
+wait is one that counts against us."
+
+She hesitated an instant--and then, speaking rapidly, made a verbal
+sketch of the upper portion of the house for him.
+
+"It's a very large house, isn't it?" he commented innocently--to pave
+the way for the question, above all others, that he had to ask. "Which
+is your uncle's, I mean that man's room?"
+
+"The first on the right, at the head of the landing," she answered.
+"Only, Jimmie, don't--don't go!"
+
+He drew her close to him again.
+
+"Now, listen," he said quietly. "When the Magpie comes and finds I am
+not here, lead him to think that the money he gave me was too much for
+me; that I am probably in some den, doped with drug--and hold him as
+long as you can on the pretext that there is always the possibility I
+may, after all, show up before he goes in there. You understand? And
+now about yourself--you must do exactly as I say. On no account allow
+yourself to be seen by ANY ONE except the Magpie. I would tell you to
+go now, only, unless it is vitally necessary, we cannot afford to
+arouse the Magpie's suspicions--he'd have every crook in the underworld
+snarling at our heels. But you are not to wait, even for him, if you
+detect the slightest disturbance in that house before he comes. And,
+equally, after he has gone in, whether I have come out or not, at the
+first indication of anything unusual you are to get away at once. You
+understand--Marie?"
+
+"Yes," she said. "But--but, Jimmie, you--"
+
+"Just one thing more." He smiled at her reassuringly. "Did the Magpie
+say anything about how he intended to get in?"
+
+"Yes--by the side away from the corner of the street," she said
+tremulously. "You see, there's quite a space between the house and the
+one next door; and, besides, the house next door is closed up, there's
+nobody there, the family has gone away for the summer. The library
+window there is low enough to reach from the ground."
+
+For a moment longer he held her close to him, as though he could not let
+her go--then bent and kissed her passionately. And in that moment all
+the emotions he had known as he had walked blindly from Spider Jack's
+that night surged again upon him; and that voice was whispering,
+whispering, whispering: "It is the only way--it is the only way."
+
+And then, not daring to trust his voice, he released her suddenly,
+and stepped back out from under the stoop--and the next instant he was
+across the deserted avenue. Another, and he had slipped through the
+iron gates that opened on the street driveway--and in yet another he was
+crouched close up against the front door of the LaSalle mansion.
+
+It was a large house, a very large house, one of the few that, even
+amid the wealth and luxury of that quarter, boasted its own grounds, and
+those so restricted as scarcely to deserve the name; but it was set far
+enough back from the street to escape the radius of the street lamps,
+and so guarantee in its shadows security from observation. It was not
+the Magpie's way, the front door--the obvious to the Magpie and his ilk
+was a thing always to be shunned. Jimmie Dale's lips were set in a
+grim smile, as his fingers worked with lightning speed, now taking this
+instrument and now that from the leather pockets in the girdle beneath
+his shirt--the penitentiaries were full of Magpies who shunned the
+obvious!
+
+Very slowly, very cautiously the door opened. He listened breathlessly,
+tensely. The door closed again--behind him. He was inside now.
+Stillness! Blackness! Not a sound! A minute went by--another. And then,
+as he stood there, strained, listening, the silence itself began, it
+seemed, to palpitate, and pound, pound, pound, and be full of strange
+noises. It was a horrible thing--to kill a man!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+OUT OF THE DARKNESS
+
+
+A moment later, Jimmie Dale stepped forward through the vestibule.
+He was quite calm now; a sort of cold, merciless precision in every
+movement succeeding the riot of turbulent emotions that had possessed
+him as he had entered the house.
+
+The half hour, the maximum length of time before the Magpie would
+appear, as he had estimated it when out there under the stoop with the
+Tocsin, had dwindled now to perhaps twenty minutes, twenty-five at the
+outside. Twenty-five minutes! Twenty-five minutes was so little that for
+an instant the temptation was strong upon him to sacrifice, rather
+than any of those precious minutes, the Magpie instead! And then in the
+darkness, as he stole noiselessly across the hall, he shook his head. It
+would be a cowardly, brutal thing to do. What chance would a man with a
+record like the Magpie's stand if caught there? How easy it would be
+to shift the murder of the supposed Henry LaSalle to the Magpie's
+shoulders! Jimmie Dale's lips closed firmly. Self-preservation was,
+perhaps, the first law, but he would save the Magpie if he could--the
+Magpie should have his chance! The man might be a criminal, might
+deserve punishment at the hands of the law, his liberty might be a
+menace to the community--but he was not a murderer, his life forfeit for
+a crime he had never committed!
+
+If he, Jimmie Dale, could only in some way have arranged with the Tocsin
+out there to keep the Magpie away altogether! But it could not be done
+without arousing the Magpie's suspicions; and, as a corollary to that,
+afterward, with the subsequent events, would come--the deluge! The law
+of the underworld was clear, concise, and admitting of no appeal on that
+point; to double cross a pal meant, sooner or later, a knife thrust, a
+blackjack, or--But what difference did it make what form the execution
+of the sentence took? And, since, then, that was out of the question,
+since he could not keep the Magpie away without practically risking his
+own life, the Magpie at least must have his chance.
+
+Jimmie Dale was at the library door now, that, according to the plan the
+Tocsin had drawn for the Magpie, and as he remembered her description
+when she had told him her story earlier in the evening, was just at the
+foot of the staircase. How dark it was! Though the stairs could be only
+a few feet away, he could not see them. And how intense the silence was
+again! Here, where he stood, the slightest stir from above must have
+reached him--but there was not a sound.
+
+His hand felt out for the doorknob, found it, turned it, and pushed the
+door open. He stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him.
+The safe, according to the Tocsin's plan again, was in that sort of
+alcove at the lower end of the library. Jimmie Dale's flashlight played
+inquisitively about the room. There was the window, the only one in the
+room, the window through which the Magpie proposed to enter; there
+was the archway of the alcove, with its--no, there were no longer any
+portieres; and there was the safe, he could see it quite plainly from
+where he stood at the upper end of the room.
+
+The flashlight went out for the space of perhaps thirty seconds--thirty
+seconds of absolute silence, absolute stillness--then the round, white
+ray of the light again, but glistening now on the nickel knobs and dial
+of the safe--and Jimmie Dale was on his knees before it.
+
+A low, scarcely breathed exclamation, that seemed to mingle anxiety
+and hesitation, escaped him. He, who knew the make of every safe in the
+country, knew this one for its true worth. Twenty-five minutes! Could he
+open it in that time, let alone with any time to spare! It was not
+like the one in Spider Jack's; it was the kind that the Magpie, however
+clever he might be in his own way, would be forced to negotiate with
+"soup," and, with the attendant noise, double his chance of discovery
+and capture--and the responsibility for what might have happened
+UPSTAIRS! No; the Magpie must have his chance! And, besides, the money
+in the safe apart, why should not he, Jimmie Dale, have his own chance,
+as well? All this would help. The motive--robbery; the perpetrator,
+there was grim mockery on his lips now as the light went out and the
+sensitive fingers closed on the knob of the dial, the perpetrator--the
+Gray Seal. It would afford excellent food for the violent editorial
+diatribes under which the police again would writhe in frenzy!
+
+Stillness again! Silence! Only a low, tense breathing; only, so faint
+that it could not be heard a foot away, a curious scratching, as from
+time to time the supersensitive fingers fell away from the dial to rub
+upon the carpet--to increase even their sensitiveness by setting the
+nerves to throbbing through the skin surface at the tips. And then
+Jimmie Dale's head, ear pressed close against the safe to catch the
+tumbler's fall, was lifted--and the flashlight played again on the dial.
+
+"Twenty-eight and a quarter--left."
+
+How fast the time went--and how slowly! Still the black shape crouched
+there in the darkness against the safe. At times, in strange, ghostly
+flashes, the nickel dial with the ray upon it seemed to leap out and
+glisten through the surrounding blackness; at times, the quick intake of
+breath, as from great exertion; at times, faint, musical little clicks,
+as, after abortive effort, the dial whirled, preparatory to a fresh
+attempt. And then, at last--a gasp of relief:
+
+"Ah!"
+
+Came the sound, barely audible, as of steel sliding in well-oiled
+grooves, the muffled thud of metal meeting metal as the bolts shot
+back--and the heavy door swung outward.
+
+Jimmie Dale stretched his cramped limbs, and wiped the moisture from
+his face--then set to work again upon the inner door. This was an easier
+matter--far easier. Five minutes, perhaps a little more, went by--and
+then the inner door was open, and the flashlight's ray was flooding the
+interior of the safe.
+
+A queer little sound, half of astonishment, half of disappointment,
+issued from Jimmie Dale's lips. There was money here, a great deal
+of money, undoubtedly, but there was no such sum as he had, somehow,
+fantastically imagined from the Magpie's evidently overcoloured story
+that there would be; there was money, ten packages of banknotes neatly
+piled in the bottom compartment--but there was no half million of
+dollars! He picked up one of the packages hurriedly--and drew in
+his breath. After all, there was a great deal--the notes were
+of hundred-dollar denomination, and on the bottom were two
+one-thousand-dollar bills! Calculated roughly, if each of the other
+nine packages contained a like amount, the total must exceed a hundred
+thousand.
+
+And now Jimmie Dale began to work with feverish haste. From the leather
+girdle inside his shirt came the thin metal insignia case--and a gray
+seal was stuck firmly on the dial knob of the safe. This done, he tucked
+away the packages of banknotes, some into his pockets and some inside
+his shirt; and then quickly ransacked the interior of the safe,
+flauntingly spilling the contents of drawers and pigeonholes out upon
+the floor.
+
+He stood up, and, leaving the safe door wide open, walked back across
+the room to the window, unfastened the catch, and opened the window an
+inch or two. The way was open now for the Magpie! The Magpie would have
+no need to make any noise in forcing an entrance; he would be able to
+see almost at a glance that he had been forestalled--by the Gray Seal;
+and that, as far as he was concerned, the game was up. The Magpie had
+his chance! If the Magpie did not take the hint and make his escape as
+noiselessly as he had entered--it was his own fault! He, Jimmie Dale,
+had given the Magpie his chance.
+
+Jimmie Dale turned from the window, and made his way out of the library
+to the foot of the stairs, leaving the library door open behind him. How
+long had he been? Was it more or less than the twenty-five minutes? He
+did not know--only, as yet, the Magpie had not come, and now perhaps it
+did not make so much difference.
+
+Where was he going now? His foot was on the first stair--and suddenly he
+drew it back, the cold sweat bursting out on his forehead. Where was
+he going now? "THE FIRST ROOM ON THE RIGHT AT THE HEAD OF THE LANDING."
+From his inner consciousness, as it were, the answer, in all the bald,
+naked horror that it implied, flashed upon him. The first room on the
+right--THAT man's room! God, how the darkness and the stillness began
+to palpitate again, and suddenly seem to shriek out at him over and over
+the one single, ghastly word--MURDER!
+
+It had been with him, that thought, all the time he had been working
+at the safe; but it had been there then only subconsciously, like some
+heavy, nameless dread, subjugated for the moment by the work he had
+had to do which had demanded the centred attention of every faculty he
+possessed. But now the moment had come when there was only THAT before
+him, only that, nothing else--only that, the man upstairs in the first
+room to the right of the landing!
+
+Why did he hesitate? Why did he stand there while the priceless moments
+before daylight came were passing? The man was a murderer, a blotch on
+society, and, his life already forfeited, he was living now only because
+the law had not found him out--the man was a criminal, bloodstained--and
+his life, because he had taken her father's life and had tried to take
+the Tocsin's own life, stood between her and every hope of happiness,
+robbing her even literally, in a material sense, of everything that
+the world could hold for her! Why did he hesitate? It was that man's
+life--or hers! It was the only way!
+
+He put his foot upon the bottom step again--paused still another
+instant--and then began stealthily to mount the stairs. The darkness!
+There had never been, it seemed, such darkness before! The stillness--he
+had never known silence so heavy, so full of strange, premonitory
+pulsings; a silence that seemed so incongruously full of clamouring
+whispers in his ears! It must be those imagined whispers that were
+affecting his nerve--for now, as he gained the landing and slipped his
+automatic from his pocket, his hand was shaking with a queer twitching
+motion.
+
+For an instant, fighting for his self-composure, he stood striving
+to locate his surroundings through the darkness. The staircase was a
+circular one, making the landing nearly at the front of the house, and
+rearward from this, the Tocsin had said, a hallway ran down the centre,
+with rooms on either side. The first room to the right, therefore,
+should be just at his hand. He reached out, feeling cautiously--there
+was nothing. He edged to the right--still nothing; edged a little
+farther, a sense of bewilderment growing upon him, and finally his
+fingers touched the wall. It was very strange! The hallway must be much
+wider than he had understood it to be from what she had said!
+
+He moved along now straight ahead of him, his hand on the wall, feeling
+for the door--and with every step his bewilderment increased. Surely
+there must be some mistake--perhaps he had misunderstood! He had come
+fully twice the distance that one would expect--and yet there was
+no door. Ah, what was that? His fingers closed on soft, heavy velvet
+hangings. These could hardly be in front of a door, and yet--what else
+could it be? He drew the hangings warily apart, and felt behind them. It
+was a window; but it was shuttered in some way evidently, for he could
+not see out.
+
+Jimmie Dale stood motionless there for fully a minute. It seemed absurd,
+preposterous, the conviction that was being forced home upon him--that
+there were no rooms on the right-hand side of the corridor at all!
+But that was not like the Tocsin, accurate always in the most minute
+details. The room must be still farther along. He was tempted to use
+his flashlight--but that, as long as he could feel his way, was an
+unnecessary risk. A flashlight upstairs, where a sleeping-room door
+might be ajar, or even wide open, where some one wakeful, THAT man
+himself, perhaps, might see it, was quite another matter than a
+flashlight in the closed and deserted library below!
+
+He went on once more, still guiding himself by a light finger touch upon
+the wall, passed another portiere similar to the first, and, after that,
+another--and finally stopped by bringing up abruptly against the end
+wall of the house. It was certainly very strange! There WERE no rooms
+on the right-hand side of the corridor. And here, hanging across the end
+wall, was another of those ubiquitous velvet portieres. He parted it,
+and, a little to his surprise, found a window that was not shuttered,
+but that, instead, was heavily barred by an ornamental grille work. He
+could see out, however, and found that he was looking directly out
+from the rear of the house. A lamp from the side street threw what was
+undoubtedly the garage into shadowy outline, and he made out below him
+a short stretch of yard between the garage and the house. He remembered
+that now--she had described all that to the Magpie. There was no
+driveway between the front and the rear. The house being on the corner,
+the entrance to the garage was directly from the side street. Yes, she
+had described all that exactly as it was, but--he dropped the portiere
+and faced around, carrying his hand in a nonplused way to his eyes--but
+here, upstairs, within the house, it was not as she had said it was at
+all! What did it mean? She could not have blundered so egregiously as
+that, unless--he caught his breath suddenly--unless she had done so
+intentionally! Was that it? Had she surmised, formed a suspicion of
+what was in his mind, of what he meant to do--and taken this means of
+defeating it? If so--well, it was too late for that now! There was
+one way--only one way! Whatever the cost, whatever it might mean for
+him--there was only one way out for her.
+
+His flashlight was in his hand now, and the round, white ray shot down
+the corridor--seemed suddenly to falter unsteadily--swept in through an
+open door that was almost beside him--and then, as though a nerveless
+hand held it, the ray dropped and played shakily on the toe of his boot
+before it went out.
+
+A stifled cry rose to his lips. Something cold, like a hand of ice,
+seemed to clutch at his heart. Those portieres, the wide, richly
+carpeted corridor! It was the corridor of the night before! That room at
+his side was the room where he had seen Hilton Travers, the chauffeur,
+dead, lashed in a chair! He felt the sweat beads burst out anew upon his
+forehead.
+
+IT WAS THE CRIME CLUB!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+RETRIBUTION
+
+
+His brain seemed to whirl, staggered as by some gigantic, ghastly
+mockery. The Crime Club! HERE! He had thought to creep upon that
+man--and he had run blindly into the very heart and centre of these hell
+fiends' nest!
+
+Silently he stood there, holding his breath as he listened now,
+motionless as a statue, forcing his mind to THINK. He remembered that
+last night his impression of the place had been that it was more like
+some great private mansion than anything else. Well, he had been right,
+it seemed! He could have laughed aloud--sardonically, hysterically. It
+was not so strange now that there were no rooms on the right-hand side
+of the corridor! And what could have suited their purpose better, what,
+by its very location, its unimpeachable character, could be a more ideal
+lair for them than this house! And how grimly simple it was now, the
+explanation! In the five years that the false Henry LaSalle had been in
+possession, they had cunningly remodelled the upper floor--that was all!
+It was quite clear now why the man never entertained--why he had never
+been caught or found or known to be in communication with his fellow
+conspirators! It was no longer curious that one might watch the door of
+the house for months at a stretch and go unrewarded for one's pains, as
+the Tocsin had done, when access to the house by those who frequented it
+was so easy through the garage on the side street--and from the garage,
+if their work there was in keeping with their clever contrivances
+within the house, by an underground connection into, say, the cellar or
+basement!
+
+Again Jimmie Dale checked that nervous, unnatural inclination to laugh
+aloud. Was there anything, any single incident, any single detail of all
+that had transpired, that was not explained, borne out, as it could be
+explained and borne out in no other way save that the Crime Club should
+be no other than this very house itself? It was the exposition of
+that favourite theory of his--it was so obvious that therein lay its
+security. He had mocked at the Magpie not many moments before on that
+score--and now it was the beam in his own eye! It was so obvious now, so
+glaringly obvious, that the Crime Club could have been nowhere else; so
+obvious, with every word of the Tocsin's story pointing it out like a
+signpost--and he had not seen it!
+
+And then suddenly every muscle grew strained and rigid. WAS THERE SOME
+ONE IN THE CORRIDOR? Was it some one moving--or was it only fancy? He
+listened--while he strained his eyes through the darkness. There was no
+sound; only that abnormal, heavy silence that--yes, he remembered that,
+too, now--that had clung about him last night like a pall. He could
+see nothing, hear nothing--but intuitively, bringing a cold dismay, the
+greater because it was something unknown, intangible, he FELT as though
+eyes were upon him, that even in the darkness he was being watched!
+
+And as he stood there, then, slowly there crept upon Jimmie Dale the
+sense of peril and disaster. It was not intuition now--it was certainty.
+He was trapped! It was the part of a fool to imagine that with their
+devil's cunning, their cleverness, their ingenuity, he, or any one else,
+could enter that house unknown to its occupants! Had he made electric
+contact when he had opened the front door, and rung a signal here,
+perhaps, upstairs--had he set some system of alarm at work when he had
+touched that window? What did it matter--the details that had heralded
+his entrance? He was certain now that his presence in the house was
+known. Only, why had they left him so long without attack? He shook his
+head with a quick, impatient movement. That, too, was obvious! He was
+under observation. Who was he? Why had he come? Was he simply a paltry
+safe-tapper--or was he one whom they had a real need to fear? And then,
+too, there might well be another reason. It was far from likely, in fact
+unreasonable, to imagine that all the men he had seen here the night
+before were in the house now. Not many of them, if any, would LIVE here,
+for CONSTANT, daily coming and going, even through the garage, could
+not escape notice; and, of the servants, probably a lesser breed of
+criminal, some of them, at least, no doubt, were engaged at that
+moment in watching his own house on Riverside Drive! There was even
+the possibility that the man posing as Henry LaSalle was, for the time
+being, here alone.
+
+He shook his head again. He could hardly hope for that--he had no right
+to hope for anything more now than a struggle, with an inevitably fatal
+ending to himself, but one in which at least he could sell his life as
+dearly as possible, one in which, perhaps, he might pay the Tocsin's
+score with the man he had come to find! If he could do that--well, after
+all, the price was not too great!
+
+There were no tremours of the muscles now. It was Jimmie Dale, the Gray
+Seal, every faculty alert, tense, keyed up to its highest efficiency;
+the brain cool, keen, and active--fighting for his life. The front door
+through which he had entered was an impossibility; but there was the
+window in the library that he had opened--if they would let him get that
+far! That was as good a chance as any. If he made an effort to find,
+say, a way to the flat above and chanced some means of escape there, it
+would in no wise obviate an attack upon him, and he would only be under
+the added disadvantage of unfamiliar surroundings.
+
+Feeling out with his left hand, his automatic thrown a little forward
+in his right, he began to retrace his way along the blank wall of the
+corridor, pausing between each step to listen, moving silently, his
+tread on the heavy carpet as noiseless as though it were some shadow
+creeping there.
+
+Stillness--utter, absolute! Always that stillness. Always that sense of
+danger around him--the tense, bated expectancy of momentary attack--a
+revolver flash through the darkness--a sudden rush upon him. But still
+there was nothing--only the darkness, only the silence.
+
+He gained the head of the stairs and began to descend--and now the
+strain began to tell upon his nerves again. Again he was possessed of
+the mad impulse to cry out, to do anything that would force the issue,
+that would end the horrible, unbearable suspense. Why did that revolver
+shot not come? Why had they not yet rushed upon him? Why were they
+playing with him as a cat with a mouse? Or was it all wild, fanciful
+imagination? NO! What was that again! He could have sworn this time that
+he had heard a sound, but he could neither define its character, nor
+locate the direction from which it had come.
+
+He was at the foot of the stairs now; and, guiding himself by the wall,
+moving now barely an inch at a time, he reached the library door that
+he had left open, and stole in over the threshold. Halfway down the room
+and diagonally across from where he stood was the window. In a moment
+now he could gain that, but they would never let him go so easily--and
+so it must come now, in that next moment, their attack! Where were they?
+Where were they now? The table--he must remember not to bump into the
+table! A pause between each step, he was crossing the room. He was
+halfway to the window. Had it been all fancy, was he to--And then Jimmie
+Dale stood motionless. SOME ONE HAD CLOSED THE LIBRARY DOOR SOFTLY!
+
+Stillness again! A sort of deadly calm upon him, Jimmie Dale felt
+out behind his back for the big library table that he had been
+circuiting--if the window were wide open it might be done, but to jump
+for it and stand silhouetted there during the pause necessary to fling
+the window up was little less than suicidal. He edged back noiselessly
+until his fingers touched the table; then, lowering himself to his
+knees, he backed in underneath it, and lay flat upon the floor. It was
+not much protection, but it had one advantage: if they switched on
+the lights it would show an EMPTY room for the first instant, and that
+instant meant--the first shot!
+
+Where were they now? By the library door? How many of them were there?
+Well, it was their move! Two could play at cat and mouse until--until
+DAYLIGHT! That wasn't very far off, now, and when that came he might
+still have the first shot, but after that--he turned his head quickly
+toward the window. There was a faint scratching noise as of finger nails
+gripping the sill; then the window, very slowly, almost silently, was
+pushed steadily upward, and a dark form loomed up outside; and then,
+crawling through, a man dropped, as though his feet were padded like a
+cat's on the floor inside the room. The Magpie!
+
+A flashlight's ray shot out--and, with a twisted smile propped now
+on his left elbow to give free play to his revolver arm, Jimmie Dale
+followed the white spot eagerly with his eyes. But it did not circle
+around; instead, the light was turned almost instantly toward the lower
+end of the room--and, a second later, was holding steadily on the open
+door of the safe, and the litter of papers on the floor.
+
+Came a savage growl of amazed fury from the Magpie: then his step
+down the room; and, as he reached the safe, a torrent of unbridled
+blasphemy--and then, in a sort of staggered gasp, as he leaned suddenly
+forward examining the knob of the dial:
+
+"The Gray Seal!"
+
+A moment the Magpie stood there; and then, cursing again in abandon,
+turned, and started back for the window, his flashlight dancing before
+him--and stopped, a snarl of fury on his lips. The flashlight was
+playing full on Jimmie Dale under the table!
+
+"Larry the Bat! The Gray Seal! By God!" choked the Magpie. "You--you--"
+The Magpie's flashlight, as he shifted it from his right hand to his
+left and wrenched out his revolver, had fallen upon two men crouched
+close against the wall by the library door--and he screamed out in an
+access of fury. "De double cross! A plant! De bulls! You damned snitch,
+Larry!" screamed out the Magpie--and fired.
+
+The bullet tore into the carpet beside Jimmie Dale. Came answering shots
+from the men by the door; and then the Magpie, emptying his automatic at
+the two men as he ran, the flame tongues cutting vicious lanes of fire
+through the darkness, dashed for the window. There was a cry, the crash
+of a heavy body pitching to the floor--and the Magpie had flung himself
+out through the window, and in the momentary ensuing silence within the
+room came the sound of his footsteps running on the gravel below.
+
+There was a low moan, the movement as of some one staggering and
+lurching around--and then the lights went on. But for an instant
+Jimmie Dale did not move. He was staring at the form of a man still and
+motionless on the floor in front of him--the man who had posed as Henry
+LaSalle. Dead! The man was dead! His mind ran riot for a moment. Where
+were the others--were there only these two? Only these two in the house!
+Only these two--and one was dead! And then Jimmie Dale was on his feet.
+One was dead--but there was still the other, the man who was reeling
+there, back turned to him, by the electric-light switch. But even as
+Jimmie Dale sprang forward, this second man, clawing at the wall for
+support, slipped to his knees and fell upon the carpet.
+
+Jimmie Dale reached him, snatched the revolver from his hand, and bent
+over him. It was the man whose name he did not know, but whose face he
+had reason enough to know too well--it was the leader of the Crime Club.
+
+The man, though evidently badly wounded, smiled defiantly in spite of
+his pain.
+
+"So you're the Gray Seal!" he flung out contemptuously. "A clever
+enough safe-cracker--but only a lowbrow, like the rest of them. Another
+illusion dispelled! Well, you've got the money--better run, hadn't you?"
+
+Jimmie Dale made no answer. Satisfied that the man was too badly hurt to
+move, he went and bent over the silent form in the centre of the room. A
+moment's examination was enough. "Henry LaSalle" was dead.
+
+He stood there looking down at the man. It was what he had come
+for--though it was the Magpie, not himself, who had accomplished it!
+The man was dead! The words began to run through his mind in a queer
+reiteration. The man was dead--the man was dead! He checked himself
+sharply. He must think now--think fast, and think RIGHT.
+
+The Magpie knew that Larry the Bat was the Gray Seal--and as fast as the
+Magpie could get there, the news would spread like wildfire through the
+underworld. "Death to the Gray Seal! Death to the Gray Seal!" He could
+hear that slogan ringing again in his ears, but as he had never heard it
+before--with a snarl of triumph now as of wolves who at last had pulled
+their quarry down. He had not a second to spare--and yet--that man
+wounded there on the floor! What of him--guilty of murder, the brains of
+this inhuman, monstrous organisation, the one to whom, more even than to
+that dead man, the Tocsin owed the horror and the misery and the grief
+and despair that had come into her life! What of him? What of the Crime
+Club here? What of this nest of vipers? Were they to escape? Were they
+to--
+
+With a sudden, low exclamation, Jimmie Dale jumped for the table, and,
+snatching up the telephone, rattled the hook violently.
+
+"Give me"--his voice came in well-simulated gasps, each like a man
+fighting for every word--"give me--police--headquarters! Quick! QUICK!
+I've--been--shot!"
+
+The wounded man on the floor raised himself on his elbow.
+
+"What are you doing?" he demanded in a startled way. "Are you mad! Thank
+your stars you were lucky enough to get out of this alive--and get out
+now, while you have the chance!"
+
+Jimmie Dale pressed his hand firmly over the mouthpiece of the
+telephone.
+
+"I'll go," he said, with a cold smile, "when I've settled with you--for
+the murder of Henry LaSalle."
+
+"That man!" ejaculated the man scornfully, pointing to the form on the
+floor. "So that's your game! Going to try and cover your tracks! Why,
+you fool, I LIVE here! Do you think the police would imagine for an
+instant that I killed him?"
+
+"I said--HENRY LASALLE," said Jimmie Dale evenly.
+
+The man came farther up on his elbow, a sudden look of fear in his face.
+
+"What--what do you mean?" he cried hoarsely.
+
+But Jimmie Dale was talking again into the telephone--gasping, choking
+out his words as before:
+
+"Police headquarters? I'm Henry LaSalle. Fifth Avenue. I--I've been
+shot. Take down this statement. I'll--I'll be dead before you get
+here--I'm not the real Henry LaSalle at all. We murdered Henry
+LaSalle--in Australia, and murdered Peter LaSalle here. We--we tried
+to kill the daughter, but she ran away. This house has been our
+headquarters for the last five years. The man who shot me to-night is
+the leader of the gang. We quarrelled over the division of a haul.
+He's here on the floor now, wounded. Get them all, get them all, damn
+them!--do you hear?--get them all! They're out of the house now, but
+lay a trap for them. They always come in through the garage on the side
+street. Oh, God, I'm done for! Break down the west walls of the rooms
+upstairs--if--you--want proof of what--the gang's been doing. Hurry!
+Hurry! I'm--I'm--done for--I--"
+
+Jimmie Dale permitted the telephone to drop with a clash from his hand
+to the table.
+
+The face of the man on the floor was livid.
+
+"Who are you? In God's name, who are you?" he cried out wildly.
+
+"Does it matter?" inquired Jimmie Dale grimly. "Your game is up. You'll
+go to the chair for the murder of 'Henry LaSalle'--if it is by proxy!
+Those rooms upstairs alone are enough to damn you, to prove every word
+of that dying 'confession'--but to-morrow, added to it, will come the
+story of Marie LaSalle herself."
+
+For a moment the man hung there swaying on his elbow, his face working
+in ghastly fashion--and then suddenly, with a strange laugh, he carried
+one hand swiftly to his mouth--and laughed again--and before Jimmie Dale
+could reach him was lifeless on the floor.
+
+A tiny vial rolled away upon the carpet. Jimmie Dale picked it up. A
+drop or two of liquid still remained in it--colourless, clear, like
+that liquid this same man had dropped into the rabbit's mouth the night
+before, like the liquid in the glasses they had carried into that third
+room, like the liquid that his man had said was from a formula of their
+own, that was instantaneous in its action, that defied detection by
+autopsy!
+
+The set, stern features of Jimmie Dale relaxed. It was justice--but it
+was also death. In a surge of emotion, the events of scarcely more
+than twenty-four hours, began to crowd upon him--and then, ominously
+dominant, above all else, that slogan of the underworld, "Death to the
+Gray Seal!" came ringing once more in his ears. It brought him, with a
+startled movement of his hand across his eyes, to a realisation of his
+own desperate position. Yes, yes, he must go! The way was clear now for
+the Tocsin--clear now for her!
+
+He dropped the vial into his pocket, and, running to the safe, quickly
+scraped the gray seal from the dial's knob; then he drew the packages of
+money from his shirt and pockets and tossed them on the floor among the
+litter of papers already there--she would get it back again when it had
+served its purpose, it would be self-evident that it was the proceeds of
+that day's sale of the estate's securities over which the "quarrel" had
+occurred!
+
+And now the window! He ran to it, closed it, and LOCKED it; then,
+laying the revolver he had taken from the leader down beside the man,
+he stepped across the room again and drew the body of "Henry LaSalle"
+closer to the table--as though the man had fallen there when the
+telephone had dropped from his hand.
+
+It was done now! On the floor beside him lay each man's weapon--and both
+of the revolvers had been discharged several times. Jimmie Dale paused
+on the library threshold for a final survey of the room. It was done!
+The way was clear--for her. And now if he could only save himself! There
+was no chance for Larry the Bat! Could he save--JIMMIE DALE!
+
+He crossed the hall, a queer, half-grim, half-wistful smile on his
+lips, unlocked the front door, stepped out, locked it behind him--and
+in another moment, doubling around the corner, was running along like a
+hare along the side street.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+"DEATH TO THE GRAY SEAL!"
+
+
+On Jimmie Dale ran. Across on Fourth Avenue he swung on a car that took
+him to Astor Place. Then striking east once more, making a detour to
+avoid the Bowery, he ran on at top speed again. To reach the Sanctuary,
+not before the Magpie should have spread the alarm, that was impossible,
+but to reach it before the underworld should have had time to recover
+its breath, as it were, before the underworld should have had time to
+act--that was his only chance! The Magpie had, at the outside, a start
+of fifteen minutes; but he, Jimmie Dale, had probably retrieved five
+minutes of that in the time he had made in getting downtown. That left
+the Magpie ten to the good. How long would it take the Magpie to bring
+the underworld swarming like hornets around the Sanctuary?
+
+On Larry the Bat ran. At the Sanctuary were the clothes, the belongings
+of Jimmie Dale. Could he save Jimmie Dale! If he could get there,
+change, and get out again, the way was clear for him--as clear as for
+the Tocsin now. In a few hours the police would have every member of
+the Crime Club in the trap; there would be no watch any more around
+his house on Riverside Drive; and he would be free to return there
+and resume his normal life as Jimmie Dale again if he could make
+the Sanctuary in time! But let the Magpie get there first, let the
+underworld tear the place to pieces in its fury as it would do, let them
+discover that hiding place under the flooring, for instance, and the
+Gray Seal would not be merely Larry the Bat, but Jimmie Dale as well,
+and--a cry escaped him even as he ran--it meant ruin, the disgrace of
+an honoured name, death, crimes without number at his door. Crimes! The
+Gray Seal had never committed a crime! But the crimes attributed to the
+Gray Seal he could not disprove, not one of them! He had meant them
+to appear as crimes--and he had succeeded so well that the Gray Seal's
+name, execrated, was a synonym for the most callous, dangerous, and
+unscrupulous criminal of the age!
+
+He was gasping for breath as finally, making for the side door, he
+darted into the alleyway that flanked the Sanctuary. What story would
+the Magpie tell? Not the truth, of course--that would let the Magpie in
+for what had happened that night, for the Magpie must be well aware
+that he had shot at least one of the two men in that room. But the
+truth wasn't necessary; it was foreign, and had no bearing on the one
+outstanding fact--the Gray Seal was Larry the Bat. At the present moment
+the Magpie had a double incentive for "getting" the Gray Seal--the Gray
+Seal was the only one who could prove murder against him that night
+in the LaSalle mansion. And afterwards, when the police version of the
+affair was made public, the Magpie, to save himself, would be careful
+enough to do or say nothing to contradict "Henry LaSalle's" confession!
+
+Larry the Bat slipped in through the door, halted there, listened; and
+then began to mount the rickety stairs, with his silent tread. At the
+top he paused again. Nothing--no sound! They were not here yet--so far
+he was in time! He stepped to the Sanctuary door, unlocked it, passed
+into the squalid, miserable room that had harboured him for so long as
+Larry the Bat, locked the door behind him, crossed quickly to the window
+to make sure that the shutters were closed--and then, for the first
+time, as the gray light streaked in through the interstices, he was
+conscious that it was already dawn. So much the more need for haste
+then!
+
+He whipped out his revolver and laid it at his hand on the dilapidated
+table; then the flooring in the corner was up in an instant, and he
+began to strip off the rags of Larry the Bat. Boots, mismated socks, the
+torn, patched trousers, the greasy flannel shirt, the threadbare coat,
+the nondescript slouch hat were thrown in a pile on the floor; and
+with them, from their hiding-place, the grease paints and heterogeneous
+collection of make-up accessories. This done, he began to slip on the
+clothes of Jimmie Dale; and, when half dressed, turned to the table
+again to remove the characteristic grime, stain, and paint of Larry the
+Bat from face, hands, wrists, throat, and neck. This was a longer, more
+arduous task. He reached for the cracked pitcher to pour more water into
+the basin--and, snatching up his revolver instead, whirled to face the
+door.
+
+Some one was outside! He had caught the creak of a footstep upon the
+stairs. In a flash he was across the room and crouched by the door. Yes,
+the step was nearer now--at the head of the stairs--on the landing. His
+revolver lifted, holding a steady bead on the door panel. And then there
+came a low voice:
+
+"Jimmie! Jimmie! Are you there? Quick, Jimmie! Are you there?"
+
+The Tocsin! What was she doing here! Why had he not warned her up there
+on the avenue, fool that he was, that of all places she was to keep away
+from here!
+
+She slipped into the room as he unlocked the door.
+
+"They're coming, Jimmie!" she panted breathlessly. "There's not an
+instant to lose! Listen! When the Magpie ran from the house, I ran with
+him--but it"--she tried to smile--"it wasn't to obey you, to run away--I
+had made up my mind I wouldn't do that--it was to find out from him what
+had happened. He told me you were the Gray Seal. He did not suspect me.
+He thinks you were no more than just Larry the Bat to me, as you were
+to everybody else. He went straight to Chicago Ike's gambling rooms and
+found the Skeeter's gang there--you know them, Red Mose, the Midget,
+Harve Thoms, and the Skeeter--you remember your fight with them over
+old Luddy's diamonds! Well, they have not forgotten, either! They are on
+their way here, now! The news that you are the Gray Seal is travelling
+like lightning all through the underworld--there will be a mob here on
+the Skeeter's heels. So, Jimmie--quick! Run!"
+
+Run! Half Larry the Bat, half Jimmie Dale--and run! In another five
+minutes, perhaps--yes. But there probably would not be five minutes--and
+she--if she were found here!
+
+"Yes," he said quietly. "I'll get away in a moment. You go at once.
+I'll"--he was smiling at her reassuringly--"I'll meet you at--"
+
+She looked at him then for an instant--interrupting him quickly, as she
+shook her head.
+
+"I didn't notice, Jimmie. You cannot go like that--can you? It would
+be even worse than being caught as Larry the Bat. Hurry then--I am not
+going without you."
+
+"No!" he said. "Go now! Go at once, Marie--while you can. You have
+risked your life as it is to come here and tell me this. For God's sake,
+go now!"
+
+The great, brown eyes were smiling bravely through a sudden mist. She
+shook her head again.
+
+"Not without you, Jimmie."
+
+It brought a fierce, wild throb of joy upon him--and then a cold,
+sickening fear.
+
+"Listen!" he cried out desperately. "You must go now! You cannot take
+any chances now, Marie. Everything is right for you. That man who posed
+as your uncle is dead--the leader of the Crime Club is dead. Don't you
+understand what that means! You have only to be Marie LaSalle again and
+claim your own. I cannot tell you all now--there's no time. That house
+was the Crime Club itself. The police will get them all. Don't you see!
+Don't you see! Everything is clear for you now--and now go! Go--you must
+go!"
+
+She was staring at him, a strange wonder in her face.
+
+"Clear! All clear--for me! I--I can go back to--to my own life again!"
+It was as though she were whispering some amazing thing of unbelievable
+joy to herself.
+
+"YES!" he cried out again. "Yes! But go--go, Marie!"
+
+But now, for answer, suddenly she reached out and took the key from the
+door and put it in the pocket of her dress.
+
+"We will go together, Jimmie--or not at all," she said simply. "We are
+wasting precious moments. Hurry and dress!"
+
+He hesitated miserably. What could he do--if she WOULD not go! And it
+was true--the moments were flying. Better, rather than futile argument,
+to use them as she said. There was still a chance! Why not! Five
+minutes! He could do better than that! He MUST do better than that!
+
+Without a word, he ran back across the room. In frantic haste, from
+face, hands, wrists, and neck came the stain. There was still time. She
+was standing there by the door, listening. She, the Tocsin, she whom
+he loved, she who, all through the years that had gone, had been so
+strangely elusive and yet so intimately a part of his life, SHE was
+standing there now, here with him--in peril with every second that
+passed!
+
+He had only to slip on his coat and vest now--and make a bundle of
+Larry the Bat's things on the floor, so that he could carry them away
+to destroy them. He stooped to gather up the clothes--and straightened
+suddenly--and jumped toward the door again.
+
+"They are coming, Jimmie!" she called, in a low voice. But he had
+already heard them--the stairs were creaking loudly under the tread of
+many feet. He pushed the Tocsin hurriedly back against the wall at the
+side of the door.
+
+"Stand there!" he said, under his breath. "Out of the line of fire!
+Don't move!"
+
+There was a rush against the door--and then a voice growled:
+
+"Aw, cut dat out! Wot do youse want to do--scare him away by bustin' it!
+Pick de lock, an' we'll lay for him inside till he shows up."
+
+It was the Skeeter's voice. The Skeeter and his gang--the worst apaches
+in the city of New York! Professional assassins, death contractors,
+he had called them--and the lowest bidders! A man's life any time for
+twenty-five dollars! No, they were not likely to forget the affair of
+the pushcart man, to forget old Luddy and his diamonds, to forget--the
+Gray Seal! And they were only the vanguard of what was to come!
+
+Some one was working at the lock now. There was one way to stop that. It
+would not take them long to find out that he WAS there once the door
+was opened! Better know it with the door SHUT! Jimmie Dale lifted his
+revolver coolly and fired through the panel.
+
+A burst of yells answered the shot; and among them, high above the
+others, the Magpie's scream:
+
+"We got him! We got him! He's dere now!"
+
+And then it seemed that pandemonium broke loose--there was a volley of
+shots, the bullets splintering through the door panels as from a machine
+gun, so fast they came--and then another rush against the door.
+
+Flat on the floor, but well back and to one side, Jimmie Dale fired
+steadily--again and again.
+
+Came screams of pain, yells, and oaths--and they fell back from the
+door.
+
+And now from above, from overhead, came tumult--windows thrown up, the
+stamp of feet, cries of fright. And from the street, a low, sullen roar.
+The underworld was gathering fast!
+
+Once more the rush upon the door--and Jimmie Dale, a grim, twisted smile
+upon his lips, emptied his revolver into the panels. Once more they
+fell back--and then there came the Skeeter's voice, snarling like an
+infuriated beast:
+
+"He'll get de lot of us like dis! Cut it out! Besides, we'll have de
+bulls down here in a minute--an' he's OUR meat, not theirs. Dey'd be
+too damned soft wid him--dey'd only send him to de chair. Youse chase
+upstairs, Mose, an' pass de word to beat it--an' beat it quick. We'll
+BURN de skunk out--dat's wot. An' de bulls can stand alongside an'
+watch, if dey likes--but he's our meat."
+
+Jimmie Dale did not dare to look at the Tocsin's face. Mechanically he
+refilled the magazine of his automatic--and lay there, waiting. The roar
+from the street grew louder. They seemed to be fighting out there, as
+though an inadequate number of police were trying to disperse a mob--and
+not succeeding! Pretty soon, with the riot call in, there would probably
+be a battle--for the Gray Seal! Sublime irony! It was death at the hands
+of either one!
+
+Children whimpered on the stairs outside, men swore, women cried, feet
+shuffled hurriedly by as the tenement emptied. Occasionally, a pertinent
+invitation to him to remain where he was, there was a vicious rip
+through the panel, and the drumming whir of a bullet flying through the
+room. And then a curious, ominous crackling sound--and then the smell of
+smoke.
+
+Jimmie Dale stood up, his face drawn and haggard. The tenement would go
+like matchwood, burn like a bonfire, with any kind of a start--and there
+was no doubt about the start! The Skeeter, the Magpie, and the rest
+would have seen that it had headway enough to serve their purpose before
+either firemen or police could thwart them. He, Jimmie Dale, could
+take his choice: walk out into a bullet, or stay there and--he smiled
+miserably as his eyes fell upon the pile of Larry the Bat's clothing on
+the floor. There was no longer need to worry about ITS destruction--the
+fire would take care of that only too well! And then a low, bitter
+cry came to his lips, and he clenched his hands. If it were only
+himself--only himself! He crossed to the Tocsin and caught her in his
+arms.
+
+"Oh, my God--Marie!" he faltered.
+
+The cape and hood had fallen from her, and with the hood had fallen the
+gray-streaked hair of Silver Mag--and now as she smiled at him it was
+from a face that was very beautiful and very brave and very full of
+tenderness.
+
+And he held her there--and neither spoke.
+
+It seeped in under the threshold of the door, it came from everywhere,
+filling the room--the black, strangling smoke. Outside in the hall all
+was silence now--save for that crackle of flame that grew in volume,
+that came now in quick, sharp reports, like revolver shots. From out in
+the street swelled a cry: "Death to the Gray Seal!" Then the clang of
+bells, the roar and rattle of fire apparatus, strident voices bellowing
+orders, and the crowd again, blood hungry: "Death to the Gray Seal!"
+
+There was a chance, just one--if the fire had no headway along the upper
+end of the landing--and if they had not thought to set a watch for
+him ABOVE! They--the Magpie, the Skeeter, and his gang--must have been
+driven even out of the house now by the smoke and flame.
+
+"Give me the key, I am going to open the door, Marie," he said quietly.
+"Cover your face with a handkerchief, anything, and run to the LEFT to
+the next flight of stairs. There are two flats above this--we'll make
+the roof if we can. Now--are you ready?"
+
+It was an instant before she answered, an instant in which she lifted
+her face to his, and held his face between her two hands--and then:
+
+"I am ready, Jimmie."
+
+He flung open the door, his arm around her to help her forward--and
+instinctively, with a cry, fell back for a moment. With the inrush of
+the draft poured the smoke, and through it, lurid, yellow, showed the
+flames leaping from the stair well.
+
+And then all was blind madness. Together they ran. At the foot of the
+stairs she fell, recovered herself, staggered up another--and fell
+again. He caught her up in his arms and, staggering now as she had
+staggered, went on. His lungs seemed to be bursting. His limbs grew
+weak and trembled under him. He could not see or breathe. The nauseating
+fumes suffocated him, bringing an intolerable agony. He gained the first
+landing above. There was one more--one more! If he could only rest here
+for a moment! Yes, that was it--rest. It wasn't so bad here now. She
+stirred in his arms, struggled to her feet--and he was helping her on
+again, and up the next flight of stairs.
+
+And suddenly he found himself laughing in hysteria--for they were
+climbing a half stair, half ladderway at the end of the upper landing,
+and the open skylight was above them, and they were drinking in the
+pure, fresh air--and now they were out upon the roof, and the roar from
+the street was in their ears, like the roar of great waters from some
+canyon far below. Jimmie Dale tried to speak, and found his lips were
+cracked and dry. He wet them with his tongue.
+
+"Don't stand up--we'd be seen--CRAWL," he mumbled hoarsely.
+
+It took a long time--over one roof, and then another, and yet
+another--and then through the skylight of a tenement whose occupants
+were either craning from the front windows, or were on the street below.
+It was, perhaps, half an hour--and then they, too, were standing in the
+street, and all about them the crowd was shouting in wild excitement.
+
+Up the block, inside the fire lines, the Sanctuary was blazing
+furiously--and now suddenly the wall seemed to bulge outward. It brought
+a yell from the crowd:
+
+"Death to the Gray Seal!"
+
+She pulled at his arm.
+
+"Let us get away! Let us get away, Jimmie!" she whispered frantically.
+
+A strange smile was on Jimmie Dale's lips.
+
+"We're safe now--for always," he whispered back. "Look!"
+
+The Sanctuary wall bulged farther outward, seemed to hang an instant
+hesitant in mid-air--and fell with a mighty crash.
+
+The Gray Seal was dead!
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of Jimmie Dale, by Frank L. Packard
+
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diff --git a/old/1218.zip b/old/1218.zip
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+**The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Adventures of Jimmie Dale**
+by Frank L. Packard
+
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+The Adventures of Jimmie Dale
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+by Frank L. Packard
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+February, 1998  [Etext #1218]
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+
+
+
+
+THE ADVENTURES OF JIMMIE DALE
+
+by Frank L. Packard
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+PART ONE: THE MAN IN THE CASE
+
+
+   I.  THE GRAY SEAL
+
+  II.  BY PROXY
+
+ III.  THE MOTHER LODE
+
+  IV.  THE COUNTERFEIT FIVE
+
+   V.  THE AFFAIR OF THE PUSHCART MAN
+
+  VI.  DEVIL'S WORK
+
+ VII.  THE THIEF
+
+VIII.  THE MAN HIGHER UP
+
+  IX.  TWO CROOKS AND A KNAVE
+
+   X.  THE ALIBI
+
+  XI.  THE STOOL-PIGEON
+
+
+
+PART TWO: THE WOMAN IN THE CASE
+
+
+   I.  BELOW THE DEAD LINE
+
+  II.  THE CALL TO ARMS
+
+ III.  THE CRIME CLUB
+
+  IV.  THE INNOCENT BYSTANDER
+
+   V.  ON GUARD
+
+  VI.  THE TRAP
+
+ VII.  THE "HOUR"
+
+VIII.  THE TOCSIN
+
+  IX.  THE TOCSIN'S STORY
+
+   X.  SILVER MAG
+
+  XI.  THE MAGPIE
+
+ XII.  JOHN JOHANSSON--FOUR-TWO-EIGHT
+
+XIII.  THE ONLY WAY
+
+ XIV.  OUT OF THE DARKNESS
+
+  XV.  RETRIBUTION
+
+ XVI.  "DEATH TO THE GRAY SEAL!"
+
+
+
+
+PART ONE: THE MAN IN THE CASE
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE GRAY SEAL
+
+
+Among New York's fashionable and ultra-exclusive clubs, the St.
+James stood an acknowledged leader--more men, perhaps, cast an
+envious eye at its portals, of modest and unassuming taste, as they
+passed by on Fifth Avenue, than they did at any other club upon the
+long list that the city boasts.  True, there were more expensive
+clubs upon whose membership roll scintillated more stars of New
+York's social set, but the St. James was distinctive.  It guaranteed
+a man, so to speak--that is, it guaranteed a man to be innately a
+gentleman.  It required money, it is true, to keep up one's
+membership, but there were many members who were not wealthy, as
+wealth is measured nowadays--there were many, even, who were pressed
+sometimes to meet their dues and their house accounts, but the
+accounts were invariably promptly paid.  No man, once in, could ever
+afford, or ever had the desire, to resign from the St. James Club.
+Its membership was cosmopolitan; men of every walk in life passed in
+and out of its doors, professional men and business men, physicians,
+artists, merchants, authors, engineers, each stamped with the
+"hall mark" of the St. James, an innate gentleman.  To receive a two
+weeks' out-of-town visitor's card to the St. James was something to
+speak about, and men from Chicago, St. Louis, or San Francisco spoke
+of it with a sort of holier-than-thou air to fellow members of their
+own exclusive clubs, at home again.
+
+Is there any doubt that Jimmie Dale was a gentleman--an INNATE
+gentleman?  Jimmie Dale's father had been a member of the St. James
+Club, and one of the largest safe manufacturers of the United
+States, a prosperous, wealthy man, and at Jimmie Dale's birth he had
+proposed his son's name for membership.  It took some time to get
+into the St. James; there was a long waiting list that neither
+money, influence, nor pull could alter by so much as one iota.  Men
+proposed their sons' names for membership when they were born as
+religiously as they entered them upon the city's birth register.  At
+twenty-one Jimmie Dale was elected to membership; and, incidentally,
+that same year, graduated from Harvard.  It was Mr. Dale's desire
+that his son should enter the business and learn it from the ground
+up, and Jimmie Dale, for four years thereafter, had followed his
+father's wishes.  Then his father died.  Jimmie Dale had leanings
+toward more artistic pursuits than business.  He was credited with
+sketching a little, writing a little; and he was credited with
+having received a very snug amount from the combine to which he sold
+out his safe-manufacturing interests.  He lived a bachelor life--his
+mother had been dead many years--in the house that his father had
+left him on Riverside Drive, kept a car or two and enough servants
+to run his menage smoothly, and serve a dinner exquisitely when he
+felt hospitably inclined.
+
+Could there be any doubt that Jimmie Dale was innately a gentleman?
+
+It was evening, and Jimmie Dale sat at a small table in the corner
+of the St. James Club dining room.  Opposite him sat Herman
+Carruthers, a young man of his own age, about twenty-six, a leading
+figure in the newspaper world, whose rise from reporter to managing
+editor of the morning NEWS-ARGUS within the short space of a few
+years had been almost meteoric.
+
+They were at coffee and cigars, and Jimmie Dale was leaning back in
+his chair, his dark eyes fixed interestedly on his guest.
+
+Carruthers, intently engaged in trimming his cigar ash on the edge
+of the Limoges china saucer of his coffee set, looked up with an
+abrupt laugh.
+
+"No; I wouldn't care to go on record as being an advocate of crime,"
+he said whimsically; "that would never do.  But I don't mind
+admitting quite privately that it's been a positive regret to me
+that he has gone."
+
+"Made too good 'copy' to lose, I suppose?" suggested Jimmie Dale
+quizzically.  "Too bad, too, after working up a theatrical name like
+that for him--the Gray Seal--rather unique!  Who stuck that on him--
+you?"
+
+Carruthers laughed--then, grown serious, leaned toward Jimmie Dale.
+
+"You don't mean to say, Jimmie, that you don't know about that, do
+you?" he asked incredulously.  "Why, up to a year ago the papers
+were full of him."
+
+"I never read your beastly agony columns," said Jimmie Dale, with a
+cheery grin.
+
+"Well," said Carruthers, "you must have skipped everything but the
+stock reports then."
+
+"Granted," said Jimmie Dale.  "So go on, Carruthers, and tell me
+about him--I dare say I may have heard of him, since you are so
+distressed about it, but my memory isn't good enough to contradict
+anything you may have to say about the estimable gentleman, so
+you're safe."
+
+Carruthers reverted to the Limoges saucer and the tip of his cigar.
+
+"He was the most puzzling, bewildering, delightful crook in the
+annals of crime," said Carruthers reminiscently, after a moment's
+silence.  "Jimmie, he was the king-pin of them all.  Clever isn't
+the word for him, or dare-devil isn't either.  I used to think
+sometimes his motive was more than half for the pure deviltry of it,
+to laugh at the police and pull the noses of the rest of us that
+were after him.  I used to dream nights about those confounded gray
+seals of his--that's where he got his name; he left every job he
+ever did with a little gray paper affair, fashioned diamond-shaped,
+stuck somewhere where it would be the first thing your eyes would
+light upon when you reached the scene, and--"
+
+"Don't go so fast," smiled Jimmie Dale.  "I don't quite get the
+connection.  What did you have to do with this--er--Gray Seal
+fellow?  Where do you come in?"
+
+"I?  I had a good deal to do with him," said Carruthers grimly.  "I
+was a reporter when he first broke loose, and the ambition of my
+life, after I began really to appreciate what he was, was to get
+him--and I nearly did, half a dozen times, only--"
+
+"Only you never quite did, eh?" cut in Jimmie Dale slyly.  "How near
+did you get, old man?  Come on, now, no bluffing; did the Gray Seal
+ever even recognise you as a factor in the hare-and-hound game?"
+
+"You're flicking on the raw, Jimmie," Carruthers answered, with a
+wry grimace.  "He knew me, all right, confound him!  He favoured me
+with several sarcastic notes--I'll show 'em to you some day--
+explaining how I'd fallen down and how I could have got him if I'd
+done something else."  Carruthers' fist came suddenly down on the
+table.  "And I would have got him, too, if he had lived."
+
+"Lived!" ejaculated Jimmie Dale.  "He's dead, then?"
+
+"Yes," averted Carruthers; "he's dead."
+
+"H'm!" said Jimmie Dale facetiously.  "I hope the size of the wreath
+you sent was an adequate tribute of your appreciation."
+
+"I never sent any wreath," returned Carruthers, "for the very simple
+reason that I didn't know where to send it, or when he died.  I said
+he was dead because for over a year now he hasn't lifted a finger."
+
+"Rotten poor evidence, even for a newspaper," commented Jimmie Dale.
+"Why not give him credit for having, say--reformed?"
+
+Carruthers shook his head.  "You don't get it at all, Jimmie," he
+said earnestly.  "The Gray Seal wasn't an ordinary crook--he was a
+classic.  He was an artist, and the art of the thing was in his
+blood.  A man like that could no more stop than he could stop
+breathing--and live.  He's dead; there's nothing to it but that--
+he's dead.  I'd bet a year's salary on it."
+
+"Another good man gone wrong, then," said Jimmie Dale capriciously.
+"I suppose, though, that at least you discovered the 'woman in the
+case'?"
+
+Carruthers looked up quickly, a little startled; then laughed
+shortly.
+
+"What's the matter?" inquired Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Nothing," said Carruthers.  "You kind of got me for a moment,
+that's all.  That's the way those infernal notes from the Gray Seal
+used to end up: 'Find the lady, old chap; and you'll get me.'  He
+had a damned patronising familiarity that would make you squirm."
+
+"Poor old Carruthers!" grinned Jimmie Dale.  "You did take it to
+heart, didn't you?"
+
+"I'd have sold my soul to get him--and so would you, if you had been
+in my boots," said Carruthers, biting nervously at the end of his
+cigar.
+
+"And been sorry for it afterward," supplied Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Yes, by Jove, you're right!" admitted Carruthers, "I suppose I
+should.  I actually got to love the fellow--it was the GAME, really,
+that I wanted to beat."
+
+"Well, and how about this woman?  Keep on the straight and narrow
+path, old man," prodded Jimmie Dale.
+
+"The woman?" Carruthers smiled.  "Nothing doing!  I don't believe
+there was one--he wouldn't have been likely to egg the police and
+reporters on to finding her if there had been, would he?  It was a
+blind, of course.  He worked alone, absolutely alone.  That's the
+secret of his success, according to my way of thinking.  There was
+never so much as an indication that he had had an accomplice in
+anything he ever did."
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes travelled around the club's homelike, perfectly
+appointed room.  He nodded to a fellow member here and there, then
+his eyes rested musingly on his guest again.
+
+Carruthers was staring thoughtfully at his coffee cup.
+
+"He was the prince of crooks and the father of originality,"
+announced Carruthers abruptly, following the pause that had ensued.
+"Half the time there wasn't any more getting at the motive for the
+curious things he did, than there was getting at the Gray Seal
+himself."
+
+"Carruthers," said Jimmy Dale, with a quick little nod of approval,
+"you're positively interesting to-night.  But, so far, you've been
+kind of scouting around the outside edges without getting into the
+thick of it.  Let's have some of your experiences with the Gray Seal
+in detail; they ought to make ripping fine yarns."
+
+"Not to-night, Jimmie," said Carruthers; "it would take too long."
+He pulled out his watch mechanically as he spoke, glanced at it--and
+pushed back his chair.  "Great Scott!" he exclaimed.  "It's nearly
+half-past nine.  I'd no idea we had lingered so long over dinner.
+I'll have to hurry; we're a morning paper, you know, Jimmie."
+
+"What!  Really!  Is it as late as that."  Jimmie Dale rose from his
+chair as Carruthers stood up.  "Well, if you must--"
+
+"I must," said Carruthers, with a laugh.
+
+"All right, O slave."  Jimmie Dale laughed back--and slipped his
+hand, a trick of their old college days together, through
+Carruthers' arm as they left the room.
+
+He accompanied Carruthers downstairs to the door of the club, and
+saw his guest into a taxi; then he returned inside, sauntered
+through the billiard room, and from there into one of the cardrooms,
+where, pressed into a game, he played several rubbers of bridge
+before going home.
+
+It was, therefore, well on toward midnight when Jimmie Dale arrived
+at his house on Riverside Drive, and was admitted by an elderly
+manservant.
+
+"Hello, Jason," said Jimmie Dale pleasantly.  "You still up!"
+
+"Yes, sir," replied Jason, who had been valet to Jimmie Dale's
+father before him.  "I was going to bed, sir, at about ten o'clock,
+when a messenger came with a letter.  Begging your pardon, sir, a
+young lady, and--"
+
+"Jason"--Jimmie Dale flung out the interruption, sudden, quick,
+imperative--"what did she look like?"
+
+"Why--why, I don't exactly know as I could describe her, sir,"
+stammered Jason, taken aback.  "Very ladylike, sir, in her dress and
+appearance, and what I would call, sir, a beautiful face."
+
+"Hair and eyes--what color?" demanded Jimmie Dale crisply.  "Nose,
+lips, chin--what shape?"
+
+"Why, sir," gasped Jason, staring at his master, "I--I don't rightly
+know.  I wouldn't call her fair or dark, something between.  I
+didn't take particular notice, and it wasn't overlight outside the
+door."
+
+"It's too bad you weren't a younger man, Jason," commented Jimmie
+Dale, with a curious tinge of bitterness in his voice.  "I'd have
+given a year's income for your opportunity to-night, Jason."
+
+"Yes, sir," said Jason helplessly.
+
+"Well, go on," prompted Jimmie Dale.  "You told her I wasn't home,
+and she said she knew it, didn't she?  And she left the letter that
+I was on no account to miss receiving when I got back, though there
+was no need of telephoning me to the club--when I returned would do,
+but it was imperative that I should have it then--eh?"
+
+"Good Lord, sir!" ejaculated Jason, his jaw dropped, that's exactly
+what she did say."
+
+"Jason," said Jimmie Dale grimly, "listen to me.  If ever she comes
+here again, inveigle her in.  If you can't inveigle her, use force;
+capture her, pull her in, do anything--do anything, do you hear?
+Only don't let her get away from you until I've come."
+
+Jason gazed at his master as though the other had lost his reason.
+
+"Use force, sir?" he repeated weakly--and shook his head.  "You--you
+can't mean that, sir."
+
+"Can't I?" inquired Jimmie Dale, with a mirthless smile.  "I mean
+every word of it, Jason--and if I thought there was the slightest
+chance of her giving you the opportunity, I'd be more imperative
+still.  As it is--where's the letter?"
+
+"On the table in your studio, sir," said Jason, mechanically.
+
+Jimmie Dale started toward the stairs--then turned and came back to
+where Jason, still shaking his head heavily, had been gazing
+anxiously after his master.  Jimmie Dale laid his hand on the old
+man's shoulder.
+
+"Jason," he said kindly, with a swift change of mood, "you've been a
+long time in the family--first with father, and now with me.  You'd
+do a good deal for me, wouldn't you?"
+
+"I'd do anything in the world for you, Master Jim," said the old man
+earnestly.
+
+"Well, then, remember this," said Jimmie Dale slowly, looking into
+the other's eyes, "remember this--keep your mouth shut and your eyes
+open.  It's my fault.  I should have warned you long ago, but I
+never dreamed that she would ever come here herself.  There have
+been times when it was practically a matter of life and death to me
+to know who that woman is that you saw to-night.  That's all, Jason.
+Now go to bed."
+
+"Master Jim," said the old man simply, "thank you, sir, thank you
+for trusting me.  I've dandled you on my knee when you were a baby,
+Master Jim.  I don't know what it's about, and it isn't for me to
+ask.  I thought, sir, that maybe you were having a little fun with
+me.  But I know now, and you can trust me, Master Jim, if she ever
+comes again."
+
+"Thank you, Jason," said Jimmie Dale, his hand closing with an
+appreciative pressure on the other's shoulder "Good-night, Jason."
+
+Upstairs on the first landing, Jimmie Dale opened a door, closed and
+locked it behind him--and the electric switch clicked under his
+fingers.  A glow fell softly from a cluster of shaded ceiling
+lights.  It was a large room, a very large room, running the entire
+depth of the house, and the effect of apparent disorder in the
+arrangement of its appointments seemed to breathe a sense of charm.
+There were great cozy, deep, leather-covered lounging chairs, a
+huge, leather-covered davenport, and an easel or two with half-
+finished sketches upon them; the walls were panelled, the panels of
+exquisite grain and matching; in the centre of the room stood a
+flat-topped rosewood desk; upon the floor was a dark, heavy velvet
+rug; and, perhaps most inviting of all, there was a great, old-
+fashioned fireplace at one side of the room.
+
+For an instant Jimmie Dale remained quietly by the door, as though
+listening.  Six feet he stood, muscular in every line of his body,
+like a well-trained athlete with no single ounce of superfluous fat
+about him--the grace and ease of power in his poise.  His strong,
+clean-shaven face, as the light fell upon it now, was serious--a
+mood that became him well--the firm lips closed, the dark, reliant
+eyes a little narrowed, a frown on the broad forehead, the square
+jaw clamped.
+
+Then abruptly he walked across the room to the desk, picked up an
+envelope that lay upon it, and, turning again, dropped into the
+nearest lounging chair.
+
+There had been no doubt in his mind, none to dispel.  It was
+precisely what he had expected from almost the first word Jason had
+spoken.  It was the same handwriting, the same texture of paper, and
+there was the same old haunting, rare, indefinable fragrance about
+it.  Jimmie Dale's hands turned the envelope now this way, now that,
+as he looked at it.  Wonderful hands were Jimmie Dale's, with long,
+slim, tapering fingers whose sensitive tips seemed now as though
+they were striving to decipher the message within.
+
+He laughed suddenly, a little harshly, and tore open the envelope.
+Five closely written sheets fell into his hand.  He read them
+slowly, critically, read them over again; and then, his eyes on the
+rug at his feet, he began to tear the paper into minute pieces
+between his fingers, depositing the pieces, as he tore them, upon
+the arm of his chair.  The five sheets demolished, his fingers
+dipped into the heap of shreds on the arm of the chair and tore them
+over and over again, tore them until they were scarcely larger than
+bits of confetti, tore at them absently and mechanically, his eyes
+never shifting from the rug at his feet.
+
+Then with a shrug of his shoulders, as though rousing himself to
+present reality, a curious smile flickering on his lips, he brushed
+the pieces of paper into one hand, carried them to the empty
+fireplace, laid them down in a little pile, and set them afire.
+Lighting a cigarette, he watched them burn until the last glow had
+gone from the last charred scrap; then he crunched and scattered
+them with the brass-handled fender brush, and, retracing his steps
+across the room, flung back a portiere from where it hung before a
+little alcove, and dropped on his knees in front of a round, squat,
+barrel-shaped safe--one of his own design and planning in the years
+when he had been with his father.
+
+His slim, sensitive fingers played for an instant among the knobs
+and dials that studded the door, guided, it seemed by the sense of
+touch alone--and the door swung open.  Within was another door, with
+locks and bolts as intricate and massive as the outer one.  This,
+too, he opened; and then from the interior took out a short, thick,
+rolled-up leather bundle tied together with thongs.  He rose from
+his knees, closed the safe, and drew the portiere across the alcove
+again.  With the bundle under his arm, he glanced sharply around the
+room, listened intently, then, unlocking the door that gave on the
+hall, he switched off the lights and went to his dressing room, that
+was on the same floor.  Here, divesting himself quickly of his
+dinner clothes, he selected a dark tweed suit with loose-fitting,
+sack coat from his wardrobe, and began to put it on.
+
+Dressed, all but his coat and vest, he turned to the leather bundle
+that he had placed on a table, untied the thongs, and carefully
+opened it out to its full length--and again that curious, cryptic
+smile tinged his lips.  Rolled the opposite away from that in which
+it had been tied up, the leather strip made a wide belt that went on
+somewhat after the fashion of a life preserver, the thongs being
+used for shoulder straps--a belt that, once on, the vest would hide
+completely, and, fitting close, left no telltale bulge in the outer
+garments.  It was not an ordinary belt; it was full of stout-sewn,
+up-right little pockets all the way around, and in the pockets
+grimly lay an array of fine, blued-steel, highly tempered
+instruments--a compact, powerful burglar's kit.
+
+The slim, sensitive fingers passed with almost a caressing touch
+over the vicious little implements, and from one of the pockets
+extracted a thin, flat metal case.  This Jimmie Dale opened, and
+glanced inside--between sheets of oil paper lay little rows of GRAY,
+ADHESIVE, DIAMOND-SHAPED SEALS.
+
+Jimmie Dale snapped the case shut, returned it to its recess, and
+from another took out a black silk mask.  He held it up to the light
+for examination.
+
+"Pretty good shape after a year," muttered Jimmie Dale, replacing
+it.
+
+He put on the belt, then his vest and coat.  From the drawer of his
+dresser he took an automatic revolver and an electric flashlight,
+slipped them into his pocket, and went softly downstairs.  From the
+hat stand he chose a black slouch hat, pulled it well over his eyes--
+and left the house.
+
+Jimmie Dale walked down a block, then hailed a bus and mounted to
+the top.  It was late, and he found himself the only passenger.  He
+inserted his dime in the conductor's little resonant-belled cash
+receiver, and then settled back on the uncomfortable, bumping,
+cushionless seat.
+
+On rattled the bus; it turned across town, passed the Circle, and
+headed for Fifth Avenue--but Jimmie Dale, to all appearances, was
+quite oblivious of its movements.
+
+It was a year since she had written him.  SHE!  Jimmie Dale did not
+smile, his lips were pressed hard together.  Not a very intimate or
+personal appellation, that--but he knew her by no other.  It WAS a
+woman, surely--the hand-writing was feminine, the diction eminently
+so--and had SHE not come herself that night to Jason!  He remembered
+the last letter, apart from the one to-night, that he had received
+from her.  It was a year ago now--and the letter had been hardly
+more than a note.  The police had worked themselves into a frenzy
+over the Gray Seal, the papers had grown absolutely maudlin--and she
+had written, in her characteristic way:
+
+
+Things are a little too warm, aren't they, Jimmie?  Let's let them
+cool for a year.
+
+
+Since then until to-night he had heard nothing from her.  It was a
+strange compact that he had entered into--so strange that it could
+never have known, could never know a parallel--unique, dangerous,
+bizarre, it was all that and more.  It had begun really through his
+connection with his father's business--the business of manufacturing
+safes that should defy the cleverest criminals--when his brains,
+turned into that channel, had been pitted against the underworld,
+against the methods of a thousand different crooks from Maine to
+California, the report of whose every operation had reached him in
+the natural course of business, and every one of which he had
+studied in minutest detail.  It had begun through that--but at the
+bottom of it was his own restless, adventurous spirit.
+
+He had meant to set the police by the ears, using his gray-seal
+device both as an added barb and that no innocent bystander of the
+underworld, innocent for once, might be involved--he had meant to
+laugh at them and puzzle them to the verge of madness, for in the
+last analysis they would find only an abortive attempt at crime--and
+he had succeeded.  And then he had gone too far--and he had been
+caught--by HER.  That string of pearls, which, to study whose effect
+facetiously, he had so idiotically wrapped around his wrist, and
+which, so ironically, he had been unable to loosen in time and had
+been forced to carry with him in his sudden, desperate dash to
+escape from Marx's the big jeweler's, in Maiden Lane, whose strong
+room he had toyed with one night, had been the lever which, AT
+FIRST, she had held over him.
+
+The bus was on Fifth Avenue now, and speeding rapidly down the
+deserted thoroughfare.  Jimmie Dale looked up at the lighted windows
+of the St. James Club as they went by, smiled whimsically, and
+shifted in his seat, seeking a more comfortable position.
+
+She had caught him--how he did not know--he had never seen her--did
+not know who she was, though time and again he had devoted all his
+energies for months at a stretch to a solution of the mystery.  The
+morning following the Maiden Lane affair, indeed, before he had
+breakfasted, Jason had brought him the first letter from her.  It
+had started by detailing his every move of the night before--and it
+had ended with an ultimatum: "The cleverness, the originality of the
+Gray Seal as a crook lacked but one thing," she had naively written,
+"and that one thing was that his crookedness required a leading
+string to guide it into channels that were worthy of his genius."
+In a word, SHE would plan the coups, and he would act at her
+dictation and execute them--or else how did twenty years in Sing
+Sing for that little Maiden Lane affair appeal to him?  He was to
+answer by the next morning, a simple "yes" or "no" in the personal
+column of the morning NEWS-ARGUS.
+
+A threat to a man like Jimmie Dale was like flaunting a red rag at a
+bull, and a rage ungovernable had surged upon him.  Then cold reason
+had come.  He was caught--there was no question about that--she had
+taken pains to show him that he need make no mistake there.
+Innocent enough in his own conscience, as far as actual theft went,
+for the pearls would in due course be restored in some way to the
+possession of their owner, he would have been unable to make even
+his own father, who was alive then, believe in his innocence, let
+alone a jury of his peers.  Dishonour, shame, ignominy, a long
+prison sentence, stared him in the face, and there was but one
+alternative--to link hands with this unseen, mysterious accomplice.
+Well, he could at least temporise, he could always "queer" a game in
+some specious manner, if he were pushed too far.  And so, in the
+next morning's NEWS-ARGUS, Jimmie Dale had answered "yes."  And then
+had followed those years in which there had been NO temporising, in
+which every plan was carried out to the last detail, those years of
+curious, unaccountable, bewildering affairs that Carruthers had
+spoken of, one on top of another, that had shaken the old
+headquarters on Mulberry Street to its foundations, until the Gray
+Seal had become a name to conjure with.  And, yes, it was quite
+true, he had entered into it all, gone the limit, with an eagerness
+that was insatiable.
+
+The bus had reached the lower end of Fifth Avenue, passed through
+Washington Square, and stopped at the end of its run.  Jimmie Dale
+clambered down from the top, threw a pleasant "good-night" to the
+conductor, and headed briskly down the street before him.  A little
+later he crossed into West Broadway, and his pace slowed to a
+leisurely stroll.
+
+Here, at the upper end of the street, was a conglomerate business
+section of rather inferior class, catering doubtless to the poor,
+foreign element that congregated west of Broadway proper, and to the
+south of Washington Square.  The street was, at first glance,
+deserted; it was dark and dreary, with stores and lofts on either
+side.  An elevated train roared by overhead, with a thunderous,
+deafening clamour.  Jimmie Dale, on the right-hand side of the
+street, glanced interestedly at the dark store windows as he went
+by.  And then, a block ahead, on the other side, his eyes rested on
+an approaching form.  As the other reached the corner and paused,
+and the light from the street lamp glinted on brass buttons, Jimmie
+Dale's eyes narrowed a little under his slouch hat.  The policeman,
+although nonchalantly swinging a nightstick, appeared to be watching
+him.
+
+Jimmie Dale went on half a block farther, stooped to the sidewalk to
+tie his shoe, glanced back over his shoulder--the policeman was not
+in sight--and slipped like a shadow into the alleyway beside which
+he had stopped.
+
+It was another Jimmie Dale now--the professional Jimmie Dale.  Quick
+as a cat, active, lithe, he was over a six foot fence in the rear of
+a building in a flash, and crouched a black shape, against the back
+door of an unpretentious, unkempt, dirty, secondhand shop that
+fronted on West Broadway--the last place certainly in all New York
+that the managing editor of the NEWS-ARGUS, or any one else, for
+that matter, would have picked out as the setting for the second
+debut of the Gray Seal.
+
+From the belt around his waist, Jimmie Dale took the black silk
+mask, and slipped it on; and from the belt, too, came a little
+instrument that his deft fingers manipulated in the lock.  A curious
+snipping sound followed.  Jimmie Dale put his weight gradually
+against the door.  The door held fast.
+
+"Bolted," said Jimmie Dale to himself.
+
+The sensitive fingers travelled slowly up and down the side of the
+door, seeming to press and feel for the position of the bolt through
+an inch of plank--then from the belt came a tiny saw, thin and
+pointed at the end, that fitted into the little handle drawn from
+another receptacle in the leather girdle beneath the unbuttoned
+vest.
+
+Hardly a sound it made as it bit into the door.  Half a minute
+passed--there was the faint fall of a small piece of wood--into the
+aperture crept the delicate, tapering fingers--came a slight rasping
+of metal--then the door swung back, the dark shadow that had been
+Jimmie Dale vanished and the door closed again.
+
+A round, white beam of light glowed for an instant--and disappeared.
+A miscellaneous, lumbering collection of junk and odds and ends
+blocked the entry, leaving no more space than was sufficient for
+bare passageway.  Jimmie Dale moved cautiously--and once more the
+flashlight in his hand showed the way for an instant--then darkness
+again.
+
+The cluttered accumulation of secondhand stuff in the rear gave
+place to a little more orderly arrangement as he advanced toward the
+front of the store.  Like a huge firefly, the flashlight twinkled,
+went out, twinkled again, and went out.  He passed a sort of crude,
+partitioned-off apartment that did duty for the establishment's
+office, a sort of little boxed-in place it was, about in the middle
+of the floor.  Jimmie Dale's light played on it for a moment.  but
+he kept on toward the front door without any pause.
+
+Every movement was quick, sure, accurate, with not a wasted second.
+It had been barely a minute since he had vaulted the back fence.  It
+was hardly a quarter of a minute more before the cumbersome lock of
+the front door was unfastened, and the door itself pulled
+imperceptibly ajar.
+
+He went swiftly back to the office now--and found it even more of a
+shaky, cheap affair than it had at first appeared; more like a box
+stall with windows around the top than anything else, the windows
+doubtless to permit the occupant to overlook the store from the
+vantage point of the high stool that stood before a long, battered,
+wobbly desk.  There was a door to the place, too, but the door was
+open and the key was in the lock.  The ray of Jimmie Dale's
+flashlight swept once around the interior--and rested on an antique,
+ponderous safe.
+
+Under the mask Jimmie Dale's lips parted in a smile that seemed
+almost apologetic, as he viewed the helpless iron monstrosity that
+was little more than an insult to a trained cracksman.  Then from
+the belt came the thin metal case and a pair of tweezers.  He opened
+the case, and with the tweezers lifted out one of the gray-coloured,
+diamond-shaped seals.  Holding the seal with the tweezers, he
+moistened the gummed side with his lips, then laid it on a
+handkerchief which he took from his pocket, and clapped the
+handkerchief against the front of the safe, sticking the seal
+conspicuously into place.  Jimmie Dale's insignia bore no finger
+prints.  The microscopes and magnifying glasses at headquarters had
+many a time regretfully assured the police of that fact.
+
+And now his hands and fingers seemed to work like lightning.  Into
+the soft iron bit a drill--bit in and through--bit in and through
+again.  It was dark, pitch black--and silent.  Not a sound, save the
+quick, dull rasp of the ratchet--like the distant gnawing of a
+mouse!  Jimmie Dale worked fast--another hole went through the face
+of the old-fashioned safe--and then suddenly he straightened up to
+listen, every faculty tense, alert, and strained, his body thrown a
+little forward.  WHAT WAS THAT!
+
+From the alleyway leading from the street without, through which he
+himself had come, sounded the stealthy crunch of feet.  Motionless
+in the utter darkness, Jimmie Dale listened--there was a scraping
+noise in the rear--someone was climbing the fence that he had
+climbed!
+
+In an instant the tools in Jimmie Dale's hands disappeared into
+their respective pockets beneath his vest--and the sensitive fingers
+shot to the dial on the safe.
+
+"Too bad," muttered Jimmie Dale plaintively to himself.  I could
+have made such an artistic job of it--I swear I could have cut
+Carruthers' profile in the hole in less than no time--to open it
+like this is really taking the poor old thing at a disadvantage."
+
+He was on his knees now, one ear close to the dial, listening as the
+tumblers fell, while the delicate fingers spun the knob unerringly--
+the other ear strained toward the rear of the premises.
+
+Came a footstep--a ray of light--a stumble--nearer--the newcomer was
+inside the place now, and must have found out that the back door had
+been tampered with.  Nearer came the steps--still nearer--and then
+the safe door swung open under Jimmie Dale's hand, and Jimmie Dale,
+that he might not be caught like a rat in a trap, darted from the
+office--but he had delayed a little too long.
+
+From around the cluttered piles of junk and miscellany swept the
+light--full on Jimmie Dale.  Hesitation for the smallest fraction of
+a second would have been fatal, but hesitation was something that in
+all his life Jimmie Dale had never known.  Quick as a panther in its
+spring, he leaped full at the light and the man behind it.  The
+rough voice, in surprised exclamation at the sudden discovery of the
+quarry, died in a gasp.
+
+There was a crash as the two men met--and the other reeled back
+before the impact.  Onto him Jimmie Dale sprang, and his hands flew
+for the other's throat.  It was an officer in uniform!  Jimmie Dale
+had felt the brass buttons as they locked.  In the darkness there
+was a queer smile on Jimmie Dale's tight lips.  It was no doubt THE
+officer whom he had passed on the other side of the street.
+
+The other was a smaller man than Jimmie Dale, but powerful for his
+build--and he fought now with all his strength.  This way and that
+the two men reeled, staggered, swayed, panting and gasping; and
+then--they had lurched back close to the office door--with a sudden
+swing, every muscle brought into play for a supreme effort, Jimmie
+Dale hurled the other from him, sending the man sprawling back to
+the floor of the office, and in the winking of an eye had slammed
+shut the door and turned the key.
+
+There was a bull-like roar, the shrill CHEEP-CHEEP-CHEEP of the
+patrolman's whistle, and a shattering crash as the officer flung his
+body against the partition--then the bark of a revolver shot, the
+tinkle of breaking glass, as the man fired through the office
+window--and past Jimmie Dale, speeding now for the front door, a
+bullet hummed viciously.
+
+Out on the street dashed Jimmie Dale, whipping the mask from his
+face--and glanced like a hawk around him.  For all the racket, the
+neighbourhood had not yet been aroused--no one was in sight.  From
+just overhead came the rattle of a downtown elevated train.  In a
+hundred-yard sprint, Jimmie Dale raced it a half block to the
+station, tore up the steps--and a moment later dropped nonchalantly
+into a seat and pulled an evening newspaper from his pocket.
+
+Jimmie Dale got off at the second station down, crossed the street,
+mounted the steps of the elevated again, and took the next train
+uptown.  His movements appeared to be somewhat erratic--he alighted
+at the station next above the one by which he had made his escape.
+Looking down the street it was too dark to see much of anything, but
+a confused noise as of a gathering crowd reached him from what was
+about the location of the secondhand store.  He listened
+appreciatively for a moment.
+
+"Isn't it a perfectly lovely night?" said Jimmie Dale amiably to
+himself.  "And to think of that cop running away with the idea that
+I didn't see him when he hid in a doorway after I passed the corner!
+Well, well, strange--isn't it?"
+
+With another glance down the street, a whimsical lift of his
+shoulders, he headed west into the dilapidated tenement quarter that
+huddled for a handful of blocks near by, just south of Washington
+Square.  It was a little after one o'clock in the morning now and
+the pedestrians were casual.  Jimmie Dale read the street signs on
+the corners as he went along, turned abruptly into an intersecting
+street, counted the tenements from the corner as he passed, and--for
+the eye of any one who might be watching--opened the street door of
+one of them quite as though he were accustomed and had a perfect
+right to do so, and went inside.
+
+It was murky and dark within; hot, unhealthy, with lingering smells
+of garlic and stale cooking.  He groped for the stairs and started
+up.  He climbed one flight, then another--and one more to the top.
+Here, treading softly, he made an examination of the landing with a
+view, evidently, to obtaining an idea of the location and the number
+of doors that opened off from it.
+
+His selection fell on the third door from the head of the stairs--
+there were four all told, two apartments of two rooms each.  He
+paused for an instant to adjust the black silk mask, tried the door
+quietly, found it unlocked, opened it with a sudden, quick, brisk
+movement--and, stepping in side, leaned with his back against it.
+
+"Good-morning," said Jimmie Dale pleasantly.
+
+It was a squalid place, a miserable hole, in which a single
+flickering, yellow gas jet gave light.  It was almost bare of
+furniture; there was nothing but a couple of cheap chairs, a rickety
+table--unpawnable.  A boy, he was hardly more than that, perhaps
+twenty-two, from a posture in which he was huddled across the table
+with head buried in out-flung arms, sprang with a startled cry to
+his feet.
+
+"Good-morning," said Jimmie Dale again.  "Your name's Hagan, Bert
+Hagan--isn't it?  And you work for Isaac Brolsky in the secondhand
+shop over on West Broadway--don't you?"
+
+The boy's lips quivered, and the gaunt, hollow, half-starved face,
+white, ashen-white now, was pitiful.
+
+"I--I guess you got me," he faltered "I--I suppose you're a plain-
+clothes man, though I never knew dicks wore masks."
+
+"They don't generally," said Jimmie Dale coolly.  "It's a fad of
+mine--Bert Hagan."
+
+The lad, hanging to the table, turned his head away for a moment--
+and there was silence.
+
+Presently Hagan spoke again.  "I'll go," he said numbly.  I won't
+make any trouble.  Would--would you mind not speaking loud?  I--I
+wouldn't like her to know."
+
+"Her?" said Jimmie Dale softly.
+
+The boy tiptoed across the room, opened a connecting door a little,
+peered inside, opened it a little wider--and looked over his
+shoulder at Jimmie Dale.
+
+Jimmie Dale crossed to the boy, looked inside the other room--and
+his lip twitched queerly, as the sight sent a quick, hurt throb
+through his heart.  A young woman, younger than the boy, lay on a
+tumble-down bed, a rag of clothing over her--her face with a
+deathlike pallor upon it, as she lay in what appeared to be a
+stupor.  She was ill, critically ill; it needed no trained eye to
+discern a fact all too apparent to the most casual observer.  The
+squalor, the glaring poverty here, was even more pitifully in
+evidence than in the other room--only here upon a chair beside the
+bed was a cluster of medicine bottles and a little heap of fruit.
+
+Jimmie Dale drew back silently as the boy closed the door.
+
+Hagan walked to the table and picked up his hat.
+
+"I'm--I'm ready," he said brokenly.  "Let's go."
+
+"Just a minute," said Jimmie Dale.  "Tell us about it."
+
+"Twon't take long," said Hagan, trying to smile.  "She's my wife.
+The sickness took all we had.  I--I kinder got behind in the rent
+and things.  They were going to fire us out of here--to-morrow.  And
+there wasn't any money for the medicine, and--and the things she had
+to have.  Maybe you wouldn't have done it--but I did.  I couldn't
+see her dying there for the want of something a little money'd buy--
+and--and I couldn't"--he caught his voice in a little sob--"I
+couldn't see her thrown out on the street like that."
+
+"And so," said Jimmie Dale, "instead of putting old Isaac's cash in
+the safe this evening when you locked up, you put it in your pocket
+instead--eh?  Didn't you know you'd get caught?"
+
+"What did it matter?" said the boy.  He was twirling his misshappen
+hat between his fingers.  "I knew they'd know it was me in the
+morning when old Isaac found it gone, because there wasn't anybody
+else to do it.  But I paid the rent for four months ahead to-night,
+and I fixed it so's she'd have medicine and things to eat.  I was
+going to beat it before daylight myself--I"--he brushed his hand
+hurriedly across his cheek--"I didn't want to go--to leave her till
+I had to."
+
+"Well, say"--there was wonderment in Jimmie Dale's tones, and his
+English lapsed into ungrammatical, reassuring vernacular--"ain't
+that queer!  Say, I'm no detective.  Gee, kid, did you think I was?
+Say, listen to this!  I cracked old Isaac's safe half an hour ago--
+and I guess there won't be any idea going around that you got the
+money and I pulled a lemon.  Say, I ain't superstitious, but it
+looks like luck meant you to have another chance, don't it?"
+
+The hat dropped from Hagan's hands to the floor, and he swayed a
+little.
+
+"You--you ain't a dick!" he stammered.  "Then how'd you know about
+me and my name when you found the safe empty?  Who told you?"
+
+A wry grimace spread suddenly over Jimmie Dale's face beneath the
+mask, and he swallowed hard.  Jimmie Dale would have given a good
+deal to have been able to answer that question himself.
+
+"Oh, that!" said Jimmie Dale.  "That's easy--I knew you worked
+there.  Say, it's the limit, ain't it?  Talk about your luck being
+in, why all you've got to do is to sit tight and keep your mouth
+shut, and you're safe as a church.  Only say, what are you going to
+do about the money, now you've got a four months' start and are kind
+of landed on your feet?
+
+"Do?" said the boy.  "I'll pay it back, little by little.  I meant
+to.  I ain't no--"  He stopped abruptly.
+
+"Crook," supplied Jimmie Dale pleasantly.  "Spit it right out, kid;
+you won't hurt my feelings none.  Well, I'll tell you--you're
+talking the way I like to hear you--you pay that back, slide it in
+without his knowing it, a bit at a time, whenever you can, and
+you'll never hear a yip out of me; but if you don't, why it kind of
+looks as though I have a right to come down your street and get my
+share or know the reason why--eh?"
+
+"Then you never get any share," said Hagan, with a catch in his
+voice.  "I pay it back as fast as I can."
+
+"Sure," said Jimmie Dale.  "That's right--that's what I said.  Well,
+so long--Hagan."  And Jimmie Dale had opened the door and slipped
+outside.
+
+An hour later, in his dressing room in his house on Riverside Drive,
+Jimmie Dale was removing his coat as the telephone, a hand
+instrument on the table, rang.  Jimmie Dale glanced at it--and
+leisurely proceeded to remove his vest.  Again the telephone rang.
+Jimmie Dale took off his curious, pocketed leather belt--as the
+telephone repeated its summons.  He picked out the little drill he
+had used a short while before, and inspected it critically--feeling
+its point with his thumb, as one might feel a razor's blade.  Again
+the telephone rang insistently.  He reached languidly for the
+receiver, took it off its hook, and held it to his ear.
+
+"Hello!" said Jimmie Dale, with a sleepy yawn.  "Hello!  Hello!  Why
+the deuce don't you yank a man out of bed at two o'clock in the
+morning and have done with it, and--eh?  Oh, that you, Carruthers?"
+
+"Yes," came Carruthers' voice excitedly.  "Jimmie, listen--listen!
+The Gray Seal's come to life!  He's just pulled a break on West
+Broadway!"
+
+"Good Lord!" gasped Jimmie Dale.  "You don't say!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+BY PROXY
+
+
+The most puzzling bewildering, delightful crook in the annals of
+crime," Herman Carruthers, the editor of the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, had
+called the Gray Seal; and Jimmie Dale smiled a little grimly now as
+he recalled the occasion of a week ago at the St. James Club over
+their after-dinner coffee.  That was before his second debut, with
+Isaac Brolsky's poverty-stricken premises over on West Broadway as a
+setting for the break.
+
+SHE had written: "Things are a little too warm, aren't they, Jimmie?
+Let's let them cool for a year."  Well, they had cooled for a year,
+and Carruthers as a result had been complacently satisfied in his
+own mind that the Gray Seal was dead--until that break at Isaac
+Brolsky's over on West Broadway!
+
+Jimmie Dale's smile was tinged with whimsicality now.  The only
+effect of the year's inaction had been to usher in his renewed
+activity with a furor compared to which all that had gone before was
+insignificant.  Where the newspapers had been maudlin, they now
+raved--raved in editorials and raved in headlines.  It was an
+impossible, untenable, unbelievable condition of affairs that this
+Gray Seal, for all his incomparable cleverness, should flaunt his
+crimes in the faces of the citizens of New York.  One could actually
+see the editors writhing in their swivel chairs as their fiery
+denunciations dripped from their pens!  What was the matter with the
+police?  Were the police children; or, worse still, imbeciles--or,
+still worse again, was there some one "higher up" who was profiting
+by this rogue's work?  New York would not stand for it--New York
+would most decidedly not--and the sooner the police realised that
+fact the better!  If the police were helpless, or tools, the
+citizens of New York were not, and it was time the citizens were
+thoroughly aroused.
+
+There was a way, too, to arouse the citizens, that was both good
+business from the newspaper standpoint, and efficacious as a method.
+Carruthers, of the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, had initiated it.  The
+MORNING NEWS-ARGUS offered twenty-five thousand dollars' reward for
+the capture of the Gray Seal!  Other papers immediately followed
+suit in varying amounts.  The authorities, State and municipal,
+goaded to desperation, did likewise, and the five million men,
+women, and children of New York were automatically metamorphosed
+into embryonic sleuths.  New York was aroused.
+
+Jimmie Dale, alias the Gray Seal, member of the ultra-exclusive St.
+James Club, the latter fact sufficient in itself to guarantee his
+social standing, graduate of Harvard, inheritor of his deceased
+father's immense wealth amassed in the manufacture of burglar-proof
+safes, some of the most ingenious patents on which were due to
+Jimmie Dale himself, figured with a pencil on the margin of the
+newspaper he had been reading, using the arm of the big, luxurious,
+leather-upholstered lounging chair as a support for the paper.  The
+result of his calculations was eighty-five thousand dollars.
+
+He brushed the paper onto the Turkish rug, dove into the pocket of
+his dinner jacket for his cigarettes, and began to smoke as his eyes
+strayed around the room, his own particular den in his fashionable
+Riverside Drive residence.
+
+Eighty-five thousand dollars' reward!  Jimmie Dale blew meditative
+rings of cigarette smoke at the fireplace.  What would she say to
+that?  Would she decide it was "too hot" again, and call it off?  It
+added quite a little hazard to the game--QUITE a little!  If he only
+knew who "she" was!  It was a strange partnership--the strangest
+partnership that had ever existed between two human beings.
+
+He turned a little in his chair as a step sounded in the hallway
+without--that is, Jimmie Dale caught the sound, muffled though it
+was by the heavy carpet.  Came then a knock upon the door.
+
+"Come in," invited Jimmie Dale.
+
+It was old Jason, the butler.  The old man was visibly excited, as
+he extended a silver tray on which lay a letter.
+
+Jimmie Dale's hand reached quickly out, the long, slim tapering
+fingers closed upon the envelope--but his eyes were on Jason
+significantly, questioningly.
+
+"Yes, Master Jim," said the old man, "I recognised it on the
+instant, sir.  After what you said, sir, last week, honouring me, I
+might say, to a certain extent with your confidence, though I'm sure
+I don't know what it all means, I--"
+
+"Who brought it this time, Jason?" inquired Jimmie Dale quietly.
+
+"Not the young person, begging your pardon, not the young lady, sir.
+A shuffer in a big automobile.  'Your master at once,' he says, and
+shoves the letter into my hand, and was off."
+
+"Very good, Jason," said Jimmie Dale.  "You may go."
+
+The door closed.  Yes, it was from HER--it was the same texture of
+paper, there was the same rare, haunting fragrance clinging to it.
+
+He tore the envelope open, and extracted a folded sheet of paper.
+What was it this time?  To call the partnership off again until the
+present furor should have subsided once more--or the skilfully
+sketched outline of a new adventure?  Which?  He glanced at the few
+lines written on the sheet, and lunged forward from his chair to his
+feet.  It was neither one nor the other.  It was--
+
+Jimmie Dale's face was set, and an angry red surge swept his cheeks.
+His lips moved, muttering audibly fragments of the letter, as he
+stared at it.
+
+"--incredible that you--a heinous thing--act instantly--this is
+ruin--"
+
+For an instant--a rare occurrence in Jimmie Dale's life--he stood
+like a man stricken, still staring at the sheet in his hand.  Then
+mechanically his fingers tore the paper into little pieces, and the
+little pieces into tiny shreds.  Anger fled, and a sickening sense
+of impotent dismay took its place; the red left his cheecks, and in
+its stead a grayness came.
+
+"Act instantly!"  The words seemed to leap at him, drum at his ears
+with constant repetition.  Act instantly!  But how?  How?  Then his
+brain--that keen, clear, master brain--sprang from stunned inaction
+into virility again.  Of course--Carruthers!  It was in Carruthers'
+line.
+
+He stepped to the desk--and paused with his hand extended to pick up
+the telephone.  How explain to Carruthers that he, Jimmie Dale,
+already knew what Carruthers might not yet have heard of, even
+though Carruthers would naturally be among the first to be in touch
+with such affairs!  No; that would never do.  Better get there
+himself at once and trust to--
+
+The telephone rang.
+
+Jimmie Dale waited until it rang again, then he lifted the receiver
+from the hook.
+
+"Hello?" he said.
+
+"Hello!  Hello!  Jimmie!" came a voice.  "This is Carruthers.  That
+you, Jimmie?"
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale and sat down limply in the desk chair.
+
+"It's the Gray Seal again.  I promised you I'd let you in on the
+ground floor next time anything happened, so come on down here quick
+if you want to see some of his work at firsthand."
+
+Jimmie Dale flirted a bead of sweat from his forehead.
+
+"Carruthers," said Jimmie languidly, "you newspaper chaps make me
+tired with your Gray Seal.  I'm just going to bed."
+
+"Bed nothing!" spluttered Carruthers, from the other end of the
+wire.  "Come down, I tell you.  It's worth your while--half the
+population of New York would give the toes off their feet for the
+chance.  Come down, you blast idiot!  The Gray Seal has gone the
+limit this time--it's MURDER."
+
+Jimmie Dale's face was haggard.
+
+"Oh!" he said peevishly.  "Sounds interesting.  Where are you?  I
+guess maybe I'll jog along."
+
+"I should think you would!" snapped Carruthers.  "You know the
+Palace on the Bowery?  Yes?  Well, meet me on the corner there as
+soon as you can.  Hustle!  Good--"
+
+"Oh, I say, Carruthers!" interposed Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Yes?" demanded Carruthers.
+
+"Thanks awfully for letting me know, old man."
+
+"Don't mention it!" returned Carruthers sarcastically.  "You always
+were a grateful beast, Jimmie.  Hurry up!"
+
+Jimmie Dale hung up the receiver of the city 'phone, and took down
+the receiver of another, a private-house installation, and rang
+twice for the garage.
+
+"The light car at once, Benson," he ordered curtly.  "At once!"
+
+Jimmie Dale worked quickly then.  In his dressing room, he changed
+from dinner clothes to tweeds; spent a second or so over the
+contents of a locked drawer in the dresser, from which he selected a
+very small but serviceable automatic, and a very small but highly
+powerful magnifying glass whose combination of little round lenses
+worked on a pivot, and, closed over one another, were of about the
+compass of a quarter of a dollar.
+
+In three minutes he was outside the house and stepping into the car,
+just as it drew up at the curb.
+
+"Benson," he said tersely to his chauffeur, "drop me one block this
+side of the Palace on the Bowery--and forget there was ever a speed
+law enacted.  Understand?"
+
+"Very good, sir," said Benson, touching his cap.  "I'll do my best,
+sir."
+
+Jimmie Dale, in the tonneau, stretched out his legs under the front
+seat, and dug his hands into his pockets--and inside the pockets his
+hands were clenched and knotted fists.
+
+Murder!  At times it had occurred to him that there was a
+possibility that some crook of the underworld would attempt to cover
+his tracks and take refuge from pursuit by foisting himself on the
+authorities as the Gray Seal.  That was a possibility, a risk always
+to be run.  But that MURDER should be laid to the Gray Seal's door!
+Anger, merciless and unrestrained, surged over Jimmie Dale.
+
+There was peril here, live and imminent.  Suppose that some day he
+should be caught in some little affair, recognised and identified as
+the Gray Seal, there would be the charge of murder hanging over him--
+and the electric chair to face!
+
+But the peril was not the only thing.  Even worse to Jimmie Dale's
+artistic and sensitive temperament was the vilification, the holding
+up to loathing, contumely, and abhorrence of the name, the stainless
+name, of the Gray Seal.  It WAS stainless!  He had guarded it
+jealously--as a man guards the woman's name he loves.
+
+Affairs that had mystified and driven the police distracted with
+impotence there had been, many of them; and on the face of them--
+crimes.  But no act ever committed had been in reality a crime--
+none without the highest of motives, the righting of some outrageous
+wrong, the protection of some poor stumbling fellow human.
+
+That had been his partnership with her.  How, by what amazing means,
+by what power that smacked almost of the miraculous she came in
+touch with all these things and supplied him with the data on which
+to work he did not know--only that, thanks to her, there were
+happier hearts and happier homes since the Gray Seal had begun to
+work.  "Dear Philanthropic Crook," she often called him in her
+letters.  And now--it was MURDER!
+
+Take Carruthers, for instance.  For years, as a reporter before he
+had risen to the editorial desk, he had been one of the keenest on
+the scent of the Gray Seal, but always for the sake of the game--
+always filled with admiration, as he said himself, for the daring,
+the originality of the most puzzling, bewildering, delightful crook
+in the annals of crime.  Carruthers was but an example.  Carruthers
+now would hunt the Gray Seal like a mad dog.  The Gray Seal, to
+Carruthers and every one else, would be the vilest name in the land--
+a synonym for murder.
+
+On the car flew--and upon Jimmie Dale's face, as though chiselled in
+marble, was a look that was not good to see.  And a mirthless smile
+set, frozen, on his lips.
+
+"I'll get the man that did this," gritted Jimmie Dale between his
+teeth.  "I'll GET him!  And, when I get him, I'll wring a confession
+from him if I have to swing for it!"
+
+The car swept from Broadway into Astor Place, on down the Bowery,
+and presently stopped.
+
+Jimmie Dale stepped out.  "I shall not want you any more, Benson,"
+he said.  "You may return home."
+
+Jimmie Dale started down the block--a nonchalant Jimmie Dale now, if
+anything, bored a little.  Near the corner, a figure, back turned,
+was lounging at the edge of the sidewalk.  Jimmie Dale touched the
+man on the arm.
+
+"Hello, Carruthers!" he drawled.
+
+"Ah, Jimmie!" Carruthers turned with an excited smile.  "That's the
+boy!  You've made mighty quick time."
+
+"Well, you told me to hurry," grumbled Jimmie Dale.  "I'm doing my
+best to please you to-night.  Came down in my car, and got summoned
+for three fines to-morrow."
+
+Carruthers laughed.  "Come on," he said; and, linking his arm in
+Jimmie Dale's, turned the corner, and headed west along the cross
+street.  "This is going to make a noise," he continued, a grim note
+creeping into his voice.  "The biggest noise the city has ever
+heard.  I take back all I said about the Gray Seal.  I'd always
+pictured his cleverness as being inseparable with at least a decent
+sort of man, even if he was a rogue and a criminal, but I'm through
+with that.  He's a rotter and a hound of the rankest sort!  I didn't
+think there was anything more vulgar or brutal than murder, but he's
+shown me that there is.  A guttersnipe's got more decency!  To
+murder a man and then boastfully label the corpse is--"
+
+"Say, Carruthers," said Jimmie Dale plaintively, suddenly hanging
+back, "I say, you know, it's--it's all right for you to mess up in
+this sort of thing, it's your beastly business, and I'm awfully
+damned thankful to you for giving me a look-in, but isn't it--er--
+rather INFRA DIG for me?  A bit morbid, you know, and all that sort
+of thing.  I'd never hear the end of it at the club--you know what
+the St. James is.  Couldn't I be Merideth Stanley Annstruther, or
+something like that, one of your new reporters, or something like
+that, you know?"
+
+Carruthers chuckled.  "Sure, Jimmie," he said.  "You're the latest
+addition to the staff of the NEWS-ARGUS.  Don't worry; the
+incomparable Jimmie Dale won't figure publicly in this."
+
+"It's awfully good of you," said Jimmie gratefully.  "I have to have
+a notebook or something, don't I?"
+
+Carruthers, from his pocket, handed him one.  "Thanks," said Jimmie
+Dale.
+
+A little way ahead, a crowd had collected on the sidewalk before a
+doorway, and Carruthers pointed with a jerk of his hand.
+
+"It's in Moriarty's place--a gambling hell," he explained.  "I
+haven't got the story myself yet, though I've been inside, and had a
+look around.  Inspector Clayton discovered the crime, and reported
+it at headquarters.  I was at my desk in the office when the news
+came, and, as you know the interest I've taken in the Gray Seal, I
+decided to 'cover' it myself.  When I got here, Clayton hadn't
+returned from headquarters, so, as you seemed so keenly interested
+last week, I telephoned you.  If Clayton's back now we'll get the
+details.  Clayton's a good fellow with the 'press,' and he won't
+hold anything out on us.  Now, here we are.  Keep close to me, and
+I'll pass you in."
+
+They shouldered through the crowd and up to an officer at the door.
+The officer nodded, stepped aside, and Carruthers, with Jimmie Dale
+following, entered the house.
+
+They climbed one flight, and then another.  The card-rooms, the
+faro, stud, and roulette layouts were deserted, save for policemen
+here and there on guard.  Carruthers led the way to a room at the
+back of the hall, whose door was open and from which issued a hubbub
+of voices--one voice rose above the others, heavy and gratingly
+complacent.
+
+"Clayton's back," observed Carruthers.
+
+They stepped over the threshold, and the heavy voice greeted them.
+
+"Ah, here's Carruthers now!  H'are you, Carruthers?  They told me
+you'd been here, and were coming back, so I've been keeping the boys
+waiting before handing out the dope.  You've had a look at that--
+eh?"  He flung out a fat hand toward the bed.
+
+The voices rose again, all directed at Carruthers now.
+
+"Bubble's burst, eh, Carruthers?  What about the 'Prince of Crooks'?
+Artistry in crime, wasn't it, you said?"  They were quoting from his
+editorials of bygone days, a half dozen reporters of rival papers,
+grinning and joshing him good-naturedly, seemingly quite unaffected
+by what lay within arm's reach of them upon the bed.
+
+Carruthers smiled a little wryly, shrugged his shoulders--and
+presented Jimmie Dale to Inspector Clayton.
+
+"Mr. Matthewson, a new man of ours--inspector."
+
+"Glad to know you, Mr. Matthewson," said the inspector.
+
+Jimmie Dale found his hand grasped by another that was flabby and
+unpleasantly moist; and found himself looking into a face that was
+red, with heavy rolls of unhealthy fat terminating in a double chin
+and a thick, apoplectic neck--a huge, round face, with rat's eyes.
+
+Clayton dropped Jimmie Dale's hand, and waved his own in the air.
+Jimmie Dale remained modestly on the outside of the circle as the
+reporters gathered around the police inspector.
+
+"Now, then," said Clayton coarsely, "the guy that's croaked there is
+Metzer, Jake Metzer.  Get that?"
+
+Jimmie Dale, scribbling hurriedly in his notebook like all the rest,
+turned a little toward the bed, and his lower jaw crept out the
+fraction of an inch.  Both gas jets in the room were turned on full,
+giving ample light.  A man fully dressed, a man of perhaps forty,
+lay upon his back on the bed, one arm outflung across the bedspread,
+the other dangling, with fingers just touching the floor, the head
+at an angle and off the pillow.  It was as though he had been
+carried to the bed and flung upon it after the deed had been
+committed.  Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted and swept the room.  Yes,
+everything was in disorder, as though there had been a struggle--a
+chair upturned, a table canted against the wall, broken pieces of
+crockery from the washstand on the carpet, and--
+
+"Metzer was a stool pigeon, see?" went on Clayton, "and he lived
+here.  Moriarty wasn't on to him.  Metzer stood in thick with a
+wider circle of crooks than any other snitch in New York."
+
+Jimmie Dale, still scribbling as Clayton talked, stepped to the bed
+and leaned over the murdered man.  The murder had been done with a
+blackjack evidently--a couple of blows.  The left side of the temple
+was crushed in.  Right in the middle of the forehead, pasted there,
+a gray-colored, diamond shaped paper seal flaunted itself--the
+device of the Gray Seal.  In Jimmie Dale' hand, hidden as he turned
+his back, the tiny combination of powerful lenses was focused on the
+seal.
+
+Clayton guffawed.  "That's right!" he called out.  "Take a good
+look.  That's a bright young man you've got, Carruthers."
+
+Jimmie Dale looked up a little sheepishly--and got a grin from the
+assembled reporters, and a scowl from Carruthers.
+
+Now, then," continued Clayton, "here's the facts--as much of 'em as
+I can let you boys print at present.  You know I'm stretching a
+point to let you in here--don't forget that when you come to write
+up the case--honour where's honour's due, you know.  Well, me and
+Metzer there was getting ready to close down on a big piece of game,
+and I was over here in this room talking to him about it early this
+afternoon.  We had it framed to get our man to-night--see?  I left
+Metzer, say, about three o'clock, and he was to show up over at
+headquarters with another little bit of evidence we wanted at eight
+o'clock to-night."
+
+Jimmie Dale was listening--to every word.  But he stooped now again
+over the murdered man's head deliberately, though he felt the
+inspector's rat's eyes upon him--stooped, and, with his finger nail,
+lifted back the right-hand point of the diamond-shaped seal where it
+bordered a faint thread of blood on the man's forehead.
+
+There was a bull-like roar from the inspector, and he burst through
+the ring of reporters, and grabbed Jimmie Dale by the shoulder.
+
+"Here you, what in hell are you doing!" he spluttered angrily.
+
+Embarrassed and confused, Jimmie Dale drew back, glanced around, and
+smiled again a little sheepishly as his eyes rested on the red-
+flushed jowl of the inspector.
+
+"I--I wanted to see how it was stuck on," he explained inanely.
+
+"Stuck on!" bellowed Clayton.  "I'll show you how it's STUCK on, if
+you monkey around here!  Don't you know any better than that!  Where
+were you dragged up anyway?  The coroner hasn't been here yet.
+You're a hot cub of a reporter, you are!"  He turned to Carruthers.
+"Y'ought to get out printed instructions for 'em before you turn 'em
+loose!" he snapped.
+
+Carruthers' face was red with mortification.  There was a grin,
+expanded, on the faces of the others.
+
+"Stand away from that bed!" roared Clayton at Jimmie Dale.  "And if
+you go near it again, I'll throw you out of here bodily!"
+
+Jimmie Dale edged away, and, eyes lowered, fumbled nervously with
+the leaves of his notebook.
+
+Clayton grunted, glared at Jimmie Dale for an instant viciously--and
+resumed his story.
+
+"I was saying," he said, "that Metzer was to come to headquarters at
+eight o'clock this evening.  Well, he didn't show up.  That looked
+queer.  It was mighty important business.  We was after one of the
+biggest hauls we'd ever pulled off.  I waited till nine o'clock, an
+hour ago, and I was getting nervous.  Then I started over here to
+find out what was the matter.  When I got here I asked Moriarty if
+he'd seen Metzer.  Moriarty said he hadn't since I was here before.
+He was a little suspicious that I had something on Metzer--see?
+Well, by pumping Moriarty, he admitted that Metzer had had a visitor
+about an hour after I left."
+
+"Who was it?  Know what his name is, inspector?" asked one of the
+reporters quickly.
+
+Inspector Clayton winked heavily.  "Don't be greedy boys," he
+grinned.
+
+"You mean you've got him?" burst out another one of the men
+excitedly.
+
+"Sure!  Sure, I've got him." Inspector Clayton waved his fat hand
+airily.  "Or I will have before morning--but I ain't saying anything
+more till it's over."  He smiled significantly.  "Well, that's about
+all.  You've got the details right around you.  I left Moriarty
+downstairs and came up here, and found just what you see--Metzer
+laying on the bed there, and the gray seal stuck on his forehead--
+and"--he ended abruptly--"I'll have the Gray Seal himself behind the
+bars by morning."
+
+A chorus of ejaculations rose from the reporters, while their
+pencils worked furiously.
+
+Then Jimmie Dale appeared to have an inspiration.  Jimmie Dale
+turned a leaf in his notebook and began to sketch rapidly, cocking
+his head now on one side now on the other.  With a few deft strokes
+he had outlined the figure of Inspector Clayton.  The reporter
+beside Jimmie Dale leaned over to inspect the work, and another did
+likewise.  Jimmie Dale drew in Clayton's face most excellently, if
+somewhat flatteringly; and then, with a little flourish of pride,
+wrote under the drawing: "The Man Who Captured the Gray Seal."
+
+"That's a cracking good sketch!" pronounced the reporter at his
+side.  "Let the inspector see it."
+
+"What is it?" demanded Clayton, scowling.
+
+Jimmie Dale handed him the notebook modestly.
+
+Inspector Clayton took it, looked at it, looked at Jimmie Dale; then
+his scowl relaxed into a self-sufficient and pleased smile, and he
+grunted approvingly.
+
+"That's the stuff to put over," he said.  "Mabbe you're not much of
+a reporter, but you can draw.  Y're all right, sport--y're all
+right.  Forget what I said to you a while ago."
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled too--deprecatingly.  And put the notebook in his
+pocket.
+
+An officer entered the room hurriedly, and, drawing Clayton aside,
+spoke in an undertone.  A triumphant and malicious grin settled on
+Clayton's features, and he started with a rush for the door.
+
+"Come around to headquarters in two hours, boys," he called as he
+went out, "and I'll have something more for you."
+
+The room cleared, the reporters tumbling downstairs to make for the
+nearest telephones to get their "copy" into their respective
+offices.
+
+On the street, a few doors up from the house where they were free
+from the crowd, Carruthers halted Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Jimmie," he said reproachfully, "you certainly made a mark of us
+both.  There wasn't any need to play the 'cub' so egregiously.
+However, I'll forgive you for the sake of the sketch--hand it over,
+Jimmie; I'm going to reproduce it in the first edition."
+
+"It wasn't drawn for reproduction, Carruthers--at least not yet,"
+said Jimmie Dale quietly.
+
+Carruthers stared at him.  "Eh?" he asked blankly.
+
+"I've taken a dislike to Clayton," said Jimmie Dale whimsically.
+"He's too patently after free advertising, and I'm not going to help
+along his boost.  You can't have it, old man, so let's think about
+something else.  What'll they do with that bit of paper that's on
+the poor devil's forehead up there, for instance."
+
+"Say," said Carruthers, "does it strike you that you're acting
+queer?  You haven't been drinking, have you, Jimmie?"
+
+"What'll they do with it?" persisted Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Well," said Carruthers, smiling a little tolerantly, "they'll
+photograph it and enlarge the photograph, and label it 'Exhibit A'
+or 'Exhibit B' or something like that--and file it away in the
+archives with the fifty or more just like it that are already in
+their collection."
+
+"That's what I thought," observed Jimmie Dale.  He took Carruthers
+by the lapel of the coat.  "I'd like a photograph of that.  I'd like
+it so much that I've got to have it.  Know the chap that does that
+work for the police?"
+
+"Yes," admitted Carruthers.
+
+"Very good!" said Jimmie Dale crisply, "Get an extra print of the
+enlargement from him then--for a consideration--whatever he asks--
+I'll pay for it."
+
+"But what for?" demanded Carruthers.  "I don't understand."
+
+"Because," said Jimmie Dale very seriously, "put it down to
+imagination or whatever you like, I think I smell something fishy
+here."
+
+"You WHAT!" exclaimed Carruthers in amazement.  "You're not joking,
+are you, Jimmie?"
+
+Jimmie Dale laughed shortly.  "It's so far from a joke," he said, in
+a low tone, "that I want your word you'll get that photograph into
+my hands by to-morrow afternoon, no matter what transpires in the
+meantime.  And look here, Carruthers, don't think I'm playing the
+silly thickhead, and trying to mystify you.  I'm no detective or
+anything like that.  I've just got an idea that apparently hasn't
+occurred to any one else--and, of course, I may be all wrong.  If I
+am, I'm not going to say a word even to you, because it wouldn't be
+playing fair with some one else; if I'm right the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS
+gets the biggest scoop of the century.  Will you go in on that
+basis?"
+
+Carruthers put out his hand impulsively.  "If you're in earnest,
+Jimmie--you bet!"
+
+"Good!" returned Jimmie Dale.  "The photograph by to-morrow
+afternoon then.  And now--"
+
+"And now," said Caruthers, "I've got to hurry over to the office and
+get a write-up man at work.  Will you come along, or meet me at
+headquarters later?  Clayton said in two hours he'd--"
+
+"Neither," said Jimmie Dale.  "I'm not interested in headquarters.
+I'm going home."
+
+"Well, all right then," Carruthers returned.  "You can bank on me
+for to-morrow.  Good-night, Jimmie."
+
+"Good-night, old man," said Jimmie Dale, and, turning, walked
+briskly toward the Bowery.
+
+But Jimmie Dale did not go home.  He walked down the Bowery for
+three blocks, crossed to the east side, and turned down a cross
+street.  Two blocks more he walked in this direction, and halfway
+down the next.  Here he paused an instant--the street was dimly
+lighted, almost dark, deserted.  Jimmie Dale edged close to the
+houses until his shadow blended with the shadows of the walls--and
+slipped suddenly into a pitch-black areaway.
+
+He opened a door, stepped into an unlighted hallway where the air
+was close and evil smelling, mounted a stairway, and halted before
+another door on the first landing.  There was the low clicking of a
+lock, three times repeated, and he entered a room, closing and
+fastening the door behind him.
+
+Jimmie Dale called it his "Sanctuary."  In one of the worst
+neighbourhoods of New York, where no questions were asked as long as
+the rent was paid, it had the further advantage of three separate
+exits--one by the areaway where he had entered; one from the street
+itself; and another through a back yard with an entry into a saloon
+that fronted on the next street.  It was not often that Jimmie Dale
+used his Sanctuary, but there had been times when it was no more nor
+less than exactly what he called it--a sanctuary!
+
+He stepped to the window, assured himself that the shade was down--
+and lighted the gas, blinking a little as the yellow flame
+illuminated the room.
+
+It was a rough place, dirty, uninviting; a bedroom, furnished in the
+most scanty fashion.  Neither, apparently, was there anything
+suspicious about it to reward one curious enough to break in during
+the owner's absence--some rather disreputable clothes hanging on the
+wall, and flung untidily across the bed--that was all.
+
+Alone now, Jimmie Dale's face was strained and anxious and,
+occasionally, as he undressed himself, his hands clenched until his
+knuckles grew white.  The gray seal on the murdered man's forehead
+was a GENUINE GRAY SEAL--one of Jimmie Dale's own.  There was no
+doubt of that--he had satisfied himself on that point.
+
+Where had it come from?  How had it been obtained?  Jimmie Dale
+carefully placed the clothes he had taken off under the mattress,
+pulled a disreputable collarless flannel shirt over his head, and
+pulled on a disreputable pair of boots.  There were only two sources
+of supply.  His own--and the collection that the police had made,
+which Carruthers had referred to.
+
+Jimmie Dale lifted a corner of the oilcloth in a corner of the room,
+lifted a piece of the flooring, lifted out a little box which he
+placed upon the rickety table, and sat down before a cracked mirror.
+Who was it that would have access to the gray seals in the
+possession of the police, since, obviously, it was one of those that
+was on the dead man's forehead?  The answer came quick enough--came
+with the sudden out-thrust of Jimmie Dale's lower jaw.  ONE OF THE
+POLICE THEMSELVES--no one else.  Clayton's heavy, cunning face,
+Clayton's shifty eyes, Clayton's sudden rush when he had touched the
+dead man's forehead, pictured themselves in a red flash of fury
+before Jimmie Dale.  There was no mask now, no facetiousness, no
+acted part--only a merciless rage, and the muscles of Jimmie Dale's
+face quivered and twitched.  MURDER, foisted, shifted upon another,
+upon the Gray Seal--making of that name a calumny--ruining forever
+the work that she and he might do!
+
+And then Jimmie Dale smiled mirthlessly, with thinning lips.  The
+box before him was open.  His fingers worked quickly--a little wax
+behind the ears, in the nostrils, under the upper lip, deftly
+placed-hands, wrists, neck, throat, and face received their quota of
+stain, applied with an artist's touch--and then the spruce, muscular
+Jimmie Dale, transformed into a slouching, vicious-featured denizen
+of the underworld, replaced the box under the flooring, pulled a
+slouch hat over his eyes, extinguished the gas, and went out.
+
+Jimmie Dale's range of acquaintanceship was wide--from the upper
+strata of the St. James Club to the elite of New York's gangland.
+And, adored by the one, he was trusted implicitly by the other--not
+understood, perhaps, by the latter, for he had never allied himself
+with any of their nefarious schemes, but trusted implicitly through
+long years of personal contact.  It had stood Jimmie Dale in good
+stead before, this association, where, in a sort of strange,
+carefully guarded exchange, the news of the underworld was common
+property to those without the law.  To New York in its millions, the
+murder of Metzer, the stool pigeon, would be unknown until the city
+rose in the morning to read the sensational details over the
+breakfast table; here, it would already be the topic of whispered
+conversations, here it had probably been known long before the
+police had discovered the crime.  Especially would it be expected to
+be known to Pete Lazanis, commonly called the Runt, who was a power
+below the dead line and, more pertinent still, one in whose
+confidence Jimmie Dale had rejoiced for years.
+
+Jimmie Dale, as Larry the Bat--a euphonious "monaker" bestowed
+possibly because this particular world knew him only by night--began
+a search for the Runt.  From one resort to another he hurried,
+talking in the accepted style through one corner of his mouth to
+hard-visaged individuals behind dirty, reeking bars that were reared
+on equally dirty and foul-smelling sawdust-strewn floors; visiting
+dance halls, secretive back rooms, and certain Chinese pipe joints.
+
+But the Runt was decidedly elusive.  There had been no news of him,
+no one had seen him--and this after fully an hour had passed since
+Jimmie Dale had left Carruthers in front of Moriarty's.  The
+possibilities however were still legion--numbered only by the
+numberless dives and dens sheltered by that quarter of the city.
+
+Jimmie Dale turned into Chatham Square, heading for the Pagoda Dance
+Hall.  A man loitering at the curb shot a swift, searching glance at
+him as he slouched by.  Jimmie Dale paused in the doorway of the
+Pagoda and looked up and down the street.  The man he had passed had
+drawn a little closer; another man in an apparently aimless fashion
+lounged a few yards away.
+
+"Something up," muttered Jimmie Dale to himself.  "Lansing, of
+headquarters, and the other looks like Milrae."
+
+Jimmie Dale pushed in through the door of the Pagoda.  A bedlam of
+noise surged out at him--a tin-pan piano and a mandolin were going
+furiously from a little raised platform at the rear; in the centre
+of the room a dozen couples were in the throes of the tango and the
+bunny-hug; around the sides, at little tables, men and women laughed
+and applauded and thumped time on the tabletops with their beer
+mugs; while waiters, with beer-stained aprons and unshaven faces,
+juggled marvelous handfuls of glasses and mugs from the bar beside
+the platform to the patrons at the tables.
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes swept the room in a swift, comprehensive glance,
+fixed on a little fellow, loudly dressed, who shared a table halfway
+down the room with a woman in a picture hat, and a smile of relief
+touched his lips.  The Runt at last!
+
+He walked down the room, caught the Runt's eyes significantly as he
+passed the table, kept on to a door between the platform and the
+bar, opened it, and went out into a lighted hallway, at one end of
+which a door opened onto the street, and at the other a stairway led
+above.
+
+The Runt joined him.  "Wot's de row, Larry?" inquired the Runt.
+
+"Nuthin' much," said Jimmie Dale.  "Only I t'ought I'd let youse
+know.  I was passin' Moriarty's an' got de tip.  Say, some guy's
+croaked Jake Metzer dere."
+
+"Aw, ferget it!" observed the Runt airily.  "Dat's stale.  Was wise
+to dat hours ago."
+
+Jimmie Dale's face fell.  "But I just come from dere," he insisted;
+"an' de harness bulls only just found it out."
+
+"Mabbe," grunted the Runt.  "But Metzer got his early in de
+afternoon--see?"
+
+Jimmie Dale looked quickly around him--and then leaned toward the
+Runt.
+
+"Wot's de lay, Runt?" he whispered.
+
+The Runt pulled down one eyelid, and, with his knowing grin, the
+cigarette, clinging to his upper lip, sagged down in the opposite
+corner of his mouth.
+
+Jimmie Dale grinned, too--in a flash inspiration had come to Jimmie
+Dale.
+
+"Say, Runt"--he jerked his head toward the street door--"wot's de
+fly cops doin' out dere?"
+
+The grin vanished from the Runt's lips.  He stared for a second
+wildly at Jimmie Dale, and then clutched at Jimmie Dale's arm.
+
+"De WOT?" he said hoarsely.
+
+"De fly cops," Jimmie Dale repeated in well-simulated surprise.
+"Dey was dere when I come in--Lansing an' Milrae, an--"
+
+The Runt shot a hurried glance at the stairway, and licked his lips
+as though they had gone suddenly dry.
+
+"My Gawd, I--"  He gasped, and shrank hastily back against the wall
+beside Jimmie Dale.
+
+The door from the street had opened noiselessly, instantly.  Black
+forms bulked there--then a rush of feet--and at the head of half a
+dozen men, the face of Inspector Clayton loomed up before Jimmie
+Dale.  There was a second's pause in the rush; and, in the pause,
+Clayton's voice, in a vicious undertone:
+
+"You two ginks open your traps, and I'll run you both in!"
+
+And then the rush passed, and swept on up the stairs.
+
+Jimmie Dale looked at the Runt.  The cigarette dangled limply; the
+Runt's eyes were like a hunted beast's.
+
+"Dey got him!" he mumbled.  "It's Stace--Stace Morse.  He come to me
+after croakin' Metzer, an' he's been hidin' up dere all afternoon.
+
+Stace Morse--known in gangland as a man with every crime in the
+calendar to his credit, and prominent because of it!  Something
+seemed to go suddenly queer inside of Jimmie Dale.  Stace Morse!
+Was he wrong, after all?  Jimmie Dale drew closer to the Runt.
+
+"Yer givin' me a steer, ain't youse?"  He spoke again from the
+corner of his mouth, almost inaudibly.  "Are youse sure it was Stace
+croaked Metzer?  Wot fer?  How'd yer know?"
+
+The Runt was listening, his eyes strained toward the stairs.  The
+hall door to the street was closed, but both were quite well aware
+that there was an officer on guard outside.
+
+"He told me," whispered the Runt.  "Metzer was fixin' ter snitch on
+him ter-night.  Dey've got de goods on Stace, too.  He made a bum
+job of it."
+
+"Why didn't he get out of de country den when he had de chanst,
+instead of hangin' around here all afternoon?" demanded Jimmie Dale.
+
+"He was broke," the Runt answered.  "We was gettin' de coin fer him
+ter fade away wid ter-night, an'--"
+
+A revolver shot from above cut short his words.  Came then the sound
+of a struggle, oaths, the shuffling tread of feet--but in the dance
+hall the piano still rattled on, the mandolin twanged, voices sang
+and applauded, and beer mugs thumped time.
+
+They were on the stairs now, the officers, half carrying, half
+dragging some one between them--and the man they dragged cursed them
+with utter abandon.  As they reached the bottom of the stairs,
+Jimmie Dale caught sight of the prisoner's face--not a prepossessing
+one--villainous,--low-browed, contorted with a mixture of fear and
+rage.
+
+"It's a lie!  A lie!  A lie!" the man shrieked.  "I never seen him
+in me life--blast you!--curse you!--d'ye hear!"
+
+Inspector Clayton caught Jimmie Dale and the Runt by the collars.
+
+"There's nothing to interest you around here!" he snapped
+maliciously.  "Go on, now--beat it!"  And he pushed them toward the
+door.
+
+They had heard the disturbance in the dance hall now and the
+occupants were swarming to the sidewalk.  A patrol wagon came around
+the corner.  In the crowd Jimmie Dale slipped away from the Runt.
+
+Was he wrong, after all?  A fierce passion seized him.  It was Stace
+Morse who had murdered Metzer, the Runt had said.  In Jimmie Dale's
+brain the words began to reiterate themselves in a singsong fashion:
+"It was Stace Morse.  It was Stace Morse."  Then his lips drew tight
+together.  WAS it Stace Morse?  He would have given a good deal for
+a chance to talk to the man--even for a minute.  But there was no
+possibility of that now.  Later, to-morrow perhaps, if he was wrong,
+after all!
+
+Jimmie Dale returned to the Sanctuary, removed from his person all
+evidences of Larry the Bat--and from the Sanctuary went home to
+Riverside Drive.
+
+In his den there, in the morning after breakfast, Jason, the butler,
+brought him the papers.  Three-inch headlines in red ink screamed,
+exulted, and shrieked out the news that the Gray Seal, in the person
+of Stace Morse, fence, yeggman and murderer, had been captured.  The
+public, if it had held any private admiration for the one-time
+mysterious crook could now once and forever disillusion itself.  The
+Gray Seal was Stace Morse--and Stace Morse was of the dregs of the
+city's scum, a pariah, an outcast, with no single redeeming trait to
+lift him from the ruck of mire and slime that had strewn his life
+from infancy.  The face of Inspector Clayton, blandly self-
+complacent, leaped out from the paper to meet Jimmie Dale's eyes--
+and with it a column and a half of perfervid eulogy.
+
+Something at first like dismay, the dismay of impotency, filled
+Jimmie Dale--and then, cold, leaving him unnaturally calm, the old
+merciless rage took its place.  There was nothing to do now but
+wait--wait until Carruthers should send that photograph.  Then if,
+after all, he were wrong--then he must find some other way.  But was
+he wrong!  The notebook that Carruthers had given him, open at the
+sketch he had made of Clayton, lay upon the desk.  Jimmie Dale
+picked it up--he had already spent quite a little time over it
+before breakfast--and examined it again minutely, even resorting to
+his magnifying glass.  He put it down as a knock sounded at the
+door, and Jason entered with a silver card tray.  From Carruthers
+already!  Jimmie Dale stepped quickly forward--and then Jimmie Dale
+met the old man's eyes.  It wasn't from Carruthers--it was from HER!
+
+"The same shuffer brought it, Master Jim," said Jason.
+
+Jimmie Dale snatched the envelope from the tray, and waved the other
+from the room.  As the door closed, he tore open the letter.  There
+was just a single line:
+
+
+Jimmie--Jimmie, you haven't failed, have you?
+
+
+Jimmie Dale stared at it.  Failed!  Failed--HER!  The haggard look
+was in his face again.  It was the bond between them that was at
+stake--the Gray Seal--the bond that had come, he knew for all time
+in that instant, to mean his life.
+
+"God knows!" he muttered hoarsely, and flung himself into a lounging
+chair, still staring at the note.
+
+The hours dragged by.  Luncheon time arrived and passed--and then by
+special messenger the little package from Carruthers came.
+
+Jimmie Dale started to undo the string, then laid the package down,
+and held out his hands before him for inspection.  They were
+trembling visibly.  It was a strange condition for Jimmie Dale
+either to witness or experience, unlike him, foreign to him.
+
+"This won't do, Jimmie," he said grimly, shaking his head.
+
+He picked up the package again, opened it, and from between two
+pieces of cardboard took out a large photographic print.  A moment,
+two, Jimmie Dale examined it, used the magnifying glass again; and
+then a strange gleam came into the dark eyes, and his lips moved.
+
+"I've won," said Jimmie Dale, with ominous softness.  I've WON!"
+
+He was standing beside the rosewood desk, and he reached for the
+phone.  Carruthers would be at home now--he called Carruthers there.
+After a moment or two he got the connection.
+
+"This is Jimmie, Carruthers," he said.  "Yes, I got it.  Thanks. . . .
+Yes. . . .  Listen.  I want you to get Inspector Clayton, and
+bring him up here at once. . . .  What?  No, no--no! . . .  How? . . .
+Why--er--tell him you're going to run a full page of him in the
+Sunday edition, and you want him to sit for a sketch.  He'd go
+anywhere for that. . . .  Yes. . . .  Half an hour. . . .  YES. . . .
+Good-bye."
+
+Jimmie Dale hung up the receiver; and, hastily now, began to write
+upon a pad that lay before him on the desk.  The minutes passed.  As
+he wrote, he scored out words and lines here and there, substituting
+others.  At the end he had covered three large pages with, to any
+one but himself, an indecipherable scrawl.  These he shoved aside
+now, and, very carefully, very legibly, made a copy on fresh sheets.
+As he finished, he heard a car draw up in front of the house.
+Jimmie Dale folded the copied sheets neatly, tucked them in his
+pocket, lighted a cigarette, and was lolling lazily in his chair as
+Jason announced: "Mr. Carruthers, sir, and another gentleman to see
+you."
+
+"Show them up, Jason," instructed Jimmie Dale.
+
+Jimmie Dale rose from his chair as they came in.  Jason, well-
+trained servant, closed the door behind them.
+
+"Hello, Carruthers; hello, inspector," said Jimmie Dale pleasantly,
+and waved them to seats.  "Take this chair, Carruthers."  He
+motioned to one at his elbow.  "Glad to see you, inspector--try that
+one in front of the desk, you'll find it comfortable."
+
+Carruthers, trying to catch Jimmie Dale's eye for some sort of a
+cue, and, failing, sat down.  Inspector Clayton stared at Jimmie
+Dale.
+
+"Oh, it's YOU, eh?"  His eyes roved around the room, fastened for an
+instant on some of Jimmie Dale's work on an easel, came back finally
+to Jimmie Dale--and he plumped himself down in the chair indicated.
+"Thought you was more'n a cub reporter," he remarked, with a grin.
+"You were too slick with your pencil.  Pretty fine studio you got
+here.  Carruthers says you're going to draw me."
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled--not pleasantly--and leaned suddenly over the
+desk.
+
+"Yes," he said slowly, a grim intonation in his voice, "going to
+draw you--TRUE TO LIFE."
+
+With an exclamation, Clayton slued around in his chair, half rose,
+and his shifty eyes, small and cunning, bored into Jimmie Dale's
+face.
+
+"What d'ye mean by that?" he snapped out
+
+"Just exactly what I say," replied Jimmie Dale curtly.  "No more, no
+less.  But first, not to be too abrupt, I want to join with the
+newspapers in congratulating you on the remarkable--shall I call it
+celerity, or acumen?--with which you solved the mystery of Metzer's
+death, and placed the murderer behind the bars.  It is really
+remarkable, inspector, so remarkable, in fact, that it's almost--
+SUSPICIOUS.  Don't you think so?  No?  Well, that's what Mr.
+Carruthers was good enough to bring you up here to talk over--in an
+intimate and confidential way, you know."
+
+Inspector Clayton surged up from his chair to his feet, his fists
+clenched, the red sweeping over his face--and then he shook one fist
+at Carruthers.
+
+"So that's your game, is it!" he stormed.  "Trying to crawl out of
+that twenty-five thousand reward, eh?  And as for you"--he turned on
+Jimmie Dale--"you've rigged up a nice little plant between you, eh?
+Well, it won't work--and I'll make you squirm for this, both of you,
+damn you, before I'm through!"  He glared from one to the other for
+a moment--then swung on his heel.  "Good-afternoon, gentlemen," he
+sneered, as he started for the door.
+
+He was halfway across the room before Jimmie Dale spoke.
+
+"Clayton!"
+
+Clayton turned.  Jimmie Dale was still leaning over the desk, but
+now one elbow was propped upon it, and in the most casual way a
+revolver covered Inspector Clayton.
+
+"If you attempt to leave this room," said Jimmie Dale, without
+raising his voice, "I assure you that I shall fire with as little
+compunction as though I were aiming at a mad dog--and I apologise to
+all mad dogs for coupling your name with them."  His voice rang
+suddenly cold.  "Come back here, and sit down in that chair!"
+
+The colour ebbed slowly from Clayton's face.  He hesitated--then
+sullenly retraced his steps; hesitated again as he reached the
+chair, and finally sat down.
+
+"What--what d'ye mean by this?" he stammered, trying to bluster.
+
+"Just this," said Jimmie Dale.  "That I accuse you of the murder of
+Jake Metzer--IT WAS YOU WHO MURDERED METZER."
+
+"Good God!" burst suddenly from Carruthers.
+
+"You lie!" yelled Clayton--and again he surged up from his chair.
+
+"That is what Stace Morse said," said Jimmie Dale coolly.  "Sit
+down!"
+
+Then Clayton tried to laugh.  "You're--you're having a joke, ain't
+you?  It was Stace--I can prove it.  Come down to headquarters, and
+I can prove it.  I got the goods on him all the way.  I tell you"--
+his voice rose shrilly--"it was Stace Morse."
+
+"You are a despicable hound," said Jimmie Dale, through set lips.
+"Here"--he handed the revolver over to Carruthers--"keep him
+covered, Carruthers.  You're going to the CHAIR for this, Clayton,"
+he said, in a fierce monotone.  "The chair!  You can't send another
+there in your place--this time.  Shall I draw you now--true to life?
+You've been grafting for years on every disreputable den in your
+district.  Metzer was going to show you up; and so, Metzer being in
+the road, you removed him.  And you seized on the fact of Stace
+Morse having paid a visit to him this afternoon to fix the crime on--
+Stace Morse.  Proofs?  Oh, yes, I know you've manufactured proofs
+enough to convict him--if there weren't stronger proofs to convict
+YOU."
+
+"Convict ME!" Clayton's lower jaw hung loosely; but still he made an
+effort at bluster.  "You haven't a thing on me--not a thing--not a
+thing."
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled again--unpleasantly.
+
+"You are quite wrong, Clayton.  See--here."  He took a sheet of paper
+from the drawer of his desk.
+
+Clayton reached for it quickly.  "What is it?" he demanded.
+
+Jimmie Dale drew it back out of reach.
+
+"Just a minute," he said softly.  "You remember, don't you, that in
+the presence of Carruthers here, of myself, and of half a dozen
+reporters, you stated that you had been alone with Metzer in his
+room at three o'clock yesterday, and that it was you--alone--who
+found the body later on at nine o'clock?  Yes?  I mention this
+simply to show that from your own lips the evidence is complete that
+you had an OPPORTUNITY to commit the crime.  Now you may look at
+this, Clayton."  He handed over the sheet of paper.
+
+Clayton took it, stared at it, turning it over from first one side
+to the other.  Then a sort of relief seemed to come to him and he
+gulped.
+
+"Nothing but a damned piece of blank paper!" he mumbled.
+
+Jimmie Dale reached over and took back the sheet.
+
+"You're wrong again, Clayton," he said calmly.  "It WAS quite blank
+before I handed it to you--but not now.  I noticed yesterday that
+your hands were generally moist.  I am sure they are more so now--
+excitement, you know.  Carruthers, see that he doesn't interrupt."
+
+From a drawer, Jimmie Dale took out a little black bottle, the
+notebook he had used the day before, and the photograph Carruthers
+had sent him.  On the sheet of paper Clayton had just handled,
+Jimmie Dale sprinkled a little powder from the bottle.
+
+"Lampblack," explained Jimmie Dale.  He shook the paper carefully,
+allowing the loose powder to fall on the desk blotter--and held out
+the sheet toward Clayton.  "Rather neat, isn't it?  A very good
+impression, too.  Your thumb print, Clayton.  Now don't move.  You
+may look--not touch."  He laid the paper down on the desk in front
+of Clayton.  Beside it he placed the notebook, open at the sketch--a
+black thumb print now upon it.  "You recall handling this yesterday,
+I'm sure, Clayton.  I tried the same experiment with the lampblack
+on it this morning, you see.  And this"--beside the notebook he
+placed the police photograph; that, too, in its enlargement, showed,
+sharply defined, a thumb print on a diamond-shaped background.  "You
+will no doubt recognise it as an official photograph, enlarged,
+taken of the gray seal on Metzer's forehead--AND THE THUMB PRINT OF
+METZER'S MURDERER.  You have only to glance at the little scar at
+the edge of the centre loop to satisfy yourself that the three are
+identical.  Of course, there are a dozen other points of similarity
+equally indisputable, but--"
+
+Jimmie Dale stopped.  Clayton was on his feet--rocking on his feet.
+His face was deathlike in its pallor.  Moisture was oozing from his
+forehead.
+
+"I didn't do it!  I didn't do it!" he cried out wildly.  "My God, I
+tell you, I DIDN'T do it--and--and--that would send me to the
+chair."
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale coldly, "and that's precisely where you're
+going--to the chair."
+
+The man was beside himself now--racked to the soul by a paroxysm of
+fear.
+
+"I'm innocent--innocent!" he screamed out.  "Oh, for God's sake,
+don't send an innocent man to his death.  It WAS Stace Morse.
+Listen!  Listen!  I'll tell the truth."  He was clawing with his
+hands, piteously, over the desk at Jimmie Dale.  "When the big
+rewards came out last week I stole one of the gray seals from the
+bunch at headquarters to--to use it the first time any crime was
+committed when I was sure I could lay my hands on the man who did
+it.  Don't you see?  Of course he'd deny he was the Gray Seal, just
+as he'd deny that he was guilty--but I'd have the proof both ways
+and--and I'd collect the rewards, and--and--"  The man collapsed
+into the chair.
+
+Carruthers was up from his seat, his hands gripping tight on the
+edge of the desk as he leaned over it.
+
+"Jimmie--Jimmie--what does this mean?" he gasped out.
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled--pleasantly now.
+
+"That he has told the truth," said Jimmie Dale quietly.  "It is
+quite true that Stace Morse committed the murder.  Shows up the
+value of circumstantial evidence though, doesn't it?  This would
+certainly have got him off, and convicted Clayton here before any
+jury in the land.  But the point is, Carruthers, that Stace Morse
+ISN'T the Gray Seal--and that the Gray Seal is NOT a murderer."
+
+Clayton looked up.  "You--you believe me?" he stammered eagerly.
+
+Jimmie Dale whirled on him in a sudden sweep of passion.
+
+"NO, you cur!" he flashed.  "It's not you I believe.  I simply
+wanted your confession before witnesses."  He whipped the three
+written sheets from his pocket.  "Here, substantially, is that
+confession written out."  He passed it to Carruthers.  "Read it to
+him, Carruthers."
+
+Carruthers read it aloud.
+
+"Now," said Jimmie Dale grimly, "this spells ruin for you, Clayton.
+You don't deserve a chance to escape prison bars, but I'm going to
+give you one, for you're going to get it pretty stiff, anyhow.  If
+you refuse to sign this, I'll hand you over to the district attorney
+in half an hour, and Carruthers and I will swear to your confession;
+on the other hand, if you sign it, Carruthers will not be able to
+print it until to-morrow morning, and that gives you something like
+fourteen hours to put distance between yourself and New York.  Here
+is a pen--if you are quick enough to take us by surprise once you
+have signed, you might succeed in making a dash for that door and
+effecting your escape--without forcing us to compound a felony--
+understand?"
+
+Clayton's hand trembled violently as he seized the pen.  He scrawled
+his name--looked from one to the other--wet his lips--and then,
+taking Jimmie Dale at his word, rushed for the door--and the door
+slammed behind him.
+
+Carruthers' face was hard.  "What did you let him go for, Jimmie?"
+he said uncompromisingly.
+
+"Selfishness.  Pure selfishness," said Jimmie Dale softly.  "They'd
+guy me unmercifully if they ever heard of it at the St. James Club.
+The honour is all yours, Carruthers.  I don't appear on the stage.
+That's understood?  Yes?  Well, then"--he handed over the signed
+confession--"is the 'scoop' big enough?"
+
+Carruthers fingered the sheets, but his eyes in a bewildered way
+searched Jimmie Dale's face.
+
+"Big enough!" he echoed, as though invoking the universe.  "It's the
+biggest thing the newspaper game has ever known.  But how did you
+come to do it?  What started you?  Where did you get your lead?"
+
+"Why, from you, I guess, Carruthers," Jimmie Dale answered
+thoughtfully, with artfully puckered brow.  "I remembered that you
+had said last week that the Gray Seal never left finger marks on his
+work--and I saw one on the seal on Metzer's forehead.  Then, you
+know, I lifted one corner where the seal overlapped a thread of
+blood, and, underneath, the thread of blood wasn't in the slightest
+disturbed; so, of course, I knew the seal had been put on quite a
+long time after the man was dead--not until the blood had dried
+thoroughly, to a crust, you know, so that even the damp surface of
+the sticky side of the seal hadn't affected it.  And then, I took a
+dislike to Clayton somehow--and put two and two together, and took a
+flyer in getting him to handle the notebook.  I  guess that's all--
+no other reason on earth.  Jolly lucky, don't you think?"
+
+Carruthers didn't say anything for a moment.  When he spoke, it was
+irrelevantly.
+
+"You saved me twenty-five thousand dollars on that reward, Jimmie."
+
+"That's the only thing I regret," said Jimmie Dale brightly.  "It
+wasn't nice of you, Carruthers, to turn on the Gray Seal that way.
+And it strikes me you owe the chap, whoever he is, a pretty emphatic
+exoneration after what you said in this morning's edition."
+
+"Jimmie," said Carruthers earnestly.  "You know what I thought of
+him before.  It's like a new lease of life to get back one's faith
+in him.  You leave it to me.  I'll put the Gray Seal on a pedestal
+to-morrow that will be worthy of the immortals--you leave it to me."
+
+And Carruthers kept his word.  Also, before the paper had been an
+hour off the press, Carruthers received a letter.  It thanked
+Carruthers quite genuinely, even if couched in somewhat facetious
+terms, for his "sweeping vindication," twitted him gently for his
+"backsliding," begged to remain "his gratefully," and in lieu of
+signature there was a gray-coloured piece of paper shaped like this:
+
+[Picture]
+
+Only there were no fingerprints on it.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE MOTHER LODE
+
+
+It was the following evening, and they had dined together again at
+the St. James Club--Jimmie Dale, and Carruthers of the MORNING NEWS-
+ARGUS.  From Clayton and a discussion of the Metzer murder, the
+conversation had turned, not illogically, upon the physiognomy of
+criminals in general.  Jimmie Dale, lazily ensconced now in a
+lounging chair in one of the club's private library rooms, flicked a
+minute speck of cigar ash from the sleeve of his dinner jacket, and
+smiled whimsically across the table at his friend.
+
+"Oh, I dare say there's a lot in physiognomy, Carruthers," he
+drawled.  "Never studied the thing, you know--that is, from the
+standpoint of crime.  Personally, I've only got one prejudice: I
+distrust, on principle, the man who wears a perennial and pompous
+smirk--which isn't, of course, strictly speaking, physiognomy at
+all.  You see, a man can't help his eyes being beady or his nose
+pronounced, but pomposity and a smirk, now--"  Jimmie Dale shrugged
+his shoulders.
+
+Carruthers laughed--and then glanced ludicrously at Jimmie Dale, as
+the door, ajar, was pushed open, and a man entered.
+
+"Speaking of angels," murmured Jimmie Dale--and sat up in his chair.
+"Hello, Markel!" he observed casually, "You've met Carruthers, of
+the NEWS-ARGUS, haven't you?"
+
+Markel was fat and important; he had beady black eyes, fastidiously
+trimmed whiskers--and a pronounced smirk.
+
+Markel blew his nose vigorously, coughed asthmatically, and held out
+his hand.
+
+"Of course, certainly," said he effusively.  "I've met Carruthers
+several times--used his sheet more than once to advertise a new bond
+flotation."
+
+The dominant note in Markel's voice was an ingratiating and
+unpleasant whine, and Carruthers nodded, not very cordially--and
+shook hands.
+
+Markel went back to the door, closed it carefully, and returned to
+the table.
+
+"Fact is," he smiled confidentially, "I saw you two come in here a
+few minutes ago, and I've got something that I thought Carruthers
+might be glad to have for his society column--say, in the Sunday
+edition."
+
+He dove into the inside pocket of his coat, produced a large morocco
+leather jeweller's case, and, holding it out over the table between
+Carruthers and Jimmie Dale, suddenly snapped the cover open--and
+then, with a complacent little chuckle that terminated in another
+fit of coughing, spilled the contents on the table under the
+electric reading lamp.
+
+Like a thing of living, pulsing fire it rolled before their eyes--a
+magnificent diamond necklace, of wondrous beauty, gleaming and
+scintillating as the light rays shot back from a thousand facets.
+
+For a moment, both men gazed at it without a word.
+
+"Little surprise for my wife," volunteered Markel, with a debonair
+wave of his pudgy hand, and trying to make his voice sound careless.
+
+The case lay open--patently displaying the name of the most famous
+jewelry house in America.  Jimmie Dale's eyes fixed on Markel's
+whiskers where they were brushed outward in an ornate and fastidious
+gray-black sweep.
+
+"By Jove!" he commented.  "You don't do things by halves, do you,
+Markel?"
+
+"Two hundred and ten thousand dollars I paid for that little bunch
+of gewgaws," said Markel, waving his hand again.  Then he clapped
+Carruthers heartily on the shoulder.  "What do you think of it,
+Carruthers--eh?  Say, a photograph of it, and one of Mrs. Markel--
+eh?  Please her, you know--she's crazy on this society stunt--all
+flubdub to me of course.  How's it strike you, Carruthers?"
+
+Carruthers, very evidently, liked neither the man nor his manners,
+but Carruthers, above everything else, was a gentleman.
+
+"To be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Markel," he said a little
+frigidly, "I don't believe in this sort of thing.  It's all right
+from a newspaper standpoint, and we do it; but it's just in this way
+that owners of valuable jewelry lay themselves open to theft.  It
+simply amounts to advising every crook in the country that you have
+a quarter of a million at his disposal, which he can carry away in
+his vest pocket, once he can get his hands on it--and you invite him
+to try."
+
+Jimmie Dale laughed.  "What Carruthers means, Markel, is that you'll
+have the Gray Seal down your street.  Carruthers talks of crooks
+generally, but he thinks in terms of only one.  He can't help it.
+He's been trying so long to catch the chap that it's become an
+obsession.  Eh, Carruthers?"
+
+Carruthers smiled seriously.  "Perhaps," he admitted.  "I hope,
+though, for Mr. Markel's sake, that the Gray Seal won't take a fancy
+to it--if he does, Mr. Markel can say good-bye to his necklace."
+
+"Pouf!" coughed Markel arrogantly.  "Overrated!  His cleverness is
+all in the newspaper columns.  If he knows what's good for him,
+he'll know enough to leave this alone."
+
+Jimmie Dale was leaning over the table poking gingerly with the tip
+of his forefinger at the centre stone in the setting, revolving it
+gently to and fro in the light--a very large stone, whose weight
+would hardly be less than fifteen carats.  Jimmie Dale lowered his
+head for a closer examination--and to hide a curious, mocking little
+gleam that crept into his dark eyes.
+
+"Yes, I should say you're right, Markel," he agreed judicially.  "He
+ought to know better than to touch this.  It--it would be too hard
+to dispose of."
+
+"I'm not worrying," declared Markel importantly.
+
+"No," said Jimmie Dale.  "Two hundred and ten thousand, you said.
+Any special--er--significance to the occasion, if the question's not
+impertinent?  Birthday, wedding anniversary--or something like
+that?"
+
+"No, nothing like that!" Markel grinned, winked secretively, and
+rubbed his hands together.  "I'm feeling good, that's all--I'm going
+to make the killing of my life to-morrow."
+
+"Oh!" said Jimmie Dale.
+
+Markel turned to Carruthers.  "I'll let you in on that, too,
+Carruthers, in a day or two, if you'll send a reporter around--
+financial man, you know.  It'll be worth your while.  And now, how
+about this?  What do you say to a little article and the photos next
+Sunday?"
+
+There was a slight hint of rising colour in Carruthers' face.
+
+"If you'll send them to the society editor, I've no doubt he'll be
+able to use them," he said brusquely.
+
+"Right!" said Markel, and coughed, and patted Carruthers' shoulder
+patronisingly again.  "I'll just do that little thing."  He picked
+up the necklace, dangled it till it flashed and flashed again under
+the light, then restored it very ostentatiously to its case, and the
+case to his pocket.  "Thanks awfully, Carruthers," he said, as he
+rose from his chair.  "See you again, Dale.  Good-night!"
+
+Carruthers glared at the door as it closed behind the man.
+
+"Say it!" prodded Jimmie Dale sweetly.  "Don't feel restrained
+because you are a guest--I absolve you in advance."
+
+"Rotter!" said Carruthers.
+
+"Well," said Jimmie Dale softly.  "You see--Carruthers?"
+
+Carruthers' match crackled savagely as he lighted a cigar.
+
+"Yes, I see," he growled.  "But I don't see--you'll pardon my saying
+so--how vulgarity like that ever acquired membership in the St.
+James Club."
+
+"Carruthers," said Jimmie Dale plaintively, "you ought to know
+better than that.  You know, to begin with, since it seems he has
+advertised with you, that he runs some sort of brokerage business in
+Boston.  He's taken a summer home up here on Long Island, and some
+misguided chap put him on the club's visitor's list.  His card will
+NOT be renewed.  Sleek customer, isn't he?  Trifle familiar--I was
+only introduced to him last night."
+
+Carruthers grunted, broke his burned match into pieces, and began to
+toss the pieces into an ash tray.
+
+Jimmie Dale became absorbed in an inspection of his hands--those
+wonderful hands with long, slim, tapering fingers, whose clean, pink
+flesh masked a strength and power that was like to a steel vise.
+
+Jimmie Dale looked up.  "Going to print a nice little story for him
+about the 'costliest and most beautiful necklace in America'?" he
+inquired innocently.
+
+Carruthers scowled.  "No," he said bluntly.  "I am not.  He'll read
+the NEWS-ARGUS a long time before he reads anything about that,
+Jimmie."
+
+But therein Carruthers was wrong--the NEWS-ARGUS carried the "story"
+of Markel's diamond necklace in three-inch "caps" in red ink on the
+front page in the next morning's edition--and Carruthers gloated
+over it because the morning NEWS-ARGUS was the ONLY paper in New
+York that did.  Carruthers was to hear more of Markel and Markel's
+necklace than he thought, though for the time being the subject
+dropped between the two men.
+
+It was still early, barely ten o'clock, when Carruthers left the
+club, and, preferring to walk to the newspaper offices, refused
+Jimmie Dale's offer of his limousine.  It was but five minutes later
+when Jimmie Dale, after chatting for a moment or two with those
+about in the lobby, in turn sought the coat room, where Markel was
+being assisted into his coat.
+
+"Getting home early, aren't you, Markel?" remarked Jimmie Dale
+pleasantly.
+
+"Yes," said Markel, and ran his fingers fussily, comb fashion,
+through his whiskers.  "Quite a little run out to my place, you
+know--and with, you know what, I don't care to be out too late."
+
+"No, of course," concurred Jimmie Dale, getting into his own coat.
+
+They walked out of the club together, and Markel climbed importantly
+into the tonneau of a big gray touring car.
+
+"Ah--home, Peters," he sniffed at his chauffeur; and then, with a
+grandiloquent wave of his hand to Jimmie Dale: "'Night, Dale."
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled with his eyes--which were hidden by the brim of
+his bat.
+
+"Good-night, Markel," he replied, and the smile crept curiously to
+the corners of his mouth as he watched the gray car disappear down
+the street.
+
+A limousine drew up, and Benson, Jimmie Dale's chauffeur, opened the
+door.
+
+"Home, Mr. Dale?" he asked cheerily, touching his cap.  "Yes,
+Benson--home," said Jimmie Dale absently, and stepped into the car.
+
+It was a luxurious car, as everything that belonged to Jimmie Dale
+was luxurious--and he leaned back luxuriously on the cushions,
+extended his legs luxuriously to their full length, plunged his
+hands into his overcoat pockets--and then a change stole strangely,
+slowly over Jimmie Dale.
+
+The sensitive fingers of his right hand in the pocket had touched,
+and now played delicately over a sealed envelope that they had found
+there, played over it as though indeed by the sense of touch alone
+they could read the contents--and he drew his body gradually erect.
+
+It was another of those mysterious missives from--HER.  The texture
+of the paper was invariably the same--like this one.  How had it
+come there?  Collusion with the coat boy at the club?  That was
+hardly probable.  Perhaps it had been there before he had entered
+the club for dinner--he remembered, now, that there had been several
+people passing, and that he had been jostled slightly in crossing
+the sidewalk.  What, however, did it matter?  It was there
+mysteriously, as scores of others had come to him mysteriously, with
+never a clew to her identity, to the identity of his--he smiled a
+little grimly--accomplice in crime.
+
+He took the envelope from his pocket and stared at it.  His fingers
+had not been at fault--it was one of hers.  The faint, elusive,
+exquisite fragrance of some rare perfume came to him as he held it.
+
+"I'd give," said Jimmie Dale wistfully to himself--"I'd give
+everything I own to know who you are--and some day, please God, I
+will know."
+
+Jimmie Dale tore the envelope very gently, as though the tearing
+almost were an act of desecration--and extracted the letter from
+within.  He began to read aloud hurriedly and in snatches:
+
+
+"DEAR PHILANTHROPIC CROOK: Charleton Park Manor--Markel's house is
+the second one from the gates on the right-hand side--library leads
+off reception hall on left, door opposite staircase--telephone in
+reception hall near vestibule entrance, left-hand side--safe is one
+of your father's make, No. 14,321--clothes closet behind the desk--
+probably will be kept in cash box--five servants; two men, three
+maids--quarters on top story--Markel and wife occupy room over
+library--French windows to dining room on opposite side of the
+house--opening on the lawn--get it TO-NIGHT, Jimmie--TO-MORROW WOULD
+BE TOO LATE--dispose of it--see fit--Henry Wilbur, Marshall
+Building, Broadway--fifth story--"
+
+
+Through the glass-panelled front of the car, Jimmie Dale could see
+his chauffeur's back, and the hand that held the letter dropped now
+to his side, and Jimmie Dale stared--at his chauffeur's back.  Then,
+presently, he read the letter again, as though committing it to
+memory now; and then, tearing the paper into tiny shreds, as he did
+with every one of her communications, he reached out of the window
+and allowed the little pieces to filter gradually from his hand.
+
+The Gray Seal!  He smiled in his whimsical way.  If it were ever
+known!  He, Jimmie Dale, with his social standing, his wealth, his
+position--the Gray Seal!  Not a police official, not a secret-
+service bureau probably in the civilised world, but knew the name--
+not a man, woman, or child certainly in this great city around him
+but to whom it was as familiar as their own!  Danger?  Yes.  A
+battle of wits?  Yes.  His against everybody's--even against
+Carruthers', his old college chum!  For, even as a reporter, before
+he had risen to the editorial desk, and even now that he had,
+Carruthers had been one of the keenest on the scent of the Gray
+Seal.
+
+Danger?  Yes.  But it was worth it!  Worth it a thousand times for
+the very lure of the danger itself; but worth it most of all for his
+association with her who, by some amazing means, verging indeed on
+the miraculous, came into touch with all these things, and supplied
+him with the data on which to work--that always some wrong might be
+righted, or gladness come where there had been gloom before, or hope
+where there had been despair--that into some fellow human's heart
+should come a gleam of sunshine.  Yes, in spite of the howls of the
+police, the virulent diatribes of the press, an angry public
+screaming for his arrest, conviction, and punishment, there were
+those perhaps who even on their bended knees at night asked God's
+blessing on--the Gray Seal!
+
+Was it strange, then, after all, that the police, seeking a clew
+through motive, should have been driven to frenzy on every occasion
+in finding themselves forever confronted with what, from every angle
+they were able to view it, was quite a purposeless crime!  On one
+point only they were right, the old dogma, the old, old cry, old as
+the institution of police, older than that, old since time
+immemorial--CHERCHEZ LA FEMME!  Quite right--but also quite
+purposeless!  Jimmie Dale's eyes grew wistful.  He had been "hunting
+for the woman in the case" himself, now, for months and years
+indefatigably, using every resource at his command--quite
+purposelessly.
+
+Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders.  Why go over all this to-night--
+there were other things to do.  She had come to him again--and this
+time with a matter that entailed more than ordinary difficulty, more
+than usual danger, that would tax his wits and his skill to the
+utmost, not only to succeed, but to get out of it himself with a
+whole skin.  Markel--eh?  Jimmie Dale leaned back in his seat,
+clasped his hands behind his head--and his eyes, half closed now,
+were studying Benson's back again through the plate-glass front.
+
+He was still sitting in that position as the car approached his
+residence on Riverside Drive--but, as it came to a stop, and Benson
+opened the door, it was a very alert Jimmie Dale that stepped to the
+sidewalk.
+
+"Benson," he said crisply, "I am going downtown again later on, but
+I shall drive myself.  Bring the touring car around and leave it in
+front of the house.  I'll run it into the garage when I get back--
+you need not wait up."
+
+"Very good, sir," said Benson.
+
+In the hallway, Jason, the butler, who had been butler to Jimmie
+Dale's father before him, took Jimmie Dale's hat and coat.
+
+"It's a fine evening, Master Jim," said the privileged old man
+affectionately.
+
+Jimmie Dale took out his silver cigarette case, selected a
+cigarette, tapped it daintily on the cover of the case--and accepted
+the match the old man hastily produced.
+
+"Yes, Jason." said Jimmie Dale, pleasantly facetious, "it a fine
+night, a glorious night, moon and stars and a balmy breeze--quite
+too fine, indeed, to remain indoors.  In fact, you might lay out my
+gray ulster; I think I will go for a spin presently, when I have
+changed."
+
+"Yes, sir," said Jason.  "Anything else, Master Jim?"
+
+"No; that's all, Jason.  Don't sit up for me--you may go to bed
+now."
+
+"Thank you, sir," said the old man.
+
+Jimmie Dale went upstairs, opened the door of his own particular den
+on the right of the landing, stepped inside, closed the door,
+switched on the light--and Jimmie Dale's debonair nonchalance
+dropped from him as a mask instantly--and it was another Jimmie
+Dale--the professional Jimmie Dale.
+
+Quick now in every action, he swung aside the portiere that
+curtained off the squat, barrel-shaped safe in the little alcove,
+opened the safe, took out that curious leather girdle with its kit
+of burglar's tools, added to it a flashlight and an automatic
+revolver, closed the safe--and passed into his dressing room.  Here,
+he proceeded to divest himself rapidly of his evening clothes,
+selecting in their stead a suit of dark tweed.  He heard Jason come
+up the stairs, pass along the hall, and mount the second flight to
+his own quarters; and presently came the sound of an automobile
+without.  The dressing room fronted on the Drive--Jimmie Dale looked
+out.  Benson was just getting out of the touring car.  Slipping the
+leather girdle, then, around his waist, Jimmie Dale put on his vest,
+then his coat--and walked briskly downstairs.
+
+Jason had laid out a gray ulster on the hall stand.  Jimmie Dale put
+it on, selected a leather cap with motor-goggle attachment that
+pulled down almost to the tip of his nose, tucked a slouch hat into
+the pocket of the ulster, and, leaving the house, climbed into his
+car.
+
+He glanced at his watch as he started--it was a quarter of eleven.
+Jimmie Dale's lips pursed a little.
+
+"I guess it'll make a night of it, and a tight squeeze, at that, to
+get back under cover before daylight," he muttered.  "I'll have to
+do some tall speeding."
+
+But at first, across the city and through Brooklyn, for all his
+impatience, it was necessarily slow--after that, Jimmie Dale took
+chances, and, once on the country roads of Long Island, the big,
+powerful car tore through the night like a greyhound whose leash is
+slipped.
+
+A half hour passed--Jimmie Dale's eyes shifting occasionally from
+the gray thread of road ahead of him under the glare of the dancing
+lamps, to the road map spread out at his feet, upon which, from time
+to time, he focused his pocket flashlight.  And then, finally, he
+slowed the car to a snail's pace--he should be very near his
+destination--that very ultra-exclusive subdivision of Charleton Park
+Manor.
+
+On either side of the road now was quite a thickly set stretch of
+wooded land, rising slightly on the right--and this Jimmie Dale
+scrutinised sharply.  In fact, he stopped for an instant as he came
+opposite to a wagon track--it seemed to be little more than that--
+that led in through the trees.
+
+"If it's not too far from the seat of war," commented Jimmie Dale to
+himself, as he went on again, "it will do admirably."
+
+And then, a hundred yards farther on, Jimmie Dale nodded his head in
+satisfaction--he was passing the rather ornate stone pillars that
+marked the entrance to Charleton Park Manor, and on which the
+initial promoters of the subdivision, the real-estate people, had
+evidently deemed it good advertising policy to expend a small
+fortune.
+
+Another hundred yards farther on, Jimmie Dale turned his car around
+and returned past the gates to the wagon track again.  The road was
+deserted--not a car nor a vehicle of any description was in sight.
+Jimmie Dale made sure of that--and in another instant Jimmie Dale's
+own car, every light extinguished, had vanished--he had backed it up
+the wagon track, just far enough in for the trees to screen it
+thoroughly from the main road.
+
+Nor did Jimmie Dale himself appear again on the main road--until
+just as he emerged close to the gates of Charleton Park Manor from a
+short cut through the woods.  Also, he was without his ulster now,
+and the slouch hat had replaced the motor cap.
+
+Jimmie Dale, in the moonlight, took stock of his surroundings, as he
+passed in at a businesslike walk through the gates.  It was a large
+park, if that name could properly be applied to it at all, and the
+houses--he caught sight of one set back from the driveway on the
+right--were quite far apart, each in its own rather spacious grounds
+among the trees.
+
+"The second house on the right," her letter had said.  Jimmie Dale
+had already passed the first one--the next would be Markel's then--
+and it loomed ahead of him now, black and shadowy and unlighted.
+
+Jimmie Dale shot a glance around him--there was stillness, quiet
+everywhere--no sign of life--no sound.
+
+Jimmie Dale's face became tense, his lips tight--and he stepped
+suddenly from the sidewalk in among the trees.  They were not thick
+here, of course, the trees, and the turf beneath his feet was well
+kept--and, therefore, soundless.  He moved quickly now, but
+cautiously, from tree to tree, for the moonlight, flooding the lawn
+and house, threw all objects into bold relief.
+
+A minute, two, three went by--and a shadow flitted here and there
+across the light-green sward, like the moving of the trees swaying
+in the breeze--and then Jimmie Dale was standing close up against
+one side of the house, hidden by the protecting black shadows of the
+walls.
+
+But here, for a moment, Jimmie Dale seemed little occupied with the
+house itself--he was staring down past its length to where the woods
+made a heavy, dark background at the rear.  Then he turned his head,
+to face directly to the main road, then back again slowly, as though
+measuring an angle.  Jimmie Dale had no intention of making his
+escape by the roundabout way in which he had been forced to come in
+order to make certain of locating the right house, the second one
+from the gates--and he was getting the bearings of his car and the
+wagon track now.
+
+"I guess that'll be about right," Jimmie Dale muttered finally.
+"And now for--"
+
+He slipped along the side of the house and halted where, almost on a
+level with the ground, the French windows of the dining room opened
+on the lawn.  Jimmie Dale tried them gently.  They were locked.
+
+An indulgent smile crept to Jimmie Dale's lips--and his hand crept
+in under his vest.  It came out again--not empty--and Jimmie Dale
+leaned close against the window.  There was a faint, almost
+inaudible, scratching sound, then a slight, brittle crack--and
+Jimmie Dale laid a neat little four-inch square of glass on the
+ground at his feet.  Through the aperture he reached in his hand,
+turned the key that was in the lock, turned the bolt-rod handle,
+pushed the doors silently open--wide open--left them open--and
+stepped into the room.
+
+He could see quite well within, thanks to the moonlight.  Jimmie
+Dale produced a black silk mask from one of the little leather
+pockets, adjusted it carefully over his face, and crossed the room
+to the hall door.  He opened this--wide open--left it open--and
+entered the hall.
+
+Here it was dark--a pitch blackness.  He stood for a moment,
+listening--utter silence.  And then--alert, strained, tense in an
+instant, Jimmie Dale crouched against the wall--and then he smiled a
+little grimly.  It was only some one coughing upstairs--Markel--in
+his sleep, perhaps, or, perhaps--in wakefulness.
+
+"I'm a fool!" confided Jimmie Dale to himself, as he recognised the
+cough that he had heard at the club.  "And yet--I don't know.  One's
+nerves get sort of taut.  Pretty stiff business.  If I'm ever
+caught, the penitentiary sentence I get will be the smallest part of
+what's to pay."
+
+A round button of light played along the wall from the flashlight in
+his hand--just for an instant--and all was blackness again.  But in
+that instant Jimmie Dale was across the hall, and his fingers were
+tracing the telephone connection from the instrument to where the
+wires disappeared in the baseboard of the floor.  Another instant,
+and he had severed the wires with a pair of nippers.
+
+Again the quick, firefly gleam of light to locate the stair case and
+the library door opposite to it--and, moving without the slightest
+noise, Jimmie Dale's hand was on the door itself.  Again he paused
+to listen.  All was silence now.
+
+The door swung under his hand, and, left open behind him, he was in
+the room.  The flashlight winked once--suspiciously.  Then he
+snapped its little switch, keeping the current on, and the ray
+dodged impudently here and there all over the apartment.
+
+The safe was set in a sort of clothes closet behind the desk, she
+had said.  Yes, there it was--the door, at least.  Jimmie Dale moved
+toward it--and paused as his light swept the top of the intervening
+desk.  A mass of papers, books, and correspondence littered it
+untidily.  The yellow sheet of a telegram caught Jimmie Dale's eye.
+
+He picked it up and glanced at it.  It read:
+
+
+"Vein uncovered to-day.  Undoubtedly mother lode.  Enormously rich.
+Put the screws on at once.  THURL."
+
+
+Under the mask, Jimmie Dale's lips twitched.
+
+"I think, Markel, you miserable hound," said he softly, that God
+will forgive me for depriving you of a share of the profits.  Two
+hundred and ten thousand, I think it was, you said the sparklers
+cost."  A curious little sound came from Jimmie Dale's lips--like a
+chuckle.
+
+Jimmie Dale tossed the telegram back on the desk, moved on behind
+the desk, opened the door of the closet that had been metamorphosed
+into a vault--and the white light travelled slowly, searchingly,
+critically over the shining black-enamelled steel, the nickelled
+knobs, and dials of a safe that confronted him.
+
+Jimmie Dale nodded at it--familiarly, grimly.
+
+"It's number one-four-three-two-one, all right," he murmured.  "And
+one of the best we ever made.  Pretty tough.  But I've done it
+before.  Say, half an hour of gentle persuasion.  It would be too
+bad to crack it with 'soup'--besides, that's crude--Carruthers would
+never forgive the Gray Seal for that!"
+
+The light went out--blackness fell.  Jimmie Dale's slim, sensitive
+fingers closed on the dial's knob, his head touched the steel front
+of the safe as he pressed his ear against it for the tumblers' fall.
+
+And then silence.  It seemed to grow heavier, that silence, with
+each second--to palpitate through the quiet house--to grow pregnant,
+premonitory of dread, of fear--it seemed to throb in long
+undulations, and the stillness grew LOUD.  A moonbeam filtered in
+between the edge of the drawn shade and the edge of the window.  It
+struggled across the floor in a wavering path, strayed over the
+desk, and died away, shadowy and formless, against the blackness of
+the opened recess door, against the blackness of the great steel
+safe, the blackness of a huddled form crouched against it.  Only now
+and then, in a strange, projected, wraithlike effect, the moon ray
+glinted timidly on the tip of a nickel dial, and, ghostlike,
+disclosed a human hand.
+
+Upstairs, Markel coughed again.  Then from the safe a whisper,
+heavy-breathed as from great exertion:
+
+"MISSED IT!"
+
+The dial whirled with faint, musical, little metallic clicks; then
+began to move slowly again, very, very slowly.  The moonbeam, as
+though petulant at its own abortive attempt to satisfy its
+curiosity, retreated back across the floor, and faded away.
+
+Blackness!
+
+Time passed.  Then from the safe again, but now in a low gasp, a
+pant of relief:
+
+"Ah!"
+
+The ear might barely catch the sound--it was as of metal sliding in
+well-oiled grooves, of metal meeting metal in a padded thud.  The
+massive door swung outward.  Jimmie Dale stood up, easing his
+cramped muscles, and flirted the sweat beads from his forehead.
+
+After a moment, he knelt again.  There was still the inner door--but
+that was a minor matter to Jimmie Dale compared with what had gone
+before.
+
+Stillness once more--a long period of it.  And then again that cough
+from above--a prolonged paroxysm of it this time that went racketing
+through the house.
+
+Jimmie Dale, in the act of swinging back the inner door of the safe,
+paused to listen, and little furrows under his mask gathered on his
+forehead.  The coughing stopped.  Jimmie Dale waited a moment, still
+listening--then his flashlight bored into the interior of the safe.
+
+"The cash box, probably," quoted Jimmie Dale, beneath his breath--
+and picked it up from where it lay in the bottom compartment of the
+safe.
+
+The lock snipped under the insistent probe of a delicate little
+blued-steel instrument, and Jimmie Dale lifted the cover.  There was
+a package of papers and documents on top, held together with elastic
+bands.  Jimmie Dale spent a moment or two examining these, then his
+fingers dived down underneath, and the next minute, under the
+flashlight, the morocco leather case open, the diamond necklace was
+sparkling and flashing on its white satin bed.
+
+"A tempting little thing, isn't it?" said Jimmie Dale gently.  "It
+was really thoughtful of you, Markel, to buy that this afternoon!"
+
+Jimmie Dale replaced the necklace in the cash box, set the cash box
+on the floor, closed the inner door of the safe, and swung the outer
+door a little inward--but left it flauntingly ajar.  Then from a
+pocket of the leather girdle beneath his vest he produced his small,
+thin, flat, metal case.  From this, from between sheets of oil
+paper, with the aid of a pair of tweezers, he lifted out a gray,
+diamond-shaped seal.  Jimmie Dale was apparently fastidious.  He
+held the seal with the tweezers as he moistened the adhesive side
+with his tongue, laid the seal on his handkerchief, and pressed the
+handkerchief firmly against the safe--as usual, Jimmie Dale's
+insignia bore no finger prints as it lay neatly capping the knob of
+the dial.
+
+He reached down, picked up the cash box--and then, for the second
+time that night, held suddenly tense, alert, listening, his every
+muscle taut.  A door opened upstairs.  There came a murmur of
+voices.  Then a momentary lull.
+
+Jimmie Dale listened.  Like a statue he stood there in the black,
+absolutely motionless--his head a little forward and to one side.
+Nothing--not a sound.  Then a very low, curious, swishing noise, and
+a faint creak.  SOMEBODY WAS COMING DOWN THE STAIRS!
+
+Jimmie Dale moved stealthily from the recess, and noiselessly to the
+desk.  Very faintly, but distinctly now, came a pad of either
+slippered or bare feet on the stairway carpet.  Like a cat,
+soundless in his movements, Jimmie Dale crept toward the door of the
+room.  Down the stairs came that pad of feet; occasionally came that
+swishing sound.  Nearer the door crept Jimmie Dale, and his lips
+were thinned now, his jaws clamped.  How near were they together, he
+and this night prowler?  At times he could not hear the other at
+all, and, besides, the heavy carpet made the judgment of distance an
+impossibility.  If he could gain the hall, and, in the darkness,
+elude the other, the way of escape through the dining room was open.
+And then, within a few feet of the door, Jimmie Dale halted
+abruptly, as a woman's voice rose querulously from the hallway
+above:
+
+"You are making a perfect fool of yourself, Theodore Markel!  Come
+back here to bed!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's face hardened like stone--the answer came almost from
+the very threshold in front of him:
+
+"I can't sleep, I tell you"--it was Markel's voice, in a disgruntled
+snarl.  "I was a fool to bring the confounded thing home.  I'm going
+to take the library couch for the rest of the night."
+
+It happened quick, then--quick as the winking of an eye.  Two sharp,
+almost simultaneous, clicks of the electric-light buttons pressed
+by Markel, and the hall and library were a flood of light--and
+Jimmie Dale leaped forward to where, in dressing gown and pajamas,
+blankets and bedding over one arm, a revolver dangling in the other
+hand, Markel stood full before the door in the hallway without.
+
+There was a wild yell of terror and surprise from Markel, then a
+deafening roar and a spit of flame from his revolver--a bitter,
+smothered exclamation from Jimmie Dale as the cash box crashed to
+the floor from his left hand, and he was upon the other like a
+tiger.
+
+With the impact, both men went to the floor, grappled, and rolled
+over and over.  Half mad with fear, shock, and surprise, Markel
+fought like a maniac, and his voice, in gasping shouts, rang through
+the house.
+
+A minute, two passed--and the men rolled about the hall floor.
+Markel, over middle age and unheathily fat, against Jimmie Dale's
+six feet of muscle--only Jimmie Dale's left hand, dripping a red
+stream now, was almost useless.
+
+From above came wild confusion--women's voices in little shrieks;
+men's voices shouting in excitement; doors opening, running feet.
+And then Jimmie Dale had snatched the revolver from the floor where
+Markel had dropped it in the scuffle, and was pressing it against
+Markel's forehead--and Markel, terror-stricken, had collapsed in a
+flabby, pliant heap.
+
+Jimmie Dale, still covering Markel with the weapon, stood up.  The
+frightened faces of women protruded over the banisters above.  The
+two men-servants, at best none too enthusiastically on the way down,
+stopped as though stunned as Jimmie Dale swung the revolver upon
+them.
+
+Then Jimmie Dale spoke--to Markel--pointing the weapon at Markel
+again.
+
+"I don't like you, Markel," he said, with cold impudence.  The only
+decent thing you'll ever do will be to die--and if those men of
+yours on the stairs move another step it will be your death warrant.
+Do you understand?  I would suggest that you request them to stay
+where they are."
+
+Cold sweat was on Markel's face as he stared into the muzzle of the
+revolver, and his teeth chattered.
+
+"Go back!" he screamed hysterically at the servants.  "Go back!  Sit
+down!  Don't move!  Do what he tells you!"
+
+"Thank you!" said Jimmie Dale grimly.  "Now, get up yourself!"
+
+Markel got up.
+
+Jimmie Dale backed to the library door, picked up the cash box,
+tucked it under his left armpit, and faced those on the stairs.
+
+"Mr. Markel and I are going out for a little walk," he announced
+coolly.  "If one of you make a move or raise an alarm before your
+master comes back, I shall be obliged, in self-defence, to shoot--
+Mr. Markel.  Mr. Markel quite understands that--I am sure.  Do you
+not, Mr. Markel?"
+
+"Helen," screamed Markel to his wife, "don't let 'em move!  For
+God's sake, do as he says!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips, just showing beneath the edge of his mask,
+broadened in a pleasant little smile.
+
+"Will you lead the way, Mr. Markel?" he requested, with ironic
+deference.  "Through the dining room, please.  Yes, that's right!
+
+Markel walked weakly into the dining room, and Jimmie Dale followed.
+A prod in the back from the revolver muzzle, and Markel stepped
+through the French windows and out on the lawn.  Jimmie Dale faced
+the other toward the woods at the rear of the house.
+
+"Go on!" Jimmie Dale's voice was curt now, uncompromising.  "And
+step lively!"
+
+They passed on along the side of the house and in among the trees.
+Fifty yards or so more, and Jimmie Dale halted.  He backed Markel up
+against a large tree--not over gently.
+
+"I--I say"--Markel's teeth were going like castanets.  "I--"
+
+"You'll oblige me by keeping your mouth shut," observed Jimmie Dale
+politely--and he whipped the cord of Markel's dressing gown loose
+and began to tie the man to the tree.  "You have many unpleasant
+characteristics, Markel--your voice is one of them.  Shall I repeat
+that I do not like you?"  He stepped to the back of the tree.
+"Pardon me if I draw this uncomfortably tight.  I don't think you
+can reach around to the knot.  No?  The trunk is too large?  Quite
+so!"  He stepped around to face Markel again--the man was thoroughly
+frightened, his face was livid, his jaw sagged weakly, and his eyes
+followed every movement of the revolver in Jimmie Dale's hand in a
+sort of miserable fascination.  Jimmie Dale smiled unhappily.  "I am
+going to do something, Markel, that I should advise no other man to
+do--I am going to put you on your honour!  For the next fifteen
+minutes you are not to utter a sound.  Do you understand?"
+
+"Y-yes," said Markel hoarsely.
+
+"No," said Jimmie Dale sadly, "I don' think you do.  Let me be
+painfully explicit.  If you break your vow of silence by so much as
+a second, then to-morrow, or the next day, or the day after, at my
+convenience, Markel, you and I will meet again--for the LAST time.
+There can be no possible misapprehension on your part now--Markel?"
+
+"N-no,"--Markel could scarcely chatter out the word.
+
+"Quite so," said Jimmie Dale, in velvet tones.  He stood for an
+instant looking at the other with cool insolence; then: "Good-night,
+Markel"--and five minutes later a great touring car was tearing New
+Yorkward over the Long Island roads at express speed.
+
+It was one o'clock in the morning as Jimmie Dale swung the car into
+a cross street off lower Broadway, and drew up at the curb beside a
+large office building.  He got out, snuggled the cash box under his
+ulster, went around to the Broadway entrance, glanced up to note
+that a light burned in a fifth-story window, and entered the
+building.
+
+The hallway was practically in darkness, one or two incandescents
+only threw a dim light about.  Jimmie Dale stopped for a moment at
+the foot of the stairs, beside the elevator well, to listen--if the
+watchman was making rounds, it was in another part of the building
+Jimmie Dale began to climb.
+
+He reached the fifth floor, turned down the corridor, and halted in
+front of a door, through the ground-glass panel of which a light
+glowed faintly--as though coming from an inner office beyond.
+Jimmie Dale drew the black silk mask from his pocket, adjusted it,
+tried the door, found it unlocked, opened it noiselessly, and
+stepped inside.  Across the room, through another door, half open,
+the light streamed into the outer office, where Jimmie Dale stood.
+
+Jimmie Dale stole across the room, crouched by the door to look into
+the inner office--and his face went suddenly rigid.
+
+"Good God!" he whispered.  "As bad as that!"--but it was a
+nonchalant Jimmie Dale to all outward appearances that, on the
+instant, stepped unconcernedly over the threshold.
+
+An elderly man, white-haired, kindly-faced, kindly-eyed, save now
+that the face was drawn and haggard, the eyes full of weariness, was
+standing behind a flat-topped desk, his fingers twitching nervously
+on a revolver in his hand.  He whirled, with a startled cry, at
+Jimmie Dale's entrance, and the revolver clattered from his fingers
+to the floor.
+
+"I am afraid," said Jimmie Dale, smiling pleasantly, "that you were
+going to shoot yourself.  Your name is Wilbur, Henry Wilbur, isn't
+it?"
+
+Unmanned, trembling, the other stood--and nodded mechanically.
+
+"It's really not a nice thing to do," said Jimmie Dale
+confidentially.  "Makes a mess, you see, too"--he was pulling off
+his motor gauntlet, his ulster, his jacket, and, having set the cash
+box on the desk, was rolling back his sleeve as he spoke.  "Had a
+little experience myself this evening."  He held out his hand that,
+with the forearm, was covered with blood.  "A little above the
+wrist--fortunately only a flesh wound--a little memento from a chap
+named Markel, and--"
+
+"MARKEL!"  The word burst, quivering, from the other's lips.
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale imperturbably.  "Do you mind if I wash a
+bit--and could you oblige me with a towel, or something that would
+do for a bandage?"
+
+The man seemed dazed.  In a subconscious way, he walked from the
+desk to a little cupboard, and took out two towels.
+
+Jimmie Dale stooped, while the other's back was turned, picked up
+the revolver from the floor, and slipped it into his trousers
+pocket.
+
+"Markel?" said Wilbur again, the same trembling anxiety in his
+voice, as he handed Jimmie Dale the towels and motioned toward a
+washstand in the corner of the room.  "Did you say Markel--Theodore
+Markel?"
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale, examining his wound critically.
+
+"You had trouble--a fight with him?  Is he--he--dead?"
+
+"No," said Jimmie Dale, smiling a little grimly.  " He's pretty
+badly hurt, though, I imagine--but not in a physical way."
+
+"Strange!" whispered Wilbur, in a numbed tone to himself; and he
+went back and sank down in his desk chair.  "Strange that you should
+speak of Markel--strange that you should have come here to-night!"
+
+Jimmie Dale did not answer.  He glanced now and then at the other,
+as he deftly dressed his wrist--the man seemed on the verge of
+collapse, on the verge of a nervous breakdown.  Jimmie Dale swore
+softly to himself.  Wilbur was too old a man to be called upon to
+stand against the trouble and anxiety that was mirrored in the
+misery in his face, that had brought him to the point of taking his
+own life.
+
+Jimmie Dale put on his coat again, walked over to the desk, and
+picked up the 'phone.
+
+"If I may?" he inquired courteously--and confided a number to the
+mouthpiece of the instrument.
+
+There was a moment's wait, during which Wilbur, in a desperate sort
+of way, seemed to be trying to rally himself, to piece together a
+puzzle, as it were; and for the first time he appeared to take a
+personal interest in the masked figure that leaned against his desk.
+He kept passing his hands across his eyes, staring at Jimmie Dale.
+
+Then Jimmie Dale spoke--into the 'phone.
+
+"MORNING NEWS-ARGUS office?  Mr. Carruthers, please.  Thank you."
+
+Another wait--then Jimmie Dale's voice changed its pitch and
+register to a pleasant and natural, though quite unrecognisable
+bass.
+
+Mr. Carruthers?  Yes.  I thought it might interest you to know that
+Mr. Theodore Markel purchased a very valuable diamond necklace this
+afternoon. . . .  Oh, you knew that, did you?  Well, so much the
+better; you'll be all the more keenly interested to know that it is
+no longer in his possession. . . .  I beg pardon?  Oh, yes, I quite
+forgot--this is the Gray Seal speaking. . . .  Yes. . . .  The Gray
+Seal. . . .  I have just come from Mr. Markel's country house, and
+if you hurry a man out there you ought to be able to give the public
+an exclusive bit of news, a scoop, I believe you call it--you see,
+Mr. Carruthers, I am not ungrateful for, I might say, the eulogistic
+manner in which the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS treated me in that last
+affair, and I trust I shall be able to do you many more favours--I
+am deeply in your debt.  And, oh, yes, tell your reporter not to
+overlook the detail of Mr. Markel in his pajamas and dressing gown
+tied to a tree in his park--Mr. Markel might be inclined to be
+reticent on that point, and it would be a pity to deprive the public
+of any--er--'atmosphere' in the story, you know. . . .  What? . . .
+No; I am afraid Mr. Markel's 'phone is--er--out of order. . . .
+Yes. . . .  And, by the way, speaking of 'phones, Mr. Carruthers,
+between gentlemen, I know you will make no effort under the
+circumstances to discover the number I am calling from.  Good-night,
+Mr. Carruthers."  Jimmie Dale hung the receiver abruptly on the
+hook.
+
+"You see," said Jimmie Dale, turning to Wilbur--and then he stopped.
+The man was on his feet, swaying there, his face positively gray.
+
+"My God!" Wilbur burst out.  "What have you done?  A thousand times
+better if I had shot myself, as I would have done in another moment
+if you had not come in.  I was only ruined then--I am disgraced now.
+You have robbed Markel's safe--I am the one man in the world who
+would have a reason above all others for doing that--and Markel
+knows it.  He will accuse me of it.  He can prove I had a motive.  I
+have not been home to-night.  Nobody knows I am here.  I cannot
+prove an alibi.  What have you done!"
+
+"Really," said Jimmie Dale, almost plaintively, swinging himself up
+on the corner of the desk and taking the cash box on his knee,
+"really, you are alarming yourself unnecessarily.  I--"
+
+But Wilbur stopped him.  "You don't know what you are talking
+about!" Wilbur cried out, in a choked way; then, his voice
+steadying, he rushed on: "Listen!  I am a ruined man, absolutely
+ruined.  And Markel has ruined me--I did not see through his trick
+until too late.  Listen!  For years, as a mining engineer, I made a
+good salary--and I saved it.  Two years ago I had nearly seventy
+thousand dollars--it represented my life work.  I bought an
+abandoned mine in Alaska for next to nothing--I was certain it was
+rich.  A man by the name of Thurl, Jason T. Thurl, another mining
+engineer, a steamer acquaintance, was out there at the time--he was
+a partner of Markel's, though I didn't know it then.  I started to
+work the mine.  It didn't pan out.  I dropped nearly every cent.
+Then I struck a small vein that temporarily recouped me, and
+supplied the necessary funds with which to go ahead for a while.
+Thurl, who had tried to buy the mine out from under my option in the
+first place, repeatedly then tried to buy it from me at a ridiculous
+figure.  I refused.  He persisted.  I refused--I was confident, I
+KNEW I had one of the richest properties in Alaska."
+
+Wilbur paused.  A little row of glistening drops had gathered on his
+forehead.  Jimmie Dale, balancing Markel's cash box on one knee,
+drummed softly with his finger tips on the cover.
+
+"The vein petered out," Wilbur went on.  "But I was still confident.
+I sank all the proceeds of the first strike--and sank them fast, for
+unaccountable accidents that crippled me both financially and in the
+progress of the work began to happen."  Wilbur flung out his hands
+impotently.  "Oh, it's a long story--too long to tell.  Thurl was at
+the bottom of those accidents.  He knew as well as I did that the
+mine was rich--better than I did, for that matter, for we discovered
+before we ran him out of Alaska that he had made secret borings on
+the property.  But what I did not know until a few hours ago was
+that he had actually uncovered what we uncovered only yesterday--the
+mother lode.  He was driving me as fast as he could into the last
+ditch--for Markel.  I didn't know until yesterday that Markel had
+any thing to do with it.  I struggled on out there, hoping every day
+to open a new vein.  I raised money on everything I had, except my
+insurance and the mine--and sank it in the mine.  No one out there
+would advance me anything on a property that looked like a failure,
+that had once already been abandoned.  I have always kept an office
+here, and I came back East with the idea of raising something on my
+insurance.  Markel, quite by haphazard as I then thought, was
+introduced to me just before we left San Francisco on our way to New
+York.  On the run across the continent we became very friendly.
+Naturally, I told him my story.  He played sympathetic good fellow,
+and offered to lend me fifty thousand dollars on a demand note.  I
+did not want to be involved for a cent more than was necessary, and,
+as I said, I hoped from day to day to make another strike.  I
+refused to take more than ten thousand.  I remember now that he
+seemed strangely disappointed."
+
+Again Wilbur stopped.  He swept the moisture from his forehead--and
+his fist, clenched, came down upon the desk.
+
+"You see the game!"--there was bitter anger in his voice now.  "You
+see the game!  He wanted to get me in deep enough so that I couldn't
+wriggle out, deeper than ten thousand that I could get at any time
+on my insurance, he wanted me where I couldn't get away--and he got
+me.  The first ten thousand wasn't enough.  I went to him for a
+second, a third, a fourth, a fifth--hoping always that each would be
+the last.  Each time a new note, a demand note for the total amount,
+was made, cancelling the former one.  I didn't know his game, didn't
+suspect it--I blessed God for giving me such a friend--until this,
+or, rather, yesterday afternoon, when I received a telegram from my
+manager at the mine saying that he had struck what looked like a
+very rich vein--the mother lode.  And"--Wilbur's fist curled until
+the knuckles were like ivory in their whiteness--"he added in the
+telegram that Thurl had wired the news of the strike to a man in New
+York by the name of Markel.  Do you see?  I hadn't had the telegram
+five minutes, when a messenger brought me a letter from Markel
+curtly informing me that I would have to meet my note to-morrow
+morning.  I can't meet it.  He knew I couldn't.  With wealth in
+sight--I'm wiped out.  A DEMAND note, a call loan, do you
+understand--and with a few months in which to develop the new vein I
+could pay it readily.  As it is--I default the note--Markel attaches
+all I have left, which is the mine.  The mine is sold to satisfy my
+indebtedness.  Markel buys it in legally, upheld by the law--and
+acquires, ROBS me of it, and--"
+
+"And so," said Jimmie Dale musingly, "you were going to shoot
+yourself?"
+
+Wilbur straightened up, and there was something akin to pathetic
+grandeur in the set of the old shoulders as they squared back.
+
+"Yes!" he said, in a low voice.  "And shall I tell you why?  Even
+if, which is not likely, there was something reverting to me over
+the purchase price, it would be a paltry thing compared with the
+mine.  I have a wife and children.  If I have worked for them all my
+life, could I stand back now at the last and see them robbed of
+their inheritance by a black-hearted scoundrel when I could still
+lift a hand to prevent it!  I had one way left.  What is my life?  I
+am too old a man to cling to it where they are concerned.  I have
+referred to my insurance several times.  I have always carried heavy
+insurance"--he smiled a little curious, mirthless smile--"THAT HAS
+NO SUICIDE CLAUSE."  He swept his hand over the desk, indicating the
+papers scattered there.  "I have worked late to-night getting my
+affairs in order.  My total insurance is fifty-two thousand dollars,
+though I couldn't BORROW anywhere near the full amount on it--but at
+my death, paid in full, it would satisfy the note.  My executors, by
+instruction would pay the note--and no dollar from the mine, no
+single grain of gold, not an ounce of quartz, would Markel ever get
+his hands on, and my wife and children would be saved.  That is--"
+
+His words ended abruptly--with a little gasp.  Jimmie Dale had
+opened the cash box and was dangling the necklace under the light--a
+stream of fiery, flashing, sparkling gems.
+
+Then Wilbur spoke again, a hard, bitter note in his voice, pointing
+his hand at the necklace.
+
+"But now, on top of everything, you have brought me disgrace--
+because you broke into his safe to-night for THAT?  He would and
+will accuse me.  I have heard of you--the Gray Seal--you have done a
+pitiful night's work in your greed for that thing there."
+
+"For this?" Jimmie Dale smiled ironically, holding the necklace up.
+Then he shook his head.  "I didn't break into Markel's safe for
+this--it wouldn't have been worth while.  It's only paste."
+
+"PASTE!" exclaimed Wilbur, in a slow way.
+
+"Paste," said Jimmie Dale placidly, dropping the necklace back into
+its case.  "Quite in keeping with Markel, isn't it--to make a
+sensation on the cheap?"
+
+"But that doesn't change matters!" Wilbur cried out sharply, after a
+numbed instant's pause.  "You still broke into the safe, even if you
+didn't know then that the necklace was paste."
+
+"Ah, but, you see--I did know then," said Jimmie Dale softly.  "I am
+really--you must take my word for it--a very good judge of stones,
+and I had--er--seen these before."
+
+Wilbur stared--bewildered, confused.
+
+"Then why--what was it that--"
+
+"A paper," said Jimmie Dale, with a little chuckle--and produced it
+from the cash box.  "It reads like this: 'On demand, I promise to
+pay--'"
+
+"My note!"  It came in a great, surging cry from Wilbur; and he
+strained forward to read it.
+
+"Of course," said Jimmie Dale.  "Of course--your note.  Did you
+think that I had just happened to drop in on you?  Now, then, see
+here, you just buck up, and--er--smile.  There isn't even a
+possibility of you being accused of the theft.  In the first place,
+Markel saw quite enough of me to know that it wasn't you.  Secondly,
+neither Markel nor any one else would ever dream that the break was
+made for anything else but the necklace, with which you have no
+connection--the papers were in the cash box and were just taken
+along with it.  Don't you see?  And, besides, the police, with my
+very good friend, Carruthers at their elbows, will see very
+thoroughly to it that the Gray Seal gets full and ample credit for
+the crime.  But"--Jimmie Dale pulled out his watch, and yawned under
+his mask--"it's getting to be an unconscionable hour--and you've
+still a letter to write."
+
+"A letter?"  Wilbur's voice was broken, his lips quivering.
+
+"To Markel," said Jimmie Dale pleasantly.  "Write him in reply to
+his letter of the afternoon, and post it before you leave here--just
+as though you had written it at once, promptly, on receipt of his.
+He will still get it on the morning delivery.  State that you will
+take up the note immediately on presentation at whatever bank he
+chooses to name.  That's all.  Seeing that he hasn't got it, he
+can't very well present it--can he?  Eventually, having--er--no use
+for fake diamonds, I shall return the necklace, together with the
+papers in his cash box here--including your note."
+
+"Eventually?"  Uncomprehendingly, stumblingly, Wilbur repeated the
+word.
+
+"In a month or two or three, as the case may be," explained Jimmie
+Dale brightly.  "Whenever you insert a personal in the NEWS-ARGUS to
+the effect that the mother lode has given you the cash to meet it."
+He replaced the note in the cash box, slipped down to his feet from
+the desk--and then he choked a little.  Wilbur, the tears streaming
+down his face, unable to speak, was holding out his hands to Jimmie
+Dale.  "I--er--good-night!" said Jimmie Dale hurriedly--and stepped
+quickly from the room.
+
+Halfway down the first flight of stairs he paused.  Steps, running
+after him, sounded along the corridor above; and then Wilbur's
+voice.
+
+"Don't go--not yet," cried the old man.  "I don't understand.  How
+did you know--who told you about the note?"
+
+Jimmie Dale did not answer--he went on noiselessly down the stairs.
+His mask was off now, and his lips curved into a strange little
+smile.
+
+"I wish I knew," said Jimmie Dale wistfully to himself.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE COUNTERFEIT FIVE
+
+
+It was still early in the evening, but a little after nine o'clock.
+The Fifth Avenue bus wended its way, jouncing its patrons,
+particularly those on the top seats, across town, and turned into
+Riverside Drive.  A short distance behind the bus, a limousine
+rolled down the cross street leisurely, silently.
+
+As the lights of passing craft on the Hudson and a myriad
+scintillating, luminous points dotting the west shore came into
+view, Jimmie Dale rose impulsively from his seat on the top of the
+bus, descended the little circular iron ladder at the rear, and
+dropped off into the street.  It was only a few blocks farther to
+his residence on the Drive, and the night was well worth the walk;
+besides, restless, disturbed, and perplexed in mind, the walk
+appealed to him.
+
+He stepped across to the sidewalk and proceeded slowly along.  A
+month had gone by and he had not heard a word from--HER.  The break
+on West Broadway, the murder of Metzer in Moriarty's gambling hell,
+the theft of Markel's diamond necklace had followed each other in
+quick succession--and then this month of utter silence, with no sign
+of her, as though indeed she had never existed.
+
+But it was not this temporary silence on her part that troubled
+Jimmie Dale now.  In the years that he had worked with this unknown,
+mysterious accomplice of his whom he had never seen, there had been
+longer intervals than a bare month in which he had heard nothing
+from her--it was not that.  It was the failure, total, absolute, and
+complete, that was the only result for the month of ceaseless,
+unremitting, doggedly-expended effort, even as it had been the
+result many times before, in an attempt to solve the enigma that was
+so intimate and vital a factor in his own life.
+
+If he might lay any claims to cleverness, his resourcefulness, at
+least, he was forced to admit, was no match for hers.  She came, she
+went without being seen--and behind her remained, instead of clews
+to her identity, only an amazing, intangible mystery, that left him
+at times appalled and dismayed.  How did she know about those
+conditions in West Broadway, how did she know about Metzer's murder,
+how did she know about Markel and Wilbur--how did she know about a
+hundred other affairs of the same sort that had happened since that
+night, years ago now, when out of pure adventure he had tampered
+with Marx's, the jeweller's strong room in Maiden Lane, and she had,
+mysteriously then, too, solved HIS identity, discovered him to be
+the Gray Seal?
+
+Jimmie Dale, wrapped up in his own thoughts, entirely oblivious to
+his surroundings, traversed another block.  There had never been
+since the world began, and there would never be again, so singular
+and bizarre a partnership as this--of hers and his.  He, Jimmie
+Dale, with his strange double life, one of New York's young bachelor
+millionaires, one whose social status was unquestioned; and she,
+who--who WHAT?  That was just it!  Who what?  What was she?  What
+was her name?  What one personal, intimate thing did he know about
+her?  And what was to be the end?  Not that he would have severed
+his association with her--not for worlds!--though every time, that,
+by some new and curious method, one of her letters found its way
+into his hands, outlining some fresh coup for him to execute, his
+peril and danger of discovery was increased in staggering ratio.
+To-day, the police hunted the Gray Seal as they hunted a mad dog;
+the papers stormed and raved against him: in every detective bureau
+of two continents he was catalogued as the most notorious criminal
+of the age--and yet, strange paradox, no single crime had ever been
+committed!
+
+Jimmie Dale's strong, fine-featured face lighted up.  Crime!  Thanks
+to her, there were those who blessed the name of the Gray Seal,
+those into whose lives had come joy, relief from misery, escape from
+death even--and their blessings were worth a thousandfold the risk
+and peril of disaster that threatened him at every minute of the
+day.
+
+"Thank God for her!" murmured Jimmie Dale softly.  "But--but if I
+could only find her, see her, know who she is, talk to her, and hear
+her voice!"  Then he smiled a little wanly.  "It's been a pretty
+tough month--and nothing to show for it!"
+
+It had!  It had been one of the hardest months through which Jimmie
+Dale had ever lived.  The St. James, that most exclusive club, his
+favourite haunt, had seen nothing of him; the easel in his den, that
+was his hobby, had been untouched; there had been days even when he
+had not crossed the threshold of his home.  Every resource at his
+command he had called into play in an effort to solve the mystery.
+For nearly the entire month, following first this lead and then
+that, he had lived in the one disguise that he felt confident she
+knew nothing of--that was, or, rather, had become, almost a dual
+personality with him.  From the Sanctuary, that miserable and
+disreputable room in a tenement on the East Side, a tenement that
+had three separate means of entrance and exit, he had emerged day
+after day as Larry the Bat, a character as well known and as well
+liked in the exclusive circles of the underworld as was Jimmie Dale
+in the most exclusive strata of New York's society and fashion.  And
+it had been useless--all useless.  Through his own endeavours,
+through the help of his friends of the underworld, the lives of half
+a dozen men, Bert Hagan's on West Broadway, for instance, Markel's,
+and others', had been laid bare to the last shred, but nowhere could
+be found the one vital point that linked their lives with hers, that
+would account for her intimate knowledge of them, and so furnish him
+with the clew that would then with certainty lead him to a solution
+of her identity.
+
+It was baffling, puzzling, unbelievable, bordering, indeed, on the
+miraculous--herself, everything about her, her acts, her methods,
+her cleverness, intangible in one sense, were terrifically real in
+another.  Jimmie Dale shook his head.  The miraculous and this
+practical, everyday life were wide and far apart.  There was nothing
+miraculous about it--it was only that the key to it was, so far,
+beyond his reach.
+
+And then suddenly Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders in consonance
+with a whimsical change in both mood and thought.
+
+"Larry the Bat, is a hard taskmaster!" he muttered facetiously.
+"I'm afraid I'm not very presentable this evening--no bath this
+morning, and no shave, and, after nearly a month of make-up, that
+beastly grease paint gets into the skin creases in a most intimate
+way."  He chuckled as the thought of old Jason, his butler, came to
+him.  "I saw Jason, torn between two conflicting emotions, shaking
+his head over the black circles under my eyes last night--he didn't
+know whether to worry over the first signs of a galloping decline,
+or break his heart at witnessing the young master he had dandled on
+his knees going to the damnation bowwows and turning into a
+confirmed roue!  I guess I'll have to mind myself, though.  Even
+Carruthers detached his mind far enough from his editorial desk and
+the hope of exclusively publishing the news of the Gray Seal's
+capture in the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, to tell me I was looking seedy.
+It's wonderful the way a little paint will metamorphose a man!
+Well, anyway, here's for a good hot tub to-night, and a fresh start!
+
+He quickened his pace.  There were still three blocks to go, and
+here was no hurrying, jostling crowd to impede his progress; indeed,
+as far as he could see up the Drive, there was not a pedestrian in
+sight.  And then, as he walked, involuntarily, insistently, his mind
+harked back into the old groove again.
+
+"I've tried to picture her," said Jimmie Dale softly to himself.
+"I've tried to picture her a hundred, yes, a thousand times, and--"
+
+A bus, rumbling cityward, went by him, squeaking, creaking, and
+rattling in its uneasy joints--and out of the noise, almost at his
+elbow it seemed, a voice spoke his name--and in that instant
+intuitively he KNEW, and it thrilled him, stopped the beat of his
+heart, as, dulcet, soft, clear as the note of a silver bell it fell--
+and only one word:
+
+"Jimmie!"
+
+He whirled around.  A limousine, wheels just grazing the curb, was
+gliding slowly and silently past him, and from the window a woman's
+arm, white-gloved and dainty, was extended, and from the fingers to
+the pavement fluttered an envelope--and the car leaped forward.
+
+For the fraction of a second, Jimmie Dale stood dazed, immovable, a
+gamut of emotions, surprise, fierce exultation, amazement, a strange
+joy, a mighty uplift, swirling upon him--and then, snatching up the
+envelope from the ground, he sprang out into the road after the car.
+It was the one chance he had ever had, the one chance she had ever
+given him, and he had seen--a white-gloved arm!  He could not reach
+the car, it was speeding away from him like an arrow now, but there
+was something else that would do just as well, something that with
+all her cleverness she had overlooked--the car's number dangling on
+the rear axle, the rays of the little lamp playing on the enamelled
+surface of the plate!  Gasping, panting, he held his own for a yard
+or more, and there floated back to him a little silvery laugh from
+the body of the limousine, and then Jimmie Dale laughed, too, and
+stopped--it was No.15,836!
+
+He stood and watched the car disappear up the Drive.  What delicious
+irony!  A month of gruelling, ceaseless toil that had been vain,
+futile, useless--and the key, when he was not looking for it,
+unexpectedly, through no effort of his, was thrust into his hand--
+No.15,836!
+
+Jimmie Dale, the gently ironic smile still on his lips, those slim,
+supersensitive fingers of his subconsciously noting that the texture
+of the envelope was the same as she always used, retraced his steps
+to the sidewalk.
+
+"Number fifteen thousand eight hundred and thirty-six," said Jimmie
+Dale aloud--and halted at the curb as though rooted to the spot.  It
+sounded strangely familiar, that number!  He repeated it over again
+slowly: "One-five-eight-three-six."  And the smile left his lips,
+and upon his face came the look of a chastened child.  She had used
+a duplicate plate!  Fifteen thousand eight hundred and thirty-six
+was the number of one of his own cars--his own particular runabout!
+
+For a moment longer he stood there, undecided whether to laugh or
+swear, and then his eyes fastened mechanically on the envelope he
+was twirling in his fingers.  Here, at least, was something that was
+not elusive; that, on the contrary, as a hundred others in the past
+had done, outlined probably a grim night's work ahead for the Gray
+Seal!  And, if it were as those others had been, every minute from
+the moment of its receipt was precious time.  He stepped under the
+nearest street light, and tore the envelope open.
+
+"Dear Philanthropic Crook," it began--and then followed two closely
+written pages.  Jimmie Dale read them, his lips growing gradually
+tighter, a smouldering light creeping into his dark eyes, and once
+he emitted a short, low whistle of consternation--that was at the
+end, as he read the post-script that was heavily underscored: "Work
+quickly.  They will raid to-night.  Be careful.  Look out for Kline,
+he is the sharpest man in the United States secret service."
+
+For a brief instant longer, Jimmie Dale stood under the street lamp,
+his mind in a lightning-quick way cataloguing every point in her
+letter, viewing every point from a myriad angles, constructing,
+devising, mapping out a plan to dove-tail into them--and then Jimmie
+Dale swung on a downtown bus.  There was neither time nor occasion
+to go home now--that marvellous little kit of burglar's tools that
+peeped from their tiny pockets in that curious leather undervest,
+and that reposed now in the safe in his den, would be useless to him
+to-night; besides, in the breast pocket of his coat, neatly folded,
+was a black silk mask, and, relics of his role of Larry the Bat, an
+automatic revolver, an electric flashlight, a steel jimmy, and a
+bunch of skeleton keys, were distributed among the other pockets of
+his smart tweed suit.
+
+Jimmie Dale changed from the bus to the subway, leaving behind him,
+strewn over many blocks, the tiny and minute fragments into which he
+had torn her letter; at Astor Place he left the subway, walked to
+Broadway, turned uptown for a block to Eighth Street, then along
+Eighth Street almost to Sixth Avenue--and stopped.
+
+A rather shabby shop, a pitiful sort of a place, displaying in its
+window a heterogeneous conglomeration of cheap odds and ends, ink
+bottles, candy, pencils, cigarettes, pens, toys, writing pads,
+marbles, and a multitude of other small wares, confronted him.
+Within, a little, old, sweet-faced, gray-haired woman stood behind
+the counter, pottering over the rearrangement of some articles on
+the shelves.
+
+"My word!" said Jimmie Dale softly to himself.  "You wouldn't
+believe it, would you!  And I've always wondered how these little
+stores managed to make both ends meet.  Think of that old soul
+making fifteen or twenty thousand dollars from a layout like this--
+even if it has taken her a lifetime!"
+
+Jimmie Dale had halted nonchalantly and unconcernedly by the curb,
+not too near the window, busied apparently in an effort to light a
+refractory cigarette; and then, about to enter the store, he gazed
+aimlessly across the street for a moment instead.  A man came
+briskly around the corner from Sixth Avenue, opened the store door,
+and went in.
+
+Jimmie Dale drew back a little, and turned his head again as the
+door closed--and a sudden, quick, alert, and startled look spread
+over his face.
+
+The man who had entered bent over the counter and spoke to the old
+lady.  She seemed to listen with a dawning terror creeping over her
+features, and then her hands went piteously to the thin hair behind
+her ears.  The man motioned toward a door at the rear of the store.
+She hesitated, then came out from behind the counter, and swayed a
+little as though her limbs would not support her weight.
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips thinned.
+
+"I'm afraid," he muttered slowly, "I'm afraid that I'm too late even
+now."  And then, as she came to the door and turned the key on the
+inside: "Pray Heaven she doesn't turn the light out--or somebody
+might think I was trying to break in!"
+
+But in that respect Jimmie Dale's fears were groundless.  She did
+not turn out either of the gas jets that lighted the little shop;
+instead, in a faltering, reluctant sort of manner, she led the way
+directly through the door in the rear, and the man followed her.
+
+The shop was empty--and Jimmie Dale was standing against the door on
+the outside.  His position was perfectly natural--a hundred passers-
+by would have noted nothing but a most commonplace occurrence--a man
+in the act of entering a store.  And, if he appeared to fumble and
+have trouble with the latch, what of it!  Jimmie Dale, however, was
+not fumbling--hidden by his back that was turned to the street,
+those wonderful fingers of his, in whose tips seemed embodied and
+concentrated every one of the human senses, were working quickly,
+surely, accurately, without so much as the wasted movement of a
+single muscle.
+
+A faint tinkle--and the key within fell from the lock to the floor.
+A faint click--and the bolt of the lock slipped back.  Jimmie Dale
+restored the skeleton keys and a little steel instrument that
+accompanied them to his pocket--and quietly opened the door.  He
+stepped inside, picked up the key from the floor, inserted it in the
+lock, closed the door behind him, and locked it again.
+
+"To guard against interruption," observed Jimmie Dale, a little
+quizzically.
+
+He was, perhaps, thirty seconds behind the others.  He crossed the
+shop noiselessly, cautiously, and passed through the door at the
+rear.  It opened into a short passage that, after a few feet, gave
+on a sort of corridor at right angles--and down this latter, facing
+him, at the end, the door of a lighted room was open, and he could
+see the figure of the man who had entered the shop, back turned,
+standing on the threshold.  Voices, indistinct, came to him.
+
+The corridor itself was dark; and Jimmie Dale, satisfied that he was
+fairly safe from observation, stole softly forward.  He passed two
+doors on his left--and the curious arrangement of the building that
+had puzzled him for a moment became clear.  The store made the front
+of an old tenement building, with apartments above, and the rear of
+the store was a sort of apartment, too--the old lady's living
+quarters.
+
+Step by step, testing each one against a possible creaking of the
+floor, Jimmie Dale moved forward, keeping close up against one wall.
+The man passed on into the room--and now Jimmie Dale could
+distinguish every word that was being spoken; and, crouched up, in
+the dark corridor, in the angle of the wall and the door jamb
+itself, could see plainly enough into the room beyond.  Jimmie
+Dale's jaw crept out a little.
+
+A young man, gaunt, pale, wrapped in blankets, half sat, half
+reclined in an invalid's chair; the old lady, on her knees, the
+tears streaming down her face, had her arms around the sick man's
+neck; while the other man, apparently upset at the scene, tugged
+vigorously at long, gray mustaches.
+
+"Sammy!  Sammy!" sobbed the woman piteously.  "Say you didn't do it,
+Sammy--say you didn't do it!"
+
+Look here, Mrs. Matthews," said the man with the gray mustaches
+gently, "now don't you go to making things any harder.  I've got to
+do my duty just the same, and take your son."
+
+The young man, a hectic flush beginning to burn on his cheeks, gazed
+wildly from one to the other.
+
+"What--what is it?" he cried out.
+
+The man threw back his coat and displayed a badge on his vest.
+
+"I'm Kline of the secret service," he said gravely.  "I'm sorry,
+Sammy, but I want you for that little job in Washington at the
+bureau--before you left on sick leave!"
+
+Sammy Matthews struggled away from his mother's arms, pulled himself
+forward in his chair--and his tongue licked dry lips.
+
+"What--what job?" he whispered thickly.
+
+"You know, don't you?" the other answered steadily.  He took a
+large, flat pocketbook from his pocket, opened it, and took out a
+five-dollar bill.  He held this before the sick man's eyes, but just
+out of reach, one finger silently indicating the lower left-hand
+corner.
+
+Matthews stared at it for a moment, and the hectic flush faded to a
+grayish pallor, and a queer, impotent sound gurgled in his throat.
+
+"I see you recognise it," said the other quietly.  "It's open and
+shut, Sammy.  That little imperfection in the plate's got you, my
+boy."
+
+"Sammy!  Sammy!" sobbed the woman again.  "Sammy, say you didn't do
+it!"
+
+"It's a lie!" said Matthews hoarsely.  "It's a lie!  That plate was
+condemned in the bureau for that imperfection--condemned and
+destroyed."
+
+"Condemned TO BE destroyed," corrected the other, without raising
+his voice.  "There's a little difference there, Sammy--about twenty
+years' difference--in the Federal pen.  But it wasn't destroyed;
+this note was printed from it by one of the slickest gangs of
+counterfeiters in the United States--but I don't need to tell you
+that, I guess you know who they are.  I've been after them a long
+time, and I've got them now, just as tight as I've got you.  Instead
+of destroying that plate, you stole it, and disposed of it to the
+gang.  How much did they give you?"
+
+Matthews' face seemed to hold a dumb horror, and his fingers picked
+at the arms of the chair.  His mother had moved from beside him now,
+and both her hands were patting at the man's sleeve in a pitiful
+way, while again and again she tried to speak, but no words would
+come.
+
+"It's a lie!" said Matthews again, in a colourless, mechanical way.
+
+The man glanced at Mrs. Matthews as he put the five-dollar note back
+into his pocket, seemed to choke a little, shook his head, and all
+trace of the official sternness that had crept into his voice
+disappeared.
+
+"It's no good," he said in a low tone.  "Don't do that, Mrs.
+Matthews, I've got to do my duty."  He leaned a little toward the
+chair.  "It's dead to rights, Sammy.  You might as well make a clean
+breast of it.  It was up to you and Al Gregor to see that the plate
+was destroyed.  It WASN'T destroyed; instead, it shows up in the
+hands of a gang of counterfeiters that I've been watching for
+months.  Furthermore, I've got the plate itself.  And finally,
+though I haven't placed him under arrest yet for fear you might hear
+of it before I wanted you to and make a get-away, I've got Al Gregor
+where I can put my hands on him, and I've got his confession that
+you and he worked the game between you to get that plate out of the
+bureau and dispose of it to the gang."
+
+"Oh, my God!"--it came in a wild cry from the sick man, and in a
+desperate, lurching way he struggled up to his feet.  "Al Gregor
+said that?  Then--then I'm done!"  He clutched at his temples.  "But
+it's not true--it's not true!  If the plate was stolen, and it must
+have been stolen, or that note wouldn't have been found, it was Al
+Gregor who stole it--I didn't, I tell you!  I knew nothing of it,
+except that he and I were responsible for it and--and I left it to
+him--that's the only way I'm to blame.  He's caught, and he's trying
+to get out of it with a light sentence by pretending to turn State's
+evidence, but--but I'll fight him--he can't prove it--it's only his
+word against mine, and--"
+
+The other shook his head again.
+
+"It's no good, Sammy," he said, a touch of sternness back in his
+tones again.  "I told you it was open and shut.  It's not only Al
+Gregor.  One of the gang got weak knees when I got him where I
+wanted him the other night, and he swears that you are the one who
+DELIVERED the plate to them.  Between him and Gregor and what I know
+myself, I've got evidence enough for any jury against every one of
+the rest of you."
+
+Horror, fear, helplessness seemed to mingle in the sick man's
+staring eyes, and he swayed unsteadily upon his feet.
+
+"I'm innocent!" he screamed out.  "But I'm caught, I'm caught in a
+net, and I can't get out--they lied to you--but no one will believe
+it any more than you do and--and it means twenty years for me--oh,
+God!--twenty years,  and--"  His hands went wriggling to his temples
+again, and he toppled back in a faint into the chair.
+
+"You've killed him!  You've killed my boy!" the old lady shrieked
+out piteously, and flung herself toward the senseless figure.
+
+The man jumped for the table across the room, on which was a row of
+bottles, snatched one up, drew the cork, smelled it, and ran back
+with the bottle.  He poured a little of the contents into his cupped
+hand, held it under young Matthews' nostrils, and pushed the bottle
+into Mrs. Matthews' hands.
+
+"Bathe his forehead with this, Mrs. Matthews," he directed
+reassuringly.  "He'll be all right again in a moment.  There, see--
+he's coming around now."
+
+There was a long, fluttering sigh, and Matthews opened his eyes;
+then a moment's silence; and then he spoke, with an effort, with
+long pauses between the words:
+
+"Am--I--to--go--now?"
+
+The words seemed to ring absolute terror in the old lady's ears.
+She turned, and dropped to her knees on the floor.
+
+"Mr. Kline, Mr. Kline," she sobbed out, "oh, for God's love, don't
+take him!  Let him off, let him go!  He's my boy--all I've got!
+You've got a mother, haven't you?  You know--"  The tears were
+streaming down the sweet, old face again.  "Oh, won't you, for God's
+dear name, won't you let him go?  Won't--"
+
+"Stop!" the man cried huskily.  He was mopping at his face with his
+handkerchief.  "I thought I was case-hardened, I ought to be--but I
+guess I'm not.  But I've got to do my duty.  You're only making it
+worse for Sammy there, as well as me."
+
+Her arms were around his knees now, clinging there.
+
+"Why can't you let him off!" she pleaded hysterically.  "Why can't
+you!  Why can't you!  Nobody would know, and I'd do anything--I'd
+pay anything--anything--I'll give you ten--fifteen thousand
+dollars!"
+
+"My poor woman," he said kindly, placing his hand on her head, "you
+are talking wildly.  Apart altogether from the question of duty,
+even if I succeeded in hushing the matter up, I would probably at
+least be suspected and certainly discharged, and I have a family to
+support--and if I were caught I'd get ten years in the Federal
+prison for it.  I'm sorry for this; I believe it's your boy's first
+offence, and if I could let him off I would."
+
+"But you can--you can!" she burst out, rocking on her knees,
+clinging tighter still to him, as though in a paroxysm of fear that
+he might somehow elude her.  "It will kill him--it will kill my boy.
+And you can save him!  And even if they discharged you, what would
+that mean against my boy's life!  You wouldn't suffer, your family
+wouldn't suffer, I'll--I'll take care of that--perhaps I could raise
+a little more than fifteen thousand--but, oh, have pity, have mercy--
+don't take him away!"
+
+The man stared at her a moment, stared at the white face on the
+reclining chair--and passed his hand heavily across his eyes.
+
+"You will!  You will!"  It came in a great surging cry of joy from
+the old lady.  "You will--oh, thank God, thank God!--I can see it in
+your face!"
+
+"I--I guess I'm soft," he said huskily, and stooped and raised Mrs.
+Matthews to her feet.  "Don't cry any more.  It'll be all right--
+it'll be all right.  I'll--I'll fix it up somehow.  I haven't made
+any arrests yet, and--well, I'll take my chances.  I'll get the
+plate and turn it over to you to-morrow, only--only it's got to be
+destroyed in my presence."
+
+"Yes, yes!" she cried, trying to smile through her tears--and then
+she flung her arms around her son's neck again.  "And when you come
+to-morrow, I'll be ready with the money to do my share, too, and--"
+
+But Sammy Matthews shook his head.
+
+"You're wrong, both of you," he said weakly.  "You're a white man,
+Kline.  But destroying that plate won't save me.  The minute a
+single note printed from it shows up, they'll know back there in
+Washington that the plate was stolen, and--"
+
+"No; you're safe enough there," the other interposed heavily.
+"Knowing what was up, you don't think I'd give the gang a chance to
+get them into circulation, do you?  I got them all when I got the
+plate.  And"--he smiled a little anxiously--"I'll bring them here to
+be destroyed with the plate.  It would finish me now, as well as
+you, if one of them ever showed up.  Say," he said suddenly, with a
+catch in his breath, "I--I don't think I know what I'm doing."
+
+Mrs. Matthews reached out her hands to him.
+
+"What can I say to you!" she said brokenly, "What--"
+
+Jimmie Dale drew back along the wall.  A little way from the door he
+quickened his pace, still moving, however, with extreme caution.
+They were still talking behind him as he turned from the corridor
+into the passageway leading to the store, and from there into the
+store itself.  And then suddenly, in spite of caution, his foot
+slipped on the bare floor.  It was not much--just enough to cause
+his other foot, poised tentatively in air, to come heavily down, and
+a loud and complaining creak echoed from the floor.
+
+Jimmie Dale's jaws snapped like a steel trap.  From down the
+corridor came a sudden, excited exclamation in the little old lady's
+voice, and then her steps sounded running toward the store.  In the
+fraction of a second Jimmie Dale was at the front door.
+
+"Clumsy, blundering fool!" he whispered fiercely to himself as he
+turned the key, opened the door noiselessly until it was just ajar,
+and turned the key in the lock again, leaving the bolt protruding
+out.  One step backward, and he was rapping on the counter with his
+knuckles.  "Isn't anybody here?" he called out loudly.  "Isn't any--
+oh!"--as Mrs. Matthews appeared in the back doorway.  "A package of
+cigarettes, please."
+
+She stared at him, a little frightened, her eyes red and swollen
+with recent crying.
+
+"How--how did you get in here?" she asked tremendously.
+
+"I beg your pardon?" inquired Jimmie Dale, in polite surprise.
+
+"I--I locked the door--I'm sure I did," she said, more to herself
+than to Jimmie Dale, and hurried across the floor to the door as she
+spoke.
+
+Jimmie Dale, still politely curious, turned to watch her.  For a
+moment bewilderment and a puzzled look were in her face--and then a
+sort of surprised relief.
+
+"I must have turned the key in the lock without shutting the door
+tight," she explained, "for I knew I turned the key."
+
+Jimmie Dale bent forward to examine the lock--and nodded.
+
+"Yes," he agreed, with a smile.  "I should say so."  Then, gravely
+courteous: "I'm sorry to have intruded."
+
+"It is nothing," she answered; and, evidently anxious to be rid of
+him, moved quickly around behind the counter.  "What kind of
+cigarettes do you want?"
+
+"Egyptians--any kind," said Jimmie Dale, laying a bill on the
+counter.
+
+He pocketed the cigarettes and his change, and turned to the door.
+
+"Good-evening," he said pleasantly--and went out.
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled a little curiously, a little tolerantly.  As he
+started along the street, he heard the door of the little shop close
+with a sort of supercareful bang, the key turned, and the latch
+rattle to try the door--the little old lady was bent on making no
+mistake a second time!
+
+And then the smile left Jimmie Dale's lips, his face grew strained
+and serious, and he broke into a run down the block to Sixth Avenue.
+Here he paused for an instant--there was the elevated, the surface
+cars--which would be the quicker?  He looked up the avenue.  There
+was no train coming; the nearest surface car was blocks away.  He
+bit his lips in vexation--and then with a jump he was across the
+street and hailing a passing taxicab that his eyes had just lighted
+on.
+
+"Got a fare?" called Jimmie Dale.
+
+"No, sir," answered the chauffeur, bumping his car to an abrupt
+halt.
+
+"Good!" Jimmie Dale ran alongside, and yanked the door open.  "Do
+you know where the Palace Saloon on the Bowery is?"
+
+"Yes, sir," replied the man.
+
+Jimmie Dale held a ten-dollar bank note up before the chauffeur's
+eyes.
+
+"Earn that in four minutes, then," he snapped--and sprang into the
+cab.
+
+The taxicab swerved around on little better than two wheels, started
+on a mad dash down the Avenue--and Jimmie Dale braced himself grimly
+in his seat.  The cab swerved again, tore across Waverly Place,
+circuited Washington Square, crossed Broadway, and whirled finally
+into the upper end of the Bowery.
+
+Jimmie Dale spoke once--to himself--plaintively.
+
+"It's too bad I can't let old Carruthers in on this for a scoop with
+his precious MORNING NEWS-ARGUS--but if I get out of it alive
+myself, I'll do well!  Wonder if the day'll ever come when he finds
+out that his very dear friend and old college pal, Jimmie Dale, is
+the Gray Seal that he's turned himself inside out for about four
+years now to catch, and that he'd trade his soul with the devil any
+time to lay hands on!  Good old Carruthers!  'The most puzzling,
+bewildering, delightful crook in the annals of crime'--am I?"
+
+The cab drew up at the curb.  Jimmie Dale sprang out, shoved the
+bill into the chauffeur's hand, stepped quickly across the sidewalk,
+and pushed his way through the swinging doors of the Palace Saloon.
+Inside leisurely and nonchalantly, he walked down past the length of
+the bar to a door at the rear.  This opened into a passageway that
+led to the side entrance of the saloon on the cross street.  Jimmie
+Dale emerged from the side entrance, crossed the street, retraced
+his steps to the Bowery, crossed over, and walked rapidly down that
+thoroughfare for two blocks.  Here he turned east into the cross
+street; and here, once more, his pace became leisurely and
+unhurried.
+
+"It's a strange coincidence, though possibly a very happy one," said
+Jimmie Dale, as he walked along, "that it should be on the same
+street as the Sanctuary--ah, this ought to be the place!"
+
+An alleyway, corresponding to the one that flanked the tenement
+where, as Larry the Bat, he had paid room rent as a tenant for
+several years, in fact, the alleyway next above it, and but a short
+block away, intersected the street, narrow, black, and uninviting.
+Jimmie Dale, as he passed, peered down its length.
+
+"No light--that's good!" commented Jimmie Dale to himself.  Then:
+"Window opens on alleyway ten feet from ground--shoe store, Russian
+Jew, in basement--go in front door--straight hallway--room at end--
+Russian Jew probably accomplice--be careful that he does not hear
+you moving overhead"--Jimmie Dale's mind, with that curious faculty
+of his, was subconsciously repeating snatches from her letter word
+for word, even as he noted the dimly lighted, untidy, and disorderly
+interior of what, from strings of leather slippers that decorated
+the cellarlike entrance, was evidently a cheap and shoddy shoe store
+in the basement of the building.
+
+The building itself was rickety and tumble-down, three stories high,
+and given over undoubtedly to gregarious foreigners of the poorer
+class, a rabbit burrow, as it were, having a multitude of roomers
+and lodgers.  There was nothing ominous or even secretive about it--
+up the short flight of steps to the entrance, even the door hung
+carelessly half open.
+
+Jimmie Dale's slouch hat was pulled a little farther down over his
+eyes as he mounted the steps and entered the hallway.  He listened a
+moment.  A sort of subdued, querulous hubbub seemed to hum through
+the place, as voices, men's, women's, and children's, echoing out
+from their various rooms above, mingled together, and floated down
+the stairways in a discordant medley.  Jimmie Dale stepped lightly
+down the length of the hall--and listened again; this time intently,
+with his ear to the keyhole of the door that made the end of the
+passage.  There was not a sound from within.  He tried the door,
+smiled a little as he reached for his keys, worked over the lock--
+and straightened up suddenly as his ear caught a descending step on
+the stairs.  It was two flights up, however--and the door was
+unlocked now.  Jimmie Dale opened it, and, like a shadow, slipped
+inside; and, as he locked the door behind him, smiled once more--the
+door lock was but a paltry makeshift at best, but INSIDE his fingers
+had touched a massive steel bolt that, when shot home, would yield
+when the door itself yielded--and not before.  Without moving the
+bolt, he turned--and his flashlight for a moment swept the room.
+
+"Not much like the way they describe this sort of place in
+storybooks!" murmured Jimmie Dale capriciously.  "But I get the
+idea.  Mr. Russian Jew downstairs makes a bluff at using it for a
+storeroom."
+
+Again the flashlight made a circuit.  Here, there, and everywhere,
+seemingly without any attempt at order, were piles of wooden
+shipping cases.  Only the centre of the room was clear and empty;
+that, and a vacant space against the wall by the window.
+
+Jimmie Dale, moving without sound, went to the window.  There was a
+shade on it, and it was pulled down.  He reached up underneath it,
+felt for the window fastening, and unlocked it; then cautiously
+tested the window itself by lifting it an inch or two--it slid
+easily in its grooves.
+
+He stood then for a moment, hardfaced, a frown gathering his
+forehead into heavy furrows, as the flashlight's ray again and again
+darted hither and thither.  There was nothing, absolutely nothing in
+the room but wooden packing cases.  He lifted the cover of the one
+nearest to him and looked inside.  It was quite empty, except for
+some pieces of heavy cord, and a few cardboard shoe boxes that, in
+turn, were empty, too.
+
+"It's here, of course," said Jimmie Dale thoughtfully to himself.
+"Clever work, too!  But I can't move half a hundred packing cases
+without that chap below hearing me; and I can't do it in ten
+minutes, either, which, I imagine is the outside limit of time.
+Fortunately, though, these cases are not without their compensation--
+a dozen men could hide here."
+
+He began to move about the room.  And now he stooped before one pile
+of boxes and then another, curiously attempting to lift up the
+entire pile from the bottom.  Some he could not move; others, by
+exerting all his strength, gave a little; and then, finally, over in
+one corner, he found a pile that appeared to answer his purpose.
+
+"These are certainly empty," he muttered.
+
+There was just room to squeeze through between them and the next
+stack of cases alongside; but, once through, by the simple expedient
+of moving the cases out a little to take advantage of the angle made
+by the corner of the room, he obtained ample space to stand
+comfortably upright against the wall.  But Jimmie Dale was not
+satisfied yet.  Could he see out into the room?  He experimented
+with his flashlight--and carefully shifted the screen of cases
+before him a little to one side.  And yet still he was not
+satisfied.  With a sort of ironical droop at the corners of his
+lips, as though suddenly there had flashed upon him the inspiration
+that fathered one of those whimsical ideas and fancies that were so
+essentially a characteristic of Jimmie Dale, he came out from behind
+the cases, went across the room to the case he had opened when he
+first entered, took out the cord and the cover of one of the
+cardboard shoe boxes, and with these returned to his hiding place
+once more.
+
+The sounds from the upper stories of the tenement now reached him
+hardly at all; but from below, directly under his feet almost, he
+could hear some one, the proprietor of the shoe store probably,
+walking about.
+
+Tense, every faculty now on the alert, his head turned in a
+strained, attentive attitude, Jimmie Dale threw on the flashlight's
+tiny switch, took that intimate and thin metal case from his pocket,
+extracted a diamond-shaped, gray paper seal with the little
+tweezers, moistened the adhesive side, and stuck it in the centre of
+the white cardboard-box cover, then tore the edges of the cardboard
+down until the whole was just small enough to slip into his pocket.
+Through the cardboard he looped a piece of cord, placard fashion,
+and with his pencil printed the four words--"with the compliments of
+"--above the gray seal.  He surveyed the result with a grim,
+mirthless chuckle--and put the piece of cardboard in his pocket.
+
+"I'm taking the longest chances I ever took in my life," said Jimmie
+Dale very seriously to himself, as his fingers twisted, and doubled,
+and tied the remaining pieces of cord together, and finally
+fashioned a running noose in one end.  "I don't--"  The cord and the
+flashlight went into his pocket, the room was in darkness, the black
+mask was whipped from his breast pocket and adjusted to his face,
+and his automatic was in his hand.
+
+Came the creak of a footstep, as though on a ladder exactly below
+him, another, and another, receding curiously in its direction, yet
+at the same time growing louder in sound as if nearer the floor--
+then a crack of light showed in the floor in the centre of the room.
+This held for an instant, then expanded suddenly into a great
+luminous square--and through a trapdoor, opened wide now, a man's
+head appeared.
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes, fixed through the space between the piles of
+cases, narrowed--there was, indeed, little doubt but that the shoe-
+store proprietor below was an accomplice!  The store served a most
+convenient purpose in every respect--as a secret means of entry into
+the room, as a sort of guarantee of innocence for the room itself.
+Why not!  To the superficial observer, to the man who might by some
+chance blunder into the room--it was but an adjunct of the store
+itself!
+
+The man in the trap-doorway paused with his shoulders above the
+floor, looked around, listened, then drew himself up, walked across
+the floor, and shot the heavy bolt on the door that led into the
+hallway of the house.  He returned then to the trapdoor, bent over
+it, and whistled softly.  Two more men, in answer to the summons,
+came up into the room.
+
+"The Cap'll be along in a minute," one of them said.  "Turn on the
+light."
+
+A switch clicked, flooding the room with sudden brilliancy from half
+a dozen electric bulbs.
+
+"Too many!" grunted the same voice again.  "We ain't working to-
+night--turn out half of 'em."
+
+The sudden transition from the darkness for a moment dazzled Jimmie
+Dale's eyes--but the next moment he was searching the faces of the
+three men.  There were few crooks, few denizens of the crime world
+below the now obsolete but still famous dead line that, as Larry the
+Bat, he did not know at least by sight.
+
+"Moulton, Whitie Burns, and Marty Dean," confided Jimmie Dale softly
+to himself.  "And I don't know of any worse, except--the Cap.  And
+gun fighters, every one of them, too--nice odds, to say nothing of--"
+
+"Here's the Cap now!" announced one of the three.  "Hello, Cap,
+where'd you raise the mustache?"
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted to the trapdoor, and into them crept a
+contemptuous and sardonic smile--the man who was coming up now and
+hoisting himself to the floor was the man who, half an hour before,
+had threatened young Sammy Matthews with arrest.
+
+The Cap, alias Bert Malone, alias a score of other names, closed the
+trapdoor after him, pulled off his mustache and gray wig, tucked
+them in his pocket, and faced his companions brusquely.
+
+"Never mind about the mustache," he said curtly.  "Get busy, the lot
+of you.  Stir around and get the works out!"
+
+"What for?" inquired Whitie Burns, a sharp, ferret-faced little man.
+"We got enough of the old stuff on hand now, and that bum break
+Gregor made when he pinched the cracked plate put the finish on
+that.  Say, Cap--"
+
+"Close your face, Whitie, and get the works out!" Malone cut in
+shortly.  "We've only got the whole night ahead of us--but we'll
+need it all.  We're going to run the queer off that cracked plate."
+
+One of the others, Marty Dean this time, a certain brutal
+aggressiveness in both features and physique, edged forward.
+
+"Say, what's the lay?" he demanded.  "A joke?  We printed one fiver
+off that plate--and then we knew enough to quit.  With that crack
+along the corner, you couldn't pass 'em on a blind man!  And Gregor
+saying he thought we could patch the plate up enough to get by with
+gives me a pain--he's got jingles in his dome factory!  Run them
+fivers eh--say, are you cracked, too?"
+
+"Aw, forget it!" observed Malone caustically.  "Who's running this
+gang?"  Then, with a malicious grin: "I got a customer for those
+fivers--fifteen thousand dollars for all we can turn out to-night.
+See?"
+
+The others stared at him for a moment, incredulity and greed
+mingling in a curious half-hesitant, half-expectant look on their
+faces.
+
+Then Whitie Burns spoke, circling his lips with the tip of his
+tongue:
+
+"D'ye mean it, Cap--honest?  What's the lay?  How'd you work it?"
+
+Malone, unbending with the sensation he had created, grinned again.
+
+"Easy enough," he said offhandedly.  It was like falling off a log.
+Gregor said, didn't he, that the only way he had been able to get
+his claws on that plate was on account of young Matthews going away
+sick--eh?  Well, the old Matthews woman, his mother, has got money--
+about fifteen thousand.  I guess she ain't got any more than that,
+or I'd have raised the ante.  Aw, it was easy.  She threw it at me.
+I framed one up on them, that's all.  I'm Kline, of the secret
+service--see?  I don't suppose they'd ever seen him, though they'd
+know his name fast enough, but I made up something like him.  I
+showed them where I had a case against Sammy for pinching the plate
+that was strong enough to put a hundred innocent men behind the
+bars.  Of course, he knew well enough he was innocent, but he could
+see the twenty years I showed him with both eyes.  Say, he mussed
+all over the place, and went and fainted like a girl.  And then the
+old woman came across with an offer of fifteen thousand for the
+plate, and corrupted me."  Malone's cunning, vicious face, now that
+the softening effects of the gray hair and mustache were gone,
+seemed accentuated diabolically by the grin broadening into a laugh,
+as he guffawed.
+
+Marty Dean's hand swung with a bang to Malone's shoulder.
+
+"Say, Cap--say, you're all right!" he exclaimed excitedly.  You're
+the boy!  But what's the good of running anything off the plate
+before turning it over to 'em--the stuff's no good to us."
+
+"You got a wooden nut, with sawdust for brains," said Malone
+sarcastically.  "If he'd thought the gang of counterfeiters that was
+supposed to have bought the plate from him had run off only one
+fiver and then stopped because they say it wouldn't get by, and
+weren't going to run any more, and just destroy the plate like it
+was supposed to have been destroyed to begin with, and it all end up
+with no one the wiser, where d'ye think we'd have banked that
+fifteen thousand!  I told him I had the whole run confiscated, and
+that the queer went with the plate, so we'll just make that little
+run to-night--that's why I sent word around to you this morning."
+
+"By the jumping!" ejaculated Whitie Burns, heavy with admiration.
+"You got a head on you, Cap!"
+
+"It's a good thing for some of you that I have," returned Malone
+complacently.  "But don't stand jawing all night.  Go on, now--get
+busy!"
+
+There was no surprise in Jimmie Dale's face--he had chosen his
+position behind a pile of cases that he had been extremely careful,
+as a man is careful when his life hangs in the balance, to assure
+himself were empty.  None of the four came near or touched the pile
+behind which he stood; but, here and there about the room, they
+pulled this one and that one out from various stacks.  In scarcely
+more than a moment, the room was completely transformed.  It was no
+longer a storeroom for surplus stock, for the storage of bulky and
+empty packing cases!  From the cases the men had picked out, like a
+touch of magic, appeared a veritable printing plant, an elaborate
+engraver's outfit--a highly efficient foot-power press, rapidly
+being assembled by Whitie Burns; an electric dryer, inks, a pile of
+white, silk-threaded bank-note paper, a cutter, and a score of other
+appurtenances.
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale very gently to himself.  "Yes, quite so--but
+the plate?  Ah!"  Malone was taking it out from the middle of a
+bundle of old newspapers, loosely tied together, that he had lifted
+from one of the cases.
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes fastened on it--and from that instant never left
+it.  A minute passed, two, three of them--the four men were silently
+busy about the room--Malone was carefully cleaning the plate.
+
+"They will raid to-night.  Look out for Kline, he is the sharpest
+man in the United State secret service"--the warning in her letter
+was running through Jimmie Dale's mind.  Kline--the real Kline--was
+going to raid the place to-night.  When?  At what time?  It must be
+nearly eleven o'clock already, and--
+
+It came sudden, quick as the crack of doom--a terrific crash against
+the bolted door--but the door, undoubtedly to the surprise of those
+without, held fast, thanks to the bolt.  The four men, white-faced,
+seemed for an instant turned to statues.  Came another crash against
+the door--and a sharp, imperative order to those within to open it
+and surrender.
+
+"We're pinched!  Beat it!" whispered Whitie Burns wildly--and dashed
+for the trapdoor.
+
+Like a rat for its hole, Marty Dean followed.  Malone, farther away,
+dropped the plate on the floor, and rushed, with Moulton beside him,
+after the others--but he never reached the trapdoor.
+
+Over the crashing blows, raining now in quick succession on the door
+of the room, over a startled commotion as lodgers, roomers, and
+tenants on the floor above awoke into frightened activity with
+shouts and cries, came the louder crash of a pile of packing boxes
+hurled to the floor.  And over them, vaulting those scattered in his
+way, Jimmie Dale sprang at Malone.  The man reeled back, with a
+cry.  Moulton dashed through the trapdoor and disappeared.  The
+short, ugly barrel of Jimmie Dale's automatic was between Malone's
+eyes.
+
+"You make a move," said Jimmie Dale, in a low sibilant way, "and
+I'll drop you where you stand!  Put your hands behind your back--
+palms together!"
+
+Malone, dazed, cowed, obeyed.  A panel of the door split and rent
+down its length--the hinges were sagging.  Jimmie Dale worked like
+lightning.  The cord with the slip noose from his pocket went around
+Malone's wrists, jerked tight, and knotted; the placard, his lips
+grim, with no sign of humour, Jimmie Dale dangled around the man's
+neck.
+
+"An introduction for you to Mr. Kline out there--that you seem so
+fond of!" gritted Jimmie Dale.  Then, working as he talked: "I've
+got no time to tell you what I think of you, you pitiful hound"--he
+snatched up the plate from the floor and put it in his pocket--"
+Twenty years, I think you said, didn't you?"--his hand shot into
+Malone's pocket-book, and extracted the five-dollar note--"  If you
+can open this with your toes maybe you can get a way"--he wrenched
+the trapdoor over and slammed it shut--"good-night, Malone"--and he
+leaped for the window.
+
+The door tottered inward from the top, ripping, tearing, smashing
+hinges, panels, and jamb.  Jimmie Dale got a blurred vision of brass
+buttons, blue coats, and helmets, and, in the forefront, of a
+stocky, gray-mustached, gray-haired man in plain clothes.
+
+Jimmie Dale threw up the window, swung out, as with a rush the
+officers burst through into the room and a revolver bullet hummed
+viciously past his ear, and dropped to the ground--into encircling
+arms!
+
+"Ah, no, you don't, my bucko!" snapped a hoarse voice in his ear.
+"Keep quiet now, or I'll crack your bean--understand!"
+
+But the officer, too heavy to be muscular, was no match for Jimmie
+Dale, who, even as he had dropped from the sill, had caught sight of
+the lurking form below; and now, with a quick, sudden, lithe
+movement he wriggled loose, his fist from a short-arm jab smashed
+upon the point of the other's jaw, sending the man staggering
+backward--and Jimmie Dale ran.
+
+A crowd was already collecting at the mouth of the alleyway, mostly
+occupants of the house itself, and into these, scattering them in
+all directions, eluding dexterously another officer who made a grab
+for him, Jimmie Dale charged at top speed, burst through, and headed
+down the street, running like a deer.
+
+Yells went up, a revolver spat venomously behind him, came the
+shrill CHEEP-CHEEP! of the police whistle, and heavy boots pounding
+the pavement in pursuit.
+
+Down the block Jimmie Dale raced.  The yells augmented in his rear.
+Another shot--and this time he heard the bullet buzz.  And then he
+swerved--into the next alleyway--that flanked the Sanctuary.
+
+He had perhaps a ten yards' lead, just a little more than the
+distance from the street to the side door of the Sanctuary that
+opened on the alleyway.  And, as he ran now, his fingers tore at his
+clothing, loosening his tie, unbuttoning coat, vest, collar, shirt,
+and undershirt.  He leaped at the door, swung it open, flung himself
+inside--and then sacrificing speed to silence, went up the stairs
+like a cat, cramming his mask now into his pocket.
+
+His room was on the first landing.  In an instant he had unlocked
+the door, entered, and locked it again behind him.  From outside, an
+excited street urchin's voice shrilled up to him:
+
+"He went in that door!  I seen him!"
+
+The police whistle chirped again; and then an authoritative voice:
+
+"Get around and watch the saloon back of this, Heeney--there's a way
+out through there from this joint."
+
+Jimmie Dale, divested of every stitch of clothing that he had worn,
+pulled a disreputable collarless flannel shirt over his head, pulled
+on a dirty and patched pair of trousers, and slipped into a
+threadbare and filthy coat.  Jimmie Dale was working against
+seconds.  They were at the lower door now.  He lifted the oilcloth
+in the corner of the room, lifted up the loose piece of the
+flooring, shoved his discarded garments inside, and from a little
+box that was there smeared the hollow of his hand with some black
+substance, possessed himself of two little articles, replaced the
+flooring, replaced the oilcloth, and, in bare feet, stole across the
+room to the door.  Against the door, without a sound, Jimmie Dale
+placed a chair, and on the chair seat he laid the two little
+articles he had been carrying in his hand.  It was intensely black
+in the room, but Jimmie Dale needed no light here.  From under the
+bed he pulled out a pair of woolen socks and a pair of congress
+boots, both as disreputable as the rest of his attire, put them on--
+and very quietly, softly, cautiously, stretched himself out on the
+bed.
+
+The officers were at the top of the stairs.  A voice barked out:
+
+"Stand guard on this landing, Peters.  Higgins, you take the one
+above.  We'll start from the top of the house and work down.  Allow
+no one to pass you."
+
+"Yes, sir!  Very good, Mr. Kline," was the response.
+
+Kline!--the sharpest man in the United States secret service, she
+had said.  Jimmie Dale's lips set.
+
+"I'm glad I had no shave this morning," said Jimmie Dale grimly to
+himself.
+
+His fingers were working with the black substance in the hollow of
+his hand--and the long, slim, tapering fingers, the shapely, well-
+cared-for hands grew unkempt and grimy, black beneath the finger
+nails--and a little, too, played its part on the day's growth of
+beard, a little around the throat and at the nape of the neck, a
+little across the forehead to meet the locks of straggling and
+disordered hair.  Jimmie Dale wiped the residue from the hollow of
+his hand on the knee of his trousers--and lay still.
+
+An officer paced outside.  Upstairs doors opened and closed.  Gruff,
+harsh tones in commands echoed through the house.  The search party
+descended to the second floor--and again the same sounds were
+repeated.  And then, thumping down the creaking stairs, they stopped
+before Jimmie Dale's room.  Some one tried the door, and, finding it
+locked, rattled it violently.
+
+"Open the door!"  It was Kline's voice,
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes were closed, and he was breathing regularly,
+though just a little slower than in natural respiration.
+
+"Break it down!" ordered Kline tersely.
+
+There was a rush at it--and it gave.  It surged inward, knocked
+against the chair, upset the latter, something tinkled to the floor--
+and four officers, with Kline at their head, jumped into the room.
+
+Jimmie Dale never moved.  A flashlight played around the room and
+focused upon him--and then he was shaken roughly--only to fall
+inertly back on the bed again.
+
+"I guess this is all right, Mr. Kline," said one of the officers.
+"It's Larry the Bat, and he's doped to the eyes.  There's the stuff
+on the floor we knocked off the chair."
+
+"Light the gas!" directed Kline curtly; and, being obeyed, stooped
+to the floor and picked up a hypodermic syringe and a small bottle.
+He held the bottle to the light, and read the label: LIQUOR
+MORPHINAE.   "Shake him again!" he commanded.
+
+None too gently, a policeman caught Jimmie Dale by the shoulder and
+shook him vigorously--again Jimmie Dale, once the other let go his
+hold, fell back limply on the bed, breathing in that same, slightly
+slowed way.
+
+"Larry the Bat, eh?" grunted Kline; then, to the officer who had
+volunteered the information: "Who's Larry the Bat?  What is he?  And
+how long have you known him?"
+
+"I don't know who he is any more than what you can see there for
+yourself," replied the officer.  "He's a dope fiend, and I guess a
+pretty tough case, though we've never had him up for anything.  He's
+lived here ever since I've been on the beat, and that's three years
+or--"
+
+"All right!" interrupted Kline crisply.  "He's no good to us!  You
+say there's an exit from this house into that saloon at the back?"
+
+"Yes, sir but the fellow, whoever he is, couldn't get away from
+there.  Heeney's been over on guard from the start."
+
+"Then he's still inside there," said Kline, clipping off his words.
+"We'll search the saloon.  Nice night's work this is!  One out of
+the whole gang--and that one with the compliments of the Gray Seal!"
+
+The men went out and began to descend the stairs.
+
+"One," said Jimmie Dale to himself, still motionless, still
+breathing in that slow way so characteristic of the drug.  "Two.
+Three.  Four."
+
+The minutes went by--a quarter of an hour--a half hour.  Still
+Jimmie Dale lay there--still motionless--still breathing with slow
+regularity.  His muscles began to cramp, to give him exquisite
+torture.  Around him all was silence--only distant sounds from the
+street reached him, muffled, and at intervals.  Another quarter of
+an hour passed--an eternity of torment.  It seemed to Jimmie Dale,
+for all his will power, that he could not hold himself in check,
+that he must move, scream out even in the torture that was passing
+all endurance.  It was silent now, utterly silent--and then out of
+the silence, just outside his door, a footstep creaked--and a man
+walked to the stairs and went down.
+
+"Five," said Jimmie Dale to himself.  "The sharpest man in the
+United States secret service."
+
+And then for the first time Jimmie Dale moved--to wipe away the
+beads of sweat that had sprung out upon his forehead.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+THE AFFAIR OF THE PUSHCART MAN
+
+
+Larry the Bat shambled out of the side door of the tenement into the
+back alleyway; shambled along the black alleyway to the street--and
+smiled a little grimly as a shadow across the roadway suddenly
+shifted its position.  The game was growing acute, critical,
+desperate even--and it was his move.
+
+Larry the Bat, disreputable denizen of the underworld, alias Jimmie
+Dale, millionairs clubman, alias the Gray Seal, whom Carruthers of
+the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS called the master criminal of the age,
+shuffled along in the direction of the Bowery, his hands plunged
+deep in the pockets of his frayed and tattered trousers, where his
+fingers, in a curious, wistful way, fondled the keys of his own
+magnificent residence on Riverside Drive.  It was his move--and it
+was an impasse, ironical, sardonic, and it was worse--it was full of
+peril.
+
+True, he had outwitted Kline of the secret service two nights
+before, when Kline had raided the counterfeiters' den; true, he had
+no reason to believe that Kline suspected HIM specifically, but the
+man Kline wanted HAD entered the tenement that night, and since then
+the house had been shadowed day and night.  The result was both
+simple and disastrous--to Jimmie Dale.  Larry the Bat, a known
+inmate of the house, might come and go as he pleased--but to emerge
+from the Sanctuary in the person of Jimmie Dale would be fatal.
+Kline had been outwitted, but Kline had not acknowledged final
+defeat.  The tenement had been searched from top to bottom--
+unostentatiously.  His own room on the first landing had been
+searched the previous afternoon, when he was out, but they had
+failed to find the cunningly contrived opening in the floor under
+the oilcloth in the corner, an impromptu wardrobe, that would
+proclaim Larry the Bat and Jimmie Dale to be one and the same
+person--that would inevitably lead further to the establishment of
+his identity as the Gray Seal.  In time, of course, the surveillance
+would cease--but he could not wait.  That was the monumental irony
+of it--the factor that, all unknown to Kline, was forcing the issue
+hard now.  It was his move.
+
+Since, years ago now, as the Gray Seal, he had begun to work with
+HER, that unknown, mysterious accomplice of his, and the police,
+stung to madness both by the virulent and constant attacks of the
+press and by the humiliating prod of their own failures, sought
+daily, high and low, with every resource at their command, for the
+Gray Seal, he had never been in quite so strange and perilous a
+plight as he found himself at that moment.  To preserve inviolate
+the identity of Larry the Bat was absolutely vital to his safety.
+It was the one secret that even she, who so strangely appeared to
+know all else about him, he was sure, had not discovered--and it was
+just that, in a way, that had brought the present impossible
+situation to pass.
+
+In the month previous, in a lull between those letters of hers, he
+had set himself doggedly and determinedly to the renewed task of
+what had become so dominantly now a part of his very existence--the
+solving of HER identity.  And for that month, as the best means to
+the end--means, however, that only resulted as futilely as the
+attempts that had gone before--he had lived mostly as Larry the Bat,
+returning to his home in his proper person only when occasion and
+necessity demanded it.  He had been going home that evening, two
+nights before, walking along Riverside Drive, when from the window
+of the limousine she had dropped the letter at his feet that had
+plunged him into the affair of the Counterfeit Five--and he had not
+gone home!  Eventually, to save himself, he had, in the Sanctuary,
+performing the transformation in desperate haste, again been forced
+to assume the role of Larry the Bat.
+
+That was really the gist of it.  And yesterday morning he had
+remembered, to his dismay, that he had had little or no money left
+the night before.  He had intended, of course, to replenish his
+supply--when he got home.  Only he hadn't gone home!  And now he
+needed money--needed it badly, desperately.  With thousands in the
+bank, with abundance even in his safe, in his own den at home, a
+supply kept there always for an emergency, he was facing actual
+want--he rattled two dimes, a nickel, and a few odd pennies
+thoughtfully against the keys in his pocket.
+
+To a certain extent, old Jason, his butler, could be trusted.  Jason
+even knew that mysterious letters of tremendous secretive importance
+came to the house, and the old man always meant well--but he dared
+not trust even Jason with the secret of his dual personality.  What
+was he to do?  He needed money imperatively--at once.  Thanks to
+Kline, for the time being, at least, he could not rid himself of the
+personality of Larry the Bat by the simple expedient or slipping
+into the clothes of Jimmie Dale--he must live, act, and remain Larry
+the Bat until the secret service officer gave up the hunt.  How
+bridge the gulf between Jimmie Dale and Larry the Bat in old Jason's
+eyes!
+
+Nor was that all.  There was still another matter, and one that, in
+order to counteract it, demanded at once a serious inroad--to the
+extent of a telephone call--upon his slender capital.  A too
+prolonged and unaccounted-for absence from home, and old Jason, in
+his anxious, blundering solicitude, would have the fat in the fire
+at that end--and the city, and the social firmament thereof, would
+be humming with the startling news of the disappearance of a well-
+known millionaire.  The complications that would then ensue, with
+himself powerless to lift a finger, Jimmie Dale did not care to
+think about--such a contretemps must at all hazards be prevented.
+
+Jimmie Dale reached the corner of the street, where it intersected
+the Bowery, and paused languidly by the curb.  No one appeared to be
+following.  He had not expected that there would be--but it was as
+well to be sure.  He walked then a few steps along the Bowery--and
+slipped suddenly into a doorway, from where he could command a view
+of the street corner that he had just left.  At the end of ten
+minutes, satisfied that no one had any concern in his immediate
+movements, he shambled on again down the Bowery.
+
+There was a saloon two blocks away that boasted a private telephone
+booth.  Jimmie Dale made that his destination.
+
+Larry the Bat was a very well-known character in that resort, and
+the bullet-headed dispenser of drinks behind the bar nodded
+unctuously to him over the heads of those clustered at the rail as
+he entered; Larry the Bat, as befitted one of the elite of the
+underworld, was graciously pleased to acknowledge the proletariat
+salutation with a curt nod.  He walked down to the end of the room,
+entered the telephone booth--and was carelessly careful to close the
+door tightly behind him.
+
+He gave the number of his residence on Riverside Drive, and waited
+for the connection.  After some delay, Jason's voice answered him.
+
+"Jason," said Jimmie Dale, in matter-of-fact tones, "I shall be out
+of the city for another three or four days, possibly a week, and--"
+he stopped abruptly, as a sort of gasp came to him over the wire.
+
+"Thank God that's you, sir!" exclaimed the old butler wildly.  "I've
+been near mad, sir, all day!"
+
+"Don't get excited, Jason!" said Jimmie Dale a little sharply.  "The
+mere matter of my absence for the last two days is nothing to cause
+you any concern.  And while I am on the subject, Jason, let me say
+now that I shall be glad if you will bear that fact in mind in
+future."
+
+"Yes, sir," stammered Jason.  "But, sir, it ain't that--good Lord,
+Master Jim, it ain't that, sir!  It's--it's one of them letters."
+
+Something like a galvanic shock seemed to jerk the disreputable,
+loose-jointed frame of Larry the Bat suddenly erect--and a strained
+whiteness crept over the dirty, unwashed face.
+
+"Go on, Jason," said Jimmie Dale, without a quiver in his voice.
+
+"It came this morning, sir--that shuffer with his automobile left
+it.  I had just time to say you weren't at home, sir, and he was
+gone.  And then, sir, there ain't been an hour gone by all through
+the day that a woman, sir--a lady, begging your pardon, Master Jim--
+hasn't rung up on the telephone, asking if you were back, and if I
+could get you, and where you were, and half frantic, sir, half
+sobbing, sometimes, sir, and saying there was a life hanging on it,
+Master Jim."
+
+Larry the Bat, staring into the mouthpiece of the instrument,
+subconsciously passed his hand across his forehead, and
+subconsciously noted that his fingers, as he drew them away, were
+damp.
+
+"Where is the letter now, Jason?" inquired Jimmie Dale coolly.
+
+"Here on your desk, Master Jim.  Shall I bring it to you?"
+
+Bring it to him!  How?  When?  Where?  Bring it to him!  The ghastly
+irony of it!  Jimmie Dale tried to think--prodding, spurring
+desperately that keen, lightning brain of his that had never failed
+him yet.  How bridge the gulf between Larry the Bat and Jimmie Dale
+in Jason's eyes--not just for the replenishing of funds now, but
+with a life at stake!
+
+"No--I think not, Jason," said Jimmie Dale calmly.  Just leave it
+where it is.  And if she telephones again, say that you have told
+me--that will be sufficient to satisfy any further inquiries.  And
+Jason--"
+
+"Yes, sir?"
+
+"If she telephones again, try and find out where the call comes
+from."
+
+"I haven't forgotten what you said once, Master Jim, sir," said the
+old man eagerly.  "And I've been trying that sir, all day.  They've
+all come from different pay stations, sir."
+
+A mirthless little smile tinged Jimmie Dale's lips.  Of course!  He
+might have known!  It was always that way, always the same.  He was
+as near to the solution of her identity at that moment as he had
+been years ago, when she, in some mysterious way, alone of all the
+world, had identified him as the Gray Seal!
+
+"Very good, Jason," he said quietly.  "Don't bother about it any
+more.  It will be all right.  You can expect me when you see me.
+Good-night."  He hung the receiver on the hook, walked out of the
+booth, and mechanically reached the street.
+
+All right!  It was far from "all right"--very far from it.  It was
+no trivial thing, that letter; they never had been trivial things,
+those letters of hers, that involved so often a matter of life and
+death--as this one now, perhaps, as her actions would seem to
+indicate, involved life and death more urgently than any that had
+gone before.  It was far from all right--at a moment when his own
+position, his own safety, was at best but a desperate chance; when
+his every energy, brain, wit, and cunning were taxed to the utmost
+to save himself!  And yet, somehow, some way, at any cost, he must
+get that letter--and at any cost he must act upon it!  To fail her
+was to fail utterly in everything that failure in its most
+miserable, its widest sense, implied--failure in that which rose
+paramount to every other consideration in life!
+
+Fail her!  Jimmie Dale's lips thinned into a hard, drawn line--and
+then parted slowly in a curiously whimsical smile.  It would be a
+strange burglary that he had decided upon, in order that he might
+not fail her--stranger than any the Gray Seal had ever committed,
+and, in some respects, even more perilous!
+
+He started along the Bowery, walking briskly now, toward the nearest
+subway station, at Astor Place, his mind for the moment electing to
+face the situation in a humour as whimsical as his smile.  Supposing
+that, as Larry the Bat, he were caught and arrested during the next
+hour, in Jimmie's Dale's residence on Riverside Drive!  With his
+arrest as Larry the Bat, Jimmie's Dale would automatically
+disappear.  Would follow then the suspicion that Jimmie Dale, the
+millionaire, had met with foul play, and as time went on, and Jimmie
+Dale, being then in prison as Larry the Bat, did not reappear, the
+assurance of it; then the certainty that suspicion would focus on
+Larry the Bat as being connected with the millionaire's death, since
+Larry the Bat had been caught in Jimmie Dale's home--and he would be
+accused of his own murder!  It was quite humourous, of course, quite
+grotesquely bizarre--but it was equally an exceedingly grim
+possibility!  There were drawbacks to a dual personality!
+
+"In a word," confided Jimmie Dale softly to himself, and a serious
+light crept into the dark, steady eyes, "I'm in a bit of a nasty
+mess!"
+
+At Astor Place he entered the subway; at Fourteenth Street he
+changed to an express, and at Ninety-sixth Street he got out.  It
+was but a short walk west to Riverside Drive, and from there his
+house was only a few blocks farther on.
+
+Jimmie Dale did not slouch now.  And for all his disreputable
+attire, incongruous as it was in that neighbourhood, few people that
+he passed paid any attention to him, none gave him more than a
+casual glance--Jimmie Dale swung along, upright, with no attempt to
+make himself inconspicuous, hurrying a little, as one intent upon a
+definite errand.  As he neared his house he slowed his pace a little
+until a couple, who were passing in front of it, had gone on; then
+he went up the steps, but noiselessly as a shadow now, to the front
+door, opened it softly, closed it softly behind him, and crouched
+for a moment in the vestibule.
+
+Through the monogrammed lace on the plate glass of the inner doors
+he could see, a little indistinctly, into the reception hall beyond.
+The hall was empty.  Jason, for that matter, would be the only one
+likely to be about; the other servants would have no business there
+in any case, and whether in their quarters above or below, they had
+their own stairs at the rear.
+
+Jimmie Dale inserted the key in the spring lock, and opened the door
+a cautious fraction of an inch--to listen.  There was no sound--yes,
+a subdued murmured--the servants were downstairs in the basement.
+He slipped inside, slipped, in a flash, across the hall, and,
+treading like a cat, went up the stairs.  He scarcely seemed to
+breathe until, with a little sigh of relief, he stood inside his den
+on the first floor, with the door shut behind him.
+
+"I must speak to Jason about being a little more watchful," muttered
+Jimmie Dale facetiously.  "Here's all my property at the mercy of--
+Larry the Bat!"
+
+An instant he stood by the door, looking about him--in the bright
+moonlight streaming in through the side windows the room's
+appointments stood out in soft shadows, the huge davenport, the
+great, luxurious easy-chairs, an easel with a half-finished canvas,
+as he had left it; the big, flat-topped, rosewood desk, the open
+fireplace--and then, his steps silent on the thick velvet rug under
+foot, he walked quickly to the desk.
+
+Yes, there it was--the letter.  He placed it hurriedly in his
+pocket--the moonlight was not strong enough to read by, and he dared
+not turn on the lights.
+
+And now money--funds.  In the alcove behind the portiere, Jimmie
+Dale dropped on his knees before the squat, barrel-shaped safe, and
+opened it.  He reached inside, took out a package of banknotes,
+placed the bills in his pocket--and hesitated a moment.  What else
+would he require?  What act did that letter call upon the Gray Seal
+to perform in the next few hours?  Jimmie Dale stared thoughtfully
+into the interior of the safe.  Whatever it was, it must be
+performed in the role of Larry the Bat, for though he could get into
+his dressing room now, and become Jimmie Dale again, there were
+still those watchers outside the Sanctuary--THEY must not become
+suspicious--and if Larry the Bat disappeared mysteriously, Larry the
+Bat would be the man that Kline and the secret service of the United
+States would never cease hunting for, and that would mean that he
+could never reassume a character that was as necessary for his
+protection as breath was to life, so long as the Gray Seal worked.
+True, he could change now to Jimmie Dale, but he would have to
+change back again and return to the Sanctuary before morning, as
+Larry the Bat--and remain there until Kline, beaten, called off his
+human bloodhounds.  No, a change was not to be thought of.
+
+What, then, would he require--that compact little kit of burglar
+tools, rolled in its leather jacket, that, unrolled slipped about
+his body like a close-fitting undervest?  As well to take it anyway.
+He removed his coat and vest, took out the leather bundle from the
+safe, untied the thongs that bound it together, unrolled it, passed
+it around his body, life belt fashion, secured the thongs over his
+shoulders, and put on his coat and vest again.  A revolver, a
+flashlight?  He had both--at the Sanctuary, under the flooring--but
+there were duplicates here!  He slipped them into his pockets.
+Anything else--to forestall and provide for any possible
+contingency?  He hesitated again for a moment, thinking, then slowly
+closed the inner door of the safe, locked it, swung the outer door
+shut--and, in the act of twirling the knobs, sprang suddenly to his
+feet.  Sharp, shrill in the stillness of the room, the telephone
+bell on the desk rang out clamourously.
+
+Jimmie Dale's face set hard, as he leaped out from behind the
+curtain--had Jason heard it!  It rang again before he could reach
+the desk--was ringing as he snatched the receiver from the hook.
+
+"Yes, yes!" he called, in a low, guarded, hasty way, into the
+mouthpiece.  "Hello!  What is it?"  And then one hand, resting on
+the desk, closed around the edge, and tightened until the skin over
+the knuckles grew ivory white.  It was--SHE!  She!  It was HER
+voice--he had only heard it once in all his life--that night, two
+nights before, in a silvery laugh from the limousine as it had sped
+away from him down the road--but he knew!  It thrilled him now with
+a mad rhapsody, robbing him for the moment of every thought save
+that she was living, real, existent--that it was HER voice.  "It's
+you--YOU!" he said hoarsely.
+
+"Oh, Jimmie--you at last!"--it came in a little gasping cry of
+relief.  "The letter--"
+
+"Yes, I've got it--it's all right--it's all right"--the words would
+not seem to come fast enough in his desperate haste.  "But it's you
+now.  Listen!  Listen!" he pleaded.  "Tell me who you are!  My God!
+how I've tried to find you, and--"
+
+That rippling, silvery laugh again, but now, too, it seemed to his
+eager ear, with just the faintest note of wistfulness in it.
+
+"Some day, Jimmie.  That letter now.  It--"
+
+Jimmie Dale straightened up suddenly--Jason's steps, running,
+sounded outside the room along the corridor--there was not an
+instant to lose.
+
+"Hang up!  Good-bye!  Danger!  Don't ring again!" he whispered
+hurriedly, and, with a miserable smile, replacing the receiver
+bitterly on the hook, he jumped for the curtain.
+
+He reached it none too soon.  The door opened, an electric-light
+switch clicked, and the room was flooded with light.  Jason, still
+running, headed for the desk.
+
+"It'll be her again!" Jimmie Dale heard the old man mutter, as from
+the edge of the portiere he watched the other's actions.
+
+Jason picked up the telephone.
+
+"Hello!  Hello!" he called--then began to click impatiently with the
+receiver hook.  "Hello! . . .    Who? . . .  Central? . . .  I don't
+want any number--somebody was calling here. . . . What? . . .
+Nobody on the wire!"
+
+He set the telephone back on the desk with a bewildered air.
+
+"That's queer!" he exclaimed.  "I could have sworn I heard it ring
+twice, and--"  He stopped abruptly, and, leaning across the desk,
+hung there, wide-eyed, staring, while a sickly pallor began to steal
+into his face.  "The letter!" he mumbled wildly.  "The letter--
+Master Jim's letter--the letter--it's GONE!"
+
+Trembling, excited, the old man began to search the desk, then down
+on his knees on the floor under it; and then, growing more frantic
+with every instant, rose and began to hunt around the room in an
+agitated, aimless fashion.
+
+Jason's distress was very real--he was almost beside himself now
+with fear and anxiety.  A whimsical, affectionate smile played over
+Jimmie Dale's lips at the old man's antics--and changed suddenly
+into one of consternation.  Jason was making directly now for the
+curtain behind which he stood!  Perhaps, though, he would pass it
+by, and--Jason's hand reached out and grasped the portiere.
+
+"Jason!" said Jimmie Dale sharply.
+
+The old man staggered back as though he had been struck, tried to
+speak, choked, and gazed at the curtain with distended eyes.
+
+"Is--is that you, sir--Master Jim--behind the curtain there?" he
+finally blurted out.  "I--sir--you gave me a start--and the letter,
+Master Jim--"
+
+"Don't lose your head, Jason," said Jimmie Dale coolly.  "I've got
+the letter.  Now do as I bid you."
+
+"Yes--Master Jim," faltered the old man.
+
+"Pull down the window shades and draw the portiere together,"
+directed Jimmie Dale.
+
+Jason, still overwrought and excited, obeyed a little awkwardly.
+
+"Now the lights, Jason," instructed Jimmie Dale.  "Turn them off,
+and go and sit down in that chair at the desk."
+
+Again Jason obeyed, stumbling in the darkness as he returned from
+the electric-light switch at the farther end of the room.  He sat
+down in the chair.
+
+Larry the Bat stepped out from behind the curtain.  "I came for that
+letter, Jason," he explained quietly.  "I am going out again now.  I
+may be back to-morrow; I may not be back for a week.  You will say
+nothing, not a word, of my having been here to-night.  Do you
+understand, Jason?"
+
+"Yes, sir," said Jason; then hesitantly: "Would you mind saying,
+sir, when you came in?"
+
+"It's of no consequence, Jason--is it?"
+
+"No, sir," said Jason.
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled in the darkness.
+
+"Jason!"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"I wish you to remain where you are, without leaving that chair, for
+the next ten minutes."  He moved across the room to the door.
+"Good-night, Jason," he said.
+
+"Good-night, Master Jim--good-night, sir--oh, Lord!"
+
+Jimmie Dale did not require that ten minutes; it was a very wide
+margin of safety to obviate the possibility of Jason, from a window,
+detecting the exit of a disreputable character from the house--in
+three minutes he was turning the corner of the first cross street
+and walking rapidly away from Riverside Drive.
+
+In the subway station Jimmie Dale read the letter--read it twice
+over, as he always read those strange epistles of hers that opened
+the door to new peril, new danger to the Gray Seal, but too, that
+seemed somehow to draw tighter, in a glad, big way, the unseen bond
+between them; read it, as he always read those letters, almost
+subconsciously committing the very words to memory with that keen
+faculty of brain of his.  But now as he began to tear the sheet and
+envelope into minute particles, a strained, hard look was on his
+face and in his eyes, and his lips, half parted, moved a little.
+
+"It's a death warrant," muttered Jimmie Dale.  "I--I guess to-night
+will see the end of the Gray Seal.  She says I needn't do it, but I
+guess it's worth the risk--a human life!"
+
+A downtown express roared into the station.
+
+"What time is it?" Jimmie Dale asked the guard, as he stepped
+aboard.
+
+"'Bout midnight," the man answered tersely.
+
+The forward car was almost empty, and Jimmie Dale chose a seat by
+himself.  How did she know?  How did she know not only this, but the
+hundred other affairs that she had outlined in those letters of
+hers?  By what means, superhuman, indeed, it seemed, did she--Jimmie
+Dale jerked himself erect suddenly.  What good did it do to
+speculate on that now, when every minute was priceless?  What was HE
+to do, how was he to act, what plan could he formulate and carry
+out, and WIN against odds that, at the outset, were desperate enough
+even to forecast almost certain failure--and death!
+
+Who would ever have suspected old Tom Ludgate, known for years
+throughout the squalour of the East Side as old Luddy, the pushcart
+man, of having a bag of unset diamonds under his pillow--or under
+the sack, rather, that he probably used for a pillow!  What a queer
+thing to do!  But then, old Luddy was a character--apparently always
+in the most poverty-stricken condition, apparently hardly more than
+keeping body and soul together, trusting no one, and obsessed by the
+dread that by depositing in a bank some one would discover that he
+had money, and attempt to force it from him, he had put his savings,
+year after year, for twenty years, twenty-five years, perhaps, into
+unset stone--diamonds.  How had she found that out?
+
+Jimmie Dale sank into a deeper reverie.  He could steal them all
+right, and they would be well worth the stealing--old Luddy had done
+well, and lived and existed on next to nothing--the stones, she
+said, were worth about fifteen thousand dollars.  Not so bad, even
+for twenty-five years of vegetable selling from a pushcart!  He
+could steal them all right; it would tax the Gray Seal's ingenuity
+little to do so simple a thing as that, but that was not all, nor,
+indeed, hardly a factor in it--it was vital that if he were to
+succeed at all he must steal them PUBLICLY, as it were.
+
+And after that--WHAT?  His own chances were pretty slim at best.
+Jimmie Dale, staring at the grayness of the subway wall through the
+window, shook his head slowly--then, with a queer little
+philosophical shrug of his shoulders, he smiled gravely, seriously.
+It was all a part of the game, all a part of the life--of the Gray
+Seal!
+
+It was half-past twelve, or a little later, as nearly as he could
+judge, for Larry the Bat carried no such ornate thing in evidence as
+a watch, as he halted at the corner of a dark, squalid street in the
+lower East Side.  It was a miserable locality--in daylight humming
+with a cosmopolitan hive of pitiful humans dragging out as best they
+could an intolerable existence, a locality peopled with every
+nationality on earth, their community of interest the struggle to
+maintain life at the lowest possible expenditure, where necessity
+even was pared and shaved down to a minimum; but now, at night time,
+or rather in the early-morning hours, the darkness, in very mercy,
+it seemed, covered it with a veil, as it were, and in the quiet that
+hung over it now hid the bald, the hideous, aye, and the piteous,
+too, from view.
+
+It was a narrow street, and the row of tenement houses, each house
+almost identical with its neighbour, that flanked the pavement on
+either side, seemed, from where Jimmie Dale stood looking down its
+length, from the corner, to converge together at a point a little
+way beyond, giving it an unreal, ominous, cavernlike effect.  And,
+too, there seemed something ominous even in its quiet.  It was as
+though one sensed acutely the crouching of some Thing in its lair--
+waiting silently, viciously, with sullen patience.
+
+A footstep sounded--another.  Jimmie Dale drew quickly back around
+the corner into an areaway.  Two men passed--in helmets--swinging
+their nightsticks--that beat was always policed in pairs!
+
+They passed on, turned the corner, and went down the narrow cross
+street that Jimmie Dale had just been inspecting.  He started to
+follow--and drew back again abruptly.  A form flitted suddenly
+across the road and disappeared in the darkness in the officers'
+wake--ten yards behind the first another followed--at the same
+interval of distance still another--and yet still one more--four in
+all.
+
+The darkness hid all six, the two policemen, the four men behind
+them--the only sounds were the OFFICERS' footsteps dying away in the
+distance.
+
+Jimmie Dale's fingers were mechanically testing the mechanism of the
+automatic in his pocket.
+
+"The Skeeter's gang!" he muttered to himself.  "Red Mose, the
+Midget, Harve Thoms--and the Skeeter!  The Worst apaches in the city
+of New York; death contractors--the lowest bidders!  Professional
+assassins, and a man's life any time for twenty-five dollars!  I
+wonder--I've never done it yet--but I wonder if it would be a crime
+in God's sight if one shot--to KILL!"
+
+Jimmie Dale was at the corner again--again the street before him was
+black, deserted, empty.  He chose the right hand side, and, well in
+the shadow of the houses, as an extra precaution, stole along
+silently.  He stopped finally before one where, in the doorway, hung
+a little sign.  Jimmie Dale mounted the porch, and with his eyes
+close to the sign could just make out the larger words in the big
+printed type:
+
+
+     ROOM TO RENT
+
+      TOP FLOOR
+
+
+Jimmie Dale nodded.  That was right.  The first house on the right-
+hand side, with the room-to-rent sign, her letter had said.  His
+fingers were testing the doorknob.  The door was not locked.
+
+"Naturally, it wouldn't be locked," Jimmie Dale told himself grimly--
+and stepped inside.
+
+He stood for an instant without movement, every faculty on the
+alert.  Far up above him a step, guarded though his trained ear made
+it out to be, creaked faintly upon the stairs--there was no other
+sound.  The creaking, almost inaudible at its loudest, receded
+farther up--and silence fell.
+
+In the darkness, noiselessly, Jimmie Dale groped for the stairway,
+found it, and began to ascend.  The minutes passed--it seemed a
+minute even from step to step, and there were three flights to the
+top!  There must be no creaking this time--the slightest sound, he
+knew well enough, would be not only fatal to the work he had to do,
+but probably fatal to himself as well.  He had been near death many
+times--the consciousness that he was nearer to it now, possibly,
+than he had ever been before, seemed to stimulate his senses into
+acute and abnormal energy.  And, too, the physical effort, as, step
+by step, the flexed muscles relaxing so slowly, little by little,
+gradually, each time as he found foothold on the step higher up, was
+a terrific strain.  At the top his face was bathed in perspiration,
+and he wiped it off with his coat sleeve.
+
+It was still dark here, intensely dark, and his eyes, though grown
+accustomed to it, could make out nothing but the deeper shadow of
+the walls.  But thanks to her, always a mistress of accurate and
+minute detail, he possessed a mental plan of his surroundings.  The
+head of the stairs gave on the middle of the hallway--the hallway
+ran to his right and left.  To his right, on the opposite side of
+the hall, was the door of old Luddy's squalid two-room apartment.
+
+For a moment Jimmie Dale stood hesitant--a sudden perplexity and
+anxiety growing upon him.  It was strange!  What did it mean?  He
+had nerved himself to a quick, desperate attempt, trusting to
+surprise and his own wit and agility for victory--there had seemed
+no other way than that, since he had seen those four men at the
+corner--since they were AHEAD of him.  True, they were not much
+ahead of him, not enough to have accomplished their purpose--and,
+furthermore, they were not in that room.  He knew that absolutely,
+beyond question of doubt.  He had listened for just that all the
+nerve-racking way up the stairs.  But where were they?  There was no
+sound--not a sound--just blackness, dark, impenetrable, utter, that
+began to palpitate now.
+
+It came in a whisper, wavering, sibilant--from his left.  A sort of
+relief, fierce in the breaking of the tense expectancy, premonitory
+in the possibilities that it held, swept Jimmie Dale.  He crept
+along the hall.  The whisper had come from that room, presumably
+empty--that was for rent!
+
+By the door he crouched--his sensitive fingers, eyes to Jimmie Dale
+so often--feeling over jamb and panels with a delicate, soundless
+touch.  The door was just ajar.  The fingers crept inside and
+touched the knob and lock--there was no key within.
+
+The whispering still went on--but it seemed like a screaming of
+vultures now in Jimmie Dale's ears, as the words came to him.
+
+"Aw, say, Skeeter, dis high-brow stunt gives me de pip!  Me fer
+goin' in dere an' croakin' de geezer reg'lar, widout de frills.
+Who's to know?  Say, just about two minutes, an' we're beatin' it
+wid de sparklers."
+
+An inch, a half inch at a time, the knob slowly, very, very slowly
+turning, the door was being closed by the crouched form on the
+threshold.
+
+"Close yer trap, Mose!" came a fierce response.  "We ain't fixed the
+lay all day for nothin'.  There ain't a soul on earth knows he's got
+any sparklers, 'cept us.  If there was, it would be different--then
+they'd know that was what whoever did it was after, see?"
+
+The door was closed--the knob slowly, very, very slowly being
+released again.  From one of the leather pockets under Jimmie Dale's
+vest came a tiny steel instrument that he inserted in the key-hole.
+
+The same voice spoke on:
+
+"That's what we're croaking him for, 'cause nobody knows about them
+diamonds, and so's he can't TELL anybody afterward that any were
+pinched.  An' that's why it's got to look like he just got tired of
+living and did it himself.  I guess that'll hold the police when
+they find the poor old duck hanging from the ceiling, with a bit of
+cord around his neck, and a chair kicked out from under his feet on
+the floor.  Ain't you got the brains of a louse to see that?"
+
+"Sure"--the whisper came dully, in grudging intonation through the
+panels--the door was locked.  "Sure, but it's de hangin' 'round
+waitin' to get busy that's gettin' me goat, an'--"
+
+Jimmie Dale straightened up and began to retreat along the corridor.
+A merciless rage was upon him now, every fiber of his being seemed
+to tingle and quiver with it--the damnable, hellish ingenuity of it
+all seemed to choke and suffocate him.
+
+"Luck!" muttered Jimmie Dale between his clenched teeth.  "Oh, the
+blessed luck to get that door locked!  I've got time now to set the
+stage for my own get-away before the showdown!"
+
+He stole on along the corridor.  Excerpts from her letter were
+running through his brain: "It would do no good to warn him, Jimmie--
+the Skeeter and his gang would never let up on him until they got
+the stones. . . .  It would do no good for you to steal them first,
+for they would only take that as a ruse of old Luddy's, and murder
+the man first and hunt afterward. . . .  In some way you must let
+the Skeeter SEE you steal them, make them think, make them certain
+that it is a bona-fide theft, so that they will no longer have any
+interest or any desire to do old Luddy harm. . . .  And for it to
+appear real to them, it must appear real to old Luddy himself--do
+not take any chances there."
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes narrowed.  Yes, it was simple enough now with
+that pack of hell's wolves guarded for the moment by a locked door,
+forced to give him warning by breaking the door before they could
+get out.  It was simple enough now to enter old Luddy's room, steal
+the stones at the revolver point, then make enough disturbance--when
+he was ready--to set the gang in motion, and, as they rushed in open
+him, to make his escape with the stones to the roof through Luddy's
+room.  That was simple enough--there was an opening to the roof in
+Luddy's room, she had said, and there was a ladder kept there in
+place.  On hot nights, it seemed, the old man used to go up there
+and sleep on the roof--not now, of course.  It was too late in the
+year for that--but the opening in the roof was there, and the ladder
+remained there, too.
+
+Yes, it was simple enough now.  And the next morning the papers
+would rave with execrations against the Gray Seal--for the robbery
+of the life savings of a poor, defenseless old man, for committing
+as vile and pitiful a crime as had ever stirred New York!  Even
+Carruthers, of the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, would be moved to bitter
+attack.  Good old Carruthers--who little thought that the Gray Seal
+was his old college pal, his present most intimate friend, Jimmie
+Dale!  And afterward--after the next morning?  Well, that, at least,
+had never been in doubt.  Old Luddy could be made to leave New York,
+and, once away, with the Skeeter and his gang robbed of incentive to
+pay any further attention to him, the stones could be secretly
+returned to the old man.  And it would to the public, to the police,
+be just another of the Gray Seal's crimes--that was all!
+
+Jimmie Dale had reached old Luddy's door.  The Gray Seal?  Oh, yes,
+they would know it was the Gray Seal--the insignia was familiar
+enough; familiar to the crooks of the underworld, who held it in
+awe; familiar to the police, to whom it was an added barb of
+ridicule.  He was placing it now, that insignia, a diamond-shaped,
+gray paper seal, on the panel of the door; and now, a black silk
+mask adjusted over his face, Jimmie Dale bent to insert the little
+steel instrument in the lock--a pitiful, paltry thing, a cheap lock,
+to fingers that could play so intimately with twirling knobs and
+dials, masters of the intricate mechanism of vaults and safes!
+
+And then, about to open the door, a sort of sudden dismay fell upon
+him.  He had not thought of that--somehow, it had not occurred to
+him!  WHAT WAS IT THEY WERE WAITING FOR?  Why had they not struck at
+once, as, when he had first entered the house, he had supposed they
+would do?  What was it?  Why was it?  Was old Luddy out?  Were they
+waiting for his return--or what?
+
+The door, without sound, moved gradually under his hand.  A faint
+odor assailed his nostrils!  It was dark, very dark.  Across the
+room, in a direct line, was the doorway of the inner room--she had
+explained that in her letter.  It was slow progress to cross that
+room without sound, in silence--it was a snail's movement--for fear
+that even a muscle might crack.
+
+And now he stood in the inner doorway.  It was dark here, to--and
+yet, how bizarre, a star seemed to twinkle through the very roof of
+the room itself!  The odour was pungent now.  There was a long-drawn
+sigh--then a low, indescribable sound of movement.  SOMEBODY, APART
+FROM OLD LUDDY, WAS IN THE ROOM!
+
+It swept, the full consciousness of it, upon Jimmie Dale in an
+instantaneous flash.  Chloroform; the open scuttle in the roof; the
+waiting of those others--all fused into a compact logical whole.
+They had loosened the scuttle during the day, probably when old
+Luddy was away--one of them had crept down there now to chloroform
+the old man into insensibility--the others would complete the
+ghastly work presently by stringing their victim up to the ceiling--
+and it would be suicide, for, long before morning came, long before
+the old man would be discovered, the fumes of the chloroform would
+be gone.
+
+It seemed like a cold hand, deathlike, clutching at his heart.  Was
+he too late, after all!  Chloroform alone could--kill!  To the
+right, just a little to the right--he must make no mistake--his ear
+placed the sound!  He whipped his hands from the side pockets of his
+coat--the ray of his flashlight cut across the room and fell upon an
+aged face upon a bed, upon a hand clutching a wad of cloth, the
+cloth pressed horribly against the nose and mouth of the upturned
+face--and then, roaring in the stillness, spitting a vicious lane of
+fire that paralleled the flashlight's ray, came the tongue flame of
+his automatic.
+
+There was a yell, a scream, that echoed out, reverberated, and went
+racketing through the house, and Jimmie Dale leaped forward--over a
+table, sending it crashing to the floor.  The man had reeled back
+against the wall, clutching at a shattered wrist, staring into the
+flashlight's eye, white-faced, jaw dropped, lips working in mingled
+pain and fear.
+
+"Harve Thoms--you, eh?" gritted Jimmie Dale.
+
+A cunning look swept the distorted face.  Here, apparently, was only
+one man--there were pals, three of them, only a few yards away.
+
+"You ain't got nothing on me!" he snarled, sparring for time.  "You
+police are too damned fresh with your guns!"
+
+"I'll take yours!" snapped Jimmie Dale, and snatched it deftly from
+the other's pocket.  "This ain't any police job, my bucko, and you
+make a move and I'll drop you for keeps, if what you've got already
+ain't enough to teach you to keep your hands off jobs that belong to
+your betters!"
+
+He was working with mad haste as he spoke.  One minute at the
+outside was, perhaps, all he could count upon.  Already he had
+caught the rattle of the locked door down the hall.  He lit a match
+and turned on the gas over the bed--it was the most dangerous thing
+he could do--he knew that well enough, none knew it better--it was
+offering himself as a fair mark when the others rushed in, as they
+would in a moment now--but the Skeeter and his gang and this man
+here must have no misconception of his purpose, his reason for being
+there, the same as their own, the theft of the stones--and no
+misconception as to his SUCCESS.
+
+"Y'ain't the police!"--it came in a choked gasp from the other, as
+he blinked in the sudden light "Say then--"
+
+"Shut up!" ordered Jimmie Dale curtly.  "And mind what I told you
+about moving!"  He leaned over the bed.  Old Luddy, though under the
+influence of the chloroform, was moving restlessly.  Thoms had
+evidently only begun to apply the chloroform--old Luddy was safe!
+Jimmie Dale ran his hand in under the pillow.  "If you ain't swiped
+them already they ought to be here!" he growled; "and if you have
+I'll--ah!"  A little chamois bag was in his hand.  He laughed
+sneeringly at Thoms, opened the bag, allowed a few stones to trickle
+into his hand--and then, without stopping to replace them, dashed
+stones and bag into his pocket.  The door along the corridor crashed
+open.
+
+"What's that?" he gasped out, in well-simulated fright--and sprang
+for the ladder that led up to the roof.
+
+It had all taken, perhaps, the minute that he had counted on--no
+more.  Noises came from the floors below now, a confusion of them--
+the shot, the scream had been heard by others, save those who had
+been in the locked room.  And the latter were outside now in the
+corridor, running to their accomplice's aid.
+
+There was a pause at the outer door--then an oath--and coupled with
+the oath an exclamation:
+
+"The Gray Seal!"
+
+They had swept a flashlight over the door panel--Jimmie Dale,
+halfway up the ladder, smiled grimly.
+
+The door opened--there was a rush of feet.  The man with the
+shattered wrist yelled, cursing wildly:
+
+"Here he is--on the ladder!  Let him have it!  Fill him full of
+holes!"
+
+Jimmie Dale was in the light--they were in the dark of the outer
+room.  He fired at the threshold, checking their rush--as a hail of
+bullets chipped and tore at the ladder and spat wickedly against the
+wall.  He swung through to the roof, trying, as he did so, to kick
+the ladder loose behind him.  It was fastened!
+
+The three gunmen jumped into the room--from the roof Jimmie Dale got
+a glimpse of them below, as he flung himself clear of the opening.
+Bullets whistled through the aperture--a voice roared up as he
+gained his feet:
+
+"Come on!  After him!  The whole place is alive, but this lets us
+out.  We can frame up how we came to be here easy enough.  Never
+mind the old geezer there any more!  Get the Gray Seal--the reward
+that's out for him is worth twice the sparklers, and--"
+
+Jimmie Dale hurled the cover over the scuttle.  He could have stood
+them off from above and kept the ladder clear with his revolver, but
+the alarm seemed general now--windows were opening, voices were
+calling to one another--from the windows across the street he must
+stand out in sharp outline against the sky.  Yes--he was seen now.
+
+A woman's voice, from a top-story window across the street, screamed
+out, high-pitched in excitement:
+
+"There he is!  There he is!  On the roof there!"
+
+Jimmie Dale started on the run along the roof.  The houses, built
+wall to wall, flat-roofed, seemed to offer an open course ahead of
+him--until a lane or an intersecting street should bar his way!  But
+they were not quite all on the same level, though--the wall of the
+next house rose suddenly breast high in front of him.  He flung
+himself up, regained his feet--and ducked instantly behind a
+chimney.
+
+The crack of a revolver echoed through the night--a bullet drummed
+through the air--the Skeeter and his gang were on the roof now,
+dashing forward, firing as they ran.  Two shots from Jimmie Dale's
+automatic, in quick succession cooled the ardour of their rush--and
+they broke, black, flitting forms, for the shelter of chimneys, too.
+
+And now the whole neighbourhood seemed awakened.  A dull-toned roar,
+as from some great gulf below, rolled up from the street, a medley
+of slamming windows, the rush of feet as people poured from the
+houses, cries, shouts, and yells--and high over all the shrill call
+of the police-patrol whistle--and the CRACK, CRACK, CRACK of the
+Skeeter's revolver shots--the Skeeter and his hellhounds for once
+self-appointed allies of the law!
+
+Twice again Jimmie Dale fired--then crouching, running low, he
+zigzagged his way across the next roof.  The bullets followed him--
+once more his pursuers dashed forward.  And again Jimmie Dale, his
+face set like stone now, his breath coming in hard gasps, dodged
+behind a chimney, and with his gun checked their rush for the third
+time.
+
+He glanced about him--and with a growing sense of disaster saw that
+two houses farther on the stretch of roof appeared to end.  There
+would be a lane or a street there!  And in another minute or two, if
+it were not already the case, others would be following the gunmen
+to the roof, and then he would be--he caught his breath suddenly in
+a queer little strangled cry of relief.  Just back of him, a few
+yards away, his eyes made out what, in the darkness, seemed to be a
+glass skylight.
+
+A dark form sped like a deeper shadow across the black in front of
+him, making for a chimney nearer by, closing in the range.  Jimmie
+Dale fired--wide.  Tight as was the corner he was in, little as was
+the mercy deserved at his hands, he could not, after all, bring
+himself to shoot--to kill.
+
+A voice, the Skeeter's, bawled out raucously:
+
+"Rush him all together--from different sides at once!"
+
+A backward leap!  Jimmie Dale's boot was crashing glass and frame,
+stamping at it desperately, making a hole for his body through the
+skylight.  A yell, a chorus of them, answered this--then the crunch
+of racing feet on the gravel roof.  He emptied his revolver,
+sweeping the darkness with a semicircle of vicious flashes.
+
+It seemed an hour--it was barely the fraction of a second, as he
+hung by his hands from the side of the skylight frame, his body
+swinging back and forth in the unknown blackness below.  The
+skylight might be, probably was, directly over the stair well, and
+open clear to the basement of the house--but it was his only chance.
+He swung his body well out, let go--and dropped.  With the impetus
+he smashed against a wall, was flung back from it in a sort of
+rebound, and his hands closed, gripping fiercely, on banisters.  It
+had been the stair well beyond any question of doubt, but his swing
+had sent him clear of it.
+
+Above, they had not yet reached the skylight.  Jimmie Dale snatched
+a precious moment to listen, as he rose, and found himself, apart
+from bruises, perhaps unhurt.  There was commotion, too, in this
+house below, the alarm had extended and spread along the block--but
+the commotion was all in the FRONT of the house--the street was the
+lure.
+
+Jimmie Dale started down the stairs, and in an instant he had gained
+the landing.  In another he had slipped to the rear of the hall--
+somewhere there, from the hall itself, from one of the rear rooms,
+there must be an exit to the fire escape.  To attempt to leave by
+the front way was certain capture.
+
+They were yelling, shouting down now through the sky-light above, as
+Jimmie Dale softly raised the window sash at the rear of the hall.
+The fire escape was there.  Shouts from along the corridor, from the
+tenement dwellers who had been crowding their neighbours' rooms,
+craning their necks probably from the front windows, answered the
+shouts now from the roof and the skylight; doors opened; forms
+rushed out--but it was dark in the corridor, only a murky yellow at
+the upper end from the opened doors.
+
+Jimmie Dale slipped through the window to the fire escape, and,
+working cautiously, silently, but with the speed of a trained
+athlete, made his way down.  At the bottom he dropped from the iron
+platform into the back yard, ran for the fence and climbed over into
+a lane on the other side.
+
+And then, as he ran, Jimmie Dale snatched the mask from his face and
+put it in his pocket.  He was safe now.  He swept the sweat drops
+from his forehead with the back of his hand--noticing them for the
+first time.  It had been close--almost as close for him as it had
+been for old Luddy.  And to-morrow the papers would execrate the
+Gray Seal!  He smiled a little wanly.  His breath was still coming
+hard.  Presently they would scour the lane--when they found that
+their quarry was not in the house.  What a racket they were making!
+The whole district seemed roused like a swarm of angry bees.
+
+He kept on along the lane--and dodged suddenly into a cross street
+where the two intersected.  The clang of a bell dinned discordantly
+in his ears--a patrol wagon swept by him, racing for the scene of
+the disturbance--the riot call was out!
+
+Again Jimmie Dale smiled wearily, passing his hand across his eyes.
+
+"I guess," said Jimmie Dale, "I'm pretty near all in.  And I guess
+it's time that Larry the Bat went--home."
+
+And a little later a figure turned from the Bowery and shambled down
+the cross street, a disreputable figure, with hands plunged deep in
+his pockets--and a shadow across the roadway suddenly shifted its
+position as the shambling figure slouched into the black alleyway
+and entered the tenement's side door.
+
+And Larry the Bat smiled softly to himself--Kline's men were still
+on guard!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+DEVIL'S WORK
+
+
+A white-gloved arm, a voice, and a silvery laugh!  "Just that--no
+more!  Jimmie Dale, in his favourite seat, an aisle seat some seven
+or eight rows back from the orchestra, stared at the stage, to all
+outward appearances absorbed in the last act of the play; inwardly,
+quite oblivious to the fact that even a play was going on.
+
+A white-gloved arm, a voice, and a silvery laugh!  The words had
+formed themselves into a sort of singsong refrain that, for the last
+few days, had been running through his head.  A strange enough
+guiding star to mould and dictate every action in his life!  And
+that was all he had ever seen of her, all that he had ever heard of
+her--except those letters, of course, each of which had outlined the
+details of some affair for the Gray Seal to execute.
+
+Indeed, it seemed a great length of time now since he had heard from
+her even in that way, though it was not so many days ago, after all.
+Perhaps it was the calm, as it were, that, by contrast, had given
+place to the strenuous months and weeks just past.  The storm raised
+by the newspapers at the theft of Old Luddy's diamonds had subsided
+into sporadic diatribes aimed at the police; Kline, of the secret
+service, had finally admitted defeat, and a shadow no longer skulked
+day and night at the entrance to the Sanctuary--and Larry the Bat
+bore the government indorsement, so to speak, of being no more
+suspicious a character than that of a disreputable, but harmless,
+dope fiend of the underworld.
+
+Larry the Bat!  The Gray Seal!  Jimmie Dale the millionaire!  What
+if it were ever known that that strange three were one!  What if--
+Jimmie Dale smiled whimsically.  A burst of applause echoed through
+the house, the orchestra was playing, the lights were on, seats
+banged, there was the bustle of the rising audience, the play was at
+an end--and for the life of him he could not have remembered a
+single line of the last act!
+
+The aisle at his elbow was already crowded with people on their way
+out.  Jimmie Dale stooped down mechanically to reach for his hat
+beneath his seat--and the next instant he was standing up, staring
+wildly into the faces around him.
+
+It had fallen at his feet--a white envelope.  Hers!  It was in his
+hand now, those slim, tapering, wonderfully sensitive fingers of
+Jimmie Dale, that were an "open sesame" to locks and safes,
+subconsciously telegraphing to his mind the fact that the texture of
+the paper--was hers.  Hers!  And she must be one of those around
+him--one of those crowding either the row of seats in front or
+behind, or one of those just passing in the aisle.  It had fallen at
+his feet as he had stooped over for his hat--but from just exactly
+what direction he could not tell.  His eyes, eagerly, hungrily,
+critically, swept face after face.  Which one was hers?  What irony!
+She, whom he would have given his life to know, for whom indeed he
+risked his life every hour of the twenty-four, was close to him now,
+within reach--and as far removed as though a thousand miles
+separated them.  She was there--but he could not recognise a face
+that he had never seen!
+
+With an effort, he choked back the bitter, impotent laugh that rose
+to his lips.  They were talking, laughing around him.  Her VOICE--
+yes, he had once heard that, and that he would recognise again.  He
+strained to catch, to individualise the tone sounds that floated in
+a medley about him.  It was useless--of course--every effort that he
+had ever made to find her had been useless.  She was too clever, far
+too clever for that--she, too, would know that he could and would
+recognise her voice where he could recognise nothing else.
+
+And then, suddenly, he realised that he was attracting attention.
+Level stares from the women returned his gaze, and they edged away a
+little from his vicinity as they passed, their escorts crowding
+somewhat belligerently into their places.  Others, in the same row
+of seats as his own, were impatiently waiting to get by him.  With a
+muttered apology, Jimmie Dale raised the seat of his chair, allowing
+these latter to pass him--and then, slipping the letter into his
+pocketbook, he snatched up his hat from the seat rack.
+
+There was still a chance.  Knowing he was there, she would be on her
+guard; but in the lobby, among the crowd and unaware of his
+presence, there was the possibility that, if he could reach the
+entrance ahead of her, she, too, might be talking and laughing as
+she left the theatre.  Just a single word, just a tone--that was all
+he asked.
+
+The row of seats at whose end he stood was empty now, and, instead
+of stepping into the thronged aisle, he made his way across to the
+opposite side of the theatre.  Here, the far aisle was less crowded,
+and in a minute he had gained the foyer, confident that he was now
+in advance of her.  The next moment he was lost in a jam of people
+in the lobby.
+
+He moved slowly now, very slowly--allowing those behind to press by
+him on the way to the entrance.  A babel of voices rose about him,
+as, tight-packed, the mass of people jostled, elbowed, and pushed
+good-naturedly.  It was a voice now, her voice, that he was
+listening for; but, though it seemed that every faculty was strained
+and intent upon that one effort, his eyes, too, had in no degree
+relaxed their vigilance--and once, half grimly, half sardonically,
+he smiled to himself.  There would be an unexpected aftermath to
+this exodus of expensively gowned and bejewelled women with their
+prosperous, well-groomed escorts!  There was the Wowzer over there--
+sleek, dapper, squirming in and out of the throng with the agility
+and stealth of a cat.  As Larry the Bat he had met the Wowzer many
+times, as indeed he had met and was acquainted with most of the
+elite of the underworld.  The Wowzer, beyond a shadow of doubt, in
+his own profession stood upon a plane entirely by himself--among
+those qualified to speak, no one yet had ever questioned the
+Wowzer's claim to the distinction of being the most dexterous and
+finished "poke getter" in the United States!
+
+The crowd thinned in the lobby, thinned down to the last few belated
+stragglers, who passed him as he still loitered in the entrance; and
+then Jimmie Dale, with a shrug of his shoulders that was a great
+deal more philosophical than the maddening sense of chagrin and
+disappointment that burned within him, stepped out to the pavement
+and headed down Broadway.  After all, he had known it in his heart
+of hearts all the time--it had always been the same--it was only one
+more occasion added to the innumerable ones that had gone before in
+which she had eluded him!
+
+And now--there was the letter!  Automatically he quickened his steps
+a little.  It was useless, futile, profitless, for the moment, at
+least, to disturb himself over his failure--there was the letter!
+His lips parted in a strange, half-serious, half-speculative smile.
+The letter--that was paramount now.  What new venture did the night
+hold in store for him?  What sudden emergency was the Gray Seal
+called upon to face this time--what role, unrehearsed, without
+warning, must he play?  What story of grim, desperate rascality
+would the papers credit him with when daylight came?  Or would they
+carry in screaming headlines the announcement that the Gray Seal was
+caged and caught at last, and in three-inch type tell the world that
+the Gray Seal was--Jimmie Dale!
+
+A block down, he turned from Broadway out of the theatre crowds that
+streamed in both directions past him.  The letter!  Almost
+feverishly now he was seeking an opportunity to open and read it
+unobserved; an eagerness upon him that mingled exhilaration at the
+lure of danger with a sense of premonition that, irritably,
+inevitably was with him at moments such as these.  It seemed, it
+always seemed, that, with an unopened letter of hers in his
+possession, it was as though he were about to open a page in the
+Book of Fate and read, as it were, a pronouncement upon himself that
+might mean life or death.
+
+He hurried on.  People still passed by him--too many.  And then a
+cafe, just ahead, making a corner, gave him the opportunity that he
+sought.  Away from the entrance, on the side street, the brilliant
+lights from the windows shone out on a comparatively deserted
+pavement.  There was ample light to read by, even as far away from
+the window as the curb, and Jimmie Dale, with an approving nod,
+turned the corner and walked along a few steps until opposite the
+farthest window--but, as he halted here at the edge of the street,
+he glanced quickly behind him at a man whom he had just passed.  The
+other had paused at the corner and was staring down the street.
+Jimmie Dale instantly and nonchalantly produced his cigarette case,
+selected a cigarette, and fastidiously tapped its end on his thumb
+nail.
+
+"Inspector Burton in plain clothes," he observed musingly to
+himself.  "I wonder if it's just a fluke--or something else?  We'll
+see."
+
+Jimmie Dale took a box of matches from his pocket.  The first would
+not light.  The second broke, and, with an exclamation of annoyance,
+he flung it away.  The third was making a fitful effort at life, as
+another man emerged hastily from the cafe's side door, hurried to
+the corner, joined the man who was still loitering there, and both
+together disappeared at a rapid pace down the street.
+
+Jimmie Dale whistled softly to himself.  The second man was even
+better known than the first; there was not a crook in New York but
+would side-step Lannigan of headquarters, and do it with amazing
+celerity--if he could!
+
+"Something up!  But it's not my hunt!" muttered Jimmie Dale; then,
+with a shrug of his shoulders: "Queer the way those headquarters
+chaps fascinate and give me a thrill every time I see them, even if
+I haven't a ghost of a reason for imagining that--"
+
+The sentence was never finished.  Jimmie Dale's face was gray.  The
+street seemed to rock about him--and he stared, like a man stricken,
+white to the lips, ahead of him.  THE LETTER WAS GONE!  His hand,
+wriggling from his empty pocket, swept away the sweat beads that
+were bursting from his forehead.  It had come at last--the pitcher
+had gone once too often to the well!
+
+Numbed for an instant, his brain cleared now, working with lightning
+speed, leaping from premise to conclusion.  The crush in the theatre
+lobby--the pushing, the jostling, the close contact--the Wowzer, the
+slickest, cleverest pickpocket in the United States!  For a moment
+he could have laughed aloud in a sort of ghastly, defiant mockery--
+he himself had predicted an unexpected aftermath, had he not!
+
+Aftermath!  It was--the END!  An hour, two hours, and New York would
+be metamorphosed into a seething caldron of humanity bubbling with
+the news.  It seemed that he could hear the screams of the newsboys
+now shouting their extras; it seemed that he could see the people,
+roused to frenzy, swarming in excited crowds, snatching at the
+papers; he seemed to hear the mob's shouts swell in execration, in
+exultation--it seemed as though all around him had gone mad.  The
+mystery of the Gray Seal was solved!  It was Jimmie Dale, Jimmie
+Dale, Jimmie, Dale, the millionaire, the lion of society--and there
+was ignominy for an honoured name, and shame and disaster and
+convict stripes and sullen penitentiary walls--or death!  A felon's
+death--the chair!
+
+He was running now, his hands clenched at his sides; his mind,
+working subconsciously, urging him onward in a blind, as yet
+unrealised, objectless way.  And then gradually impulse gave way to
+calmer reason, and he slowed his pace to a quick, less noticeable
+walk.  The Wowzer!  That was it!  There was yet a chance--the
+Wowzer!  A merciless rage, cold, deadly, settled upon him.  It was
+the Wowzer who had stolen his pocketbook, and with it the letter.
+There could be no doubt of that.  Well, there would be a reckoning
+at least before the end!
+
+He was in a downtown subway train now--the roar in his ears in
+consonance, it seemed, with the turmoil in his brain.  But now, too,
+he was Jimmie Dale again; and, apart from the slightly outthrust
+jaw, the tight-closed lips, impassive, debonair, composed.
+
+There was yet a chance.  As Larry the Bat he knew every den and lair
+below the dead line, and he knew, too, the Wowzer's favourite
+haunts.  There was yet a chance, only one in a thousand, it was
+true, almost too pitiful to be depended upon--but yet a chance.  The
+Wowzer had probably not worked alone, and he and his pal, or pals,
+would certainly not remain uptown either to examine or divide their
+spoils--they would wait until they were safe somewhere in one of
+their hell holes on the East Side.  If he could find the Wowzer,
+reach the man BEFORE THE LETTER WAS OPENED--Jimmie Dale's lips grew
+tighter.  THAT was the chance!  It he failed in that--Jimmie Dale's
+lips drooped downward in grim curves at the corners.  A chance!
+Already the Wowzer had at least a half hour's lead, and, worse
+still, there was no telling which one of a dozen places the man
+might have chosen to retreat to with his loot.
+
+Time passed.  His mind obsessed, Jimmie Dale's physical acts were
+almost wholly mechanical.  It was perhaps fifteen minutes since he
+had discovered the loss of the letter, and he was walking now
+through the heart of the Bowery.  Exactly how he had got there he
+could not have told; he had only a vague realisation that, following
+an intuitive sense of direction, he had lost not a second of time in
+making his way downtown.
+
+And now he found himself hesitating at the corner of a cross street.
+Two blocks east was that dark, narrow alleyway, that side door that
+made the entrance to the Sanctuary.  It would be safer, a hundred
+times safer, to go there, change his clothes and his personality,
+and emerge again as Larry the Bat--infinitely safer in that role to
+explore the dens of the underworld, many of them indeed unknown and
+undreamed of by the police themselves, than to trust himself there
+in well-cut, fashionable tweeds--but that would take time.  Time!
+When, with every second, the one chance he had, desperate as that
+already was, was slipping away from him.  No; what was apparently
+the greater risk at least held out the only hope.
+
+He went on again--his brain incessantly at work.  At the worst,
+there was one mitigating factor in it all.  He had no need to think
+of her.  Whatever the ruin and disaster that faced him in the next
+few hours, she in any case was safe.  There was no clew to HER
+identity in the letter; and where he, for months on end, with even
+more to work upon, had failed at every turn to trace her, there was
+little fear that any one else would have any better success.  She
+was safe.  As for himself--that was different.  The Gray Seal would
+be referred to in the letter, there would be the outline, the data
+for the "crime" she had planned for that night; and the letter,
+though unaddressed, being found in his pocketbook, where cards and
+notes and a dozen different things among its contents proclaimed him
+Jimmie Dale, needed no further evidence as to its ownership nor the
+identity of the Gray Seal.
+
+Jimmie Dale's fingers crept inside his vest and fumbled there for a
+moment--and a diamond stud, extracted from his shirt front,
+glistened sportively in the necktie that was now tucked jauntily in
+at one side of his shirt bosom.  He had reached the Blue Dragon, one
+of Wowzer's usual hang outs, and, swerving from the sidewalk,
+entered the place.  There was wild tumult within--a constant storm
+of applause, derision, and hilarity that was hurled from the tables
+around the room at the turkey-trotting, tango-writhing couples on
+the somewhat restricted space of polished hardwood flooring in the
+centre.  Jimmie Dale swaggered down the room, a cigar tilted up at
+an angle between his teeth, his soft felt hat a little rakishly on
+one side of his head and well over his nose.
+
+At the end of the room, at the bar, Jimmie Dale leaned toward the
+barkeeper and talked out of the corner of his mouth.  There were
+private rooms upstairs, and he jerked his head surreptitiously
+ceilingward.
+
+"Say, is de Wowzer up dere?" he inquired in a cautious whisper.
+
+The man behind the bar, well known to Jimmie Dale as one of the
+Wowzer's particular pals, favoured him with a blank stare.
+
+"Never heard of de guy!" he announced brusquely.  "Wot's yours?"
+
+"Gimme a mug of suds," said Jimmie Dale, reaching for a match.  He
+puffed at his cigar, blew out the match, and, after a moment, flung
+the charred end away--but on his hand, as, palm outward, he raised
+it to take his glass, the match had traced a small black cross.
+
+The barkeeper put down the beer he had just drawn, wiped his hand
+hurriedly, and with sudden enthusiasm thrust it across the bar.
+
+"Glad to know youse, cull!" he exclaimed.  "Wot's de lay?"
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled.
+
+"Nix!" said Jimmie Dale.  "I just blew in from Chicago.  Used to
+know de Wowzer dere.  He said dis place was on de level, an' I could
+always find him here, dat's all."
+
+"Sure, youse can!" returned the barkeeper heartily.  "Only he ain't
+here now.  He beat it about fifteen minutes ago, him an' Dago Jim.
+I guess youse'll find him at Chang's, I heard him an' Dago say dey
+was goin' dere.  Know de place?"
+
+Jimmie Dale shook his head.
+
+"I ain't much wise to New York," he explained.
+
+"Aw, dat's easy," whispered the barkeeper.  "Go down to Chatham
+Square, an' den any guy'll show youse Chang Foo's."  He winked
+confidentially.  "I guess youse won't bump yer head none gettin'
+around inside."
+
+Jimmie Dale nodded, grinned back, emptied his glass, and dug for a
+coin.
+
+"Forget it!" observed the barkeeper cordially.  "Dis is on me.  Any
+friend of de Wowzer's gets de glad hand here any time."
+
+"T'anks!" said Jimmie Dale gratefully, as he turned away.  "So long,
+then--see youse later."
+
+Chang Foo's!  Jimmie Dale's face set even a little harder than it
+had before, as he swung on again down the Bowery.  Yes; he knew
+Chang Foo's--too well.  Underground Chinatown--where a man's life
+was worth the price of an opium pill--or less!  Mechanically his
+hand slipped into his pocket and closed over the automatic that
+nestled there.  Once in--where he had to go--and the chances were
+even, just even, that was all, that he would ever get out.  Again he
+was tempted to return to the Sanctuary and make the attempt as Larry
+the Bat.  Larry the Bat was well enough known to enter Chang Foo's
+unquestioned, and--but again he shook his head and went on.  There
+was not time.  The Wowzer and his pal--it was Dago Jim it seemed--
+had evidently been drinking and loitering their way downtown from
+the theatre, and he had gained that much on them; but by now they
+would be smugly tucked away somewhere in that maze of dens below the
+ground, and at that moment probably were gloating over the biggest
+night's haul they had ever made in their lives!
+
+And if they were!  What then?  Once they knew the contents of that
+letter--what then?  Buy them off for a larger amount than the many
+thousands offered for the capture of the Gray Seal?  Jimmie Dale
+gritted his teeth.  That meant blackmail from them all his life, an
+intolerable existence, impossible, a hell on earth--the slave, at
+the beck and call of two of the worst criminals in New York!  The
+moisture oozed again to Jimmie Dale's forehead.  God, if he could
+get that letter before it was opened--before they KNEW!  If he could
+only get the chance to fight for it--against ANY odds!  Life!  Life
+was a pitiful consideration against the alternative that faced him
+now!
+
+From the Blue Dragon to Chang Foo's was not far; and Jimmie Dale
+covered the distance in well under five minutes.  Chang Foo's was
+just a tea merchant's shop, innocuous and innocent enough in its
+appearance, blandly so indeed, and that was all--outwardly; but
+Jimmie Dale, as he reached his destination, experienced the first
+sensation of uplift he had known that night, and this from what,
+apparently, did not in the least seem like a contributing cause.
+
+"Luck!  The blessed luck of it!" he muttered grimly, as he surveyed
+the sight-seeing car drawn up at the curb, and watched the
+passengers crowding out of it to the ground.  "It wouldn't have been
+as easy to fool old Chang as it was that fellow back at the Dragon--
+and, besides, if I can work it, there's a better chance this way of
+getting out alive."
+
+The guide was marshalling his "gapers"--some two dozen in all, men
+and women.  Jimmie Dale unostentatiously fell in at the rear; and,
+the guide leading, the little crowd passed into the tea merchant's
+shop.  Chang Foo, a wizened, wrinkled-faced little Celestial, oily,
+suave, greeted them with profuse bows, chattering the while volubly
+in Chinese.
+
+The guide made the introduction with an all-embracing sweep of his
+hand.
+
+"Chang Foo--ladies and gentlemen," he announced; then held up his
+hand for silence.  "Ladies and gentlemen," he said impressively,
+"this is one of the most notorious, if not THE most notorious dive
+in Chinatown, and it is only through special arrangement with the
+authorities and at great expense that the company is able
+exclusively to gain an entree here for its patrons.  You will see
+here the real life of the Chinese, and in half an hour you will get
+what few would get in a lifetime spent in China itself.  You will
+see the Chinese children dance and perform; the Chinese women at
+their household tasks; the joss, the shrine of his hallowed
+ancestors, at which Chang Foo here worships; and you will enter the
+most famous opium den in the United States.  Now, if you will all
+keep close together, we will make a start."
+
+In spite of his desperate situation, Jimmie Dale smiled a little
+whimsically.  Yes; they would see it all--UPSTAIRS!  The same old
+bunk dished out night after night at so much a head--and the nervous
+little schoolma'am of uncertain age, who fidgeted now beside him,
+would go back somewhere down in Maine and shiver while she related
+her "wider experiences" in tremulous whispers into the shocked ears
+of envious other maiden ladies of equally uncertain age.  The same
+old bunk--and a profitable one for Chang Foo for more reasons than
+one.  It was dust in the eyes of the police.  The police smiled
+knowingly at mention of Chang Foo.  Who should know, if they didn't,
+that it was all harmless fake, all bunk!  And so it was--UPSTAIRS!
+
+They were passing out of the shop now, bowed out through a side door
+by the obsequious and oily Chang Foo.  And now they massed again in
+a sort of little hallway--and Chang Foo, closing the door upon
+Jimmie Dale, who was the last in the line, shuffled back behind the
+counter in his shop to resume his guard duty over customers of quite
+another ilk.  With the door closed, it was dark, pitch dark.  And
+this, too, like everything else connected with Chang Foo's
+establishment, for more reasons than one--for effect--and for
+security.  Nervous little twitters began to emanate from the women--
+the guide's voice rose reassuringly:
+
+"Keep close together, ladies and gentlemen.  We are going upstairs
+now to--"
+
+Jimmie Dale hugged back against the wall, sidled along it, and like
+a shadow slipped down to the end of the hall.  The scuffling of two
+dozen pairs of feet mounting the creaky staircase drowned the slight
+sound as he cautiously opened a door; the darkness lay black,
+impenetrable, along the hall.  And then, as cautiously as he had
+opened it, he closed the door behind him, and stood for an instant
+listening at the head of a ladder-like stairway, his automatic in
+his hand now.  It was familiar ground to Larry the Bat.  The steps
+led down to a cellar; and diagonally across from the foot of the
+steps was an opening, ingeniously hidden by a heterogeneous
+collection of odds and ends, boxes, cases, and rubbish from the
+pseudo tea shop above; a low opening in the wall to a passage that
+led on through the cellars of perhaps half a dozen adjoining houses,
+each of which latter was leased, in one name or another--by Chang
+Foo.
+
+Jimmie Dale crept down the steps, and in another moment had gained
+the farther side of the cellar; then, skirting around the ruck of
+cases, he stooped suddenly and passed in through the opening in the
+wall.  And now he halted once more.  He was straining his eyes down
+a long, narrow passage, whose blackness was accentuated rather than
+relieved by curious wavering, gossamer threads of yellow light that
+showed here and there from under makeshift thresholds, from doors
+slightly ajar.  Faint noises came to him, a muffled, intermittent
+clink of coin, a low, continuous, droning hum of voices; the sickly
+sweet smell of opium pricked at his nostrils.
+
+Jimmie Dale's face set rigidly.  It was the resort, not only of the
+most depraved Chinese element, but of the worst "white" thugs that
+made New York their headquarters--here, in the succession of
+cellars, roughly partitioned off to make a dozen rooms on either
+side of the passage, dope fiends sucked at the drug, and Chinese
+gamblers spent the greater part of their lives; here, murder was
+hatched and played too often to its hellish end; here, the scum of
+the underworld sought refuge from the police to the profit of Chang
+Foo; and here, somewhere, in one of these rooms, was--the Wowzer.
+
+The Wowzer!  Jimmie Dale stole forward silently, without a sound,
+swiftly--pausing only to listen for a second's space at the doors as
+he passed.  From this one came that clink of coin; from another that
+jabber of Chinese; from still another that overpowering stench of
+opium--and once, iron-nerved as he was, a cold thrill passed over
+him.  Let this lair of hell's wolves, so intent now on their own
+affairs, be once roused, as they certainly must be roused before he
+could hope to finish the Wowzer, and his chances of escape were--
+
+He straightened suddenly, alert, tense, strained.  Voices, raised in
+a furious quarrel, came from a door just beyond him on the other
+side of the passage, where a film of light streamed out through a
+cracked panel--it was the Wowzer and Dago Jim!  And drunk, both of
+them--and both in a blind fury!
+
+It happened quick then, almost instantaneously it seemed to Jimmie
+Dale.  He was crouched now close against the door, his eye to the
+crack in the panel.  There was only one figure in sight--Dago Jim--
+standing beside a table on which burned a lamp, the table top
+littered with watches, purses, and small chatelaine bags.  The man
+was lurching unsteadily on his feet, a vicious sneer of triumph on
+his face, waving tauntingly an open letter and Jimmie Dale's pocket-
+book in his hands--waving them presumably in the face of the Wowzer,
+whom, from the restrictions of the crack, Jimmie Dale could not see.
+He was conscious of a sickening sense of disaster.  His hope against
+hope had been in vain--the letter had been opened and read--THE
+IDENTITY OF THE GRAY SEAL WAS SOLVED.
+
+Dago Jim's voice roared out, hoarse, blasphemous, in drunken rage:
+
+"De Gray Seal--see!  Youse betcher life I knows!  I been waitin' fer
+somet'ing like dis, damn youse!  Youse been stallin' on me fer a
+year every time it came to a divvy.  Youse've got a pocketful now
+youse snitched to-night dat youse are tryin' to do me out of.  Well,
+keep 'em"--he shoved his face forward.  "I keeps dis--see!  Keep 'em
+Wowzer, youse cross-eyed--"
+
+"Everyt'ing I pinched to-night's on de table dere wid wot youse
+pinched yerself," cut in the Wowzer, in a sullen, threatening growl.
+
+"Youse lie, an' youse knows it!" retorted Dago Jim.  "Youse have
+given me de short end every time we've pulled a deal!"
+
+"Dat letter's mine, youse--" bawled the Wowzer furiously.
+
+"Why didn't youse open it an' read it, den, instead of lettin' me do
+it to keep me busy while youse short-changed me?" sneered Dago Jim.
+"Youse t'ought it was some sweet billy-doo, eh?  Well, t'anks,
+Wowzer--dat's wot it is!  Say," he mocked, "dere's a guy'll cash a
+t'ousand century notes fer dis, an' if he don't--say, dere's SOME
+reward out fer the Gray Seal!  Wouldn't youse like to know who it
+is?  Well, when I'm ridin' in me private buzz wagon, Wowzer, youse
+stick around an' mabbe I'll tell youse--an' mabbe I won't!"
+
+"By God"--the Wowzer's voice rose in a scream--"youse hand over dat
+letter!"
+
+"Youse go to--"
+
+Red, lurid red, a stream of flame seemed to cut across Jimmie Dale's
+line of vision, came the roar of a revolver shot--and like a madman
+Jimmie Dale flung his body at the door.  Rickety at best, it crashed
+inward, half wrenched from its hinges, precipitating him inside.  He
+recovered himself and leaped forward.  The room was swirling with
+blue eddies of smoke; Dago Jim, hands flung up, still grasping
+letter and pocketbook, pawed at the air--and plunged with a sagging
+lurch face downward to the floor.  There was a yell and an oath from
+the Wowzer--the crack of another revolver shot, the hum of the
+bullet past Jimmie Dale's ear, the scorch of the tongue flame in his
+face, and he was upon the other.
+
+Screeching profanity, the Wowzer grappled; and, for an instant, the
+two men rocked, reeled, and swayed in each other's embrace; then,
+both men losing their balance, they shot suddenly backward, the
+Wowzer, undermost, striking his head against the table's edge--and
+men, table, and lamp crashed downward in a heap to the floor.
+
+It had been no more, at most, than a matter of seconds since Jimmie
+Dale had hurled himself into the room; and now, with a gurgling
+sigh, the Wowzer's arms, that had been wound around Jimmie Dale's
+back and shoulders, relaxed, and, from the blow on his head the man,
+lay back inert and stunned.  And then it seemed to Jimmie Dale as
+though pandemonium, unreality, and chaos at the touch of some
+devil's hand reigned around him.  It was dark--no, not dark--a spurt
+of flame was leaping along the line of trickling oil from the broken
+lamp on the floor.  It threw into ghastly relief the sprawled form
+of Dago Jim.  Outside, from along the passageway, came a confused
+jangle of commotion--whispering voices, shuffling feet, the swish of
+Chinese garments.  And the room itself began to spring into weird,
+flickering shadows, that mounted and crept up the walls with the
+spreading fire.
+
+There was not a second to lose before the room would be swarming
+with that rush from the passageway--and there was still the letter,
+the pocketbook!  The table had fallen half over Dago Jim--Jimmie
+Dale pushed it aside, tore the crushed letter and the pocketbook
+from the man's hands--and felt, with a grim, horrible sort of
+anxiety, for the other's heartbeat, for the verdict that meant life
+or death to himself.  There was no sign of life--the man was dead.
+
+Jimmie Dale was on his feet now.  A face, another, and another
+showed in the doorway--the Wowzer was regaining his senses,
+stumbling to his knees.  There was one chance--just one--to take
+those crowding figures by surprise.  And with a yell of "Fire!"
+Jimmie Dale sprang for the doorway.
+
+They gave way before his rush, tumbling back in their surprise
+against the opposite wall; and, turning, Jimmie Dale raced down the
+passageway.  Doors were opening everywhere now, forms were pushing
+out into the semi-darkness--only to duck hastily back again, as
+Jimmie Dale's automatic barked and spat a running fire of warning
+ahead of him.  And then, behind, the Wowzer's voice shrieked out:
+
+"Soak him!  Kill de guy!  He's croaked Dago Jim!  Put a hole in him,
+de--"
+
+Yells, a chorus of them, took up the refrain--then the rush of
+following feet--and the passageway seemed to racket as though a
+Gatling gun were in play with the fusillade of revolver shots.  But
+Jimmie Dale was at the opening now--and, like a base runner plunging
+for the bag, he flung himself in a low dive through and into the
+open cellar beyond.  He was on his feet, over the boxes, and dashing
+up the stairs in a second.  The door above opened as he reached the
+top--Jimmie Dale's right hand shot out with clubbed revolver--and
+with a grunt Chang Foo went down before the blow and the headlong
+rush.  The next instant Jimmie Dale had sprung through the tea shop
+and was out on the street.
+
+A minute, two minutes more, and Chinatown would be in an uproar--
+Chang Foo would see to that--and the Wowzer would prod him on.  The
+danger was far from over yet.  And then, as he ran, Jimmie Dale gave
+a little gasp of relief.  Just ahead, drawn up at the curb, stood a
+taxicab--waiting, probably, for a private slumming party.  Jimmie
+Dale put on a spurt, reached it, and wrenched the door open.
+
+"Quick!" he flung at the startled chauffeur.  "The nearest subway
+station--there's a ten-spot in it for you!  Quick man--QUICK!  Here
+they come!"
+
+A crowd of Chinese, pouring like angry hornets from Chang Foo's
+shop, came yelling down the street--and the taxi took the corner on
+two wheels--and Jimmie Dale, panting, choking for his breath like a
+man spent, sank back against the cushions.
+
+But five minutes later it was quite another Jimmie Dale, composed,
+nonchalant, imperturbable, who entered an up-town subway train, and,
+choosing a seat alone near the centre of the car, which at that hour
+of night in the downtown district was almost deserted, took the
+crushed letter from his pocket.  For a moment he made no attempt to
+read it, his dark eyes, now that he was free from observation, full
+of troubled retrospect, fixed on the window at his side.  It was not
+a pleasant thought that it had cost a man his life, nor yet that
+that life was also the price of his own freedom.  True, if there
+were two men in the city of New York whose crimes merited neither
+sympathy nor mercy, those two men were the Wowzer and Dago Jim--but
+yet, after all, it was a human life, and, even if his own had been
+in the balance, thank God it had been through no act of his that
+Dago Jim had gone out!  The Wowzer, cute and cunning, had been quick
+enough to say so to clear himself, but--Jimmie Dale smiled a little
+now--neither the Wowzer, nor Chang Foo, nor Chinatown would ever be
+in a position to recognise their uninvited guest!
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted to the letter speculatively, gravely.  It
+seemed as though the night had already held a year of happenings,
+and the night was not over yet--there was the letter!  It had
+already cost one life; was it to cost another--or what?
+
+It began as it always did.  He read it through once, in amazement; a
+second time, with a flush of bitter anger creeping to his cheeks;
+and a third time, curiously memorising, as it were, snatches of it
+here and there.
+
+
+"DEAR PHILANTHROPIC CROOK: Robbery of Hudson-Mercantile National
+Bank--trusted employee is ex-convict, bad police record, served term
+in Sing Sing three years ago--known to police as Bookkeeper Bob,
+real name is Robert Moyne, lives at ---- Street, Harlem--Inspector
+Burton and Lannigan of headquarters trailing him now--robbery not
+yet made public--"
+
+
+There was a great deal more--four sheets of closely written data.
+With an exclamation almost of dismay, Jimmie Dale pulled out his
+watch.  So that was what Burton and Lannigan were up to!  And he had
+actually run into them!  Lord, the irony of it!  The--  And then
+Jimmie Dale stared at the dial of his watch incredulously.  It was
+still but barely midnight!  It seemed impossible that since leaving
+the theatre at a few minutes before eleven, he had lived through but
+a single hour!
+
+Jimmie Dale's fingers began to pluck at the letter, tearing it into
+pieces, tearing the pieces over and over again into tiny shreds.
+The train stopped at station after station, people got on and off--
+Jimmie Dale's hat was over his eyes, and his eyes were glued again
+to the window.  Had Bookkeeper Bob returned to his flat in Harlem
+with the detectives at his heels--or were Burton and Lannigan still
+trailing the man downtown somewhere around the cafe's?  If the
+former, the theft of the letter and its incident loss of time had
+been an irreparable disaster; if the latter--well, who knew!  The
+risk was the Gray Seal's!
+
+At One Hundred and Twenty-Fifth Street Jimmie Dale left the train;
+and, at the end of a sharp four minutes' walk, during which he had
+dodged in and out from street to street, stopped on a corner to
+survey the block ahead of him.  It was a block devoted exclusively
+to flats and apartment houses, and, apart from a few belated
+pedestrians, was deserted.  Jimmie Dale strolled leisurely down one
+side, crossed the street at the end of the block, and strolled
+leisurely back on the other side--there was no sign of either Burton
+or Lannigan.  It was a fairly safe presumption then that Bookkeeper
+Bob had not returned yet, or one of the detectives at least would
+have been shadowing the house.
+
+Jimmie Dale, smiling a little grimly, retraced his steps again, and
+turned deliberately into a doorway--whose number he had noted as he
+had passed a moment or so before.  So, after all, there was time
+yet!  This was the house.  "Number eighteen," she had said in her
+letter.  "A flat--three stories--Moyne lives on ground floor."
+
+Jimmie Dale leaned against the vestibule door--there was a faint
+click--a little steel instrument was withdrawn from the lock--and
+Jimmie Dale stepped into the hall, where a gas jet, turned down,
+burned dimly.
+
+The door of the ground-floor apartment was at his right, Jimmie Dale
+reached up and turned off the light.  Again those slim, tapering,
+wonderfully sensitive fingers worked with the little steel
+instrument, this time in the lock of the apartment door--again there
+was that almost inaudible click--and then cautiously, inch by inch,
+the door opened under his hand.  He peered inside--down a hallway
+lighted, if it could be called lighted at all, by a subdued glow
+from two open doors that gave upon it--peered intently, listening
+intently, as he drew a black silk mask from his pocket and slipped
+it over his face.  And then, silent as a shadow in his movements,
+the door left just ajar behind him, he stole down the carpeted
+hallway.
+
+Opposite the first of the open doorways Jimmie Dale paused--a
+curiously hard expression creeping over his face, his lips beginning
+to droop ominously downward at the corners.  It was a little sitting
+room, cheaply but tastefully furnished, and a young woman,
+Bookkeeper Bob's wife evidently, and evidently sitting up for her
+husband, had fallen sound asleep in a chair, her head pillowed on
+her arms that were outstretched across the table.  For a moment
+Jimmie Dale held there, his eyes on the scene--and the next moment,
+his hand curved into a clenched fist, he had passed on and entered
+the adjoining room.
+
+It was a child's bedroom.  A night lamp burned on a table beside the
+bed, and the soft rays seemed to play and linger in caress on the
+tousled golden hair of a little girl of perhaps two years of age--
+and something seemed to choke suddenly in Jimmie Dale's throat--the
+sweet, innocent little face, upturned to his, was smiling at him as
+she slept.
+
+Jimmie Dale turned away his head--his eyelashes wet under his mask.
+"BENEATH THE MATTRESS OF THE CHILD'S BED," the letter had said.  His
+face like stone, his lips a thin line now, Jimmie Dale's hand
+reached deftly in without disturbing the child and took out a
+package--and then another.  He straightened up, a bundle of crisp
+new hundred-dollar notes in each hand--and on the top of one,
+slipped under the elastic band that held the bills together, an
+unsealed envelope.  He drew out the latter, and opened it--it was a
+second-class steamship passage to Vera Cruz, made out in a
+fictitious name, of course, to John Davies, the booking for next
+day's sailing.  From the ticket, from the stolen money, Jimmie
+Dale's eyes lifted to rest again on the little golden head, the
+smiling lips--and then, dropping the packages into his pockets, his
+own lips moving queerly, he turned abruptly to the door.
+
+"My God, the shame of it!" he whispered to himself.
+
+He crept down the corridor, past the open door of the room where the
+young woman still sat fast asleep, and, his mask in his pocket
+again, stepped softly into the vestibule, and from there to the
+street.
+
+Jimmie Dale hurried now, spurred on it seemed by a hot, insensate
+fury that raged within him--there was still one other call to make
+that night--still those remaining and minute details in the latter
+part of her letter, grim and ugly in their portent!
+
+It was close upon one o'clock in the morning when Jimmie Dale
+stopped again--this time before a fashionable dwelling just off
+Central Park.  And here, for perhaps the space of a minute, he
+surveyed the house from the sidewalk--watching, with a sort of
+speculative satisfaction, a man's shadow that passed constantly to
+and fro across the drawn blinds of one of the lower windows.  The
+rest of the house was in darkness.
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale, nodding his head, "I rather thought so.
+The servants will have retired hours ago.  It's safe enough."
+
+He ran quickly up the steps and rang the bell.  A door opened almost
+instantly, sending a faint glow into the hall from the lighted room;
+a hurried step crossed the hall--and the outer door was thrown back.
+
+"Well, what is it?" demanded a voice brusquely.
+
+It was quite dark, too dark for either to distinguish the other's
+features--and Jimmie Dale's hat was drawn far down over his eyes.
+
+"I want to see Mr. Thomas H. Carling, cashier of the Hudson-
+Mercantile National Bank--it's very important," said Jimmie Dale
+earnestly.
+
+"I am Mr. Carling," replied the other.  "What is it?"
+
+Jimmie Dale leaned forward.
+
+"From headquarters--with a report," he said, in a low tone.
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed the bank official sharply.  "Well, it's about time!
+I've been waiting up for it--though I expected you would telephone
+rather than this.  Come in!"
+
+"Thank you," said Jimmie Dale courteously--and stepped into the
+hall.
+
+The other closed the front door.  "The servants are in bed, of
+course," he explained, as he led the way toward the lighted room.
+"This way, please."
+
+Behind the other, across the hall, Jimmie Dale followed and close at
+Carling's heels entered the room, which was fitted up, quite
+evidently regardless of cost, as a combination library and study.
+Carling, in a somewhat pompous fashion, walked straight ahead toward
+the carved-mahogany flat-topped desk, and, as he reached it, waved
+his hand.
+
+"Take a chair," he said, over his shoulder--and then, turning in the
+act of dropping into his own chair, grasped suddenly at the edge of
+the desk instead, and, with a low, startled cry, stared across the
+room.
+
+Jimmie Dale was leaning back against the door that was closed now
+behind him--and on Jimmie Dale's face was a black silk mask.
+
+For an instant neither man spoke nor moved; then Carling, spare-
+built, dapper in evening clothes, edged back from the desk and
+laughed a little uncertainly.
+
+"Quite neat!  I compliment you!  From headquarters with a report, I
+think you said?"
+
+"Which I neglected to add," said Jimmie Dale, "was to be made in
+private."
+
+Carling, as though to put as much distance between them as possible,
+continued to edge back across the room--but his small black eyes,
+black now to the pupils themselves, never left Jimmie Dale's face.
+
+"In private, eh?"--he seemed to be sparring for time, as he smiled.
+"In private!  You've a strange method of securing privacy, haven't
+you?  A bit melodramatic, isn't it?  Perhaps you'll be good enough
+to tell me who you are?"
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled indulgently.
+
+"My mask is only for effect," he said.  "My name is--Smith."
+
+"Yes," said Carling.  "I am very stupid.  Thank you.  I--" he had
+reached the other side of the room now--and with a quick, sudden
+movement jerked his hand to the dial of the safe that stood against
+the wall.
+
+But Jimmie Dale was quicker--without shifting his position, his
+automatic, whipped from his pocket, held a disconcerting bead on
+Carling's forehead.
+
+"Please don't do that," said Jimmie Dale softly.  "It's rather a
+good make, that safe.  I dare say it would take me half an hour to
+open it.  I was rather curious to know whether it was locked or
+not."
+
+Carling's hand dropped to his side.
+
+"So!" he sneered.  "That's it, is it!  The ordinary variety of sneak
+thief!"  His voice was rising gradually.  "Well, sir, let me tell
+you that--"
+
+"Mr. Carling," said Jimmie Dale, in a low, even tone, unless you
+moderate your voice some one in the house might hear you--I am quite
+well aware of that.  But if that happens, if any one enters this
+room, if you make a move to touch a button, or in any other way
+attempt to attract attention, I'll drop you where you stand!"  His
+hand, behind his back, extracted the key from the door lock, held it
+up for the other to see, then dropped it into his pocket--and his
+voice, cold before, rang peremptorily now.  "Come back to the desk
+and sit down in that chair!" he ordered.
+
+For a moment Carling hesitated; then, with a half-muttered oath,
+obeyed.
+
+Jimmie Dale moved over, and stood in front of Carling on the other
+side of the desk--and stared silently at the immaculate, fashionably
+groomed figure before him.
+
+Under the prolonged gaze, Carling's composure, in a measure at
+least, seemed to forsake him.  He began to drum nervously with his
+fingers on the desk, and shift uneasily in his chair.
+
+And then, from first one pocket and then the other, Jimmie Dale took
+the two packages of banknotes, and, still with out a word, pushed
+them across the desk until they lay under the other's eyes.
+
+Carling's fingers stopped their drumming, slid to the desk edge,
+tightened there, and a whiteness crept into his face.  Then, with an
+effort, he jerked himself erect in his chair.
+
+"What's this?" he demanded hoarsely.
+
+"About ten thousand dollars, I should say," said Jimmie Dale slowly.
+"I haven't counted it.  Your bank was robbed this evening at closing
+time, I understand?"
+
+"Yes!"  Carling's voice was excited now, the colour back in his
+face.  "But you--how--do you mean that you are returning the money
+to the bank?"
+
+"Exactly," said Jimmie Dale.
+
+Carling was once more the pompous bank official.  He leaned back and
+surveyed Jimmie Dale critically with his little black eyes.
+
+"Ah, quite so!" he observed.  "That accounts for the mask.  But I am
+still a little in the dark.  Under the circumstances, it is quite
+impossible that you should have stolen the money yourself, and--"
+
+"I didn't," said Jimmie Dale.  "I found it hidden in the home of one
+of your employees."
+
+"You found it--WHERE?"
+
+"In Moyne's home--up in Harlem."
+
+"Moyne, eh?"  Carling was alert, quick now, jerking out his words.
+"How did you come to get into this, then?  His pal?  Double-crossing
+him, eh?  I suppose you want a reward--we'll attend to that, of
+course.  You're wiser than you know, my man.  That's what we
+suspected.  We've had the detectives trailing Moyne all evening."
+He reached forward over the desk for the telephone.  "I'll telephone
+headquarters to make the arrest at once."
+
+"Just a minute," interposed Jimmie Dale gravely.  "I want you to
+listen to a little story first."
+
+"A story!  What has a story got to do with this?" snapped Carling.
+
+"The man has got a home," said Jimmie Dale softly.  "A home, and a
+wife--and a little baby girl."
+
+"Oh, that's the game then, eh?  You want to plead for him?"  Carling
+flung out gruffly.  "Well, he should have thought of all that
+before!  It's quite useless for you to bring it up.  The man has had
+his chance already--a better chance than any one with his record
+ever had before.  We took him into the bank knowing that he was an
+ex-convict, but believing that we could make an honest man of him--
+and this is the result."
+
+"And yet--"
+
+"NO!" said Carling icily.
+
+"You refuse--absolutely?"  Jimmie Dale's voice had a lingering,
+wistful note in it.
+
+"I refuse!" said Carling bluntly.  "I won't have anything to do with
+it."
+
+There was just an instant's silence; and then, with a strange, slow,
+creeping motion, as a panther creeps when about to spring, Jimmie
+Dale projected his body across the desk--far across it toward the
+other.  And the muscles of his jaw were quivering, his words
+rasping, choked with the sweep of fury that, held back so long,
+broke now in a passionate surge.
+
+"And shall I tell you why you won't?  Your bank was robbed to-night
+of one hundred thousand dollars.  There are ten thousand here.  THE
+OTHER NINETY THOUSAND ARE IN YOUR SAFE!"
+
+"You lie!"  Ashen to the lips, Carling had risen in his chair.  "You
+lie!" he cried.  "Do you hear!  You lie!  I tell you, you lie!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips parted ominously.
+
+"Sit down!" he gritted between his teeth.
+
+The white in Carling's face had turned to gray, his lips were
+working--mechanically he sank down again in his chair.
+
+Jimmie Dale still leaned over the desk, resting his weight on his
+right elbow, the automatic in his right hand covering Carling.
+
+"You cur!" whispered Jimmie Dale.  "There's just one reason, only
+one, that keeps me from putting a bullet through you while you sit
+there.  We'll get to that in a moment.  There is that little story
+first--shall I tell it to you now?  For the past four years, and God
+knows how many before that, you've gone the pace.  The lavishness of
+this bachelor establishment of yours is common talk in New York--far
+in excess of a bank cashier's salary.  But you were supposed to be a
+wealthy man in your own right; and so, in reality you were--once.
+But you went through your fortune two years ago.  Counted a model
+citizen, an upright man, an honour to the community--what were you,
+Carling?  What ARE you?  Shall I tell you?  Roue, gambler, leading a
+double life of the fastest kind.  You did it cleverly, Carling; hid
+it well--but your game is up.  To-night, for instance, you are at
+the end of your tether, swamped with debts, exposure threatening you
+at any moment.  Why don't you tell me again that I lie--Carling?"
+
+But now the man made no answer.  He had sunk a little deeper in his
+chair--a dawning look of terror in the eyes that held, fascinated,
+on Jimmie Dale.
+
+"You cur!" said Jimmie Dale again.  "You cur, with your devil's
+work!  A year ago you saw this night coming--when you must have
+money, or face ruin and exposure.  You saw it then, a year ago, the
+day that Moyne, concealing nothing of his prison record, applied
+through friends for a position in the bank.  Your co-officials were
+opposed to his appointment, but you, do you remember how you pleaded
+to give the man his chance--and in your hellish ingenuity saw your
+way then out of the trap!  An ex-convict from Sing Sing!  It was
+enough, wasn't it?  What chance had he!"  Jimmie Dale paused, his
+left hand clenched until the skin formed whitish knobs over the
+knuckles.
+
+Carling's tongue sought his lips, made a circuit of them--and he
+tried to speak, but his voice was an incoherent muttering.
+
+"I'll not waste words," said Jimmie Dale, in his grim monotone.
+"I'm not sure enough myself--that I could keep my hands off you much
+longer.  The actual details of how you stole the money to-day do not
+matter--NOW.  A little later perhaps in court--but not now.  You
+were the last to leave the bank, but before leaving you pretended to
+discover the theft of a hundred thousand dollars--that, done up in a
+paper parcel, was even then reposing in your desk.  You brought the
+parcel home, put it in that safe there--and notified the president
+of the bank by telephone from here of the robbery, suggesting that
+police headquarters be advised at once.  He told you to go ahead and
+act as you saw best.  You notified the police, speciously directing
+suspicion to--the ex-convict in the bank's employ.  You knew Moyne
+was dining out to-night, you knew where--and at a hint from you the
+police took up the trail.  A little later in the evening, you took
+these two packages of banknotes from the rest, and with this
+steamship ticket--which you obtained yesterday while out at lunch by
+sending a district messenger boy with the money and instructions in
+a sealed envelope to purchase for you--you went up to the Moynes'
+flat in Harlem for the purpose of secreting them somewhere there.
+You pretended to be much disappointed at finding Moyne out--you had
+just come for a little social visit, to get better acquainted with
+the home life of your employees!  Mrs. Moyne was genuinely pleased
+and grateful.  She took you in to see their little girl, who was
+already asleep in bed.  She left you there for a moment to answer
+the door--and you--you"--Jimmie Dale's voice choked again--"you blot
+on God's earth, you slipped the money and ticket under the child's
+mattress!"
+
+Carling came forward with a lurch in his chair--and his hands went
+out, pawing in a wild, pleading fashion over Jimmie Dale's arm.
+
+Jimmie Dale flung him away.
+
+"You were safe enough," he rasped on.  "The police could only
+construe your visit to Moyne's flat as zeal on behalf of the bank.
+And it was safer, much more circumspect on your part, not to order
+the flat searched at once, but only as a last resort, as it were,
+after you had led the police to trail him all evening and still
+remain without a clew--and besides, of course, not until you had
+planted the evidence that was to damn him and wreck his life and
+home!  You were even generous in the amount you deprived yourself of
+out of the hundred thousand dollars--for less would have been
+enough.  Caught with ten thousand dollars of the bank's money and a
+steamship ticket made out in a fictitious name, it was prima-facie
+evidence that he had done the job and had the balance somewhere.
+What would his denials, his protestations of innocence count for?
+He was an ex-convict, a hardened criminal caught red-handed with a
+portion of the proceeds of robbery--he had succeeded in hiding the
+remainder of it too cleverly, that was all."
+
+Carling's face was ghastly.  His hands went out again--again his
+tongue moistened his dry lips.  He whispered:
+
+"Isn't--isn't there some--some way we can fix this?"
+
+And then Jimmie Dale laughed--not pleasantly.
+
+"Yes, there's a way, Carling," he said grimly.  "That's why I'm
+here."  He picked up a sheet of writing paper and pushed it across
+the desk--then a pen, which he dipped into the inkstand, and
+extended to the other.  "The way you'll fix it will be to write out
+a confession exonerating Moyne."
+
+Carling shrank back into his chair, his head huddling into his
+shoulders.
+
+"NO!" he cried.  "I won't--I can't--my God!--I--I--WON'T!"
+
+The automatic in Jimmie Dale's hand edged forward the fraction of an
+inch.
+
+"I have not used this--yet.  You understand now why--don't you?" he
+said under his breath.
+
+"No, no!" Carling pushed away the pen.  "I'm ruined--ruined as it
+is.  But this would mean the penitentiary, too--"
+
+"Where you tried to send an innocent man in your place, you hound;
+where you--"
+
+"Some other way--some other way!"  Carling was babbling.  "Let me
+out of this--for God's sake, let me out of this!"
+
+"Carling," said Jimmie Dale hoarsely, "I stood beside a little bed
+to-night and looked at a baby girl--a little baby girl with golden
+hair, who smiled as she slept."
+
+Carling shivered, and passed a shaking hand across his face.
+
+"Take this pen," said Jimmie Dale monotonously; "or--THIS!"  The
+automatic lifted until the muzzle was on a line with Carling's eyes.
+
+Carling's hand reached out, still shaking, and took the pen; and his
+body, dragged limply forward, hung over the desk.  The pen
+spluttered on the paper--a bead of sweat spurting from the man's
+forehead dropped to the sheet.
+
+There was silence in the room.  A minute passed--another. Carling's
+pen travelled haltingly across the paper then, with a queer, low cry
+as he signed his name, he dropped the pen from his fingers, and,
+rising unsteadily from his chair, stumbled away from the desk toward
+a couch across the room.
+
+An instant Jimmie Dale watched the other, then he picked up the
+sheet of paper.  It was a miserable document, miserably scrawled:
+
+
+"I guess it's all up.  I guess I knew it would be some day.  Moyne
+hadn't anything to do with it.  I stole the money myself from the
+bank to-night.  I guess it's all up.
+
+THOMAS H. CARLING."
+
+
+From the paper, Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted to the figure by the
+couch--and the paper fluttered suddenly from his fingers to the
+desk. Carling was reeling, clutching at his throat--a small glass
+vial rolled upon the carpet.  And then, even as Jimmie Dale sprang
+forward, the other pitched head long over the couch--and in a moment
+it was over.
+
+Presently Jimmie Dale picked up the vial--and dropped it back on the
+floor again.  There was no label on it, but it needed none--the
+strong, penetrating odor of bitter almonds was telltale evidence
+enough.  It was prussic, or hydrocyanic acid, probably the most
+deadly poison and the swiftest in its action that was known to
+science--Carling had provided against that "some day" in his
+confession!
+
+For a little space, motionless, Jimmie Dale stood looking down at
+the silent, outstretched form--then he walked slowly back to the
+desk, and slowly, deliberately picked up the signed confession and
+the steamship ticket.  He held them an instant, staring at them,
+then methodically began to tear them into little pieces, a strange,
+tired smile hovering on his lips.  The man was dead now--there would
+be disgrace enough for some one to bear, a mother perhaps--who knew!
+And there was another way now--since the man was dead.
+
+Jimmie Dale put the pieces in his pocket, went to the safe, opened
+it, and took out a parcel, locked the safe carefully, and carried
+the parcel to the desk.  He opened it there.  Inside were nearly two
+dozen little packages of hundred-dollar bills.  The other two
+packages that he had brought with him he added to the rest.  From
+his pocket he took out the thin metal insignia case, and with the
+tiny tweezers lifted up one of the gray-coloured, diamond-shaped
+paper seals.  He moistened the adhesive side, and, still holding it
+by the tweezers, dropped it on his handkerchief and pressed the seal
+down on the face of the topmost package of banknotes.  He tied the
+parcel up then, and, picking up the pen, addressed it in printed
+characters:
+
+
+HUDSON-MERCANTILE NATIONAL BANK,
+
+NEW YORK CITY.
+
+
+"District messenger--some way--in the morning," he murmured.
+
+Jimmie Dale slipped his mask into his pocket, and, with the parcel
+under his arm, stepped to the door and unlocked it.  He paused for
+an instant on the threshold for a single, quick, comprehensive
+glance around the room--then passed on out into the street.
+
+At the corner he stopped to light a cigarette--and the flame of the
+match spurting up disclosed a face that was worn and haggard.  He
+threw the match away, smiled a little wearily--and went on.
+
+The Gray Seal had committed another "crime."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE THIEF
+
+
+Choosing between the snowy napery, the sparkling glass and silver,
+the cozy, shaded table-lamps, the famous French chef of the ultra-
+exclusive St. James Club, his own home on Riverside Drive where a
+dinner fit for an epicure and served by Jason, that most perfect of
+butlers, awaited him, and Marlianne's, Jimmie Dale, driving in alone
+in his touring car from an afternoon's golf, had chosen--
+Marlianne's.
+
+Marlianne's, if such a thing as Bohemianism, or, rather, a concrete
+expression of it exists, was Bohemian.  A two-piece string
+orchestra played valiantly to the accompaniment of a hoarse-throated
+piano; and between courses the diners took up the refrain--and, as
+it was always between courses with some one, the place was a bedlam
+of noisy riot.  Nevertheless, it was Marlianne's--and Jimmie Dale
+liked Marlianne's.  He had dined there many times before, as he had
+just dined in the person of Jimmie Dale, the millionaire, his high-
+priced imported car at the curb of the shabby street outside--and he
+had dined there, disreputable in attire, seedy in appearance, with
+the police yelping at his heels, as Larry the Bat.  In either
+character Marlianne's had welcomed him with equal courtesy to its
+spotted linen and most excellent table-d'hote with VIN ORDINAIRE--
+for fifty cents.
+
+And now, in the act of reaching into his pocket for the change to
+pay his bill, Jimmie Dale seemed suddenly to experience some
+difficulty in finding what he sought, and his fingers went fumbling
+from one pocket to another.  Two men at the table in front of him
+were talking--their voices, over a momentary lull in violin squeaks,
+talk, laughter, singing, and the clatter of dishes, reached him:
+
+"Carling commit suicide!  Not on your life!  No; of course he
+didn't!  It was that cursed Gray Seal croaked him, just as sure as
+you sit in that chair!"
+
+The other grunted.  "Yes; but what'd the Gray Seal want to pinch a
+hundred thousand out of the bank for, and then give it back again
+the next morning?"
+
+"What's he done a hundred other things for to cover up the real
+object of what he's after?" retorted the first speaker, with a
+short, vicious laugh; then, with a thump of his fist on the table:
+"The man's a devil, a fiend, and anywhere else but New York he'd
+have been caught and sent to the chair where he belongs long ago,
+and--"
+
+A burst of ragtime drowned out the man's words.  Jimmie Dale placed
+a fifty-cent piece and a tip beside it on his dinner check, pushed
+back his chair, and rose from the table.  There was a half-
+tolerantly satirical, half-angry glint in his dark, steady eyes.  It
+was not only the police who yelped at his heels, but every man,
+woman, and child in the city.  The man had not voiced his own
+sentiments--he had voiced the sentiments of New York!  And it was
+quite on the cards that if he, Jimmie Dale, were ever caught his
+destination would not even be the death cell and the chair at Sing
+Sing--his fellow citizens had reached a pitch where they would be
+quite capable of literally tearing him to pieces if they ever got
+their hands on him!
+
+And yet there were a few, a very few, a handful out of five
+millions, who sometimes remembered perhaps to thank God that the
+Gray Seal lived--that was his reward.  That--and SHE, whose
+mysterious letters prompted and impelled his, the Gray Seal's, acts!
+She--nameless, fascinating in her brilliant resourcefulness, amazing
+in her power, a woman whose life was bound up with his and yet held
+apart from him in the most inexplicable, absorbing way; a woman he
+had never seen, save for her gloved arm in the limousine that night,
+who at one unexpected moment projected a dazzling, impersonal
+existence across his path, and the next, leaving him battling for
+his life where greed and passion and crime swirled about him, was
+gone!
+
+Jimmie Dale threaded the small, crowded rooms--the interior of
+Marlianne's had never been altered from the days when the place had
+been a family residence of some pretension--and, reaching the hall,
+received his hat from the frowsy-looking boy in attendance.  He
+passed outside, and, at the top of the steps, paused as he took his
+cigarette case from his pocket.  It was nearly a week since Carling,
+the cashier of the Hudson-Mercantile National Bank, had been found
+dead in his home, a bottle that had contained hydrocyanic acid on
+the floor beside him; nearly a week since Bookkeeper Bob, unaware
+that he had ever been under temporary suspicion for the robbery of
+the bank, had, equally unknown to himself, been cleared of any
+complicity in that affair--and yet, as witness the conversation of a
+moment ago, it was still the topic of New York, still the vital
+issue that filled the maw of the newspapers with ravings, threats,
+and execrations against the Gray Seal, snarling virulently the while
+at the police for the latter's ineptitude, inefficiency, and
+impotence!
+
+Jimmie Dale closed his cigarette case with a snap that was almost
+human in its irony, dropped it back into his pocket, and lighted a
+match--but the flame was arrested halfway to the tip of his
+cigarette, as his eyes fixed suddenly and curiously on a woman's
+form hurrying down the street.  She had turned the corner before he
+took his eyes from her, and the match between his fingers had gone
+out.  Not that there was anything very strange in a woman walking,
+or even half running, along the street; nor that there was anything
+particularly attractive or unusual about her, and if there had been
+the street was too dark for him to have distinguished it.  It was
+not that--it was the fact that she had neither passed by the house
+on whose steps he stood, nor come out of any of the adjoining
+houses.  It was as though she had suddenly and miraculously appeared
+out of thin air, and taken form on a sidewalk a little way down from
+Marlianne's.
+
+"That's queer!" commented Jimmie Dale to himself.  "However--"  He
+took out another match, lighted his cigarette, jerked the match stub
+away from him, and, with a lift of his shoulders, went down the
+steps.
+
+He crossed the pavement, walked around the front of his machine,
+since the steering wheel was on the side next to the curb, and, with
+his hand out to open the car door--stopped.  Some one had been
+tampering with it--it was not quite closed.  There was no mistake.
+Jimmie Dale made no mistakes of that kind, a man whose life hung a
+dozen times a day on little things could not afford to make them.
+He had closed it firmly, even with a bang, when he had got out.
+
+Instantly suspicious, he wrenched the door wide open, switched on
+the light under the hood, and, with a sharp exclamation, bent
+quickly forward.  A glove, a woman's glove, a white glove lay on the
+floor of the car.  Jimmie Dale's pulse leaped suddenly into fierce,
+pounding beats.  It was HERS!  He KNEW that intuitively--knew it as
+he knew that he breathed.  And that woman he had so leisurely
+watched as she had disappeared from sight was, must have been--she!
+
+He sprang from the car with a jump, his first impulse to dash after
+her--and checked himself, laughing a little bitterly.  It was too
+late for that now--he had already let his chance slip through his
+fingers.  Around the corner was Sixth Avenue, surface cars, the
+elevated, taxicabs, a multitude of people, any one of a hundred ways
+in which she could, and would, already have discounted pursuit from
+him--and, besides, he would not even have been able to recognise her
+if he saw her!
+
+Jimmie Dale's smile was mirthless as he turned back to the car, and
+picked up the glove.  Why had she dropped it there?  It could not
+have been intentional.  Why had--he began to tear suddenly at the
+glove's little finger, and in another second, kneeling on the car's
+step, his shoulders inside, he was holding a ring close under the
+little electric bulb.
+
+It was a gold seal ring, a small, dainty thing that bore a crest: a
+bell, surmounted by a bishop's mitre--the bell, quaint in design,
+harking the imagination back to some old-time belfry tower.  And
+underneath, in the scroll--a motto.  It was a full minute before
+Jimmie Dale could decipher it, for the lettering was minute and the
+words, of course, reversed.  It was in French: SONNEZ LE TOCSIN.
+
+He straightened up, the glove and ring in his hand, a puzzled
+expression on his face.  It was strange!  Had she, after all,
+dropped the glove there intentionally; had she at last let down the
+barriers just a little between them, and given him this little
+intimate sign that she--
+
+And then Jimmie Dale laughed abruptly, self-mockingly.  He was only
+trying to deceive himself, to argue himself into believing what,
+with heart and soul, he wanted to believe.  It was not like her--and
+neither was it so!  His eyes had fixed on the seat beside the wheel.
+He had not used the lap rug all that day, he couldn't use a rug and
+drive, he had left it folded and hanging on the rack in the tonneau--
+it was now neatly folded and reposing on the front seat!
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale, a sort of self-pity in his tones, "I might
+have known."
+
+He lifted the rug.  Beneath it on the leather seat lay a white
+envelope.  Her letter!  The letter that never came save with the
+plan of some grim, desperate work outlined ahead--the call to arms
+for the Gray Seal.  SONNEZ LE TOCSIN!  Ring the Tocsin!  Sound the
+alarm!  The Tocsin!  The words were running through his brain.  A
+strange motto on that crest--that seemed so strangely apt!  The
+Tocsin!  Never once in all the times that he had heard from her,
+never once in the years that had gone since that initial letter of
+hers had struck its first warning note, had any communication from
+her been but to sound again a new alarm--the Toscin!  The Tocsin--
+the word seemed to visualise her, to give her a concrete form and
+being, to breathe her very personality.
+
+"The Tocsin!"--Jimmie Dale whispered the word softly, a little
+wistfully.  "Yes; I shall call you that--the Tocsin!"
+
+He folded the glove very carefully, placed it with the ring in his
+pocketbook, picked up the letter--and, with a sharp exclamation,
+turned it quickly over in his fingers, then bent hurriedly with it
+to the light.
+
+Strange things were happening that night!  For the first time, the
+letter was not even SEALED!  That was not like her, either!  What
+did it mean?  Quick, alert now, anxious even, he pulled the double,
+folded sheets from the envelope, glanced rapidly through them--and,
+after a moment, a smile, whimsical, came slowly to his lips.
+
+It was quite plain now--all of it.  The glove, the ring, and the
+unsealed letter--and the postscript held the secret; or, rather,
+what had been intended for a postscript did, for it comprised only a
+few words, ending abruptly, unfinished: "Look in the cupboard at the
+rear of the room.  The man with the red wig is--"  That was all, and
+the words, written in ink, were badly blurred, as though the paper
+had been hastily folded before the ink was dry.
+
+It was quite plain; and, in view of the real explanation of it all,
+eminently characteristic of her.  With the letter already written,
+she had come there, meaning to place it on the seat and cover it
+with the rug, as, indeed, she had done; then, deciding to add the
+postscript, and because she would attract less attention that way
+than in any other, she had climbed into the car as though it
+belonged to her, and had seated herself there to write it.  She
+would have been hurried in her movements, of course, and in pulling
+off her glove to use the fountain pen the ring had come with it.
+The rest was obvious.  She had but just begun to write when he had
+appeared on the steps.  She had slipped instantly down to the floor
+of the car, probably dropping the glove from her lap, hastily
+inclosed the letter in the envelope which she had no time to seal,
+thrust the envelope under the rug, and, forgetting her glove and
+fearful of risking his attention by attempting to close the door
+firmly, had stolen along the body of the car, only to be noticed by
+him too late--when she was well down the street!
+
+And at that latter thought, once more chagrin seized Jimmie Dale--
+then he turned impulsively to the letter.  All this was extraneous,
+apart--for another time, when every moment was not a priceless asset
+as it very probably was now.
+
+"Dear Philanthropic Crook"--it always began that way, never any
+other way.  He read on more and more intently, crouched there close
+to the light on the floor of his car, lips thinning as he proceeded--
+read it to the end, absorbing, memorising it--and then the abortive
+postscript:
+
+"Look in the cupboard at the rear of the room.  The man with the red
+wig is--"
+
+For an instant, as mechanically he tore the letter into little
+shreds, he held there hesitant--and the next, slamming the door
+tight, he flung himself into the seat behind the wheel, and the big,
+sixty-horse-power, self-starting machine was roaring down the
+street.
+
+The Tocsin!  There was a grim smile on Jimmie Dale's lips now.  The
+alarm!  Yes, it was always an alarm, quick, sudden, an emergency to
+face on the instant--plans, decisions to be made with no time to
+ponder them, with only that one fact to consider, staggering enough
+in itself, that a mistake meant disaster and ruin to some one else,
+and to himself, if the courts were merciful where he had little hope
+for mercy, the penitentiary for life!
+
+And now to-night again, as it almost always was when these
+mysterious letters came, every moment of inaction was piling up the
+odds against him.  And, too, the same problem confronted him.  How,
+in what way, in what role, must he play the night's game to its end?
+As Larry the Bat?
+
+The car was speeding forward.  He was heading down Broadway now,
+lower Broadway, that stretched before him, deserted like some dark,
+narrow canyon where, far below, like towering walls, the buildings
+closed together and seemed to converge into some black, impassable
+barrier.  The street lights flashed by him; a patrolman stopped the
+swinging of his night-stick, and turned to gaze at the car that
+rushed by at a rate perilously near to contempt of speed laws;
+street cars passed at indifferent intervals; pedestrians were few
+and far between--it was the lower Broadway of night.
+
+Larry the Bat?  Jimmie Dale shook his head impatiently over the
+steering wheel.  No; that would not do.  It would be well enough for
+this young Burton, perhaps, but not for old Isaac, the East Side
+fence--for Isaac knew him in the character of Larry the Bat.  His
+quick, keen brain, weaving, eliminating, devising, scheming,
+discarded that idea.  The final coup of the night, as yet but sensed
+in an indefinite, unshaped way, if enacted in the person of Larry
+the Bat would therefore stamp Larry the Bat and the Gray Seal as
+one--a contretemps but little less fatal, in view of old Issac, than
+to bracket the Gray Seal and Jimmie Dale!  Larry the Bat was not a
+character to be assumed with impunity, nor one to jeopardize--it was
+a bulwark of safety, at it were, to which more than once he owed
+escape from capture and discovery.
+
+He lifted his shoulders with a sudden jerk of decision as the car
+swerved to the left and headed for the East Side.  There was only
+one alternative then--the black silk mask that folded into such tiny
+compass, and that, together with an automatic and the curious, thin
+metal case that looked so like a cigarette case, was always in his
+pocket for an emergency!
+
+The car turned again, and, approaching its destination, Jimmie Dale
+slowed down the speed perceptibly.  It was a strange case, not a
+pleasant one--and the raw edges where they showed were ugly in their
+nakedness.  Old Isaac Pelina, young Burton, and Maddon--K.
+Wilmington Maddon, the wall-paper magnate!  Curious, that of the
+three he should already know two--old Isaac and Maddon!  Everybody in
+the East Side, every denizen of the underworld, and many who posed
+on a far higher plane knew old Isaac--fence to the most select
+clientele of thieves in New York, unscrupulous, hand in glove with
+any rascality or crime that promised profit, a money lender, a
+Shylock without even a Shylock's humanity as a saving grace!  Yes;
+as Larry the Bat he knew old Isaac, and he knew him not only
+personally but by firsthand reputation--he had heard the man cursed
+in blasphemous, whole-souled abandon by more than one crook who was
+in the old fence's toils.  They dealt with him, the crooks, while
+they swore to "get" him because he was "safe," but--Jimmie Dale's
+lips parted in a mirthless smile--some day old Isaac would be found
+in that spiders' den of his back of the dingy loan office with a
+knife in his heart or a bullet through his head!  And K. Wilmington
+Maddon--Jimmie Dale's smile grew whimsical--he had known Maddon
+quite intimately for years, had even dined with him at the St. James
+Club only a few nights before.  Maddon was a man in his own "set"--
+and Maddon, interfered with, was likely to prove none too tractable
+a customer to handle.  And young Burton, the letter had said, was
+Maddon's private and confidential secretary.  Jimmie Dale's lips
+thinned again.  Well, Burton's acquaintance was still to be made!
+It was a curious trio--and it was dirty work, more raw than cunning,
+more devilish than ingenious; blackmail in its most hellish form;
+the stake, at the least calculation, a cool half million.  A heavy
+price for a single slip in a man's life!
+
+He brought the car abruptly to a halt at the edge of the curb, and
+sprang out to the ground.  He was in front of "The Budapest"
+restaurant, a garish establishment, most popular of all resorts for
+the moment on the East Side, where Fifth Avenue, in the fond belief
+that it was seeing the real thing in "seamy" life, engaged its table
+a week in advance.  Jimmie Dale pushed a bill into the door
+attendant's hand, accompanied by an injunction to keep an eye on the
+machine, and entered the cafe.
+
+But for a sort of tinselled ostentation the place might well have
+been the Marlianne's that he had just left--it was crowded and riot
+was at its height; a stringed orchestra in Hungarian costume played
+what purported to be Hungarian airs; shouts, laughter, clatter of
+dishes, and thump of steins added to the din.  He made his way
+between the close-packed tables to the stairs, and descended to the
+lower floor.  Here, if anything, the confusion was greater than
+above; but here, too, was an exit through to the rear street--and a
+moment later he was sauntering past the front of an unkempt little
+pawnshop, closed for the night, over whose door, in the murk of a
+distant street lamp, three balls hung in sagging disarray, tawny
+with age, and across whose dirty, unwashed windows, letters missing,
+ran the legend:
+
+
+     IS AC PELINA
+      Pawn brok r
+
+
+The pawnshop made the corner of a very dark and narrow lane--and,
+with a quick glance around him to assure himself that he was
+unobserved, Jimmie Dale stepped into the alleyway, and, lost
+instantly in the blacker shadows, stole along by the wall of the
+pawnshop.  Old Isaac's business was not all done through the front
+door.
+
+And then suddenly Jimmie Dale shrank still closer against the wall.
+Was it intuition, premonition--or reality?  There seemed an uncanny
+feeling of PRESENCE around him, as though perhaps he were watched,
+as though others beside himself were in the lane.  Yes; ahead of him
+a shadow moved--he could just barely distinguish it now that his
+eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness.  It, like himself, was
+close against the wall, and now it slunk noiselessly down the length
+of the lane until he lost sight of it.  AND WHAT WAS THAT?  He
+strained his ears to listen.  It seemed like a window being opened
+or closed, cautiously, stealthily, the fraction of an inch at a
+time.  And then he located the sound--it came from the other side of
+the lane and very nearly opposite to where, on the second floor, a
+dull, yellow glow shone out from old Isaac's private den in the rear
+of the pawnshop's office.
+
+Jimmie Dale's brows were gathered in sharp furrows.  There was
+evidently something afoot to-night of which the Tocsin had NOT
+sounded the alarm.  And then the frown relaxed, and he smiled a
+little.  Miraculous as was the means through which she obtained the
+knowledge that was the basis of their strange partnership, it was no
+more miraculous than her unerring accuracy in the minutest details.
+The Tocsin had never failed him yet.  It was possible that something
+was afoot around him, quite probable, indeed, since he was in the
+most vicious part of the city, in the heart of gangland; but
+whatever it might be, it was certainly extraneous to his mission or
+she would have mentioned it.
+
+The lane was empty now, he was quite sure of that--and there was no
+further sound from the window opposite.  He started forward once
+more--only to halt again for the second time as abruptly as before,
+squeezing if possible even more closely against the wall.  Some one
+had turned into the lane from the sidewalk, and, walking hurriedly,
+choosing with evident precaution the exact centre of the alleyway,
+came toward him.
+
+The man passed, his hurried stride a half run; and, a few feet
+beyond, halted at old Isaac's side door.  From somewhere inside the
+old building Jimmie Dale's ears caught the faint ringing of an
+electric bell; a long ring, followed in quick succession by three
+short ones--then the repeated clicking of a latch, as though pulled
+by a cord from above, and the man passed in through the door,
+closing it behind him.
+
+Jimmie Dale nodded to himself in the darkness.  It was a spring
+lock; the signal was one long ring and three short ones--the Tocsin
+had not missed even those small details.  Also, Burton was late for
+his appointment, for that must have been Burton--business such as
+old Isaac had in hand that night would have permitted the entrance
+of no other visitor but K. Wilmington Maddon's private secretary.
+
+He moved down the lane to the door, and tried it softly.  It was
+locked, of course.  The slim, tapering, sensitive fingers, whose
+tips were eyes and ears to Jimmie Dale, felt over the lock--and a
+slender little steel instrument slipped into the keyhole.  A moment
+more and the catch was released, and the door, under his hand, began
+to open.  With it ajar, he paused, his eyes searching intently up
+and down the lane.  There was nothing, no sign of any one, no
+moving shadows now.  His gaze shifted to the window opposite.
+Directly facing it now, with the dull reflection upon it from the
+lighted window of old Isaac's den above his head, he could make out
+that it was open--but that was all.
+
+Once more he smiled--a little tolerantly at himself this time.  Some
+one had been in the lane; some one had opened the window of his or
+her room in that tenement house across from him--surely there was
+nothing surprising, unnatural, or even out of the commonplace in
+that.  He had been a little bit on edge himself, perhaps, and the
+sudden movement of that shadow, unexpected, had startled him for the
+moment, as, in all probability, the opening of the window had
+startled the skulking figure itself into action.
+
+The door was open now.  He stepped noiselessly inside, and closed it
+noiselessly behind him.  He was in a narrow hall, where a few yards
+away, a light shone down a stairway at right angles to the hall
+itself.
+
+"Rear door of pawnshop opens into hall, and exactly opposite very
+short flight of stairs leading directly to doorway of Isaac's den
+above.  Ramshackle old place, low ceilings.  Isaac, when sitting in
+his den, can look down, and, by means of a transom over the rear
+door of the shop, see the customers as they enter from the street,
+while he also keeps an eye on his assistant.  Latter always locks up
+and leaves promptly at six o'clock--"  Jimmie Dale was
+subconsciously repeating to himself snatches from the Tocsin's
+letter, which, as subconsciously in reading, he had memorised almost
+word for word.
+
+And now voices reached him--one, excited, nervous, as though the
+speaker were labouring under mental strain that bordered closely on
+the hysterical; the other, curiously mingling a querulousness with
+an attempt to pacify, but dominantly contemptuous, sneering, cold.
+
+Jimmie Dale moved along the hall--very slowly--without a sound--
+testing each step before he threw his body weight from one leg to
+the other.  He reached the foot of the stairs.  The Tocsin had been
+right; it was a very short flight.  He counted the steps--there were
+eight.  Above, facing him, a door was open.  The voices were louder
+now.  It was a sordid-looking room, what he could see of it,
+poverty-stricken in its appearance, intentionally so probably for
+effect, with no attempt whatever at furnishing.  He could see
+through the doorway to the window that opened on the alleyway, or,
+rather, just glimpse the top of the window at an angle across the
+room--that and a bare stretch of floor.  The two men were not in the
+line of vision.
+
+Burton's voice--it was unquestionably Burton speaking--came to
+Jimmie Dale now distinctly.
+
+"No, I didn't!  I tell you, I didn't!  I--I hadn't the nerve."
+
+Jimmie Dale slipped his black silk mask over his face; and with
+extreme caution, on hands and knees, began to climb the stairs.
+
+"So!"  It was old Isaac now, in a half purr, half sneer.  "And I was
+so sure, my young friend, that you had.  I was so sure that you were
+not such a fool.  Yes; I could even have sworn that they were in
+your pocket now--what?  It is too bad--too bad!  It is not a
+pleasant thing to think of, that little chair up the river in its
+horrible little room where--"
+
+"For God's sake, Isaac--not that!  Do you hear--not that!  My God, I
+didn't mean to--I didn't know what I was doing!"
+
+Jimmie Dale crept up another step, another, and another.  There was
+silence for a moment in the room; then Burton again, hoarse-voiced:
+
+"Isaac, I'll make good to you some other way.  I swear I will--I
+swear it!  If I'm caught at this I'll--I'll get fifteen years for
+it."
+
+"And which would you rather have?"  Jimmie Dale could picture the
+oily smirk, the shrug of his shoulders, the outthrust hands, palms
+upward, elbows in at the hips, the fingers curved and wide apart--
+"fifteen years, or what you get--for murder?  Eh, my friend, you
+have thought of that--eh?  It is a very little price I ask--yes?"
+
+"Damn you!"  Burton's voice was shrill, then dropped to a half sob.
+"No, no, Isaac, I didn't mean that.  Only, for God's sake be
+merciful!  It is not only the risk of the penitentiary; it's more
+than that.  I--I tried to play white all my life, and until that
+cursed night there's no man living could say I haven't.  You know
+that--you know that, Isaac.  I tell you I couldn't do it this
+afternoon--I tell you I couldn't.  I tried to and--and I couldn't."
+
+Jimmie Dale was lying flat on the little landing now, peering into
+the room.  Back a short distance from the doorway, a repulsive-
+looking little man in unkempt clothes and soiled linen, with
+yellowish-skinned, parchment face, out of which small black eyes
+shone cunningly and shrewdly, sat at a bare deal table in a rickety
+chair; facing him across the table stood a young man of not more
+than twenty-five, clean cut, well dressed, but whose face was
+unnaturally white now, and whose hand, as he extended it in a
+pleading gesture toward the other, trembled visibly.  Jimmie Dale's
+hand made its way quietly to his side pocket and extracted his
+automatic.
+
+Old Isaac humped his shoulders, and leered at his visitor.
+
+"We talk a great deal, my young friend.  What is the use?  A bargain
+is a bargain.  A few rubies in exchange for your life.  A few rubies
+and my mouth is shut.  Otherwise"--he humped his shoulders again.
+"Well?"
+
+Burton drew back, swept his hand in a dazed way across his eyes--and
+laughed out suddenly in bitter mirth.
+
+"A few rubies!" he cried.  "The most magnificent stones on this side
+of the water--a FEW rubies!  It's been Maddon's life hobby.  Every
+child in New York knows that!  A few--yes, there's only a few--but
+those few are worth a fortune.  He trusts me, the man has been like
+a father to me, and--"
+
+"So you are the very last to be suspected," observed old Isaac
+suavely.  "Have I not told you that?  There is nothing to fear.  Did
+we not arrange everything so nicely--eh, my young friend?  See, it
+was to-night that Maddon gives a little reception to his friends,
+and did you not say that the rubies would be taken from the safe-
+deposit vault this afternoon since his friends always clamoured to
+see them as a very fitting conclusion to an evening's entertainment?
+And did you not say that you very naturally had access to the safe
+in the library where you worked, and that he would not notice they
+were gone until he came to look for them some time this evening?  I
+think you said all that.  And what suspicion let alone proof, would
+attach itself to you?  You were out of the room once when he, too,
+was absent for perhaps half an hour.  It is very simple.  In that
+half hour, some one, somehow, abstracted them.  Certainly it was not
+you.  You see how little I ask--and I pay well, do I not?  And so I
+gave you until to-night.  Three days have gone, and I have said
+nothing, and the body has not been found--eh?  But to-night--eh--it
+was understood!  The rubies--or the chair."
+
+Burton's lips moved, but it was a moment before he could speak.
+
+"You wouldn't dare!" he whispered thickly.  "You wouldn't dare!  I'd
+tell the story of--of what you tried to make me do, and they'd send
+you up for it."
+
+Old Isaac shrugged with pitying contempt.
+
+"Is it, after all, a fool I am dealing with!" he sneered.  "And I--
+what should I say?  That you had stolen the stones from your
+employer and offered them as a bribe to silence me, and that I had
+refused.  The very act of handing you over to the police would prove
+the truth of what I said and rob you of even a chance of leniency--
+FOR THAT OTHER THING.  Is it not so--eh?  And why did I not hand you
+over at once three nights ago?  Believe me, my young friend, I
+should have a very good reason ready, a dozen, if necessary, if it
+came to that.  But we are borrowing trouble, are we not?  We shall
+not come to that--eh?"
+
+For a moment it seemed to Jimmie Dale, as he watched, that Burton
+would hurl himself upon the other.  White to the lips, the muscles
+of his face twitching, Burton clenched his fists and leaned over the
+table--and then, with sudden revulsion of emotion, he drew back once
+more, and once more came that choked sob:
+
+"You'll pay for this, Isaac--your turn will come for this!
+
+"I have been threatened very often," snapped the other
+contemptuously.  "Bah, what are threats!  I laugh at them--as I
+always will."  Then, with a quick change of front, his voice a
+sudden snarl: "Well, we have talked enough.  You have your choice.
+The stones or--eh?  And it is to-night--NOW!"
+
+The old pawnbroker sprawled back in his chair, a cunning leer on his
+vicious face, a gleam of triumph, greed, in the beady, ratlike eyes
+that never wavered from the other.  Burton, moisture oozing from his
+forehead, stood there, hesitant, staring back at old Isaac, half in
+a fascinated gaze, half as though trying to read some sign of
+weakness in the bestial countenance that confronted him.  And then,
+very slowly, in an automatic, machine-like way, his hand groped into
+the inside pocket of his vest--and old Isaac cackled out in
+derision.
+
+"So!  You thought you could bluff me, eh--you thought you could fool
+old Isaac!  Bah! I read you like a book!  Did I not tell you a while
+back that you had them in your pocket?  I know your kind, my young
+friend; I know your kind very well indeed--it is my business.  You
+would not have dared to come here to-night without the price.  So!
+You took them this afternoon as we agreed.  Yes, yes; you did well.
+You will not regret it.  And now let me see them"--his voice rose
+eagerly--"let me see them now, my young friend."
+
+"Yes, I took them." Burton spoke listlessly.  "God help me!"
+
+Old Isaac, quivering, excited, like a different creature now, sprang
+from his chair, and, as Burton drew a long, flat, leather case from
+his pocket, snatched it from the other's hand.  His fingers in their
+rapacious haste could not at first manipulate the catch, and then
+finally, with the case open, he bent over the table feverishly.  The
+light reflected back as from some living mass of crimson fire, now
+shading darkly, now glowing into wondrous, colourful transparency as
+he moved the case to and fro with jerky motions of his hands--and he
+was babbling, crooning to himself like one possessed.
+
+"Ah, the little beauties!  Ah, the pretty little things!  Yes, yes;
+these are the ones!  This is the great Aracon--see, see, the six-
+sided prism terminated by the six-sided pyramid.  But it must be
+cut--it must be cut to sell it, eh?  Ah, it is too bad--too bad!
+And this, this one here, I know them all, this is--"
+
+But his sentence was never finished--it was Jimmie Dale, on his feet
+now, leaning against the jamb of the door, his automatic covering
+the two men at the table, who spoke.
+
+"Quite so, Isaac," he said coolly; "you know them all!  Quite so,
+Isaac--but be good enough to DROP them!"
+
+The case fell from Isaac's hand, the flush on his cheeks died to a
+sickly pallor, and, his mouth half open, he stood like a man turned
+to stone, his hands with curved fingers still outstretched over the
+table, over the crimson gems that, spilled from the case, lay
+scattered now on the tabletop.  Burton neither spoke nor moved--a
+little whiter, the misery in his face almost apathetic, he moistened
+his lips with the tip of his tongue.
+
+Jimmie Dale walked across the room, halted at the end of the table,
+and surveyed the two men grimly.  And then, while one hand with
+revolver extended rested easily on the table, the other gathered up
+the stones, placed them in the case, and, the case in his pocket,
+Jimmie Dale's lips parted in an uninviting smile.
+
+"I guess I'm in luck to-night, eh, Isaac?" he drawled.  "Between you
+and your young friend, as I believe you call him, it would appear as
+though I had fallen on my feet.  That Aracon's worth--what would you
+say?--a hundred, two hundred thousand alone, eh?  A very famous
+stone, that--had your eye on it for quite a time, Isaac, you
+miserable blood leech, eh?"
+
+Isaac did not answer; but, while he still held back from the table,
+he seemed to be regaining a little of his composure--burglars of
+whatever sort were no novelty to him--and was staring fixedly at
+Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Can't place me--though there's not many in the profession you don't
+know?  Is that it?" inquired Jimmie Dale softly.  "Well, don't try,
+Isaac; it's hardly worth your while.  I'VE got the stones now, and--"
+
+"Wait!  Wait!  Listen!"  It was Burton, speaking for the first time,
+his words coming in a quick, nervous rush.  "Listen!  You don't--"
+
+"Hold your tongue!" cried old Isaac, with sudden fierceness.  "You
+are a fool!"  He leaned toward Jimmie Dale, a crafty smile on his
+face, quite in control of himself once more.  "Don't listen to him--
+listen to me.  You're right.  I can't place you, and it doesn't make
+any difference"--he took a step forward--"but--"
+
+"Not too close, Isaac!" snapped Jimmie Dale sharply.  "I know YOU!"
+
+"So!" ejaculated old Isaac, rubbing his hands together.  "So!  That
+is good!  That is what I want.  Listen, we will make a bargain.  We
+are birds of a feather, eh?  All thieves, eh?  You've got the drop
+on us who did all the work, but you'll give us our share--eh?
+Listen!  You couldn't get rid of those stones alone.  You know that;
+you're not so green at the game, eh?  You'd have to go to some one.
+You know me; you know old Isaac, you say.  Well, then, you know
+there isn't another man in New York could dispose of those rubies
+and play SAFE doing it except me.  I'll make a good bargain with
+you."
+
+"Isaac," said Jimmie Dale pensively, "you've made a good many 'good'
+bargains.  I wonder when you'll make your last!  There's more than
+one looking for 'interest' on those bargains in a pretty grim sort
+of way."
+
+"Bah!" ejaculated old Isaac.  "It is an old story.  They are all
+alike.  I am afraid of none of them.  I hold them all like--THAT!"
+His hand opened and closed like a taloned claw.
+
+"And you'd add me to the lot, eh?" said Jimmie Dale.  He lifted the
+revolver, its muzzle on old Isaac, examined the mechanism
+thoughfully, and lowered it again.  "Very well, I'll make a bargain
+with you--providing it is agreeable to your young friend here."
+
+"Ah!" exclaimed old Isaac shrilly.  "So!  That is good!  It is done
+then."  He chuckled hoarsely.  "Any bargain I make he will agree to.
+Is it not so?"  He fixed his eyes on Burton.  "Well, is it not so?
+Speak up!  Say--"
+
+He stopped--the words cut short off on his lips.  It came without
+warning--a crash, a pound on the door below--another.
+
+Burton shrank back against the wall.
+
+"My God!  The police!" he gasped.  "Maddon's found out!  We're--
+we're caught!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes, on old Isaac, narrowed.  The pounding in the
+alleyway grew louder, more insistent.  And then his first suspicion
+passed--it was no "game" of Isaac's.  Crafty though the old fox was,
+the other's surprise and agitation was too genuine to be questioned.
+
+Still the pounding continued--some one was kicking viciously at the
+door, and banging a tattoo on the panels with his fists.
+
+Old Isaac's clawlike hands doubled suddenly.
+
+"It is some drunken sot," he snarled out, "that knows no better than
+to come here and rouse the whole neighbourhood!  It is true, in a
+moment we will have the police running in from the street.  But
+wait--wait--I'll teach the fool a lesson!"  He dashed around the
+table, ran for the window, wrenched the catch up, flung the window
+open, and, snarling again, leaned out--and instantly the knocking
+ceased.
+
+And instantly then, with a sharp cry, as the whole ghastly meaning
+of it swept upon him, Jimmie sprang after the other--too late!  Came
+the roar of a revolver shot, a stream of flame cutting the darkness
+of the alleyway from the window in the house opposite--and, without
+a sound, old Isaac crumpled up, hung limply for a moment over the
+sill, and slid in a heap to the floor.
+
+On his hands and knees, protected from the possibility of another
+bullet by the height of the sill, Jimmie Dale, quick in every
+movement now, dragged the inert form toward the table away from the
+window, and bent hurriedly over the other.  A minute perhaps he
+stayed there--and then rose slowly.
+
+Burton, horror-stricken, unmanned, beside himself, was hanging,
+clutching with both hands at the table edge.
+
+"He's dead," said Jimmie Dale laconically.
+
+Burton flung out his hands.
+
+"Dead!" he whispered hoarsely.  "I--I think I'm going mad.  Three
+days of hell--and now this.  We'd--we'd better get out of here
+quick--they'll get us if--"
+
+Jimmie Dale's hand fell with a tight grip on Burton's shoulder.
+
+"There won't be any more shots fired--pull yourself together!"
+
+Burton stared at him in a demented way.
+
+"What's--what's it mean?" he stammered.
+
+"It means that I didn't put two and two together," said Jimmie Dale
+a little bitterly.  "It means that there's a dozen crooks been
+dancing old Isaac's tune for a long time--and that some of them have
+got him at last."
+
+Burton reached out suddenly and clutched Jimmie Dale's arm.
+
+"Then I'm safe!"  He mumbled the words, but there was dawning hope,
+relief in his white face.  "Safe!  I'm safe--if you'll only give me
+back those stones.  Give them back to me, for God's sake give them
+back to me!  You don't know--you don't understand.  I stole them
+because--because he made me--because I--it was the only chance I
+had.  Oh, my God, you don't know what the last three days have been!
+Give them back to me, won't you--won't you?  You--you don't know!"
+
+"Don't lose your nerve!" said Jimmie Dale sharply.  "Sit down!"  He
+pushed the other into the chair.  "There's no one will disturb us
+here for some time at least.  What is it that I don't know?  That
+three nights ago you were in a gambling hell, Sagosto's, to be
+exact, one of the most disreputable in New York--and you went there
+on the invitation of a stray acquaintance, a man named Perley--shall
+I describe him for you?  A short, slim-built man, black eyes, red
+hair, beard, and--"
+
+"YOU know that!"  The misery, the hopelessness was back in Burton's
+face again--and suddenly he bent over the table and buried his head
+in his outflung arms.
+
+There was silence for a moment.  Tight-lipped, Jimmie Dale's eyes
+travelled from Burton's shaking shoulders to the motionless form on
+the floor.  Then he spoke again:
+
+"You're a bit of a rounder, Burton, but I think you've had a lesson
+that will last you all your life.  You were half-drunk when you and
+Perley began to hobnob over a downtown bar.  He said he'd show you
+some real life, and you went with him to Sagosto's.  He gave you a
+revolver before you went in, and told you the place wasn't safe for
+an unarmed man.  He introduced you to Sagosto, the proprietor, and
+you were shown to a back room.  You drank quite a little there.  You
+and Perley were alone, throwing dice.  You got into a quarrel.
+Perley tried to draw his revolver.  You were quicker.  You drew the
+one he had given you--and fired.  He fell to the floor--you saw the
+blood gush from his breast just above the heart--he was dead.  In a
+panic you rushed from the place and out into the street.  I don't
+think you went home that night."
+
+Burton raised his head, showing his haggard face.
+
+"I guess it's no use," he said dully."  If you know, others must.  I
+thought only Isaac and Sagosto knew.  Why haven't I been arrested?
+I wish to God I had--I wouldn't have had to-day to answer for."
+
+"I am not through yet," said Jimmie Dale gravely.  "The next day old
+Isaac here sent for you.  He said Sagosto had told him of the
+murder, and had offered to dispose of the corpse and keep his mouth
+shut for fifty thousand dollars--that no one in his place knew of it
+except himself.  Isaac, for his share, wanted considerably more.
+You told him you had no such sums, that you had no money.  He told
+you how you could get it--you had access to Maddon's safe, you were
+Maddon's confidential secretary, fully in your employer's trust, the
+last man on earth to be suspected--and there were Maddon's famous,
+priceless rubies."
+
+Jimmie Dale paused.  Burton made no answer.
+
+"And so," said Jimmie Dale presently, "to save yourself from the
+death penalty you took them."
+
+"Yes," said Burton, scarcely above his breath.  "Are you an officer?
+If you are, take me, have done with it!  Only for Heaven's sake end
+it!  If you're not--"
+
+Jimmie Dale was not listening.  "The cupboard at the rear of the
+room," she had said.  He walked across to it now, opened it, and,
+after a little search, found a small bundle.  He returned with it in
+his hand, and, kneeling beside the dead man on the floor, his back
+to Burton, untied it, took out a red wig and beard, and slipped them
+on to old Isaac's head and face.
+
+"I wonder," he said grimly, as he stood up, "if you ever saw this
+man before?"
+
+"My God--PERLEY!"  With a wild cry, Burton was on his feet,
+straining forward like a man crazed.
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale, "Perley!  Sort of an ironic justice in his
+end as far as you are concerned, isn't there?  I think we'll leave
+him like that--as Perley.  It will provide the police with an
+interesting little problem--which they will never solve, and--
+STEADY!"
+
+Burton was rocking on his feet, the tears were streaming down his
+face.  He lurched heavily--and Jimmie Dale caught him, and pushed
+him back into the chair again.
+
+I thought--I thought there was blood on my hands," said Burton
+brokenly; "that--that I had taken a man's life.  It was horrible,
+horrible!  I've lived through three days that I thought would drive
+me mad, while I--I tried to do my work, and--and talk to people,
+just as if nothing had happened.  And every one that spoke to me
+seemed so carefree and happy, and I would have sold my soul to have
+changed places with them."  He stared at the form on the floor, and
+shivered suddenly.  "It--it was like that I saw him last!" he
+whispered.  "But--but I do not understand."
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled a little wearily.
+
+"It was simple enough," he said.  "Old Isaac had had his eyes on
+those rubies for a long time.  The easiest way of getting them was
+through you.  The revolver he gave you before you entered Sagosto's
+was loaded with blank cartridges, the blood you saw was the old, old
+trick--a punctured bladder of red pigment concealed under the vest."
+
+"Let us get out of here!"  Burton shuddered again.  "Let us get out
+of here--at once--now.  If we're found here, we'll be accused of--
+THAT!"
+
+"There is no hurry," Jimmie Dale answered quietly.  "I have told you
+that no one is liable to come here to-night--and whoever did this
+certainly will not raise an alarm.  And besides, there is still the
+matter of the rubies--Burton."
+
+"Yes," said Burton, with a quick intake of his breath.
+
+"Yes--the rubies--what are you going to do with them?  I--I had
+forgotten them.  You'll--"  He stopped, stared at Jimmie Dale, and
+burst into a miserable laugh.  "I'm a fool, a blind fool!" he
+moaned.  "It does not matter what you do with them.  I forgot
+Sagosto.  When they find Isaac here, Sagosto will either tell his
+story, which will be enough to convict me of this night's work, the
+REAL murder, even though I'm innocent; or else he'll blackmail me
+just as Isaac did."
+
+Jimmie Dale shook his head.
+
+"You are doing Isaac's cunning an injustice," he said grimly.
+"Sagosto was only a tool, one of many that old Isaac had in his
+power--and, for that matter, as likely as any one else to have had a
+hand in Isaac's murder to-night.  Sagosto saw you once when Isaac
+brought you into his place--not because Isaac wanted Sagosto to see
+you, but because he wanted YOU to see Sagosto.  Do you understand?
+It would make the story that Sagosto came to him with the tale of
+the murder the next day ring true.  Sagosto, however, did not go to
+old Isaac the next day to tell about any fake murder--naturally.
+Sagosto would not know you again from Adam--neither does he know
+anything about the rubies, nor what old Isaac's ulterior motives
+were.  He was paid for his share in the game in old Isaac's usual
+manner of payment probably--by a threat of exposure for some old-
+time offence, that Isaac held over him, if he didn't keep his mouth
+shut."
+
+Burton's hand brushed his eyes.
+
+"Yes," he muttered.  "Yes--I see it now."
+
+Jimmie Dale stooped down, picked up the paper from the floor in
+which the wig and beard had been wrapped, walked back with it, and
+replaced it in the cupboard.  And then, with his back to Burton
+again, he took the case of gems from his pocket, opened it, and laid
+it on the cupboard shelf.  Also from his pocket came that thin metal
+case, and from the case, with a pair of tweezers that obviated the
+possibility of telltale finger prints, a gray, diamond-shaped piece
+of paper, adhesive on one side that, cursed by the distracted
+authorities in every police headquarters on both sides of the
+Atlantic, and raved at by a virulent press whose printed
+reproductions had made it familiar in every household in the land--
+was the insignia of the Gray Seal.  He moistened the adhesive side,
+dropped it from the tweezers to his handkerchief, and pressed it
+down firmly on the inside of the cover of the jewel case.  He put
+both cases back in his pockets, and returned to Burton.
+
+"Burton," he said a little sharply, "while I was outside that
+doorway there, I heard you beg old Isaac to let you keep the rubies,
+and three times already you have asked the same of me.  What would
+you do with them if I gave them back to you?"
+
+Burton did not reply for a moment--he was gazing at the masked face
+in a half-eager, half-doubtful way.
+
+"You--you mean you will give them back!" he burst out finally.
+
+"Answer my question," prompted Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Do with them?" Burton repeated slowly.  "Why, I've told you.
+They'd go back to Mr. Maddon--I'd take them back."
+
+"Would you?" Jimmie Dale's voice was quizzical.
+
+A puzzled expression came to Burton's face.
+
+"I don't know what you mean by that," he said.  "Of course, I
+would!"
+
+"How?" asked Jimmie Dale.  "Do you know the combination of Mr.
+Maddon's safe?"
+
+"No," said Burton
+
+"And the safe would be locked, wouldn't it?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Quite so," said Jimmie Dale musingly.  "Then, granted that Mr.
+Maddon has not already discovered the theft, how would you replace
+the stones before he does discover it?  And if he already knows that
+they are gone, how would you get them back into his hands?"
+
+"Yes, I know," Burton answered a little listlessly.  "I've thought
+of that.  There's only one way--to take them back to him myself, and
+make a clean breast of it, and--"  He hesitated.
+
+"And tell him you stole them," supplied Jimmie Dale.
+
+Burton nodded his head.  "Yes," he said.
+
+"And then?" prodded Jimmie Dale.  What will Maddon do?  From what
+I've heard of him, he's not a man to trifle with, nor a man to take
+an overly complacent view of things--not the man whose philosophy is
+'all's well that ends well.'"
+
+"What does it matter?" Burton's voice was low.  "It isn't that so
+much.  I'm ready for that.  It's the fact that he trusted me
+implicitly, and I--well, I played the fool, or I'd never have got
+into a mess like this."
+
+For an instant Jimmie Dale looked at the other searchingly, and
+then, smiling strangely, he shook his head.
+
+"There's a better way than that, Burton," he said quietly.
+
+"I think, as I said before, you've had a lesson to-night that will
+last you all your life.  I'm going to give you another chance--with
+Maddon.  Here are the stones."  He reached into his pocket and laid
+the case on the table.
+
+But now Burton made no effort to take the case--his eyes, in that
+puzzled way again, were on Jimmie Dale.
+
+"A better way?" he repeated tensely.  "What do you mean?  What way?"
+
+"Well, say at the expense of another man's reputation--of mine,"
+suggested Jimmie Dale, with his whimsical smile.  You need only say
+that a man came to you this evening, told you that he stole these
+rubies from Mr. Maddon during the afternoon, and asked you, as Mr.
+Maddon's private secretary, to restore them with his compliments to
+their owner."
+
+A slow flush of disappointment, deepening to one of anger dyed
+Burton's cheeks.
+
+"Are you trying to make a fool of me?" he cried out.  "Go to Maddon
+with a childish tale like that!  There's no man living would believe
+such a cock-and-bull story!"
+
+"No?" inquired Jimmie Dale softly.  "And yet I am inclined to think
+there are a good many--that even Maddon would, hard-headed as he is.
+You might say that when the man handed you the case you thought it
+was some practical joke being foisted on you, until you opened the
+case"--Jimmie Dale pushed it a little farther across the table, and
+Burton, mechanically, his eyes still on Jimme Dale, loosened the
+catch with his thumb nail--"until you opened the case, saw the
+rubies, and--"
+
+"The Gray Seal!" Burton had snatched the case toward him, and was
+straining his eyes at the inside cover.  "You--the Gray Seal!"
+
+"Well?" said Jimmie Dale whimsically.
+
+Motionless, the case held open in his hands, Burton stood there.
+
+"The Gray Seal!" he whispered.  Then, with a catch in his voice:
+"You mean this?  You mean to let me have these back--you mean--you
+mean all you've said?  For God's sake, don't play with me--the Gray
+Seal, the most notorious criminal in the country, to give back a
+fortune like this!  You--you--"
+
+"Dog with a bad name," said Jimmie Dale, with a wry smile; then, a
+little gruffly: "Put it in your pocket!"
+
+Slowly, almost as though he expected the case to be snatched back
+from him the next instant, Burton obeyed.
+
+I don't understand--I CAN'T understand!" he murmured.  "They say
+that you--and yet I believe you now--you've saved me from a ruined
+life to-night.  The Gray Seal!  If--if every one knew what you had
+done, they--"
+
+"But every one won't," Jimmie Dale broke in bluntly, "Who is to tell
+them?  You?  You couldn't very well, when you come to think of it--
+could you?  Well, who knows, perhaps there have been others like
+you!"
+
+"You mean," said Burton excitedly, "you mean that all these crimes
+of yours that have seemed without motive, that have been so
+inexplicable, have really been like to-night to--"
+
+"I don't mean anything at all," interposed Jimmie Dale a little
+hurriedly.  "Nothing, Burton--except that there is still one little
+thing more to do to bolster up that 'childish' story of mine--and
+then get out of here."  He glanced sharply, critically around the
+room, his eyes resting for a moment at the last on the form on the
+floor.  Then tersely: "I am going to turn out the light--we will have
+to pass the window to get to the door, and we will invite no
+chances.  Are you ready?"
+
+"No; not yet," said Burton eagerly.  "I haven't said what I'd like
+to say to you, what I--"
+
+"Walk straight to the door," said Jimmie Dale curtly.  There was the
+click of an electric-light switch, and the room was in darkness.
+"Now, no noise!" he instructed.
+
+And Burton, perforce, made his way across the room--and at the door
+Jimmie Dale joined him and led him down the short flight of stairs.
+At the bottom, he opened the door leading into the rear of the
+pawnshop itself, and, bidding Burton follow, entered.
+
+"We can't risk even a match; it could be seen from the street," he
+said brusquely, as he fumbled around for a moment in the darkness.
+"Ah--here it is!"  He lifted a telephone receiver from its hook, and
+gave a number.
+
+Burton caught him quickly by the arm.
+
+"Good Lord, man, what are you doing?" he protested anxiously.
+"That's Mr. Maddon's house!"
+
+"So I believe," said Jimmie Dale complacently.  "Hello!  Is Mr.
+Maddon there? . . .  I beg pardon? . . .  Personally, yes, if you
+please."
+
+There was a moment's wait.  Burton's hand was still nervously
+clutching at Jimmie Dale's sleeve.  Then:
+
+"Mr. Maddon?" asked Jimmie Dale pleasantly.  "Yes? . . .  I am very
+sorry to trouble you, but I called you up to inquire if you were
+aware that your rubies, and among them your Aracon, had been stolen?
+. . .  I beg pardon! . . .  Rubies--yes. . . .  You weren't. . . .
+Oh, no, I am quite in my right mind; if you will take the trouble to
+open your safe you will find they are gone--shall I hold the line
+while you investigate? . . .  What? . . .  Don't shout, please--and
+stand a little farther away from the mouthpiece."  Jimmie Dale's
+tone was one of insolent composure now.  "There is really no use in
+getting excited. . . .  I beg pardon? . . .  Certainly, this is the
+Gray Seal speaking. . . .  What?"  Jimmie Dale's voice grew
+plaintive, "I really can't make out a word when you yell like that.
+. . .  Yes. . . .  I had occasion to use them this afternoon, and I
+took the liberty of borrowing them temporarily--are you still there,
+Mr. Maddon? . . .  Oh, quite so!  Yes, I hear you NOW. . . .  No,
+that is all, only I am returning them through your private
+secretary, a very estimable young man, though I fear somewhat
+excitable and shaky, who is on his way to you with them now. . . .
+WHAT'S THAT YOU SAY?  You repeat that," snapped Jimmie Dale
+suddenly, icily, "and I'll take them from under your nose again
+before morning! . . .  Ah!  That is better!  Good-night--Mr.
+Maddon."
+
+Jimmie Dale hung up the receiver and shoved Burton toward the door.
+
+"Now then, Burton, we'll get out of her--and the sooner you reach
+Fifth Avenue and Mr. Maddon's house the better.  No; not that way!"
+They had reached the hall, and Burton had turned toward the side
+door that opened on the alleyway.  "Whoever they were who settled
+their last account with Isaac may still be watching.  They've
+nothing against any one else, but they know some one was in here at
+the time, and, if the police are clever enough ever to get on their
+track, they might find it very convenient to be able to say WHO was
+in the room when Isaac was murdered--there's nothing to show, since
+Isaac so obligingly opened the window for them, that the shot was
+fired THROUGH the window and not from the inside of the room.  And
+even if they have already taken to their heels"--Jimmie Dale was
+leading Burton up the stairs again as he talked--"it might prove
+exceedingly inconvenient for us if some passer-by should happen to
+recollect that he saw two men of our general appearance leaving the
+premises.  Now keep close--and follow me."
+
+They passed the door of Isaac's den, turned down a narrow corridor
+that led to the rear of the house--Jimmie Dale guiding unerringly,
+working from the mental map of the house that the Tocsin had drawn
+for him--descended another short flight of stairs that gave on the
+kitchen, crossed the kitchen, and Jimmie Dale opened a back door.
+He paused here for a moment to listen; then, cautioning Burton to be
+silent, moved on again across a small back yard and through a gate
+into a lane that ran at right angles to the alleyway by which both
+had entered the house--and, a minute later, they were crouched
+against a building, a half block away, where the lane intersected
+the cross street.
+
+Here Jimmie Dale peered out cautiously.  There was no one in sight.
+He touched Burton's shoulder, and pointed down the street.
+
+"That's your way, Burton--mine's the other.  Hurry while you've got
+the chance.  Good-night."
+
+Burton's hand reached out, caught Jimmie Dale's, and wrung it.
+
+"God bless you!" he said huskily.  "I--"
+
+And Jimmie Dale pushed him out on to the street.
+
+Burton's steps receded down the sidewalk.  Jimmie Dale still
+crouched against the wall.  The steps grew fainter in the distance
+and died finally away.  Jimmie Dale straightened up, slipped the
+mask from his face to his pocket, stepped out on the street--and
+five minutes later was passing through the noisy bedlam of the
+Hungarian restaurant on his way to the front door and his car.
+
+"SONNEZ LE TOCSIN," Jimmie Dale was saying softly to himself.  "I
+wonder what she'll do when she finds I've got the ring?"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+THE MAN HIGHER UP
+
+
+The Tocsin!  By neither act, sign, nor word had she evidenced the
+slightest interest in that ring--and yet she must know, she
+certainly must know that it was now in his possession.  Jimmie Dale
+was disappointed.  Somehow, he had counted more than he had cared to
+admit on developments from that ring.
+
+He pulled a little viciously at his cigarette, as he stared out of
+the St. James Club window.  That was how long ago?  Ten days?  Yes;
+this would be the eleventh.  Eleven days now and no word from her--
+eleven days since that night at old Isaac's, since she had last
+called him, the Gray Seal, to arms.  It was a long while--so long a
+while even that what had come to be his prerogative in the
+newspapers, the front page with three-inch type recounting some new
+exploit of that mysterious criminal the Gray Seal, was being
+usurped.  The papers were howling now about what they, for the lack
+of a better term, were pleased to call a wave of crime that had
+inundated New York, and of which, for once, the Gray Seal was not
+the storm centre, but rather, for the moment, forgotten.
+
+He drew back from the window, and, settling himself again in the big
+leather lounging chair, resumed the perusal of the evening paper.
+His eye fell on what was common to every edition now, a crime
+editorial--and the paper crackled suddenly under the long, slim,
+tapering fingers, so carefully nurtured, whose sensitive tips a
+hundred times had made mockery of the human ingenuity squandered on
+the intricate mechanism of safes and vaults.  No; he was wrong--the
+Gray Seal had not been forgotten.
+
+"We should not be surprised," wrote the editor virulently, "to
+discover at the bottom of these abominable attrocities that the
+guiding spirit, in fact, was the Gray Seal--they are quite worthy
+even of his diabolical disregard for the laws of God and man."
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips straightened ominously, and an angry glint crept
+into his dark, steady eyes.  There was nothing then, nothing too
+vile that, in the public's eyes, could not logically be associated
+with the Gray Seal--even this!  A series of the most cold-blooded,
+callous murders and robberies, the work, on the face of it, of a
+well-organized band of thugs, brutal, insensate, little better than
+fiends, though clever enough so far to have evaded capture, clever
+enough, indeed, to have kept the police still staggering and gasping
+after a clew for one murder--while another was in the very act of
+being committed!  The Gray Seal!  What exquisite irony!  And yet,
+after all, the papers were not wholly to blame for what they said;
+he had invited much of it.  Seeming crimes of the Gray Seal had
+apparently been genuine beyond any question of doubt, as he had
+intended them to appear, as in the very essence of their purpose
+they had to be.
+
+"Yes; he had invited much--he and she together--the Tocsin and
+himself.  He, Jimmie Dale, millionaire, clubman, whose name for
+generations in New York had been the family pride, was "wanted" as
+the Gray Seal for so many "crimes" that he had lost track of them
+himself--but from any one of which, let the identity of the Gray
+Seal be once solved, there was and could be no escape!  What
+exquisite irony--yet full, too, of the most deadly consequences!
+
+Once more Jimmie Dale's eyes sought the paper, and this time scanned
+the headlines of the first page:
+
+
+BRUTAL MURDER OF MILL PAYMASTER.
+
+THE CRIME WAVE STILL AT ITS HEIGHT.
+
+HERMAN ROESSLE FOUND DEAD NEAR HIS CAR.
+
+ASSASSINS ESCAPE WITH $20,000.
+
+
+Jimmie Dale read on--and as he read there came again that angry set
+to his lips.  The details were not pleasant.  Herman Roessle, the
+paymaster of the Martindale-Kensington Mills, whose plant was on the
+Hudson, had gone that morning in his runabout to the nearest town,
+three miles away, for the monthly pay roll; had secured the money
+from the bank, a sum of twenty-odd thousand dollars; and had started
+back with it for the mill.  At first, it being broad daylight and a
+well-frequented road, his nonappearance caused no apprehension; but
+as early afternoon came and there was still no sign of Roessle the
+mill management took alarm.  Discovering that he had left the bank
+for the return journey at a few minutes before eleven, and that
+nothing had been seen of him at his home, the police were notified.
+Followed then several hours of fruitless search, until finally, with
+the whole countryside aroused and the efforts of the police
+augumented by private search parties, the car was found in a thicket
+at the edge of a crossroad some four miles back from the river, and,
+a little way from the car, the body of Roessle, dead, the man's head
+crushed in where it had been fiendishly battered by some blunt,
+heavy object.  There was no clew--no one could be found who had seen
+the car on the crossroad--the murderer, or murderers, and the
+twenty-odd thousand dollars in cash had disappeared leaving no trace
+behind.
+
+There were several columns of this, which Jimmie Dale skimmed
+through quickly; but at the end he stared for a long time at the
+last paragraph.  Somehow, strange, to relate, the paper had
+neglected to turn its "sob" artist loose, and the few words, added
+almost as though they were an afterthought, for once rang true and
+full of pathos in their very simplicity--at the Roessle home, where
+Mrs. Roessle was prostrated, two little tots of five and seven, too
+young to understand, had gravely received the reporter and told him
+that some bad man had hurt their daddy.
+
+"Mr. Dale, sir!"
+
+Jimmie Dale lowered his paper.  A club attendant was standing before
+him, respectfully extending a silver card tray.  From the man,
+Jimmie Dale's eyes fixed on a white envelope on the tray.  One
+glance was enough--it was HERS, that letter.  The Tocsin again!  His
+brain seemed suddenly to be afire, and he could feel his pulse
+quicken, the blood begin to pound in fierce throbs at his heart.
+Life and death lay in that white, innocent-looking, unaddressed
+envelope, danger, peril--it was always life and death, for those
+were the stakes for which the Tocsin played.  But, master of many
+things, Jimmie Dale was most of all master of himself.  Not a muscle
+of his face moved.  He reached nonchalantly for the letter.
+
+"Thank you," said Jimmie Dale.
+
+The man bowed and started away.  Jimmie Dale laid the envelope on
+the arm of the lounging chair.  The man had reached the door when
+Jimmie Dale stopped him.
+
+"Oh, by the way," said Jimmie Dale languidly, "where did this come
+from?"
+
+"Your chauffeur, sir," replied the other.  "Your chauffeur gave it
+to the hall porter a moment ago, sir."
+
+"Thank you," said Jimmie Dale again.
+
+The door closed.
+
+Jimmie Dale glanced around the room.  It was the caution of habit,
+that glance; the habit of years in which his life had hung on little
+things.  He was alone in one of the club's private library rooms.
+He picked up the envelope, tore it open, took out the folded sheets
+inside, and began to read.  At the first words he leaned forward,
+suddenly tense in his chair.  He read on, turning the pages
+hurriedly, incredulity, amazement, and, finally, a strange menace
+mirroring itself in turn upon his face.
+
+He stood up--the letter in his hand.
+
+"My God!" whispered Jimmie Dale.
+
+It was a call to arms such as the Gray Seal had never received
+before--such as the Tocsin had never made before.  And if it were
+true it--  True!  He laughed aloud a little gratingly.  True!  Had
+the Tocsin, astounding, unbelievable, mystifying as were the means
+by which she acquired her knowledge not only of this, but of
+countless other affairs, ever by so much as the smallest detail been
+astray.  If it were true!
+
+He pulled out his watch.  It was half-past nine.  Benson, his
+chauffeur, had sent the letter into the club.  Benson had been
+waiting outside there ever since dinner.  Jimmie Dale, for the first
+time since the first communication that he had ever received from
+the Tocsin, did not immediately destroy her letter now.  He slipped
+it into his pocket--and stepped quickly from the room.
+
+In the cloakroom downstairs he secured his hat and overcoat, and,
+though it was a warm evening, put on the latter since he was in
+evening clothes, then walked leisurely out of the club.
+
+At the curb, Benson, the chauffeur, sprang from his seat, and,
+touching his cap, opened the door of a luxurious limousine.
+
+Jimmie Dale shook his head.
+
+"I shall not keep you waiting any longer, Benson," he said.  "You
+may take the car home, and put it up.  I shall probably be late to-
+night."
+
+"Very good, sir," replied the chauffeur.
+
+"You sent in a letter a moment or so ago, Benson?" observed Jimmie
+Dale casually, opening his cigarette case.
+
+"Yes, sir," said Benson.  "I hope I didn't do wrong, sir.  He said
+it was important, and that you were to have it at once."
+
+"He?"  Jimmie Dale was lighting his cigarette now.
+
+"A boy, sir," Benson amplified.  "I couldn't get anything out of
+him.  He just said he'd been told to give it to me, and tell me to
+see that you got it at once.  I hope, sir, I haven't--"
+
+"Not at all, Benson," said Jimmie Dale pleasantly.  "It's quite all
+right.  Good-night, Benson."
+
+"Good-night, sir," Benson answered, climbing back to his seat.
+
+There was a queer little smile on Jimmie Dale's lips, as he watched
+the great car swing around in the street and glide noiselessly away--
+a queer little smile that still held there even after he himself
+had started briskly along the avenue in a downtown direction.  It
+was invariably the same, always the same--the letters came
+unexpectedly, when least looked for, now by this means, now by that,
+but always in a manner that precluded the slightest possibility of
+tracing them to their source.  Was there anything, in his intimate
+surroundings, in his intimate life, that she did not know about him--
+who knew absolutely nothing about her!  Benson, for instance--that
+the man was absolutely trustworthy--or else she would never for an
+instant have risked the letter in his possession.  Was there
+anything that she did not--yes, one thing--she did not know him in
+the role he was going to play to-night.  That at least was one thing
+that surely she did not know about him; the role in which, many
+times, for weeks on end, he had devoted himself body and soul in an
+attempt to solve the mystery with which she surrounded herself; the
+role, too, that often enough had been a bulwark of safety to him
+when hard pressed by the police; the role out of which he had so
+carefully, so painstakingly created a now recognised and well-known
+character of the underworld--the role of Larry the Bat.
+
+Jimmie Dale turned from Fifth Avenue into Broadway, continued on
+down Broadway, across to the Bowery, kept along the Bowery for
+several more blocka--and finally headed east into the dimly lighted
+cross street on which the Sanctuary was located.
+
+And now Jimmie Dale became cautious in his movements.  As he
+approached the black alleyway that flanked the miserable tenement,
+he glanced sharply behind and about him; and, at the alleyway
+itself, without pause, but with a curious lightning-like side step,
+no longer Jimmie Dale now, but the Gray Seal, he disappeared from
+the street, and was lost in the deep shadows of the building.
+
+In a moment he was at the side door, listening for any sound from
+within--none had ever seen or met the lodger or the first floor
+either ascending or descending, except in the familiar character of
+Larry the Bat.  He opened the door, closed it behind him, and in the
+utter blackness went noiselessly up the stairs--stairs so rickety
+that it seemed a mouse's tread alone would have set them creaking.
+There seemed an art in the play of Jimmie Dale's every muscle; in
+the movements, lithe, balanced, quick, absolutely silent.  On the
+first landing he stopped before another door, there was the faint
+click of a key turning in the lock; and then this door, too, closed
+behind him.  Sounded the faint click of the key as it turned again,
+and Jimmie Dale drew a long breath, stepped across the room to
+assure himself that the window blind was down, and lighted the gas
+jet.
+
+A yellow, murky flame spurted up, pitifully weak, almost as though
+it were ashamed of its disreputable surroundings.  Dirt, disorder,
+squalour, the evidence of low living testified eloquently enough to
+any one, the police, for instance, in times past inquisitive until
+they were fatuously content with the belief that they knew the
+occupant for what he was, that the place was quite in keeping with
+its tenant, a mute prototype, as it were, of Larry the Bat, the dope
+fiend.
+
+For a little space, Jimmie Dale, immaculate in his evening clothes,
+stood in the centre of the miserable room, his dark eyes, keen,
+alert, critical, sweeping comprehensively over every object about
+him--the position of a chair, of a cracked drinking glass on the
+broken-legged table, of an old coat thrown with apparent
+carelessness on the floor at the foot of the bed, of a broken bottle
+that had innocently strewn some sort of white powder close to the
+threshold, inviting unwary foot tracks across the floor.  And then,
+taking out the Tocsin's letter, he laid it upon the table, placed
+what money he had in his pockets beside it, and began rapidly to
+remove his clothes.  The Sanctuary had not been invaded since his
+last visit there.
+
+He turned back the oilcloth in the far corner of the room, took up
+the piece of loose flooring, which, however, strangely enough,
+fitted so closely as to give no sign of its existence even should it
+inadvertently, by some curious visitor again be trod upon; and from
+the aperture beneath lifted out a bundle of clothes and a small box.
+
+Undressed now, he carefully folded the clothes he had taken off,
+laid them under the flooring, and began to dress again, his wardrobe
+supplied by the bundle he had taken out in exchange--an old pair of
+shoes, the laces broken; mismated socks; patched trousers, frayed at
+the bottoms; a soiled shirt, collarless, open at the neck.  Attired
+to his satisfaction, he placed the box upon the table, propped up a
+cracked mirror, sat down in front of it, and, with a deft, artist's
+touch, began to apply stain to his hands, wrists, neck, throat, and
+face--but the hardness, the grim menace that now grew into the
+dominant characteristic of his features was not due to the stain
+alone.
+
+"Dear Philanthropic Crook"--his eyes were on the Tocsin's letter
+that lay before him.  He read on--for once, even to Jimmie Dale's
+keen, facile mind, a first reading had failed to convey the full
+significance of what she had written.  It was too amazing, almost
+beyond belief--the series of crimes, rampant for the past few weeks,
+at which the community had stood aghast, the brutal murder of
+Roessle but a few hours old, lay bare before his eyes.  It was all
+there, all of it, the details, the hellish cleverness, the personnel
+even of the thugs, all, everything--except the proof.
+
+"Get him, Jimmie--the man higher up.  Get him, Jimmie--before
+another pays forfeit with his life"--the words seemed to leap out at
+him from the white page in red, dancing lines--"Get him--Jimmie--the
+man higher up."
+
+Jimmie Dale finished the second reading of the letter, read it again
+for the third time, then tore it into tiny fragments.  His fingers
+delved into the box again, and the transformation of Jimmie Dale,
+member of New York's most exclusive social set, into a low, vicious-
+featured denizen of the underworld went on--a little wax applied
+skilfully behind the ears, in the nostrils and under the upper lip.
+
+It was all there--all except the proof.  And the proof--he laughed
+aloud suddenly, unpleasantly.  There seemed something sardonic in
+it; ay, more than that, all that was grim in irony.  The proof, in
+Stangeist's own writing, sworn to before witnesses in the presence
+of a notary, the text of the document, of course, unknown to both
+witnesses and notary, evidence, absolute and final, that would be
+admitted in any court, for Stangeist was a lawyer, and would see to
+that, was in Stangeist's own safe, for Stangeist's own protection--
+Stangeist, who was himself the head and brains of this murder gang--
+Stangeist, who was the man higher up!
+
+It was amazing, without parallel in the history of crime--and yet
+ingenious, clever, full of the craft and cunning that had built up
+the shyster lawyer's reputation below the dead line.
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips were curiously thin now.  So it was Stangeist!  A
+Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde with a vengeance!  He knew Stangeist--not
+personally; not by the reputation Stangeist held, low even as that
+was, among his brother members of the profession; but as the man was
+known for what he really was among the crooks and criminals of the
+underworld, where, in that strange underground exchange, whispered
+confidences passed between those whose common enemy was the law,
+where Larry the Bat himself was trusted in the innermost circles.
+
+Stangeist was a power in the Bad Lands.  There were few among that
+unholy community that Stangeist, at one time or another, in one way
+or another, had not rescued from the clutches of the law, resorting
+to any trick or cunning, but with perjury, that he could handle like
+the master of it that he was, employed as the most common weapon of
+defence for his clients--provided he were paid well enough for it.
+The man had become more than the attorney for the crime world--he
+had become part of it.  Cunning, shrewd, crafty, conscienceless,
+cold-blooded--that was Stangeist.
+
+The form and features of the man pictured themselves in Jimmie
+Dale's mind--the six-foot muscular frame, that was invariably
+clothed in attire of the most fashionable cut; the thin lips with
+their oily, plausible smile, the straight black hair that straggled
+into pin point, little black eyes, the dark face with its high cheek
+bones, which, with the pronounced aquiline nose and the persistent
+rumour that he was a quarter caste, had led the underworld,
+prejudiced always in favour of a "monaker," to dub the man the
+"Indian Chief."
+
+Jimmie Dale laughed again--still unpleasantly.  So Stangeist had
+taken the plunge at last and branched out into a wider field, had
+he?  Well, there was nothing surprising in that--except that he had
+not done it before!  The irony of it lay in the fact that at last he
+had been TOO clever, overstepped himself in his own cleverness, that
+was all.  It was Australian Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane that
+Stangeist had gathered around him, the Tocsin had said--and there
+were none worse in Larry the Bat's wide range of acquaintanceship
+than those three.  Stangeist had made himself master of Australian
+Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane--and he had driven them a little too
+hard on the division of the spoils--and laughed at them, and cracked
+the whip much after the fashion that the trainer in the cage handles
+the growling beasts around him.
+
+A dozen of the crimes that had appalled and staggered New York they
+had committed under his leadership; and then, it seemed, they had
+quarrelled furiously, the three pitted against Stangeist,
+threatening him, demanding a more equitable share of the proceeds.
+None was better aware than Stangeist that threats from men of their
+calibre were likely to result in a grim aftermath--and Stangeist,
+yesterday, the Tocsin said, had answered them as no other man than
+Stangeist would either have thought of or have dared to do.  One by
+one, at separate times, covering the other with a revolver,
+Stangeist had permitted them to read a document that was addressed
+to the district attorney.  It was a confession, complete in every
+detail, of every crime the four together had committed, implicating
+Stangeist as fully and unreservedly as it did the other three.  It
+required no commentary!  If anything happened to Stangeist, a stab
+in the dark, for instance, a bullet from some dark alleyway, a
+blackjack deftly wielded, as only Australian Ike, The Mope or Clarie
+Deane knew how to wield it--the document automatically became a
+DEATH SENTENCE for Australian Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane!
+
+It was very simple--and, evidently, it had been effective, as
+witness the renewal of their operations in the murder of Roessle
+that afternoon.  Fear and avarice had both probably played their
+part; fear of the man who would with such consummate nerve fling his
+life into the balance to turn the tables upon them, while he jeered
+at them; avarice that prompted them to get what they could out of
+Stangeist's brains and leadership, and to be satisfied with what
+they COULD get--since they could get no more!
+
+Satisfied?  Jimmie Dale shook his head.  No; that was hardly the
+word--cowed, perhaps, for the moment, would be better.  But
+afterward, with a document like that in existence, when they would
+never be safe for an instant--well, beasts in the cages had been
+known to get the better of the man with the whip, and beasts were
+gentle things compared with Australian Ike, The Mope, and Clarie
+Deane!  Some day they would reverse the tables on the Indian Chief--
+if they could.  And if they couldn't it would not be for the lack of
+trying.
+
+There would be another act in that drama of the House Divided before
+the curtain fell!  And there would be a sort of grim, poetic justice
+in it, a temptation almost to let the play work itself out to its
+own inevitable conclusion, only--Jimmie Dale, the final touches
+given to his features, stood up, and his hands clenched suddenly,
+fiercely--it was not just the man higher up alone, there were the
+other three as well, the whole four of them, all of them, crimes
+without number at their door, brutal, fiendish acts, damnable
+outrages, murder to answer for, with which the public now was
+beginning to connect the name of the Gray Seal!  The Gray Seal!
+
+Jimmie Dale's hands, whose delicate fingers were artfully grimed and
+blackened now beneath the nails, clenched still tighter--and then,
+with a quick shrug of his shoulders, a thinning of the firmly
+compressed lips, he picked up the coat from where it lay upon the
+floor, put it on, put the money that was on the table in his pocket,
+and replaced the box under the flooring.
+
+In quick succession, from the same hiding place, an automatic, a
+black silk mask, an electric flashlight, that thin metal box like a
+cigarette case, and a half dozen vicious-looking little blued-steel
+burglar's tools were stowed away in his pockets, the flooring
+carefully replaced, the oilcloth spread back again; and then,
+pulling a slouch hat well down over his eyes, he reached up to turn
+off the gas.
+
+For an instant his hand held there, while his eyes, sweeping around
+the apartment, took in every single detail about him in that same
+alert, comprehensive way as when he had entered--then the room was
+in darkness, and the Gray Seal, as Larry the Bat, a shuffling,
+unkempt creature of the underworld, alias Jimmie Dale, the lionised
+of clubs, the matrimonial target of exclusive drawing-rooms, closed
+the door of the Sanctuary behind him, shuffled down the stairs,
+shuffled out into the lane, and shuffled along the street toward the
+Bowery.
+
+A policeman on the corner accosted him familiarly.
+
+"Hello, Larry!" grinned the officer.
+
+"'Ello!" returned Jimmie Dale affably through the side of his mouth.
+"Fine night, ain't it?"--and shuffled on along the street.
+
+And now Jimmie Dale began to hurry--still with that shuffling tread,
+but covering the ground nevertheless with amazing celerity.  He had
+lost no time since receiving the Tocsin's letter, it was true, but,
+for all that, it was now after ten o'clock.  Stangeist's house was
+"dark" that evening, she had said, meaning that the occupants,
+Stangeist as well as whatever servants there might be, for Stangeist
+had no family, were out--the servants in town for a theatre or
+picture show probably--and Stangeist himself as yet not back,
+presumably from that Roessle affair.  The stub of an old cigar,
+unlighted, shifted with a sudden, savage twist of the lips from one
+side of Jimmie Dale's mouth to the other.  There was need for haste.
+There was no telling when Stangeist might get back--as for the
+servants, that did not matter so much; servants in suburban homes
+had a marked affinity for "last trains!"
+
+Jimmie Dale boarded a cross-town car, effected a transfer, and in a
+quarter of an hour after leaving the Sanctuary was huddled, an
+inoffensive heap, like a tired-out workingman, in a corner seat of a
+Long Island train.  From here, there was only a short run ahead of
+him, and, twenty minutes later, descending from the train at Forest
+Hills, he had passed through the more thickly settled portion of the
+little place, and was walking briskly out along the country road.
+
+Stangeist's house lay, approximately, a mile and a half from the
+station, quite by itself, and set well back from the road.  Jimmie
+Dale could have found it with his eyes blindfolded--the Tocsin's
+directions had lacked none of their usual explicit minuteness.  The
+road was quite deserted.  Jimmie Dale met no one.  Even in the
+houses that he passed the lights were in nearly every instance
+already out.
+
+Something, merciless in its rage, swept suddenly over Jimmie Dale,
+as, unbidden, of its own volition, the last paragraph he had read in
+that evening's paper began to repeat itself over and over again in
+his mind.  The two little kiddies--it seemed as though he could see
+them standing there--and from Jimmie Dale's lips, not given to
+profanity, there came a bitter oath.  It might possibly be that,
+even if he were successful in what was before him to-night, the
+authors of the Roessle murder would never be known.  That confession
+of Stangeist's was written prior to what had happened that
+afternoon, and there would be no mention, naturally, of Roessle.
+And, for a moment, that seemed to Jimmie Dale the one thing
+paramount to all others, the one thing that was vital; then he shook
+his head, and laughed out shortly.  After all, it did not matter--
+whether Stangeist and the blood wolves he had gathered around him
+paid the penalty specifically for one particular crime or for
+another could make little difference--they would PAY, just as
+surely, just as certainly, once that paper was in his possession!
+
+Jimmie Dale was counting the houses as he passed--they were more
+infrequent now, farther apart.  Stangeist was no fool--not the fool
+that he would appear to be for keeping a document like that, once he
+had had the temerity to execute it, in his own safe; for, in a day
+or two, the Tocsin had hinted at this, after holding it over the
+heads of Australian Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane again to drive
+the force of it a little deeper home, he would undoubtedly destroy
+it--and the SUPPOSITION that it was still in existence would have
+equally the same effect on the minds of the other three!  Stangeist
+was certainly alive to the peril that he ran with such a thing in
+his possession, only the peril had not appealed to him as imminent
+either from the three thugs with whom he had allied himself, or,
+much less, from any one else, that was all.
+
+Jimmie Dale halted by a low, ornamental stone fence, some three feet
+high, and stood there for a moment, glancing about him.  This was
+Stangeist's house--he could just make out the building as it loomed
+up a shadowy, irregular shape, perhaps two hundred yards back from
+the fence.  The house was quite dark, not a light showed in any
+window.  Jimmie Dale sat down casually on the fence, looked
+carefully again up and down the road--then, swinging his legs over,
+quick now in every action, he dropped to the other side, and stole
+silently across the grass to the rear of the house.
+
+Here he stopped again, reached up to a window that was about on a
+level with his shoulders, and tested its fastenings.  The window--it
+was the window of Stangeist's private sanctum, according to the plan
+in her letter--was securely locked.  Jimmie Dale's hands went into
+his pocket--and the black silk mask was slipped over his face.  He
+listened intently--then a little steel instrument began to gnaw like
+a rat.
+
+A minute passed--two of them.  Again Jimmie Dale listened.  There
+was not a sound save the night sounds--the light breeze whispering
+through the branches of the trees; the far-off rumble of a train;
+the whir of insects; the hoarse croaking of a frog from some near-by
+creek or pond.  The window sash was raised an inch, another, and
+gradually to the top.  Like a shadow, Jimmie Dale pulled himself up
+to the sill, and, poised there, his hand parted the heavy portieres
+that hung within.  It was too dark to distinguish even a single
+object in the room.  He lowered himself to the floor, and slipped
+cautiously between the portieres.
+
+From somewhere in the house, a clock began to strike.  Jimmie Dale
+counted the strokes.  Eleven o'clock.  It was getting late--TOO
+late!  Stangeist was likely to be back at any moment.  The
+flashlight, in Jimmie Dale's hand now, circled the room with its
+little round white ray, lingering an instant in a queer, inquisitive
+sort of way here and there on this object and that--and went out.
+Jimmie Dale nodded--the flat desk in the centre of the floor, the
+safe in the corner by the rear wall, the position of everything in
+the room, even to the chairs, was photographed on his mind.
+
+He stepped from the portieres to the safe, and the flashlight played
+again--this time reflecting back from the glistening nickelled
+knobs.  Jimmie Dale's lips tightened.  It was a small safe, almost
+ludicrously small; but to such height as the art of safe design had
+been carried, that design was embodied in the one before him.
+
+"Type K-four-two-eight-Colby," muttered Jimmie Dale.  "A nasty
+little beggar--and it's eleven o'clock now!  I'd use 'soup' for
+once, if it weren't that it would put Stangeist wise, and give him a
+chance to make his get-away before the district attorney got the
+nippers on the four of them."
+
+The light went out.  Jimmie Dale dropped to his knees; and, while
+his left hand passed swiftly, tentatively over dials and handle, he
+rubbed the fingers of his right hand rapidly to and fro over the
+carpet.  Wonderful finger tips were those of Jimmie Dale, sensitive
+to an abnormal degree; and now, tingling with the friction, the
+nerves throbbing at the skin surface, they closed in a light,
+delicate touch upon the knob of the dial--and Jimmie Dale's ear
+pressed close against the face of the safe.
+
+Time passed.  The silence grew heavy--seemed to palpitate through
+the room.  Then a deep breath, half like a sigh, half like a
+fluttering sob as of a strong man taxed to the uttermost of his
+endurance, came from Jimmie Dale, and his left hand swept away the
+sweat beads that had spurted to his forehead.
+
+"Eight--thirteen--twenty-two," whispered Jimmie Dale.
+
+There was a click, a low metallic thud as the bolts slid back, and
+the door swung open.
+
+And now the flashlight again, searching the mechanism of the inner
+door--then darkness once more.
+
+Five minutes, ten minutes went by.  The clock struck again--and the
+single stroke seemed to boom out through the house in a weird,
+raucous, threatening note, and seemed to linger, throbbing in the
+air.
+
+The inner door was open--the flashlight's ray was flooding a nest of
+pigeonholes and little drawers.  The pigeonholes were crammed with
+papers, as, presumably, too, were the drawers.  Jimmie Dale sucked
+in his breath.  He had already been there well over half an hour--
+every minute now, every second was counting against him, and to
+search that mass of papers before Stangeist returned was--
+
+"Ah!"--it came in a fierce little ejaculation from Jimmie Dale.
+From the centre pigeonhole, almost the first paper he had touched,
+he drew a long, sealed envelope and at a single swift glance had
+read the inscription upon it, written in longhand:
+
+
+TO THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY,
+NEW YORK CITY.
+
+IMPORTANT.        URGENT.
+
+
+The words in the corners were underscored three times.
+
+Swiftly, deftly, Jimmie Dale's hands rolled the rounded end of one
+of his collection of the legal instruments under the flap of the
+envelope, turned the sheets over and drew out the folded document
+inside.  There were eight sheets of legal foolscap, neatly fastened
+together at the top left-hand corner with green tape.  He opened
+them out, read a few words here and there, and turned the pages
+hurriedly over to scrutinise the last one--and nodded grimly.  Three
+witnesses had testified to the signature of Stangeist, and a
+notary's seal, accompanied by the usual legal formula, was duly
+affixed.
+
+Jimmie Dale slipped the document into his pocket, and, with the
+envelope in his hand, moved to the desk.  He opened first one drawer
+and then another, and finally discovering a pile of blank foolscap,
+took out four sheets, folded them, and placed them in the envelope,
+sealing the flap of the latter again.  That it did not seal very
+well now brought a quizzical twitch to Jimmie Dale's lips.  Sealed
+or unsealed, perhaps, it made little difference; but, for all that,
+he was not through with it yet.  Apart from bringing the four to
+justice, there was, after all, a chance to vindicate the Gray Seal
+in this matter at least, and repudiate the newspaper theory which
+the public, to whom the Gray Seal was already a monster of iniquity,
+would seize upon with avidity.
+
+There was no further need of light now.  Jimmie Dale replaced the
+flashlight in his pocket, took out the thin, metal case, opened it,
+and with the tiny pair of tweezers that likewise nestled there,
+lifted out one of the gray, diamond-shaped paper seals.  There was
+no question but that, once under arrest, Stangeist's effects would
+be immediately and thoroughly searched by the authorities!  Jimmie
+Dale's smile from quizzical became ironic.  It would afford the
+police another little, bewildering reminder of the Gray Seal, and
+give Carruthers, good old Carruthers of the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, so
+innocently ignorant that the Gray Seal was his old college pal, yet
+the one editor of them all who was not forever barking and yelping
+at the Gray Seal's heels, a chance to vindicate himself a little,
+too!  Jimmie Dale moistened the adhesive side of the gray seal, and,
+still mindful of tell-tale finger prints, laid it with the tweezers
+on the flap of the envelope, and pressed it firmly into place with
+his elbow.
+
+And then, suddenly, every faculty instantly on the alert, he
+snatched up the envelope from the desk, and listened.  Was it
+imagination, a trick of nerves, or--no, there it was again!--a
+footfall on the gravel walk at the front of the house.  The sound
+became louder, clearer--two footfalls instead of one.  It was
+Stangeist, and somebody was with him.
+
+In an instant Jimmie Dale was across the room and kneeling again
+before the safe.  His fingers were flying now.  The envelope shot
+back into the pigeonhole from which he had taken it--the inner door
+of the safe closed silently and swiftly.
+
+A dry chuckle came from Jimmie Dale's lips.  It was just like
+fiction, just precisely time enough to have accomplished what he had
+come for before he was interrupted, not a second more or less, the
+villain foiled at the psychological moment!  The key was rattling in
+the front door now--they were in the hall--he could hear Stangeist's
+voice--there came a dull glow from the hallway, following the click
+of an electric-light switch.  The outer door of the safe swung shut,
+the bolts slid into place, the dial whirled under Jimmie Dale's
+fingers.  It was only a step to the portieres, the open window--and
+escape.  He straightened up, stepped back, the portieres closed
+behind him--and the chuckle died on Jimmie Dale's lips.
+
+He was trapped--caught without so much as a corner in which to turn!
+Stangeist was even then coming into the room--and OUTSIDE, darkly
+outlined, two forms stood just beneath the window.  Instinctively,
+quick as a flash, Jimmie Dale crouched below the sill.  Who were
+they?  What did it mean?  Questions swept in swift sequence through
+his brain.  Had they seen him?  It would be very dark against the
+background of the portieres, but yet if they were watching--he drew
+a breath of relief.  He had not been seen.  Their voices reached him
+in low, guarded whispers.
+
+"Say, youse, Ike, pipe it!   Dere's a window open in the snitch's
+room.  Come on, we'll get in dere.  It'll make the hair stand up on
+the back of his neck fer a starter."
+
+"Aw, ferget it! " replied another voice.  "Can the tee-ayter stunt!
+Clarie leaves the front door unfastened, don't he?  An' dey'll be in
+dere in a minute now.  Wotcher want ter do?  Crab the game?  He
+might hear us an' fix Clarie before we had a chanst, the skinny old
+fox!  An' dere's the light now--see!  Beat it on yer toes fer the
+front of the house!"
+
+The room was flooded with light.  Through the portieres, that Jimmie
+Dale parted by the barest fraction of an inch, he could see
+Stangeist and another man, a thick-set, ugly-faced-looking customer--
+Clarie Deane, according to that brief, whispered colloquy that he
+had heard outside.  He looked again through the window.  The two
+dark forms had disappeared now, but they had disappeared just a few
+seconds too late--with the two other men now in the room, and one of
+them so close that Jimmie Dale could almost have reached out and
+touched him, it was impossible to get through the window without
+being detected, when the slightest sound would attract instant
+attention and equally instant suspicion.  It was a chance to be
+taken only as a last resort.
+
+Jimmie Dale's face grew hard, as his fingers closed around his
+automatic and drew the weapon from his pocket.  It was all plain
+enough.  That last act in the drama which he had speculatively
+anticipated was being staged with little loss of time--and in a grim
+sort of way the thought flashed across his mind that, perilous as
+his own position was, Stangeist at that moment was in even greater
+peril than himself.  Australian Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane,
+given the chance, and they seemed to have made that chance now, were
+not likely to deal in half measures--Clarie Deane had dropped into a
+chair beside the desk; and The Mope and Australian Ike were creeping
+around to the front door!
+
+The parting in the portieres widened a little more, a very little
+more, slowly, imperceptibly, until Jimmie Dale, by the simple
+expedient of moving his head, could obtain an unobstructed view of
+the entire room.
+
+Stangeist tossed a bag he had been carrying on the desk, pulled up a
+chair opposite to Clarie Deane, and sat down.  Both men were side
+face to Jimmie Dale.
+
+"You tell the boys," said Stangeist abruptly, "to fade away after
+this for a while.  Things are getting too hot.  And you tell The
+Mope I dock him five hundred for that extra crunch on Roessle's
+skull.  That sort of thing isn't necessary.  That's the kind of
+stunt that gets the public sore--the man was dead enough as it was.
+See?"
+
+"Sure!"  Clarie Deane's ejaculation was a grunt.
+
+Stangeist opened the bag, and dumped the contents on the desk--pile
+after pile of banknotes, the pay roll of the Martindale-Kensington
+Mills.
+
+"Some haul!" observed Clarie Deane, with a hoarse chuckle.  "The
+papers said over twenty thousand."
+
+"You can't always believe what the papers say," returned Stangeist
+curtly; and, taking a scribbling pad from the desk, began to check
+up the packages.
+
+Clarie Deane's cigar had gone out.  He rolled the short stub in his
+mouth, and leaned forward.
+
+The bills were evidently just as they had been delivered to the
+murdered paymaster at the bank, done up with little narrow paper
+bands in packages of one hundred notes each, save for a small bundle
+of loose bills which latter, with the rolls of silver, Stangeist
+swept to one side of the desk.
+
+Package by package, Stangeist went on jotting the amounts down on
+the pad.
+
+"Nix!" growled Clarie Deane suddenly.  "Cut that out!  Them's fivers
+in that wad.  Make that five hundred instead of one--I'm onter yer!"
+
+"Mistake," said Stangeist suavely, changing the figures with his
+pencil.  "You're pretty wide awake for this time of night, aren't
+you, Clarie?"
+
+"Oh, I dunno!" responded Clarie Deane gruffly.  "Not so very!"
+
+Stangeist, finished with the packages, picked up the loose bills,
+and, with a short laugh, tossed them into the bag and followed them
+with the rolls of silver.  He pushed the bag toward Clarie Deane.
+
+"That's a little extra for you," he said.  "The trouble with you
+fellows is that you don't know when you're well off--but the sooner
+you find it out the better, unless you want another lesson like
+yesterday."  He made the addition on the pad.  "Fifteen thousand,
+eight hundred dollars," he announced softly.  "That's seven
+thousand, nine hundred for the three of you to divide, less five
+hundred from The Mope."
+
+Clarie Deane's eyes narrowed.  His hands were on his knees, hidden
+by the desk.
+
+"There's more'n twenty there," he said sullenly--and drew a match
+across the under edge of the desk with a long, crackling noise.
+
+Stangeist's face lost its suavity, a snarl curled his lips; but,
+about to reply, he sprang suddenly to his feet instead, his head
+turned sharply toward the door.
+
+"What's that!" he said hoarsely.  "It's not the servants, they
+wouldn't dare to--"
+
+Stangeist's words ended in a gulp.  He was staring into the muzzle
+of a heavy-calibered revolver that Clarie Deane had jerked up from
+under the desk.
+
+"You sit down, or I'll blow your block off!" said Clarie Deane, with
+a sudden leer.
+
+It happened then almost before Jimmie Dale could grasp the details;
+before even Clarie Deane himself could interfere.  The door burst
+open, two men rushed in--and one, with a bound, flung himself at
+Stangeist.  The man's hand, grasping a clubbed revolver, rose in the
+air, descended on Stangeist's head--and Stangeist went down in a
+limp heap, crashed into the chair, and slid from the chair with a
+thud to the floor.
+
+There was an oath from Clarie Deane.  He jumped from his seat, and
+with a violent shove sent the man reeling half across the room.
+
+"Blast you, Mope!" he snarled.  "You're too blamed fly!  D'ye
+wanter queer the whole biz?"
+
+"Aw, wot's the matter wid youse!"  The Mope, purple-faced with rage,
+little black eyes glittering, mouth working under a flattened nose
+that some previous encounter had broken and bent over the side of
+his face, advanced belligerently.
+
+Australian Ike, who had entered the room with him, pulled him back.
+
+"Ferget it!" he flung out.  "Clarie's dealin' the deck.  Ferget it!"
+
+The Mope glared from one to the other; then shook his fist at
+Stangeist on the floor.
+
+"Youse two make me sick!" he sneered.  "Wot's the use of waitin' all
+night?  We was to bump him off, anyway, wasn't we?  Dat's wot youse
+said yerselves, 'cause wot was ter stop him writin' out another
+paper if we didn't fix him fer keeps?"
+
+"That's all right," rejoined Clarie Deane; "but that's the second
+act, you bonehead, see!  We ain't got the paper yet, have we?  Say,
+take a look at that safe!  It's easier ter scare him inter openin'
+it than ter crack it, ain't it?"
+
+Jimmie Dale, from his crouched position, began to rise to his feet
+slowly, making but the slightest movement at a time, cautious of the
+least sound.  His lips were like a thin line, his fingers tightly
+pressed over the automatic in his hand.  There was not room for him
+between the portieres and the window; and, do what he could, the
+hangings bulged a little.  Let one of the three notice that, or
+inadvertently brush against the portieres, and his life would not be
+worth an instant's purchase.
+
+They were lifting Stangeist up now, propping him up in the chair.
+Stangeist moaned, opened his eyes, stared in a dazed way at the
+three faces that leered into his, then dawning intelligence came,
+and his face, that had been white before, took on a pasty, grayish
+pallor.
+
+"You--the three of you!" he mumbled.  "What's this mean?"
+
+And then Clarie Deane laughed in a low, brutal way.
+
+"Wot d'ye think it means?  We want that paper, an' we want it damn
+quick--see!  D'ye think we was goin' ter stand fer havin' a trip ter
+Sing Sing an' the wire chair danglin' over our heads!"
+
+Stangeist closed his eyes.  When he opened them again, something of
+the old-time craftiness was in his face.
+
+"Well, what are you going to do about it?" he inquired, almost
+sharply.  "You know what will happen to you, if anything happens to
+me."
+
+"Don't youse kid yerself!" retorted Clarie Deane.  "D'ye think we're
+fools?  This ain't like it was yesterday--see!  We GETS the paper
+this time--so there won't nothin' happen to us.  You come across
+with it blasted quick now, or The Mope'll give you another on the
+bean that'll put you to sleep fer keeps!"
+
+The blood was running down Stangeist's face.  He wiped it away from
+his eyes.
+
+"It's not here," he said innocently.  "It's in my box in the safety-
+deposit vaults."
+
+"Aw," blurted out Australian Ike, pushing suddenly forward, "youse
+can't work dat crawl on--"
+
+"Cut it out, Ike!" snapped Clarie Dane.  "I'm runnin' this!  So it's
+in the vaults, eh?"  He shoved his face toward Stangeist's.
+
+"Yes," said Stangeist easily.  "You see--I was looking for something
+like this."
+
+Clarie Deane's fist clenched.
+
+"You lie!" he choked.  "The Mope, here, was the last of us you
+showed the paper to yesterday afernoon, an' the vaults was closed
+then--an' you ain't been there to-day, 'cause you've been watched.
+That's why we fixed it fer to-night after the divvy that you've just
+tried ter do us on again, 'cause we knew you had it here."
+
+"I tell you, it's not here," said Stangeist evenly.
+
+"You lie!" said Clarie Deane again.  "It's in that safe.  The Mope
+heard you tell the girl in yer office that if anything happened to you
+she was ter wise up the district attorney that there was a paper in
+your safe at home fer him that was important.  Now then, you beat it
+over ter that safe, an' open it up--we'll give you a minute ter do
+it in."
+
+"The paper's not there, I tell you," said Stangeist once more.
+
+"That's all right," submitted Clarle Deane grimly.  "There's a
+quarter of that minute gone."
+
+"I won't!" Stangeist flashed out violently.
+
+"That's all right," repeated Clarie Deane.  "There's half of that
+minute gone."
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes, in a fascinated sort of way, were on Stangeist.
+The man's face was twitching now, moisture began to ooze from his
+forehead, as the callous brutality of the scowling faces seemed to
+get him--and then he lurched suddenly forward in his chair.
+
+"My God!" he cried out, a ring of terror in his voice "What do you
+mean to do?  You'll pay for it!  They'll get you!  The servants will
+be back in a minute."
+
+"Two skirts!" jeered Clarie Deane.  We ain't goin' ter run away from
+them.  If they comes before we goes, we'll fix 'em.  That minute's
+up!"
+
+Stangeist licked his lips with his tongue.
+
+"Suppose--suppose I refuse?" he said hoarsely.
+
+"You can suit yerself," said Clarie Deane, with a vicious grin.  "We
+know the paper's there, an' we gets it before we leaves here--see?
+You can take yer choice.  Either you goes over ter the safe an'
+opens it yerself, or else"--he paused and produced a small bottle
+from his pocket--"this is nitro-glycerin', an' we opens it fer you
+with this.  Only if we does the job we does it proper.  We ties you
+up and sets you against the door of the safe before we touches off
+the 'soup,' an' mabbe if yer a good guesser you can guess the rest."
+
+There was a short, raucous guffaw from The Mope.
+
+Stangeist turned a drawn face toward the man, stared at him, and
+stared in a miserable way at the other two in turn.  He licked his
+lips again--none was in a better position than himself to know that
+there would be neither scruples nor hesitancy to interfere with
+carrying out the threat.
+
+"Suppose," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "suppose I open
+the safe--what then--afterward?"
+
+"We ain't got the safe open yet," countered Clarie Deane
+uncompromisingly.  "An' we ain't got no more time ter fool over it,
+either.  You get a move on before I counts five, or The Mope an' Ike
+ties you up!  One--"
+
+Stangeist staggered to his feet, wiped the blood out of his eyes for
+the second time, and, with lips working, went unsteadily across the
+room to the safe.
+
+He knelt before it, and began to manipulate the dial; while the
+others crowded around behind him.  The Mope was fingering his
+revolver again club fashion.  Australian Ike's elbow just grazed the
+portieres, and Jimmie Dale flattened himself against the window,
+holding his breath--a smile on his lips that was mirthless, deadly,
+cold.  The end was not far off now; and then--WHAT?
+
+Stangeist had the outer door of the safe open now--and now the inner
+door swung back.  He reached in his hand to the pigeonhole, drew out
+the envelope--and with a sudden, wild cry, reeled to his feet.
+
+"My God!" he screamed out.  "What's--what's this!"
+
+Clarie Deane snatched the envelope from him.
+
+"THE GRAY SEAL!"--the words came with a jerk from his lips.  He
+ripped the envelope open frantically--and like a man stunned gazed
+at the four blank sheets, while the colour left his face.  "IT'S
+GONE!" he cried out hoarsely.
+
+"Gone!"  There was a burst of oaths from Australian Ike.  "Gone!
+Den we're nipped--de lot of us!"
+
+The Mope's face was like a maniac's as he whirled on Stangeist.
+
+"Sure!" he croaked.  "But youse gets yers first, youse--"
+
+With a cry, Stangeist, to elude the blow, ducked blindly backward--
+into the portieres--and with a rip and tear the hangings were
+wrenched apart.
+
+It came instantaneously--a yell of mingled surprise and fury from
+the three--the crash and spit of Jimmie Dale's revolver as he fired
+one shot at the floor to stop their rush--then he flung himself at
+the window, through it, and dropped sprawling to the ground.
+
+A stream of flame cut the darkness above him, a bullet whistled by
+his head--another--and another.  He was on his feet, quick as a cat,
+and running close alongside of the wall of the house.  He heard a
+thud behind him, still another, and yet a third--they were dropping
+through the window after him.  Came another shot, an angry hum of
+the bullet closer than before--then the pound of racing feet.
+
+Jimmie Dale swung around the corner of the house, running at top
+speed.  Something that was like a hot iron suddenly burned and
+seared along the side of his head just above the ear.  He reeled,
+staggered, recovered himself, and dashed on.  It nauseated him, that
+stinging in his head, and all at once seemed to be draining his
+strength away.  The shouts, the shots, the running feet became like
+a curious buzzing in his ears.  It seemed strange that they should
+have hit him, that he should be wounded!  If he could only reach the
+low stone wall by the road, he could at least make a fight for his
+life on the other side!
+
+Red streaks swam before Jimmie Dale's eyes.  The wall was such a
+long way off--a yard or two was a very long way more to go--the
+weakness seemed to be creeping up now even to numb his brain.  No,
+here was the wall--they hadn't hit him again--he laughed in a
+demented way--and rolled his body over, and fell to the other side.
+
+"JIMMIE!"
+
+The cry seemed to reach some inner consciousness, revive him, send
+the blood whipping through his veins.  That voice!  It was her--
+HERS!  The Tocsin!  There was an automobile, engine racing, standing
+there in the road.  He won to his feet--dark, rushing forms were
+almost at the wall.  He fired--once--twice--fired again--and turned,
+staggering for the car.
+
+"Jimmie!  Jimmie--QUICK!"
+
+Panting, gasping, he half fell into the tonneau.  The car leaped
+forward, yells filled the air--but only one thing was dominant in
+Jimmie Dale's reeling brain now.  He pulled himself up to his feet,
+and leaned over the back of the seat, reaching for the slim figure
+that was bent over the wheel.
+
+"It's you--you at last!" he cried.  "Your face--let me lee your
+face!"
+
+A bullet split the back panel of the car--little spurting flames
+were dancing out from the roadway behind,
+
+"Are you mad!" she shouted back at him.  "Let me steer--do you want
+them to hit me!"
+
+"No-o," said Jimmie Dale, in a queer singsong sort of way, and his
+head seemed to spin dizzily around.  "No--I guess--"  He choked.
+"The paper--it's in--my pocket"--and he went down unconscious on the
+floor of the car.
+
+When he recovered his senses he was lying on a couch in a plainly
+furnished room, and a man, a stranger, red, jovial-faced, farmerish
+looking, was bending over him.
+
+"Where am I?" he demanded finally, propping himself up on his elbow.
+
+"You're all right," replied the man.  "She said you'd come around in
+a little while."
+
+"Who said so?" inquired Jimmie Dale.
+
+"She did.  The woman who brought you here about five minutes ago.
+She said she ran you down with her car."
+
+"Oh!" said Jimmie Dale.  He felt his head--it was bandaged, and
+it was bandaged, he was quite sure, with a piece of torn underskirt.
+He looked at the man again.  "You haven't told me yet where I am."
+
+"Long Island," the other answered.  "My name's Hanson.  I keep a bit
+of a truck garden here."
+
+"Oh," said Jimmie Dale again.
+
+The man crossed the room, picked up an envelope from the table, and
+came back to Jimmie Dale.
+
+"She said to give you this as soon as you got your senses, and asked
+us to put you up for a while, as long as you wanted to stay, and
+paid us for it, too.  She's all right, she is.  You don't want to
+hold the accident up against her, she was mighty sorry about it.
+And now I'll go and see if the old lady's got your room ready while
+you're readin' your letter."
+
+The man left the room.
+
+Jimmie Dale sat up on the couch, and tore the envelope open.  The
+note, scrawled in pencil, began abruptly:
+
+
+You were quite a problem.  I couldn't take you HOME--could I?  I
+couldn't take you to what you call the Sanctuary could I?  I
+couldn't take you to a hospital, nor call in a doctor--the stain you
+use wouldn't stand it.  But, thank God!  I know it's only a flesh
+wound, and you are all right where you are for the day or two that
+you must keep quiet and take care of yourself.  By the time you read
+this the paper will be on the way to the proper hands, and by
+morning the four where they should be.  There were a few articles in
+your clothes I thought it better to take charge of in case--well, in
+case of ACCIDENT."
+
+
+Jimmie Dale tore the note up, and smiled wryly at the door.  He felt
+in his pockets.  Mask, revolver, burglar's tools, and the thin metal
+insignia case were gone.
+
+"And I had the sublime optimism," murmured Jimmie Dale, "to spend
+months trying to find her as Larry the Bat!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+TWO CROOKS AND A KNAVE
+
+
+The bullet wound along the side of his head and just above his ear
+would have been a very awkward thing indeed, in more ways than one,
+for Jimmie Dale, the millionaire, to have explained at his club, in
+his social set, or even to his servants, and of these latter to
+Jason the Solicitous in particular; but for Jimmie Dale as Larry the
+Bat it was a matter of little moment.  There was none to question
+Larry the Bat, save in a most casual and indifferent way; and a
+bandage of any description, primarily and above all one that he
+could arrange himself, with only himself to take note of the
+incongruous hues of skin where the stain, the grease paint, and the
+make-up was washed off, would excite little attention in that world
+where daily affrays were common-place happenings, and a wound, for
+whatever reason, had long since lost the tang of novelty.  Why then
+should it arouse even a passing interest if Larry the Bat, credited
+as the most confirmed of dope fiends, should have fallen down the
+dark, rickety stairs of the tenement in one of his orgies, and, in
+the expressive language of the Bad Lands, cracked his bean!
+
+And so Jimmie Dale had been forced to maintain the role of Larry the
+Bat for a far longer period than he had anticipated when, ten days
+before, he had assumed it for the night's work that had so nearly
+resulted fatally for himself, though it had placed Roessle's
+murderers behind the bars.  For, the next day, unwilling to court
+the risk of remaining in that neighbourhood, he had left Hanson's,
+the farmer's, house on Long Island where the Tocsin had carried him
+in an unconscious state, telephoned Jason that he had been
+unexpectedly called out of town for a few days, and returned to the
+Sanctuary in New York.  And here, to his grim dismay, he had found
+the underworld in a state of furious, angry unrest, like a nest of
+hornets, stirred up, seeking to wreak vengeance on an unseen
+assailant.
+
+For years, as the Gray Seal, Jimmie Dale had lived with the slogan
+of the police, "The Gray Seal dead or alive--but the Gray Seal!"
+sounding in his ears; with the newspapers screaming their diatribes,
+arousing the people against him, nagging the authorities into
+sleepless, frenzied efforts to trap him; with a price upon his head
+that was large enough to make a man, not too pretentious, rich for
+life--but in the underworld, until then, the name of the Gray Seal
+had been one to conjure with, for the underworld had sworn by the
+unknown master criminal, and had spoken his name with a reverence
+that was none the less genuine even if pungently tainted with
+unholiness.  But now it was different.  Up and down through the Bad
+Lands, in gambling hells, in vicious resorts, in the hiding places
+where thugs and crooks burrowed themselves away from the daylight,
+through the heart and the outskirts of the underworld travelled the
+fiat, whispered out of mouths crooked to one side--DEATH TO THE GRAY
+SEAL!
+
+Gangland differences were forgotten in the larger issue of the
+common weal.  The gang spirit became the spirit of a united whole,
+and the crime fraternity buzzed and hummed poisonously, spurred on
+by hatred, thirst for revenge, fear, and, perhaps most potent of
+all, a hideous suspicion now of each other.
+
+The underworld had received a shock at which it stood aghast, and
+which, with its terrifying possibilities, struck consternation into
+the soul of every individual of that brotherhood whose bond was
+crime, who was already "wanted" for some offence or other, whether
+it ranged from murder in the first degree to some petty piece of
+sneak thievery.  Stangeist, the Indian chief, the lawyer whose
+cunning brain had stood as a rampart between the underworld and a
+prison cell, was himself now in the Tombs with the certainty of the
+electric chair before him; and with him, the same fate equally
+assured, were Australian Ike, The Mope, and Clarie Deane!
+Aristocrats of the Bad Lands, peers of that inglorious realm were
+those four--and the blow had fallen with stunning force, a blow that
+in itself would have been enough to have stirred the underworld to
+its depths.  But that was not all--from the cells in the Tombs, from
+the four came the word, and passed from mouth to mouth in that
+strange underground exchange until all had heard it, that the Gray
+Seal had "SQUEALED."  The Gray Seal who, though unknown, they had
+counted the most eminent among themselves, had squealed!  Who was
+the Gray Seal?  It he had held the secrets of Stangeist and his
+band, what else might he not know?  Who else might not fall next?
+The Gray Seal had become a snitch, a menace, a source of danger that
+stalked among them like a ghastly spectre.  Who was the Gray Seal?
+None knew.
+
+"Death to the Gray Seal!  Run him to earth!" went the whisper from
+lip to lip; and with the whisper men stared uncertainly into each
+other's faces, fearful that the one to whom they spoke might even
+be--the Gray Seal!
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips twisted queerly as he looked around him at the
+squalid appointments of the Sanctuary.  The police were bad enough,
+the papers were worse; but this was a still graver peril.  With
+every denizen of the underworld below the dead line suspicious of
+each other, their lives, the penitentiary, or a prison sentence the
+stakes against which each one played, the role of Larry the Bat,
+clever as was the make-up and disguise, was fraught now more than
+ever before with danger and peril.  It seemed as though slowly the
+net was beginning at last to tighten around him.
+
+The murky, yellow flame of the gas jet flickered suddenly, as though
+in acquiescence with the quick, impulsive shrug of Jimmie Dale's
+shoulders--and Jimmie Dale, bending to peer into the cracked mirror
+that was propped up on the broken-legged table, knotted his dress
+tie almost fastidiously.  The hair, if just a trifle too long,
+covered the scar on his head now, the wound no longer required a
+bandage, and Larry the Bat, for the time being at least, had
+disappeared.  Across the foot of the bed, neatly folded, lay his
+dress coat and overcoat, but little creased for all that they had
+lain in that hiding-place under the flooring since the night when,
+hurrying from the club, he had placed them there to assume instead
+the tatters of Larry the Bat.  It was Jimmie Dale in his own person
+again who stood there now in Larry the Bat's disreputable den, an
+incongruous figure enough against the background of his miserable
+surroundings, in perfect-fitting shoes and trousers, the broad
+expanse of spotless white shirt bosom glistening even in the
+poverty-stricken flare from the single, sputtering gas jet.
+
+Jimmie Dale took the watch from his pocket that had not been wound
+for many days, wound it mechanically, set it by guesswork--it was
+not far from eight o'clock--and replaced it in his pocket.
+Carefully then, one at a time, he examined his fingers, long, slim,
+sensitive, tapering fingers, magical masters of safes and locks and
+vaults of the most intricate and modern mechanism--no single trace
+of grime remained, they were metamorphosed hands from the filthy
+paws of Larry the Bat.  He nodded in satisfaction; and picked up the
+mirror for a final inspection of himself, that, this time, did not
+miss a single line in his face or neck.  Again Jimmie Dale nodded.
+As though he had vanished into thin air, as though he had never
+existed, not a trace of Larry the Bat remained--except the heap of
+rags upon the floor, the battered slouch hat, the frayed trousers,
+the patched boots with their broken laces, the mismated socks, the
+grimy flannel shirt, and the old coat that he had just discarded.
+
+The mirror was replaced on the table; and, pushing the heap of
+clothes before him with his foot, Jimmie Dale knelt down in the
+corner of the room where the oilcloth had been turned up and the
+loose planking of the floor removed, and began to pack the articles
+away in the hole.  Jimmie Dale rolled the trousers of Larry the Bat
+into a compact little bundle, and stuffed them under the flooring.
+The gas jet seemed to blink again in a sort of confidential
+approval, as though the secret lay inviolate between itself and
+Jimmie Dale.  Through the closed window, shade tightly drawn, came,
+low and muffled, the sound of distant life from the Bowery, a few
+blocks away.  The gas jet, suffering from air somewhere within the
+pipes, hissed angrily, the yellow flame died to a little blue,
+forked spurt--and Jimmie Dale was on his feet, his face suddenly
+hard and white as marble.
+
+SOME ONE WAS KNOCKING AT THE DOOR!
+
+For the fraction of a second Jimmie Dale stood motionless.  Found as
+Jimmie Dale in the den of Larry the Bat, and the consequences
+required no effort of the imagination to picture them; police or
+denizen of the underworld who was knocking there, it was all the
+same, the method of death would be a little different, that was all--
+one legalised, the other not.  Jimmie Dale, Larry the Bat, the Gray
+Seal, once uncovered, could expect as much quarter as would be given
+to a cornered rat.  His eyes swept the room with a swift, critical
+glance--evidences of Larry the Bat, the clothes, were still about,
+even if he in the person of Jimmie Dale, alone damning enough, were
+not standing there himself.  And he was even weaponless--the Tocsin
+had taken the revolver from his pocket, together with those other
+telltale articles, the mask, the flashlight, the little blued-steel
+tools, before she had intrusted him that night, wounded and
+unconscious, to Hanson's care.
+
+Jimmie Dale slipped his feet out of his low evening pumps, snatched
+up the old coat and hat from the pile, put them on, and, without a
+sound, reached the gas jet and turned it off.  A second had gone by--
+no more--the knocking still sounded insistently on the door.  It
+was dark now, perfectly black.  He started across the room, his
+tread absolutely silent as the trained muscles, relaxing, threw the
+body weight gradually upon one foot before the next step was taken.
+It was like a shadow, a little blacker in outline than the
+surrounding blackness, stealing across the floor.
+
+Halfway to the door he paused.  The knocking had ceased.  He
+listened intently.  It was not repeated.  Instead, his ear caught a
+guarded step retreating outside in the hall.  Jimmie Dale drew a
+breath of relief.  He went on again to the door, still listening.
+Was it a trap--that step outside?
+
+At the door now, tense, alert, he lowered his ear to the keyhole.
+There came the faintest creak from the stairs.  Jimmie Dale's brows
+gathered.  It was strange!  The knocking had not lasted long.
+Whoever it was was going away--but it required the utmost caution to
+descend those stairs, rickety and tumble-down as they were, with no
+more sound than that!  Why such caution?  Why not a more determined
+and prolonged effort at his door--the visitor had been easily
+satisfied that Larry the Bat was not within.  TOO easily satisfied!
+Jimmie Dale turned the key noiselessly in the lock.  He opened the
+door cautiously--half inch--an inch, there was no sound of footsteps
+now.  Occasionally a lodger moved about on the floor above;
+occasionally from somewhere in the tenement came the murmur of
+voices as from behind closed door--that was all.  All else was
+silence and darkness now.
+
+The door, on its well-oiled hinges, swung wide open.  Jimmie Dale
+thrust out his head into the hall--and something fell upon the
+threshold with a little thud--but for a moment Jimmie Dale did not
+move.  Listening, trying to pierce the darkness, he was as still as
+the silence around him; then he stooped and groped along the
+threshold.  His hand closed upon what seemed like a small box
+wrapped in paper.  He picked it up, closed and locked the door
+again, and retreated back across the room.  It was strange--
+unpleasantly strange--a box propped stealthily against the door so
+that it would fall to the threshold when the door was opened!  And
+why the stealth?  What did it mean?  Had the underworld with its
+thousand eyes and ears already succeeded in a few days where the
+police had failed signally for years--had they sent him this,
+whatever it was, as some grim token that they had run Larry the Bat
+to earth?  He shook his head.  No; gangland struck more swiftly,
+with less finesse than that--the "cat-and-mouse" act was never one
+it favoured, for the mouse had been known to get away.
+
+Jimmie Dale lighted the gas again, and turned the package over in
+his hands.  It was, as he had surmised, a small cardboard box; and
+it was wrapped in plain paper and tied with a string.  He untied the
+string, and still suspicious, as a man is suspicious in the
+knowledge that he is stalked by peril at every turn, removed the
+wrapper a little gingerly.  It was still without sign or marking
+upon it, just an ordinary cardboard box.  He lifted off the cover,
+and, with a short, sudden laugh, stared, a little out of
+countenance, at the contents.
+
+On the top lay a white, unaddressed envelope.  HERS!  Beneath--he
+emptied the box on the table--his black silk mask, his automatic
+revolver, the kit of fine, small blued-steel burglar's tools, his
+pocket flashlight, and the thin metal insignia case.  The Tocsin!
+Impulsively Jimmie Dale turned toward the door--and stopped.  His
+shoulders lifted in a shrug that, meant to be philosophical, was far
+from philosophical.  He could not, dared not venture far through the
+tenement dressed as he was; and even if he could there were three
+exits to the Sanctuary, a fact that now for the first time was not
+wholly a source of unmixed satisfaction to him; and besides--she was
+gone!
+
+Jimmie Dale opened the letter, a grim smile playing on his lips.  He
+had forgotten for the moment that the illusion he had cherished for
+years in the belief that she did not know Larry the Bat as an alias
+of Jimmie Dale was no more than--an illusion.  Well, it had been a
+piece of consummate egotism on his part, that was all.  But, after
+all, what did it matter?  He had had his innings, tried in the role
+of Larry the Bat to solve her identity, devoted weeks on end to the
+attempt--and failed.  Some day, perhaps, his turn would come; some
+day, perhaps, she would no longer be able to elude him, unless--the
+letter crackled suddenly in his fingers--unless the house that they
+had built on such strange and perilous foundations crashed at some
+moment, without an instant's warning, in disaster and ruin to the
+ground.  Who knew but that this letter now, another call to the Gray
+Seal to act, another peril invited, would be the LAST?  There must
+be an end some day; luck and nerve had their limitations--it had
+almost ended last week!
+
+
+"Dear Philanthropic Crook"--it was the same inevitable beginning.
+"You are well enough again, aren'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.  He had not been far wrong.  From what
+the night promised now, this might well be the last letter.  Who
+knew?  There would be need of all the wit and luck and nerve
+to-night that the Gray Seal had ever had before.
+
+With a jerk, Jimmie Dale roused himself from the momentary reverie
+into which he had fallen; and, all action now, stuffed the torn
+pieces of the letter into his trousers pocket to be disposed of
+later in the street; took off the old coat and slouch hat again, and
+resumed the disposal of Larry the Bat's effects under the flooring.
+
+This accomplished, he replaced the planking and oilcloth, stood up,
+put on his dress coat and light overcoat, and, from the table,
+stowed the black silk mask, the automatic, the little kit of tools,
+the flashlight, and the thin metal case away in his pockets.
+
+Jimmie Dale raised his hand to the gas fixture, circled the room
+with a glance that missed no single detail--then the light went out,
+the door closed behind him, locked, a dark shadow crept silently
+down the stairs, out through the side door into the alleyway, along
+the alleyway close to the wall of the tenement where it was
+blackest, and, satisfied that for the moment there were no passers-
+by, emerged on the street, walking leisurely toward the Bowery.
+
+Once well away from the Sanctuary, however, Jimmie Dale quickened
+his steps; and twenty minutes later, having stopped but once to
+telephone to his home on Riverside Drive for his touring car, he was
+briskly mounting the steps of the St. James Club on Fifth Avenue.
+Another twenty minutes after that, and he had dismissed Benson, his
+chauffeur, and, at the wheel of his big, powerful machine, was
+speeding uptown for the Palais-Metropole Hotel.
+
+It was twelve minutes after nine when he drew up at the curb in
+front of the side entrance of the hotel--his watch, set by
+guesswork, had been a little slow, and he had corrected it at the
+club.  He was replacing the watch in his pocket as he sauntered
+around the corner, and passed in through the main entrance to the
+big lobby.
+
+Jimmie Dale avoided the elevators--it was only one flight up, and
+elevator boys on occasions had been known to be observant.  At the
+top of the first landing, a long, wide, heavily carpeted corridor
+was before him.  "Number one hundred and forty-eight, the corner
+room on the right," the Tocsin had said.  Jimmie Dale walked
+nonchalantly along--past No. 148.  At the lower end of the hall a
+group of people were gathered around the elevator doors; halfway
+down the corridor a bell boy came out of a room and went ahead of
+Jimmie Dale.
+
+And then Jimmie Dale stopped suddenly, and began to retrace his
+steps.  The group had entered the elevator, the bell boy had
+disappeared around the farther end of the hall into the wing of the
+hotel--the corridor was empty.  In a moment he was standing before
+the door of No. 148; in another, under the persuasion of a little
+steel instrument, deftly manipulated by Jimmie Dale's slim, tapering
+fingers, the lock clicked back, the door opened, and he stepped
+inside, closing and locking the door again behind him.
+
+It was already a quarter past nine, but no one was as yet in the
+connecting room--the fanlight next door had been dark as he passed.
+His flashlight swept about him, located the connecting door--and
+went out.  He moved to the door, tried it, and found it locked.
+Again the little steel instrument came into play, released the lock,
+and Jimmie Dale opened the door.  Again the flashlight winked.  The
+door opened into a bathroom that, obviously, at will, was either
+common to the two rooms or could, by the simple expedient of locking
+one door or the other, be used by one of the rooms alone.  In the
+present instance, the occupant of the adjoining apartment had taken
+"a room with a bath."
+
+Jimmie Dale passed through the bathroom to the opposite door.  This
+was already three-quarters open, and swung outward into the bedroom,
+near the lower end of the room by the window.  Through the crack of
+the door by the hinges, Jimmie Dale flashed his light, testing the
+radius of vision, pushed the door a few inches wider open, tested it
+again with the flashlight--and retreated back into No. 148, closing
+the door on his side until it was just ajar.
+
+He stood there then silently waiting.  It was Hamvert's room next
+door, and Hamvert and the Weasel were already late.  A step sounded
+outside in the corridor.  Jimmie Dale straightened intently.  The
+step passed on down the hallway and died away.  A false alarm!
+Jimmie Dale smiled whimsically.  It was a strange adventure this
+that confronted him, quite the strangest in a way that the Tocsin
+had ever planned--and the night lay before him full of peril in its
+extraordinary complications.  To win the hand he must block Hamvert
+and the Weasel without allowing them an inkling that his
+interference was anything more than, say, the luck of a hotel sneak
+thief at most.  The Weasel was a dangerous man, one of the slickest
+second-story workers in the country, with safe cracking as one of
+his favourite pursuits, a man most earnestly desired by the police,
+provided the latter could catch him "with the goods."  As for
+Hamvert, he did not know Hamvert, who was a stranger in New York,
+except that Hamvert had fleeced a man named Michael Breen out of his
+share in a claim they had had together when Breen had first gone to
+Alaska to try his luck, and now, having discovered that Breen, when
+prospecting alone somewhere in the interior a month or so ago, had
+found a rich vein and had made a map or diagram of its location, he,
+Hamvert, had followed the other to New York for the purpose of
+getting it by hook or crook.  Breen's "find" had been too late;
+taken sick, he had never worked his claim, had barely got back home
+before he died, and only in time to hand his wife the strange legacy
+of a roughly scrawled little piece of paper, and--Jimmie Dale
+straightened up alertly once more.  Steps again--and this time
+coming from the direction of the elevator; then voices; then the
+opening of the door of the next room; then a voice, distinctly
+audible:
+
+"Pull up a chair, and we'll get down to business.  You're late, as
+it is.  We haven't any time to waste, if we're going to wash pay-
+dirt to-night."
+
+"Aw, dat's all right!" responded another voice--quite evidently the
+Weasel's.  "Don't youse worry--de game's cinched to a fadeaway."
+
+There was the sound of chairs being moved across the floor.  Jimmie
+Dale slipped the black silk mask over his face, opened the door on
+his side of the bathroom cautiously, and, without a sound, stepped
+into the bathroom that was lighted now, of course, by the light
+streaming in through the partially opened door of Hamvert's room.
+The two were talking earnestly now in lower tones.  Jimmie Dale only
+caught a word here and there--his faculties for the moment were
+concentrated on traversing the bathroom silently.  He reached the
+farther door, crouched there, peered through the crack--and the old
+whimsical smile flickered across his lips again.
+
+The Palais-Metropole was high class and exclusive, and the Weasel
+for once looked quite the gentleman, and, for all his sharp, ferret
+face, not entirely out of keeping with his surroundings--else he
+would never have got farther than the lobby.  The other was a short,
+thickset, heavy-jowled man, with a great shock of sandy hair, and
+small black eyes that looked furtively out from overhanging, bushy
+eyebrows.
+
+"Well," Hamvert was saying, "the details are your concern.  What I
+want is results.  We won't waste time.  You're to be back here by
+daylight--only see that there's no come-back."
+
+"Leave it to me!" returned the Weasel, with assurance.  "How's dere
+goin' ter be any come-back?  Mittel keeps it in his safe, don't he?
+Well, gentlemen's houses has been robbed before--an' dis job'll be a
+good one.  De geographfy stunt youse wants gets pinched wid de rest,
+dat's all.  It disappears--see?  Who's ter know youse gets yer claws
+on it?  It's just lost in de shuffle."
+
+"Right!" agreed Hamvert briskly--and from his inside pocket produced
+a package of crisp new bills, yellow-backs, and evidently of large
+denominations.  "Half down and half on delivery--that's our deal."
+
+"Dat's wot!" assented the Weasel curtly.
+
+Hamvert began to count the bills.
+
+Jimmie Dale's hand stole into his pocket, and came out with his
+handkerchief and the thin metal insignia case.  From the latter,
+with its little pair of tweezers, he took out one of the adhesive
+gray seals.  His eyes warily on the two men, he dropped the seal on
+his handkerchief, restored the thin metal case to his pocket--and in
+its stead the blue-black ugly muzzle of his automatic peeped from
+between his fingers.
+
+"Five thousand down," said Hamvert, pushing a pile of notes across
+the table, and tucking the remainder back into his pocket; "and the
+other five's here for you when you get back with the map.
+Ordinarily, I wouldn't pay a penny in advance, but since you want it
+that way and the map's no good to you while the rest of the long
+green is, I--"  He swallowed his words with a startled gulp,
+clutched hastily at the money on the table, and began to struggle up
+from his chair to his feet.
+
+With a swift, noiseless side-step through the open door, Jimmie Dale
+was standing in the room.
+
+Jimmie Dale's tones were conversational.  "Don't get up," said
+Jimmie Dale coolly.  "And take your hand off that money!"
+
+The Weasel, whose back had been to the door, squirmed around in his
+chair--and in his turn stared into the muzzle of Jimmie Dale's
+revolver, while his jaw dropped and sagged.
+
+"Good-evening, Weasel," observed Jimmie Dale casually.  "I seem to
+be in luck to-night.  I got into that room next door, but an empty
+room is slim picking.  And then it seemed to me I heard some one in
+here mention five thousand dollars twice, which makes ten thousand,
+and which happens to be just exactly the sum I need at the present
+moment--if I can't get any more!  I haven't the honour of your
+wealthy friend's acquaintance, but I am really charmed to meet him.
+You--er--understand, both of you, that the slightest sound might
+prove extremely embarrassing."
+
+Hamvert's face was white, and he stirred uneasily in his chair; but
+into the Weasel's face, the first shock of surprised dismay past,
+came a dull, angry red, and into the eyes a vicious gleam--and
+suddenly he laughed shortly.
+
+"Why, youse damned fool," jeered the Weasel, "d'youse t'ink youse
+can get away wid dat!  Say, take it from me, youse are a piker!
+Say, youse make me tired.  Wot d'youse t'ink youse are?  D'youse
+t'ink dis is a tee-ayter, an' dat youse are a cheap-skate actor
+strollin' acrost de stage?  Aw, beat it, youse make me sick!  Why,
+say, youse pinch dat money, an' youse have got de same chanst of
+gettin' outer dis hotel as a guy has of breakin' outer Sing Sing!
+By de time youse gets five feet from de door of dis room we has de
+whole works on yer neck."
+
+"Do you think so, Weasel?" inquired Jimmie Dale politely.  He
+carried his handkerchief to his mouth to cloak a cough--and his
+tongue touched the adhesive side of the little diamond-shaped gray
+seal.  Hand and handkerchief came back to the table, and Jimmie Dale
+leaned his weight carelessly upon it, while the automatic in his
+right hand still covered the two men.  "Do you think so, Weasel?" he
+repeated softly.  "Well, perhaps you are right; and yet; somehow, I
+am inclined to disagree with you.  Let me see, Weasel--it was
+Tuesday night, two nights ago; wasn't it, that a trifling break in
+Maiden Lane at Thorold and Sons disturbed the police?  It was a
+three-year job for even a first offender, ten for one already on
+nodding terms with the police and fifteen to twenty for--well, say,
+for a man like you, Weasel--IF HE WERE CAUGHT!  Am I making myself
+quite plain?"
+
+The colour in the Weasel's cheeks faded a little--his eyes were
+holding in sudden fascination upon Jimmie Dale.
+
+"I see that I am," observed Jimmie Dale pleasantly.  "I said, 'if he
+were caught,' you will remember.  I am going to leave this room in a
+moment, Weasel, and leave it entirely to your discretion as to
+whether you will think it wise or not to stir from that chair for
+ten minutes after I shut the door.  And now"--Jimmie Dale
+nonchalantly replaced his handkerchief in his pocket, nonchalantly
+followed it with the banknotes which he picked up from the table--
+and smiled.
+
+With a gasp, both men had strained forward, and were staring, wild-
+eyed, at the gray seal stuck between them on the tabletop.
+
+"The Gray Seal!" whispered the Weasel, and his tongue circled his
+lips.
+
+Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"That WAS a bit theatrical, Weasel," he said apologetically; "and
+yet not wholly unnecessary.  You will recall Stangeist, The Mope,
+Australian Ike, and Clarie Deane, and can draw your own inference as
+to what might happen in the Thorold affair if you should be so ill-
+advised as to force my hand.  Permit me"--the slim, deft fingers,
+like a streak of lightning, were inside Hamvert's coat pocket and
+out again with the remainder of the banknotes--and Jimmie Dale was
+backing for the door--not the door of the bathroom by which he had
+entered, but the door of the room itself that opened on the
+corridor.  There he stopped, and his hand swept around behind his
+back and turned the key in the locked door.  He nodded at the two
+men, whose faces were working with incongruously mingled expressions
+of impotent rage, bewilderment, fear, and fury--and opened the door
+a little.  "Ten minutes, Weasel," he said gently.  "I trust you will
+not have to use heroic measures to restrain your friend for that
+length of time, though if it is necessary I should advise you for
+your own sake to resort almost--to murder.  I wish you good evening,
+gentlemen."
+
+The door opened farther; Jimmie Dale, still facing inward, slipped
+between it and the jamb, whipped the mask from his face, closed the
+door softly, stepped briskly but without any appearance of haste
+along the corridor to the stairs, descended the stairs, mingled with
+a crowd in the lobby for an instant, walked, seemingly a part of it,
+with a group of ladies and gentlemen down the hall to the side
+entrance, passed out--and a moment later, after drawing on a linen
+dust coat which he took from under the seat, and exchanging his hat
+for a tweed cap, the car glided from the curb and was lost in a
+press of traffic around the corner.
+
+Jimmie Dale laughed a little harshly to himself.  So far, so good--
+but the game was not ended yet for all the crackle of the crisp
+notes in his pocket.  There was still the map, still the robbery at
+Mittel's house--the ten-thousand-dollar "theft" would not in any way
+change that, and it was a question of time now to forestall any move
+the Weasel might make.
+
+Through the city Jimmie Dale alternately dodged, spurted, and
+dragged his way, fuming with impatience; but once out on the country
+roads and headed toward New Rochelle, the big machine, speed limits
+thrown to the winds, roared through the night--a gray streak of road
+jumping under the powerful lamps; a village, a town, a cluster of
+lights flashing by him, the steady purr of his sixty-horse-power
+engines; the gray thread of open road again.
+
+It was just eleven o'clock when Jimmie Dale, the road to himself for
+the moment at a spot a little beyond New Rochelle, extinguished his
+lights, and very carefully ran his car off the road, backing it in
+behind a small clump of trees.  He tossed the linen dust coat back
+into the car, and set off toward where, a little distance away, the
+slap of waves from the stiff breeze that was blowing indicated the
+shore line of the Sound.  There was no moon, and, while it was not
+particularly dark, objects and surroundings at best were blurred and
+indistinct; but that, after all, was a matter of little concern to
+Jimmie Dale--the first house beyond was Mittel's.  He reached the
+water's edge and kept along the shore.  There should be a little
+wharf, she had said.  Yes; there it was--and there, too, was a gleam
+of light from the house itself.
+
+Jimmie Dale began to make an accurate mental note of his
+surroundings.  From the little wharf on which he now stood, a path
+led straight to the house, bisecting what appeared to be a lawn,
+trees to the right, the house to the left.  At the wharf, beside
+him, two motor boats were moored, one on each side.  Jimmie Dale
+glanced at them, and, suddenly attracted by the familiar appearance
+of one, inspected it a little more closely.  His momentarily
+awakened interest passed as he nodded his head.  It had caught his
+attention, that was all--it was the same type and design, quite a
+popular make, of which there were hundreds around New York, as the
+one he had bought that year as a tender for his yacht.
+
+He moved forward now toward the house, the rear of which faced him--
+the light that flooded the lawn came from a side window.  Jimmie
+Dale was figuring the time and distance from New York as he crept
+cautiously along.  How quickly could the Weasel make the journey?
+The Weasel would undoubtedly come, and if there was a convenient
+train it might prove a close race--but in his own favour was the
+fact that it would probably take the Weasel quite some little time
+to recover his equilibrium from his encounter with the Gray Seal in
+the Palais-Metropole, also the further fact that, from the Weasel's
+viewpoint, there was no desperate need of haste.  Jimmie Dale
+crossed the lawn, and edged along in the shadows of the house to
+where the light streamed out from what now proved to be open French
+windows.  It was a fair presumption that he would have an hour to
+the good on the Weasel.
+
+The sill was little more than a couple of feet from the ground, and,
+from a crouched position on his knees below the window, Jimmie Dale
+raised himself slowly and peered guardedly inside.  The room was
+empty.  He listened a moment--the black silk mask was on his face
+again--and with a quick, agile, silent spring he was in the room.
+
+And then, in the centre of the room, Jimmie Dale stood motionless,
+staring around him, an expression, ironical, sardonic, creeping into
+his face.  THE ROBBERY HAD ALREADY BEEN COMMITTED!  At the lower end
+of the room everything was in confusion; the door of a safe swung
+wide, the drawers of a desk had been wrenched out, even a liqueur
+stand, on which were well-filled decanters, had been broken open,
+and the contents of safe and desk, the thief's discards as it were,
+littered the floor in all directions.
+
+For an instant Jimmie Dale, his eyes narrowed ominously, surveyed
+the scene; then, with a sort of professional instinct aroused, he
+stepped forward to examine the safe--and suddenly darted behind the
+desk instead.  Steps sounded in the hall.  The door opened--a voice
+reached him:
+
+"The master said I was to shut the windows, and I haven't dast to go
+in.  And he'll be back with the police in a minute now.  Come on in
+with me, Minnie."
+
+"Lord!" exclaimed another voice.  "Ain't it a good thing the missus
+is away.  She'd have highsteericks!"
+
+Steps came somewhat hesitantly across the floor--from behind the
+desk, Jimmie Dale could see that it was a maid, accompanied by a
+big, rawboned woman, sleeves rolled to the elbows over brawny arms,
+presumably the Mittels' cook.
+
+The maid closed the French windows, there were no others in the
+room, and bolted them; and, having gained a little confidence, gazed
+about her.
+
+"My, but wasn't he cute!" she ejaculated."  Cut the telephone wires,
+he did.  And ain't he made an awful mess!  But the master said we
+wasn't to touch nothing till the police saw it."
+
+"And to think of it happening in OUR house!" observed the cook
+heavily, her hands on her hips, her arms akimbo.  "It'll all be in
+the papers, and mabbe they'll put our pictures in, too."
+
+"I won't get over it as long as I live!" declared the maid.  "The
+yell Mr. Mittel gave when he came downstairs and put his head in
+here, and then him shouting and using the most terrible language
+into the telephone, and then finding the wires cut.  And me
+following him downstairs half dead with fright.  And he shouts at
+me.  'Bella,' he shouts, 'shut those windows, but don't you touch a
+thing in that room.  I'm going for the police.'  And then he rushes
+out of the house."
+
+"I was going to bed," said the cook, picking up her cue for what was
+probably the twentieth rehearsal of the scene, "when I heard Mr.
+Mittel yell, and--Lord, Bella, there he is now!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's hands clenched.  He, too, had caught the scuffle of
+footsteps, those of three or four men at least, on the front porch.
+There was one way, only one, of escape--through the French windows!
+It was a matter of seconds only before Mittel, with the police at
+his heels, would be in the room--and Jimmie Dale sprang to his feet.
+There was a wild scream of terror from the maid, echoed by another
+from the cook--and, still screaming, both women fled for the door.
+
+"Mr. Mittel!  Mr. Mittel!" shrieked the maid--she had flung herself
+out into the hall.  "He's--he's back again!"
+
+Jimmie Dale was at the French windows, tearing at the bolts.  They
+stuck.  Shouts came from the front entryway.  He wrenched viciously
+at the fastenings.  They gave now.  The windows flew open.  He
+glanced over his shoulder.  A man, Mittel presumably, since he was
+the only one not in uniform, was springing into the room.  There was
+a blur of forms and brass buttons behind Mittel--and Jimmie Dale
+leaped to the lawn, speeding across it like a deer.
+
+But quick as he ran, Jimmie Dale's brain was quicker, pointing the
+single chance that seemed open to him.  The motor boat!  It seemed
+like a God-given piece of luck that he had noticed it was like his
+own; there would be no blind, and that meant fatal, blunders in the
+dark over its mechanism, and he could start it up in a moment--just
+the time to cast her off, that was all he needed.
+
+The shouts swelled behind him.  Jimmie Dale was running for his
+life.  He flung a glance backward.  One form--Mittel, he was
+certain--was perhaps a hundred yards in the rear.  The others were
+just emerging from the French windows--grotesque, leaping things
+they looked, in the light that streamed out behind them from the
+room.
+
+Jimmie Dale's feet pounded the planking of the wharf.  He stooped
+and snatched at the mooring line.  Mittel was almost at the wharf.
+It seemed an age, a year to Jimmie Dale before the line was clear.
+Shouts rang still louder across the lawn--the police, racing in a
+pack, were more than halfway from the house.  He flung the line into
+the boat, sprang in after it--and Mittel, looming over him, grasped
+at the boat's gunwhale.
+
+Both men were panting from their exertions.
+
+"Let go!" snarled Jimmie Dale between clenched teeth.
+
+Mittel's answer was a hoarse, gasping shout to the police to hurry--
+and then Mittel reeled back, measuring his length upon the wharf
+from a blow with a boat hook full across the face, driven with a
+sudden, untamed savagery that seemed for the moment to have mastered
+Jimmie Dale.
+
+There was no time--not a second--not the fraction of a second.
+Desperately, frantically he shoved the boat clear of the wharf.
+Once--twice--three times he turned the engine over without success--
+and then the boat leaped forward.  Jimmie Dale snatched the mask
+from his face, and jumped for the steering wheel.  The police were
+rushing out along the wharf.  He could just faintly discern Mittel
+now--the man was staggering about, his hands clapped to his face.  A
+peremptory order to halt, coupled with a threat to fire, rang out
+sharply--and Jimmie Dale flung himself flat in the bottom of the
+boat.  The wharf edge seemed to open in little, crackling jets of
+flame, came the roar of reports like a miniature battery in action,
+then the FLOP, FLOP, FLOP, as the lead tore up the water around him,
+the duller thud as a bullet buried its nose in the boat's side, and
+the curious rip and squeak as a splinter flew.  Then Mittel's voice,
+high-pitched, as though in pain:
+
+"Can't any of you run a motor boat?  He's got me bad, I'm afraid.
+That other one there is twice as fast."
+
+"Sure!" another voice responded promptly.  "And if that's right,
+he's run his head into a trap.  Cast loose, there, MacVeay, and pile
+in, all of you!  You go back to the house, Mr. Mittel, and fix
+yourself up.  We'll get him!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips thinned.  It was true!  If the other boat had any
+speed at all, it was only a question of time before he would be
+overtaken.  The only point at issue was how much time.  It was dark--
+that was in his favour--but it was not so dark but that a boat
+could be distinguished on the water for quite a distance, for a
+longer distance than he could hope to put between them.  There was
+no chance of eluding the police that way!  The keen, facile brain
+that had saved the Gray Seal a hundred times before was weaving,
+planning, discarding, eliminating, scheming a way out--with death,
+ruin, disaster the price of failure.  His eyes swept the dim,
+irregular outline of the shore.  To his right, in the opposite
+direction from where he had left his car, and perhaps a mile ahead,
+as well as he could judge, the land seemed to run out into a point.
+Jimmie Dale headed for it instantly.  If he could reach it with a
+little lead to the good, there was a chance!  It would take, say,
+six minutes, granting the boat a speed of ten miles an hour--and she
+could do that.  The others could hardly overtake him in that time--
+they hadn't got started yet.  He could hear them still shouting and
+talking at the wharf.  And Mittel's "twice as fast" was undoubtedly
+an exaggeration, anyhow.
+
+A minute more passed, another--and then, astern, Jimmie Dale caught
+the racket from the exhaust of a high-powered engine, and a white
+streak seemed to shoot out upon the surface of the water from where,
+obscured now, he placed the wharf.  A quarter-mile lead, roughly
+four hundred yards; yes, he had as much as that--but that, too, was
+very little.
+
+He bent over his engine, coaxing it, nursing it to its highest
+efficiency; his eyes strained now upon the point ahead, now upon his
+pursuers behind.  He was running with the wind, thank Heaven! or the
+small boat would have had a further handicap--it was rolling up
+quite a sea.
+
+The steering gear, he found, was corded along the side of the boat,
+permitting its manipulation from almost any position, and, abruptly
+now, Jimmie Dale left the engine to rummage through the little
+locker in the stern of the boat.  But as he rummaged, his eyes held
+speculatively on the boat astern.  She was gaining unquestionably,
+steadily, but not as fast as he had feared.  He would still have a
+hundred yards' lead, at least, abreast the point--and, he was
+smiling grimly now, a hundred yards there meant life to the Gray
+Seal!  The locker was full of a heterogeneous collection of odds and
+ends--a suit of oilskins, tools, tins, and cans of various sizes and
+descriptions.  Jimmie Dale emptied the contents, some sort of
+powder, of a small, round tin box overboard, and from his pocket
+took out the banknotes, crammed them into the box, crammed his watch
+in on top of them, and screwed the cover on tightly.  His fingers
+were flying now.  A long strip torn from the trousers' leg of the
+oilskins was wrapped again and again around the box--and the box was
+stuffed into his pocket.
+
+The flash of a revolver shot cut the blackness behind him, then
+another, and another.  They were firing in a continuous stream
+again.  It was fairly long range, but there was always the chance of
+a stray bullet finding its mark.  Jimmie Dale, crouching low, made
+his way to the bow of the boat again.
+
+The point was looming almost abreast now.  He edged in nearer, to
+hug it as closely as he dared risk the depth of the water.  Behind,
+remorselessly, the other boat was steadily closing the gap; and the
+shots were not all wild--one struck, with a curious singing sound,
+on some piece of metal a foot from his elbow.  Closer to the shore,
+running now parallel with the head of the point, Jimmie Dale again
+edged in the boat, his jaws, clamped, working in little twitches.
+
+And then suddenly, with a swift, appraising glance behind him, he
+swerved the boat from her course and headed for the shore--not
+directly, but diagonally across the little bay that, on the farther
+side of the point, had now opened out before him.  He was close in
+with the edge of the point, ten yards from it, sweeping past it--the
+point itself came between the two boats, hiding them from each
+other--and Jimmie Dale, with a long spring, dove from the boat's
+side to the water.
+
+The momentum from the boat as he sank robbed him for an instant of
+all control over himself, and he twisted, doubled up, and rolled
+over and over beneath the water--but the next moment his head was
+above the surface again, and he was striking out swiftly for the
+shore.  It was only a few yards--but in a few SECONDS the pursuing
+boat, too, would have rounded the point.  His feet touched bottom.
+It was haste now, nothing else, that counted.  The drum of the
+racing engines, the crackling roar of the exhaust from the oncoming
+boat was in his ears.  He flung himself upon the shore and down
+behind a rock.  Around the point, past him, tore the police boat,
+dark forms standing clustered in the bow--and then a sudden shout:
+
+"There she is!  See her?  She's heading into the bay for the shore!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips relaxed.  There was no doubt that they had
+sighted their quarry again--a perfect fusillade of revolver shots
+directed at the now empty boat was quite sufficient proof of that!
+With something that was almost a chuckle, Jimmie Dale straightened
+up from behind the rock and began to run back along the shore.  The
+little motor boat would have grounded long before they overtook her,
+and, thinking naturally enough, that he had leaped ashore from her,
+they would go thrashing through the woods and fields searching for
+him!
+
+It was a longer way back by the shore, a good deal longer; now over
+rough, rocky stretches where he stumbled in the darkness, now
+through marshy, sodden ground where he sank as in a quagmire time
+and again over his ankles.  It was even longer than he had counted
+on, and time, with the Weasel on one hand and the return of the
+police on the other, was a factor to be reckoned with again, as, a
+half hour later, Jimmie Dale stole across the lawn of Mittel's house
+for the second time that night, and for the second time crouched
+beneath the open French windows.
+
+Masked again, the water still dripping from what were once
+immaculate evening clothes but which now sagged limply about him,
+his collar a pasty string around his neck, the mud and dirt splashed
+to his knees, Jimmie Dale was a disreputable and incongruous-looking
+object as he crouched there, shivering uncomfortably from his
+immersion in spite of his exertions.  Inside the room, Mittel passed
+the windows, pacing the floor, one side of his face badly cut and
+bruised from the blow with the boat hook--and as he passed, his back
+turned for an instant, Jimmie Dale stepped into the room.
+
+Mittel whirled at the sound, and, with a suppressed cry,
+instinctively drew back--Jimmie Dale's automatic was dangling
+carelessly in his right hand.
+
+"I am afraid I am a trifle melodramatic," observed Jimmie Dale
+apologetically, surveying his own bedraggled person; "but I assure
+you it is neither intentional nor for effect.  As it is, I was
+afraid I would be late.  Pardon me if I take the liberty of helping
+myself; one gets a chill in wet clothes so easily"--he passed to the
+liqueur stand, poured out a generous portion from one of the
+decanters, and tossed it off.
+
+Mittel neither spoke nor moved.  Stupefaction, surprise, and a very
+obvious regard for Jimmie Dale's revolver mingled themselves in a
+helpless expression on his face.
+
+Jimmie Dale set down his glass and pointed to a chair in front of
+the desk.
+
+"Sit down, Mr. Mittel," he invited pleasantly.  "It will be quite
+apparent to you that I have not time to prolong our interview
+unnecessarily, in view of the possible return of the police at any
+moment, but you might as well be comfortable.  You will pardon me
+again if I take another liberty"--he crossed the room, turned the
+key in the lock of the door leading into the hall, and returned to
+the desk.  "Sit down, Mr. Mittel!" he repeated, a sudden rasp in his
+voice.
+
+Mittel, none too graciously, now seated himself.
+
+"Look here, my fine fellow," he burst out, "you're carrying things
+with a pretty high hand, aren't you?  You seem to have eluded the
+police for the moment, somehow, but let me tell you I--"
+
+"No," interrupted Jimmie Dale softly, "let ME tell you--all there is
+to be told."  He leaned over the desk and stared rudely at the
+bruise on Mittel's face.  "Rather a nasty crack, that," he remarked.
+
+Mittel's fists clenched, and an angry flush swept his cheeks.
+
+"I'd have made it a good deal harder," said Jimmie Dale, with sudden
+insolence, "if I hadn't been afraid of putting you out of business
+and so precluding the possibility of this little meeting.  Now
+then"--the revolver swung upward and held steadily on a line with
+Mittel's eyes--" I'll trouble you for the diagram of that Alaskan
+claim that belongs to Mrs. Michael Breen!"
+
+Mittel, staring fascinated into the little, round, black muzzle of
+the automatic, edged back in his chair.
+
+So--so that's what you're after, is it?" he jerked out.  "Well"--he
+laughed unnaturally and waved his hand at the disarray of the room--
+"it's been stolen already."
+
+"I know that," said Jimmie Dale grimly.  "By--YOU!"
+
+"Me!"  Mittel started up in his chair, a whiteness creeping into his
+face.  "Me!  I--I--"
+
+"Sit down!"  Jimmie Dale's voice rang out ominously cold.  "I
+haven't any time to spare.  You can appreciate that.  But even if
+the police return before that map is in my possession, they will
+still be TOO LATE as far as you are concerned.  Do you understand?
+Furthermore, if I am caught--you are ruined.  Let me make it quite
+plain that I know the details of your little game.  You are a curb
+broker, Mr. Mittel--ostensibly.  In reality, you run what is nothing
+better than an exceedingly profitable bucket shop.  The Weasel has
+been a customer and also a stool for you for years.  How Hamvert met
+the Weasel is unimportant--he came East with the intention of
+getting in touch with a slick crook to help him--the Weasel is the
+coincidence, that is all.  I quite understand that you have never
+met Hamvert, nor Hamvert you, nor that Hamvert was aware that you
+and the Weasel had anything to do with one another and were playing
+in together--but that equally is unimportant.  When Hamvert engaged
+the Weasel for ten thousand dollars to get the map from you for him,
+the Weasel chose the line of least resistance.  He KNEW you, and
+approached you with an offer to split the money in return for the
+map.  It was not a question of your accepting his offer--it was
+simply a matter of how you could do it and still protect yourself.
+The Weasel was well qualified to point the way--a fake robbery of
+your house would answer the purpose admirably--you could not be held
+either legally or morally responsible for a document that was
+placed, unsolicited by you, in your possession, if it were stolen
+from you."
+
+Mittel's face was ashen, colourless.  His hands were opening and
+shutting with nervous twitches on the top of the desk.
+
+Jimmie Dale's lips curled.
+
+"But"--Jimmie Dale was clipping off his words now viciously--
+"neither you nor the Weasel were willing to trust the other
+implicitly--perhaps you know each other too well.  You were
+unwilling to turn over the map until you had received your share of
+the money, and you were equally unwilling to turn it over until you
+were SAFE; that is, until you had engineered your fake robbery even
+to the point of notifying the police that it had been committed; the
+Weasel, on the other hand, had some scruples about parting with any
+of the money without getting the map in one hand before he let go of
+the banknotes with the other.  It was very simply arranged, however,
+and to your mutual satisfaction.  While you robbed your own house
+this evening, he was to get half the money in advance from Hamvert,
+giving Hamvert to understand that HE had planned to commit the
+robbery himself to-night.  He was to come out here then, receive the
+map from you in exchange for your share of the money, return to
+Hamvert with the map, and receive in turn his own share.  I might
+say that Hamvert actually paid down the advance--and it was perhaps
+unfortunate for you that you paid such scrupulous attention to
+details as to cut your own telephone wires!  I had not, of course,
+an exact knowledge of the hour or minute in which you proposed to
+stage your little play here.  The object of my first visit a little
+while ago was to forestall your turning the diagram over to the
+Weasel.  Circumstances favoured you for the moment.  I am back
+again, however, for the same purpose--the map!"
+
+Mittel, in a cowed way, was huddled back in his chair.  He smiled
+miserably at Jimmie Dale.
+
+"QUICK!"  Jimmie Dale flung out the word in a sharp, peremptory
+bark.  "Do you need to be told that the CARTRIDGES are dry?"
+
+Mittel's hand, trembling, went into his pocket and produced an
+envelope.
+
+"Open it!" commanded Jimmie Dale.  "And lay it on the desk, so that
+I can read it--I am too wet to touch it."
+
+Mittel obeyed--like a dog that has been whipped.
+
+A glance at the paper, and Jimmie Dale's eyes lifted again--to sweep
+the floor of the room.  He pointed to a pile of books and documents
+in one corner that had been thrown out of the safe.
+
+"Go over there and pick up that check book!" he ordered tersely.
+
+"What for?" Mittel made feeble protest.
+
+"Never mind what for!" snapped Jimmie Dale.  "Go and get it--and
+HURRY!
+
+Once more Mittel obeyed--and dropped the book hesitantly on the
+desk.
+
+Jimmie Dale stared silently, insolently, contemptuously at the
+other.
+
+Mittel stirred uneasily, sat down, shifted his feet, and his fingers
+fumbled aimlessly over the top of the desk.
+
+"Compared with you," said Jimmie Dale, in a low voice, the Weasel,
+ay, and Hamvert, too, crooks though they are, are gentlemen!
+Michael Breen, as he died, told his wife to take that paper to some
+one she could trust, who would help her and tell her what to do;
+and, knowing no one to go to, but because she scrubbed your floors
+and therefore thought you were a fine gentleman, she came timidly to
+you, and trusted you--you cur!"
+
+Jimmie Dale laughed suddenly--not pleasantly.  Mittel shivered.
+
+"Hamvert and Breen were partners out there in Alaska when Breen
+first went out," said Jimmie Dale slowly, pulling the tin can
+wrapped in oilskin from his pocket.  "Hamvert swindled Breen out of
+the one strike he made, and Mrs. Breen and her little girl back here
+were reduced to poverty.  The amount of that swindle was, I
+understand, fifteen thousand dollars.  I have ten of it here,
+contributed by the Weasel and Hamvert; and you will, I think,
+recognise therein a certain element of poetic justice--but I am
+still short five thousand dollars."
+
+Jimmie Dale removed the cover from the tin can.  Mittel gazed at the
+contents numbly.
+
+"You perhaps did not hear me?" prompted Jimmie Dale coldly.  "I am
+still short five thousand dollars."
+
+Mittel circled his lips with the tip of his tongue.
+
+"What do you want?" he whispered hoarsely.
+
+"The balance of the amount."  There was an ominous quiet in Jimmie
+Dale's voice.  "A check payable to Mrs. Michael Breen for five
+thousand dollars."
+
+"I--I haven't got that much in the bank," Mittel fenced, stammering.
+
+"No?  Then I should advise you to see that you have by ten o'clock
+to-morrow morning!" returned Jimmie Dale curtly.  "Make out that
+check!"
+
+Mittel hesitated.  The revolver edged insistently a little farther
+across the desk--and Mittel, picking up a pen, wrote feverishly.  He
+tore the check from its stub, and, with a snarl, pushed it toward
+Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Fold it!" instructed Jimmie Dale, in the same curt tones.  "And
+fold that diagram with it.  Put them both in this box.  Thank you!"
+He wrapped the oilskin around the box again, and returned the box to
+his pocket.  And again with that insolent, contemptuous stare, he
+surveyed the man at the desk--then he backed to the French windows.
+"It might be as well to remind you, Mittel," he cautioned sternly,
+"that if for any reason this check is not honoured, whether through
+lack of funds or an attempt by you to stop payment, you'll be in a
+cell in the Tombs to-morrow for this night's work--that is quite
+understood, isn't it?"
+
+Mittel was on his feet--sweat glistened on his forehead.
+
+"My God!" he cried out shrilly.  "Who are you?"
+
+And Jimmie Dale smiled and stepped out on the lawn.
+
+"Ask the Weasel," said Jimmie Dale--and the next instant, lost in
+the shadows of the house, was running for his car.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+THE ALIBI
+
+
+DEATH TO THE GRAY SEAL!"--through the underworld, in dens and dives
+that sheltered from the law the vultures that preyed upon society,
+prompted by self-fear, by secret dread, by reason of their very
+inability to carry out their purpose, the whispered sentence grew
+daily more venomous, more insistent.  THE GRAY SEAL, DEAD OR ALIVE--
+BUT THE GRAY SEAL!"  It was the "standing orders" of the police.
+Railed at by a populace who angrily demanded at its hands this
+criminal of criminals, mocked at and threatened by a virulent press,
+stung to madness by the knowledge of its own impotence, flaunted
+impudently to its face by this mysterious Gray Seal to whose door
+the law laid a hundred crimes, for whom the bars of a death cell in
+Sing Sing was the certain goal could he but be caught, the police,
+to a man, was like an uncaged beast that, flicked to the raw by some
+unseen assailant and murderous in its fury, was crouched to strike.
+Grim paradox--a common bond that linked the hands of the law with
+those that outraged it!
+
+Death to the Gray Seal!  Was it, at last, the beginning of the end?
+Jimmie Dale, as Larry the Bat, unkempt, disreputable in appearance,
+supposed dope fiend, a figure familiar to every denizen below the
+dead line, skulked along the narrow, ill-lighted street of the East
+Side that, on the corner ahead, boasted the notorious resort to
+which Bristol Bob had paid the doubtful, if appropriate, compliment
+of giving his name.  From under the rim of his battered hat, Jimmie
+Dale's eyes, veiled by half-closed, well-simulated drug-laden lids,
+missed no detail either of his surroundings or pertaining to the
+passers-by.  Though already late in the evening, half-naked children
+played in the gutters; hawkers of multitudinous commodities cried
+their wares under gasoline banjo torches affixed to their pushcarts;
+shawled women of half a dozen races, and men equally cosmopolitan,
+loitered at the curb, or blocked the pavement, or brushed by him.
+Now a man passed him, flinging a greeting from the corner of his
+mouth; now another, always without movement of the lips--and Jimmie
+Dale answered them--from the corner of his mouth.
+
+But while his eyes were alert, his mind was only subconsciously
+attune to his surroundings.  Was it indeed the beginning of the end?
+Some day, he had told himself often enough, the end must come.  Was
+it coming now, surely, with a sort of grim implacability--when it was
+too late to escape!  Slowly, but inexorably, even his personal
+freedom of action was narrowing, being limited, and, ironically
+enough, through the very conditions he had himself created as an
+avenue of escape.
+
+It was not only the police now; it was, far more to be feared, the
+underworld as well.  In the old days, the role of Larry the Bat had
+been assumed at intervals, at his own discretion, when, in a corner,
+he had no other way of escape; now it was forced upon him almost
+daily.  The character of Larry the Bat could no longer be discarded
+at will.  He had flung down the gauntlet to the underworld when, as
+the Gray Seal, he had closed the prison doors behind Stangeist, The
+Mope, Australian Ike, and Clarie Deane, and the underworld had
+picked the gauntlet up.  Betrayed, as they believed, by the one who,
+though unknown to them; they had counted the greatest among
+themselves, and each one fearful that his own betrayal might come
+next, every crook, every thug in the Bad Lands now eyed his oldest
+pal with suspicion and distrust, and each was a self-constituted
+sleuth, with the prod of self-preservation behind him, sworn to the
+accomplishment of that unhallowed slogan--death to the Gray Seal.
+Almost daily now he must show himself as Larry the Bat in some
+gathering of the underworld--a prolonged absence from his haunts was
+not merely to invite certain suspicion, where all were suspicious of
+each other, it was to invite certain disaster.  He had now either to
+carry the role like a little old man of the sea upon his back, or
+renounce it forever.  And the latter course he dared not even
+consider--the Sanctuary was still the Sanctuary, and the role of
+Larry the Bat was still a refuge, the trump card in the lone hand he
+played.
+
+He reached the corner, pushed open the door of Bristol Bob's, and
+shuffled in.  The place was a glare of light, a hideous riot of
+noise.  On a polished section of the floor in the centre, a turkey
+trot was in full swing; laughter and shouting vied raucously with an
+impossible orchestra.
+
+Jimmie Dale slowly made the circuit of the room past the tables,
+that, ranged around the sides, were packed with occupants who
+thumped their glasses in tempo with the music and clamoured at the
+rushing waiters for replenishment.  A dozen, two dozen, men and
+women greeted him.  Jimmie Dale indifferently returned their
+salutes.  What a galaxy of crooks--the cream of the underworld!  His
+eyes, under half-closed lids, swept the faces--lags, dips, gatmen,
+yeggs, mob stormers, murderers, petty sneak thieves, stalls,
+hangers-on--they were all there.  He knew them all; he was known to
+all.
+
+He shuffled on to the far end of the room, his leer a little
+arrogant, a certain arrogance, too, in the tilt of his battered hat.
+He also was quite a celebrity in that gathering--Larry the Bat was
+of the aristocracy and the elite of gangland.  Well, the show was
+over; he had stalked across the stage, performed for his audience--
+and in another hour now, free until he must repeat the same
+performance the next day in some other equally notorious dive, he
+would be sitting in for a rubber of bridge at that most exclusive of
+all clubs, the St. James, where none might enter save only those
+whose names were vouched for in the highest and most select circles,
+and where for partners he would possibly have a justice of the
+supreme court, or mayhap an eminent divine!  He looked suddenly
+around him, as though startled.  It always startled him, that
+comparison.  There was something too stupendous to be simply
+ironical in the incongruity of it.  If--if he were ever run to
+earth!
+
+His eyes met those of a heavy-built, coarse-featured man, the chewed
+end of a cigar in his mouth, who stepped from behind the bar,
+carrying a tin tray with two full glasses upon it.  It was Bristol
+Bob, ex-pugilist, the proprietor.
+
+"How're you, Larry?" grunted the man, with what he meant to be a
+smile.
+
+Jimmie Dale was standing in the doorway of a passage that prefaced a
+rear exit to the lane.  He moved aside to allow the other to pass.
+
+"'Ello, Bristol," he returned dispassionately.
+
+Bristol Bob went on along down the passage, and Jimmie Dale shuffled
+slowly after him.  He had intended to leave the place by the rear
+door--it obviated the possibility of an undesirable acquaintance
+joining company with him if he went out by the main entrance.  But
+now his eyes were fixed on the proprietor's back with a sort of
+speculative curiosity.  There was a private room off the passage,
+with a window on the lane; but they must be favoured customers
+indeed that Bristol Bob would condescend to serve personally--any
+one who knew Bristol Bob knew that.
+
+Jimmie Dale slowed his shuffling gait, then quickened it again.
+Bristol Bob opened the door and passed into the private room--the
+door was just closing as Jimmie Dale shuffled by.  He had had only a
+glance inside--but it was enough.  They were favoured customers
+indeed!  It was no wonder that Bristol Bob himself was on the job!
+Two men were in the room: Lannigan of headquarters, rated the
+smartest plain-clothes man in the country--and, across the table
+from Lannigan, Whitey Mack, as clever, finished and daring a crook
+as was to be found in the Bad Lands, whose particular "line" was
+diamonds, or, in the vernacular of his ilk, "white stones," that had
+earned him the sobriquet of "Whitey."  Lannigan of headquarters,
+Whitey Mack of the underworld, sworn enemies those two--in secret
+session!  Bristol Bob might well play the part of outer guard.  If a
+choice few of those outside in the dance hall could get a glimpse
+into that private room it would be "good-night" to Whitey Mack.
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes were narrowed a little as he shuffled on down the
+passage.  Lannigan and Whitey Mack with their heads together!  What
+was the game?  There was nothing in common between the two men.
+Lannigan, it was well known, could not be "reached."  Whitey Mack,
+with his ingenious cleverness, coupled with a cold-blooded
+fearlessness that had made him an object of unholy awe and respect
+in the eyes of the underworld, was a thorn that was sore beyond
+measure in the side of the police.  Certainly, it was no ordinary
+thing that had brought these two together; especially, since, with
+the unrest and suspicion that was bubbling and seething below the
+dead line, and with which there was none more intimate than Whitey
+Mack, Whitey Mack was inviting a risk in "making up" with the police
+that could only be accounted for by some urgent and vital incentive.
+
+Jimmie Dale pushed open the door that gave on the lane.  Behind him,
+Bristol Bob closed the door of the private room and retreated back
+along the passage.  Jimmie Dale stepped out into the lane--and
+instinctively his eyes sought the window of the private room.  The
+shade was drawn, only a yellow murk filtered out into the black,
+unlighted lane, but suddenly he started noiselessly toward it.  The
+window was open a bare inch or so at the bottom!
+
+The sill was just shoulder high, and, placing his ear to the
+opening, he flattened himself against the wall.  He could not see
+inside, for the shade was drawn well to the bottom; but he could
+hear as distinctly as though he were at the table beside the two
+men--and at the first words, the loose, disjointed frame of Larry
+the Bat seemed to tauten curiously and strain forward lithe and
+tense.
+
+"This Gray Seal dope listens good, Whitey; but, coming from you, I'm
+leery.  You've got to show me."
+
+"Don't you want him?"  There was a nasty laugh from Whitey Mack.
+
+"You BET I want him!" returned the headquarters man with a
+suppressed savagery that left no doubt as to his earnestness.  "I
+want him fast enough, but--"
+
+"Then, blast him, so do I!" Whitey Mack rapped out with a vicious
+snarl.  "So does every guy in the fleet down here.  We got it in for
+him.  You get that, don't you?  He's got Stangeist and his gang
+steered for the electric chair now; he put a crimp in the Weasel the
+other night--get that?  He's like a blasted wizard with what he
+knows.  And who'll he deal the icy mitt to next?  Me--damn him--me,
+for all I know!"
+
+"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--"
+
+"Can that!" snapped Whitey Mack threateningly.  "Can that sort of
+spiel right now--or quit!  I ain't telling you his name--yet.  BUT
+I'LL TAKE YOU TO HIM TO-NIGHT--and you and me nabs him together.  Is
+that straight enough goods for you?"
+
+"Don't get sore," said Lannigan, more pacifically.  "Yes, if you'll
+do that it's good enough for any man.  But lay your cards on the
+table face up, Whitey--I want to see what you opened the pot on."
+
+"You've seen 'em," Whitey Mack answered ungraciously.  "I've told
+you already.  The Gray Seal goes out for keeps--curse him for a
+snitch!  If I bumped him off, or wised up any of the guys to it, and
+we was caught, we'd get the juice for it even if it was the Gray
+Seal, wouldn't we?  Well, what's the use!  If one of you dicks get
+him, he gets bumped off just the same, only regular, up in the wire
+parlour at Sing Sing.  I ain't looking for that kind of trouble when
+I can duck it.  See?"
+
+"Sure," said Lannigan.
+
+"Besides, and moreover," continued Whitey Mack, "there's SOME reward
+hung out for him that I'm figuring to born in on.  I'd swipe it all
+myself, don't you make any mistake about that, and you'd never get a
+look-in, only, sore as the mob is on the Gray Seal, it ain't healthy
+for any guy around these parts to get the reputation of being a
+snitch, no matter who he snitches on.  Bump him off--sure!
+Snitching--well, you get the idea, eh?  I'm ducking that too.  Get
+me?"
+
+"I get you," said Lannigan, with a short, pleased laugh.
+
+"Well, then," announced Whitey Mack, "here's my proposition, and
+it's my turn to hand out the 'look-out-for-your-self' dope.  I'm
+busting the game wide open for you to play, but you throw me down,
+and"--his voice sank into a sullen snarl again--"you can take it
+from me, I'll get you for it!"
+
+"All right," responded Lannigan soberly.  "Let's hear it.  If I
+agree to it, I'll stick to it."
+
+"I believe you," said Whitey Mack curtly.  "That's why I picked you
+out for the medal they'll pin on you for this.  And here's getting
+down to tacks!  I'll lead you to the Gray Seal to-night and help you
+nab him and stay with you to the finish, but there's to be nobody
+but you and me on the job.  When it's done I fade away, and nobody's
+to know I snitched, and no questions asked as to how I found out
+about the Gray Seal.  I ain't looking for any of the glory--you can
+fix that up to suit yourself.  The cash is different--you come
+across with half the reward the day they pay it."
+
+"You'll get it!"  There was savage elation in Lannigan's voice, the
+emphatic smash of a fist on the table.  "You're on, Whitey.  And if
+we get the Gray Seal to-night, I'll do better by you than that."
+
+"We'll get him!" said Whitey Mack, with a vicious oath.  "And--"
+
+Jimmie Dale crouched suddenly low down, close against the wall.  The
+crunch of a footstep sounded from the end of the lane.  Some one had
+turned in from the cross street, some fifty yards away, and was
+heading evidently for the back entrance to Bristol Bob's.  Jimmie
+Dale edged noiselessly, cautiously back past the doorway, kept on,
+pressed close against the wall, and finally paused.  He had not been
+seen.  The back door of Bristol Bob's opened and closed.  The man
+had gone in.
+
+For a moment Jimmie Dale stood hesitant.  There was a wild surging
+in his brain, something like a myriad batteries of trip hammers
+seemed to be pounding at his temples.  Then, almost blindly, he kept
+on down the lane in the same direction in which he had started to
+retreat--as well one cross street as another.
+
+He turned into the cross street, went along it--and presently
+emerged into the full tide of the Bowery.  It was garishly lighted;
+people swarmed about him.  Subconsciously, there were crowded
+sidewalks; subconsciously, he was on the Bowery--that was all.
+
+Ruin, disaster, peril faced him--faced him, and staggered him with
+the suddenness of the shock.  Was it true?  No; it could not be
+true!  It was a bluff--Whitey Mack was bluffing.  Jimmie Dale's lips
+grew thin in a mirthless smile as he shook his head.  Neither Whitey
+Mack nor any other man would dare to bluff like that.  It was too
+straight, too open-handed, Whitey Mack had laid his cards too
+plainly on the table.  Whitey Mack's words rang in his ears: "I'll
+LEAD you to the Gray Seal to-night and help you nab him and stay
+with you to the finish."  The man meant what he said, meant what he
+said, too, about the "finish" of the Gray Seal; not a man in the Bad
+Lands but meant--death to the Gray Seal!  But how, by what means,
+when, where had Whitey Mack got his information?  "I'm the only one
+that's wise," Whitey Mack had said.  It seemed impossible.  It WAS
+impossible!  Whitey Mack was sincere enough probably in what he had
+said, but the man simply could not know.  Whitey Mack could only
+have spotted some one that, for some reason or other, he IMAGINED
+was the Gray Seal. That was it--must be it!  Whitey Mack had made a
+mistake. What clew could he have obtained to--
+
+Over the unwashed face of Larry the Bat a gray pallor spread slowly.
+His fingers were plucking at the frayed edge of his inside vest
+pocket.  The dark eyes seemed to turn coal-black.  A laugh, like the
+laugh of one damned, rose to his lips, and was choked back.  It was
+gone!  GONE!  That thin metal case, like a cigarette case, that,
+between the little sheets of oil paper, held those diamond-shaped,
+gray-coloured, adhesive seals, the insignia of the Gray Seal--was
+gone!  Clew!  It seemed as though there were an overpowering nausea
+upon him.  CLEW!  That little case was not a clew--it was a death
+warrant!
+
+His hands clenched fiercely.  If he could only think for a moment!
+The lining of his pocket had given away.  The case had dropped out.
+But there was nothing about the case to identify any one as the Gray
+Seal unless it were found in one's actual possession.  Therefore
+Whitey Mack, to have solved his identity, must have seen him drop
+the case.  There could be no question about that.  It was equally
+obvious then that Whitey Mack would know the Gray Seal as Larry the
+Bat.  Did he also know him as Jimmie Dale?  Yes, or no?  It was a
+vital question.  His life hung on it.
+
+That keen, facile brain, numbed for the moment, was beginning to
+work with lightning speed.  It was four o'clock that afternoon when
+he had assumed the character of Larry the Bat--some time between
+four o'clock and the present, it was now well after eleven, the case
+had dropped from his pocket.  There had been ample time then for
+Whitey Mack to have made that appointment with Lannigan--and ample
+time to have made a surreptitious visit to the Sanctuary.  Had
+Whitey Mack gone there?  Had Whitey Mack found that hiding place in
+the flooring under the oilcloth?  Had Whitey Mack discovered that
+the Gray Seal was not only Larry the Bat--but Jimmie Dale?
+
+Jimmie Dale swept his hand across his forehead.  It was damp from
+little clinging beads of moisture.  Should he go to the Sanctuary
+and change--become Jimmie Dale again?  Was it the safest thing to
+do--or the most dangerous?  Even if Whitey Mack had been there and
+discovered the dual personality of Larry the Bat, how would he,
+Jimmie Dale, know it?  The man would have been crafty enough to have
+left no sign behind him.  Was it to the Sanctuary that Whitey Mack
+meant to lead Lannigan that evening--or did Whitey Mack know him as
+Jimmie Dale, and to make it the more sensational, plan to carry out
+the coup, say, at the St. James Club?  Whitey Mack and Lannigan were
+still at Bristol Bob's; he had probably time, if he so elected, to
+reach the Sanctuary, change, and get away again.  But every minute
+was priceless now.  What should he do?  Run from the city as he was
+for cover--or take the gambler's chance?  Whitey Mack knew him as
+Larry the Bat--it was not certain that Whitey Mack knew him as
+Jimmie Dale.
+
+He had halted, absorbed, in front of a moving-picture theatre.
+Great placards, at first but a blur of colour, suddenly forced
+themselves in concrete form upon his consciousness.  Letters a foot
+high leaped out at him: "THE DOUBLE LIFE."  There was the picture of
+a banker in his private office hastily secreting a forged paper as
+the hero in the guise of a clerk entered; the companion picture was
+the banker in convict stripes staring out from behind the barred
+doors of a cell.  There seemed a ghastly augury in the coincidence.
+Why should a thing like that be thrust upon him to shake his nerve
+when he needed nerve now more than he had ever needed it in his life
+before?
+
+He raised his hand to jerk aimlessly at the brim of his hat, dropped
+his hand abruptly to his side again, and started quickly, hurriedly
+away through the throng around him.  A sort of savagery had swept
+upon him.  In a flash he had made his decision.  He would take the
+gambler's chance!  And afterward--Jimmie Dale's lips were like a
+thin, straight line--it was Whitey Mack's life or his own!  Whitey
+Mack had said he was the only one that was wise--and Whitey Mack had
+not told Lannigan yet, wouldn't tell Lannigan until the show-down.
+If he, Jimmie Dale, got to the Sanctuary, became Jimmie Dale and got
+away again, even if Whitey Mack knew him as Jimmie Dale, there was
+still a chance.  It was his life or Whitey Mack's--Whitey Mack, with
+his lean-jawed, clean-shaven wolf's face!  If he could get Whitey
+Mack before the other was ready to tell Lannigan!  Surely he had the
+right of self-preservation!  Surely his life was as valuable as
+Whitey Mack's, as valuable as a man's who, as those in the secrets
+of the underworld knew well enough, had blood upon his hands, who
+lived by crime, who was a menace to the community!  Had he not the
+right to preserve his own life at the expense of one such as that?
+He had never taken life--the thought was abhorrent!  But was there
+any other way in event of Whitey Mack knowing him as Jimmie Dale?
+His back was against the wall; he was trapped; certain death, and,
+worse, dishonour stared him in the face.  Lannigan and Whitey Mack
+would be together--the odds would be two to one against him--and he
+had no quarrel with Lannigan--somehow he must let Lannigan out of it.
+
+The other side of the street was less crowded.  He crossed over,
+and, still with the shuffling tread that dozens around him knew as
+the characteristic gait of Larry the Bat, but covering the ground
+with amazing celerity, he hurried along.  It was only at the end of
+the block, that cross street from the Bowery that led to the
+Sanctuary.  How much time had he?  He turned the corner into the
+darker cross street.  Whitey Mack would have learned from Bristol
+Bob that Larry the Bat had just been there; that is, that Larry the
+Bat was not at the Sanctuary.  Whitey Mack would probably be in no
+hurry--he and Lannigan might wait until later, until Whitey Mack
+should be satisfied that Larry the Bat had gone home.  It was the
+line of least resistance; they would not attempt to scour the city
+for him.  They might even wait in that private room at Bristol Bob's
+until they decided that it was time to sally out.  He might perhaps
+still find them there when he got back; at any rate, from there he
+must pick up their trail again.  On the other hand--all this was but
+supposition--they might make at once for the Sanctuary to lie in
+wait for him.  In any case there was need, desperate need, for
+haste.
+
+He glanced sharply around him; and, by the side of the tenement
+house now that bordered on the alleyway, with a curious, swift,
+gliding motion, he seemed to blend into the shadow and darkness.  It
+was the Sanctuary, that room on the first floor of the tenement, the
+tenement that had three entrances, three exits--a passageway through
+to the saloon on the next street that abutted on the rear, the usual
+front door, and the side door in the alleyway.  Gone was the
+shuffling gait.  Quick, alert, he ran, crouching, bent down, along
+the alleyway, reached the side door, opened it stealthily, closed it
+behind him with equal caution, and, in the dark entry, stood
+motionless, listening intently.
+
+There was no sound.  He began to mount the rickety, dilapidated
+stairs; and, where it seemed that the lightest tread must make them
+creak out in blatant protest, his trained muscles, delicately
+compensating his body weight, carried him upward with a silence that
+was almost uncanny.  There was need of silence, as there was need of
+haste.  He was not so sure now of the time at his disposal--that he
+had even reached the Sanctuary FIRST.  How long had he loitered in
+that half-dazed way on the Bowery?  He did not know--perhaps longer
+than he had imagined.  There was the possibility that Whitey Mack
+and Lannigan were already above, waiting for him; but, even if they
+were not already there and he got away before they came, it was
+imperative that no one should know that Larry the Bat had come and
+gone.
+
+He reached the landing, and paused again, his right hand, with a
+vicious muzzle of his automatic peeping now from between his
+fingers, thrown a little forward.  It was black, utterly black,
+around him.  Again that stealthy, catlike tread--and his ear was at
+the keyhole of the Sanctuary door.  A full minute, priceless though
+it was, passed; then, satisfied that the room was empty, he drew his
+head back from the keyhole, and those slim, tapering fingers, that
+in their tips seemed to embody all the human senses, felt over the
+lock.  Apparently it had been undisturbed; but that was no proof
+that Whitey Mack had not been there after finding the metal case.
+Whitey Mack was known to be clever with a lock--clever enough for
+that, anyhow.
+
+He slipped in the key, turned it, and, on hinges that were always
+oiled, silently pushed the door open and stepped across the
+threshold.  He closed the door until it was just ajar, that any
+sound might reach him from without--and, whipping off his coat,
+began to undress swiftly.
+
+There was no light.  He dared not use the gas; it might be seen from
+the alleyway.  He was moving now quickly, surely, silently here and
+there.  It was like some weird spectre figure, a little blacker than
+the surrounding darkness, flitting about the room.  The oilcloth in
+the corner was turned back, the loose flooring lifted, the clothes
+of Jimmie Dale taken out, the rags of Larry the Bat put in.  The
+minutes flew by.  It was not the change of clothing that took long--
+it was the eradication of Larry the Bat's make-up from his face,
+throat, neck, wrists, and hands.  Occasionally his head was turned
+in a tense, listening attitude; but always the fingers were busy,
+working with swift deftness.
+
+It was done at last.  Larry the Bat had vanished, and in his place
+stood Jimmie Dale, the young millionaire, the social lion of New
+York, immaculate in well-tailored tweeds.  He stooped to the hole in
+the flooring, and, his fingers going unerringly to their hiding
+place, took out a black silk mask and an electric flashlight--his
+automatic was already in his possession.  His lips parted grimly.
+Who knew what part a flashlight might not play--and he would need
+the mask for Lannigan's benefit, even if it did not disguise him
+from Whitey Mack.  Had he left any telltale evidence of his visit?
+It was almost worth the risk of a light to make sure.  He hesitated,
+then shook his head, and, stooping again, carefully replaced the
+flooring and laid the oilcloth over it--he dared not show a light at
+any cost.
+
+But now even more caution than before was necessary.  At times, the
+lodgers had naturally enough seen their fellow lodger, Larry the
+Bat, enter and leave the tenement--none had ever seen Jimmie Dale
+either leave or enter.  He stole across the room to the door, halted
+to assure himself that the hall was empty, slipped out into the
+hall, and locked the door behind him.  Again that trained, long-
+practiced, silent tread upon the stairs.  It seemed as though an
+hour passed before he reached the bottom, and his brain was
+shrieking at him to hurry, hurry, HURRY!  The entryway at last, the
+door, the alleyway, a long breath of relief--and he was on the cross
+street.
+
+A step, two, he took in the direction of the Bowery--and he was
+bending down as though to tie his shoe, his automatic, from his side
+pocket, concealed in his hand.  WAS THAT SOME ONE THERE?  He could
+have sworn he saw a shadow-like form start out from behind the steps
+of the house on the opposite side of the street as he had emerged
+from the alleyway.  In his bent posture, without seemingly turning
+his head, his eyes swept sharply up and down the other side of the
+ill-lighted street.  Nothing!  There was not even a pedestrian in
+sight on the block from there to the Bowery.
+
+Jimmie Dale straightened up nonchalantly, and stooped almost
+instantly again, as though the lace were still proving refractory.
+Again that sharp, searching glance.  Again--nothing!  He went
+forward now in apparent unconcern; but his right hand, instead of
+being buried in his coat pocket, swung easily at his side.
+
+It was strange!  His ineffective ruse to the contrary, he was
+certain that he had not been mistaken.  Was it Whitey Mack?  Was the
+question answered?  Was the Gray Seal known, too, as Jimmie Dale?
+Were they trailing him now, with the climax to come at the club, at
+his own palatial home, wherever the surroundings would best lend
+themselves to assuaging that inordinate thirst for the sensational
+that was so essentially a characteristic of the confirmed criminal?
+What a headline in the morning's papers it would make!
+
+At the corner he loitered by the curb to light a cigarette--still
+not a soul in sight on either side of the street behind him, except
+a couple of Italians who had just passed by.  Strange again!  The
+intuition, if it were only intuition, was still strong.  He swung
+abruptly on his heel, mingled with the passers-by on the Bowery,
+walked a rapid half dozen steps until the building hid the cross
+street, then ran across the road to the opposite side of the Bowery,
+and, in a crowd now, came back to the corner.  He crossed from curb
+to curb slowly, sheltered by a fringe of people that, however, in no
+way obstructed his view down the side street.  And then Jimmie Dale
+shrugged his shoulders.  He had evidently been mistaken, after all.
+He was overexcited; his nerves were raw--that, perhaps, was the
+solution.  Meanwhile, every minute was counting, if Whitey Mack and
+Lannigan should still be at Bristol Bob's.
+
+He kept on down the Bowery, hurrying with growing impatience through
+the crowds that massed in front of various places of amusement.  He
+had not intended to come along the Bowery, and, except for what had
+occurred, would have taken a less frequented street.  He would turn
+off at the next block.
+
+He was in front of that moving-picture theatre again.  "THE DOUBLE
+LIFE"--his eyes were attracted involuntarily to the lurid, overdone
+display.  It seemed to threaten him; it seemed to dangle before him
+a premonition as it were, of what the morning held in store; but
+now, too, it seemed to feed into flame that smouldering fury that
+possessed him.  His life--or Whitey Mack's!  Men, women, and the
+children who turned night into day in that quarter of the city were
+clustered thick around the signs, hiving like bees to the bald
+sensationalism.  Almost savagely he began to force his way through
+the crowd--and the next instant, like a man stunned, had stopped in
+his tracks.  His fingers had closed in a fierce, spasmodic clutch
+over an envelope that had been thrust suddenly into his hand.
+
+"JIMMIE!" from somewhere came a low, quick voice.  "Jimmie, it is
+half-past eleven now--HURRY."
+
+He whirled, scanning wildly this face, then that.  It was her voice--
+HER voice!  The Tocsin!  The sensitive fingers were telegraphing to
+his brain, as they always did, that the texture of the envelope,
+too, was hers.  Her voice; yes, anywhere, out of a thousand voices,
+he would distinguish hers--but her face, he had never seen that.
+Which, out of all the crowd around him, was hers?  Surely he could
+tell her by her dress; she would be different; her personality alone
+must single her out.  She--
+
+"Say, have youse got de pip, or do youse t'ink youse owns de earth!"
+a man flung at him, heaving and pushing to get by.
+
+With a start, though he scarcely heard the man, Jimmie Dale moved
+on.  His brain was afire.  All the irony of the world seemed massed
+in a sudden, overwhelming attack upon him.  It was useless--
+intuitively he had known it was useless from the instant he had
+heard her voice.  It was always the same--always!  For years she had
+eluded him like that, come upon him without warning and disappeared,
+but leaving always that tangible proof of her existence--a letter,
+the call of the Gray Seal to arms.  But to-night it was as it had
+never been before.  It was not alone baffled chagrin now, not alone
+the longing, the wild desire to see her face, to look into her eyes--
+it was life and death.  She had come at the very moment when she,
+perhaps alone of all the world, could have pointed the way out, when
+life, liberty, everything that was common to them both was at stake,
+in deadly peril--and she had gone, ignorant of it all, leaving him
+staggered by the very possibility of the succour that was held up
+before his eyes only to be snatched away without power of his to
+grasp it.  His intuition had not been at fault--he had made no
+mistake in that shadow across the street from the Sanctuary.  It had
+been the Tocsin.  He had been followed; and it was she who had
+followed him, until, in a crowd, she had seized the opportunity of a
+moment ago.  Though ultimately, perhaps, it changed nothing, it was
+a relief in a way to know that it was she, not Whitey Mack, who had
+been lurking there; but her persistent, incomprehensible
+determination to preserve the mystery with which she surrounded
+herself was like now to cost them both a ghastly price.  If he could
+only have had one word with her--just one word!
+
+The letter in his hand crackled under his clenched fist.  He stared
+at it in a half-blind, half-bitter way.  The call of the Gray Seal
+to arms!  Another coup, with its incident danger and peril, that she
+had planned for him to execute!  He could have laughed aloud at the
+inhuman mockery of it.  The call of the Gray Seal to arms--NOW!
+When with every faculty drained to its last resource, cornered,
+trapped, he was fighting for his very existence!
+
+"Jimmie, it is half-past eleven now--HURRY!"  The words were
+jangling discordantly in his brain.
+
+And now he laughed outright, mirthlessly.  A young girl hanging on
+her escort's arm, passing, glanced at him and giggled.  It was a
+different Jimmie Dale for the moment.  For once his immobility had
+forsaken him.  He laughed again--a sort of unnatural, desperate
+indifference to everything falling upon him.  What did it matter,
+the moment or two it would take to read the letter?  He looked
+around him.  He was on the corner in front of the Palace Saloon,
+and, turning abruptly, he stepped in through the swinging doors.  As
+Larry the Bat, he knew the place well.  At the rear of the barroom
+and along the side of the wall were some half dozen little stalls,
+partitioned off from each other.  Several of these were unoccupied,
+and he chose the one farthest from the entrance.  It was private
+enough; no one would disturb him.
+
+From the aproned individual who presented himself he ordered a
+drink.  The man returned in a moment, and Jimmie Dale tossed a coin
+on the table, bidding the other keep the change.  He wanted no
+drink; the transaction was wholly perfunctory.  The waiter was gone;
+he pushed the glass away from him, and tore the envelope open.
+
+A single sheet, closely written on both sides of the paper, was in
+his hand.  It was her writing; there was no mistaking that, but
+every word, every line bore evidence of frantic haste.  Even that
+customary formula, "dear philanthropic crook," that had prefaced
+every line she had ever written him before, had been omitted.  His
+eyes traversed the first few lines with that strange indifference
+that had settled upon him.  What, after all, did it matter what it
+was; he could do nothing--not even save himself probably.  And then,
+with a little start, he read the lines over again, muttering
+snatches from them.
+
+
+". . . Max Diestricht--diamonds--the Ross-Logan stones--wedding--
+sliding panel in wall of workshop--end of the room near window--ten
+boards to the right from side wall--press small knot in the wood in
+the centre of the tenth board--to-night . . ."
+
+
+It brought a sudden thrill of excitement to Jimmie Dale that,
+impossible as he would have believed it an instant ago, for the
+moment overshadowed the realisation of his own peril.  A robbery
+such as that, if it were ever accomplished, would stir the country
+from end to end; it would set New York by the ears; it would loose
+the police in full cry like a pack of bloodhounds with their leashes
+slipped.  The society columns of the newspapers had been busy for
+months featuring the coming marriage of the Ross-Logans' daughter to
+one of the country's young merchant princes.  The combined fortunes
+of the two families would make the young couple the richest in
+America.  The prospective groom's wedding gift was to be a diamond
+necklace of perfectly matched, large stones that would eclipse
+anything of the kind in the country.  Europe, the foreign markets,
+had been literally combed and ransacked to supply the gems.  The
+stones had arrived in New York the day before, the duty on them
+alone amounting to over fifty thousand dollars.  All this had
+appeared in the papers.
+
+Jimmie Dale's brows drew together in a frown.  On just exactly what
+percentage the duty was figured he did not know; but it was high
+enough on the basis of fifty thousand dollars to assume safely that
+the assessed value of the stones was not less than four times that
+amount.  Two hundred thousand dollars--laid down, a quarter of a
+million!  Well, why not?  In more than one quarter diamonds were
+ranked as the soundest kind of an investment.  Furthermore, through
+personal acquaintance with the "high contracting parties," who were
+in his own set, he knew it to be true.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders.  The papers, too, had thrown the
+limelight on Max Diestricht, who, though for quite a time the
+fashion in the social world, had, up to the present, been
+comparatively unknown to the average New Yorker.  His own knowledge
+of Max Diestricht went deeper than the superficial biography
+furnished by the newspapers--the old Hollander had done more than
+one piece of exquisite jewelry work for him.  The old fellow was a
+character that beggared description, eccentric to the point of
+extravagance, and deaf as a post; but, in craftmanship, a modern
+Cellini.  He employed no workmen, lived alone over his shop on one
+of the lower streets between Fifth and Sixth Avenues near Washington
+Square--and possessed a splendid contempt for such protective
+contrivances as safes and vaults.  If his prospective patrons
+expostulated on this score before intrusting him with their
+valuables, they were at liberty to take their work elsewhere.  It
+was Max Diestricht who honoured you by accepting the commission; not
+you who honoured Max Diestricht by intrusting him with it.  "Of what
+use is it to me, a safe!" he would exclaim.  "It hides nothing; it
+only says, 'I am inside; do not look farther; come and get me!'
+Yes?  It is to explode with the nitro-glycerin--POUF!--and I am deaf
+and I hear nothing.  It is a foolishness, that"--he had a habit of
+prodding at one with a levelled fore-finger--"every night somewhere
+they are robbed, and have I been robbed?  HEIN, tell me that; have I
+been robbed?"
+
+It was true.  In ten years, though at times having stones and
+precious metal aggregating large amounts deposited with him by his
+customers, Max Diestricht had never lost so much as the gold
+filings.  There was a queer smile on Jimmie Dale's lips now.  The
+knot in the tenth board was significant!  Max Diestricht was
+scrupulously honest, a genius in originality and conception of
+design, a master in the perfection and delicacy of his finished
+work--he had been commissioned to design and set the Ross-Logan
+necklace.
+
+The brain works quickly.  All this and more had flashed almost
+instantaneously through Jimmie Dale's mind.  His eyes fell to the
+letter again, and he read on.  Halfway through, a sudden whiteness
+blanched his face, and, following it, a surging tide of red that
+mounted to his temples.  It dazed him; it seemed to rob him for the
+moment of the power of coherent thought.  He was wrong; he had not
+read aright.  It was incredible, dare-devil beyond belief--and yet
+in its very audacity lay success.  He finished the letter, read it
+once more--and his fingers mechanically began to tear it into little
+shreds.  His brain was in a whirl, a vortex of conflicting emotions.
+Had Whitey Mack and Lannigan left Bristol Bob's yet?  Where were
+they now?  Was there time for--this?  He was staring at the little
+torn scraps of paper in his hand.  He thrust them suddenly into his
+pocket, and jerked out his watch.  It was nearly midnight.  The
+broad, muscular shoulders seemed to square back curiously, the jaws
+to clamp a little, the face to harden and grow cold until it was
+like stone.  With a swift movement he emptied his glass into the
+cuspidor, set the glass back on the table, and stepped out from the
+stall.  His destination was Max Diestricht's.
+
+The Palace Saloon was near the upper end of the Bowery, and, failing
+a taxicab, of which none was in sight, his quickest method was to
+walk, and he started briskly forward.  It was not far; and it was
+barely ten minutes from the time he had left the Palace Saloon when
+he swung through Washington Square to Fifth Avenue, and, a moment
+later, turned from that thoroughfare, heading west toward Sixth
+Avenue, along one of those streets which, with the city's northward
+trend, had quite lost any distinctive identity, and from being once
+a modestly fashionable residential section had now become a
+conglomerate potpourri of small tradesmen's stores, shops and
+apartments of the poorer class.  He knew Max Diestricht's--he could
+well have done without the aid of the arc lamp which, even if dimly,
+indicated that low, almost tumble-down, two-story structure tucked
+away between the taller buildings on either side that almost
+engulfed it.  It was late.  The street was quiet.  The shops and
+stores had long since been closed, Max Diestricht's among them--the
+old Hollanders' name in painted white letters stood out against the
+background of a darkened workshop window.  In the story above, the
+lights, too, were out; Max Diestricht was probably fast asleep--and
+he was stone deaf!
+
+A glance up and down the street, and Jimmie Dale was standing, or,
+rather, leaning against Max Diestricht's door.  There was no one to
+see, and if there were, what was there to attract attention to a man
+standing nonchalantly for a moment in a doorway?  It was only for a
+moment.  Those master fingers of Jimmie Dale were working surely,
+swiftly, silently.  A little steel instrument that was never out of
+his possession was in the lock and out again.  The door opened,
+closed; he drew the black silk mask from his pocket and slipped it
+over his face.  Immediately in front of him the stairs led upward;
+immediately to his right was the door into the shop--the modest
+street entrance was common to both.
+
+The door into the workshop was not locked.  He opened it, stepped
+inside, and closed it quietly behind him.  The place was in
+blackness.  He stood for a moment silent, straining his ears to
+catch the slightest sound, reconstructing the plan of his
+surroundings in his mind as he remembered it.  It was a narrow,
+oblong room, running the entire depth of the building, a very long
+room, blank walls on either side, a window in the middle of the rear
+wall that gave on a back yard, and from the back yard there was
+access to the lane; also, as he remembered the place, it was a riot
+of disorder, with workbenches and odds and ends strewn without
+system or reason in every direction--one had need of care to
+negotiate it in the dark.  He took his flashlight from his pocket,
+and, preliminary to a more intimate acquaintance with the interior,
+glanced out through the front window near which he stood--and, with
+a suppressed cry, shrank back instinctively against the wall.
+
+Two men were crossing the street, heading directly for the shop
+door.  The arc lamp lighted up their faces.  IT WAS INSPECTOR
+LANNIGAN OF HEADQUARTERS AND WHITEY MACK!  The quick intake of
+Jimmie Dale breath was sucked through clenched teeth.  They were
+close on his heels then--far closer than he had imagined.  It would
+take Whitey Mack scarcely any longer to open that front door than it
+had taken him.  Close on his heels!  His face was rigid.  He could
+hear them now at the door.  The flashlight in his hand winked down
+the length of the room.  If was a dangerous thing to do, but it was
+still more dangerous to stumble into some object and make a noise.
+He darted forward, circuiting a workbench, a stool, a small hand
+forge.  Again the flashlight gleamed.  Against the side wall, near
+the rear, was another workbench, with a sort of coarse canvas
+curtain hanging part way down in front of it, evidently to protect
+such things as might be stored away beneath it from dust, and Jimmie
+Dale sprang for it, whipped back the canvas, and crawled underneath.
+He was not an instant too soon.  As the canvas fell back into place,
+the shop door opened, closed, and the two men had stepped inside.
+
+Whitey Mack's voice, in a low whisper though it was, seemed to echo
+raucously through the shop.
+
+"Mabbe we'll have a sweet wait, but I got the straight dope on this.
+He's going to make a try for Dutchy's sparklers to-night.  We'll let
+him go the limit, and we don't either of us make a move till he's
+pinched them, and then we get him with the goods on him.  He can't
+get away; he hasn't a hope!  There's only two ways of getting in
+here or getting out--this door and window here, and a window that's
+down there at the back.  You guard this, and I'll take care of the
+other end.  Savvy?"
+
+"Right!"  Lannigan answered grimly.  "Go ahead!"
+
+There was the sound of footsteps moving forward, then a vicious
+bump, the scraping of some object along the floor, and a muffled
+curse from Whitey Mack.
+
+"Use your flashlight!" advised the inspector, in a guarded voice.
+
+"I haven't got one, damn it!", growled Whitey Mack.  "It's all
+right.  I'll get along."
+
+Again the steps, but more warily now, as though the man were
+cautiously feeling ahead of him for possible obstacles.  Jimmie Dale
+for a moment held his breath.  He could have reached out and touched
+the man as the other passed.  Whitey Mack went on until he had taken
+up a position against the rear wall.  Jimmie Dale heard him as he
+brushed against it.
+
+Then silence fell.  He was between them now.  Stretched full length
+on the floor, Jimmie Dale raised the lower portion of the canvas
+away from in front of his face.  He could see nothing; the place was
+in Stygian blackness; but it had been close and stifling, and, at
+least, it gave him more air.
+
+The minutes dragged by--each more interminable than the one that had
+gone before.  Not a movement, not a sound, and then, through the
+stillness, very faint at first, came the regular, repressed
+breathing of Whitey Mack, who was much the nearer of the two men.
+And, once noticeable, almost imperceptible as it was it seemed to
+pervade the room and fill it with a strange, ominous resonance that
+rose and fell until the blackness palpitated with it.
+
+Slowly, very slowly, Jimmie Dale's hand crept into his pocket--and
+crept out again with his automatic.  He lay motionless once more.
+Time in any concrete sense ceased to exist.  Fancied shapes began to
+assume form in the darkness.  By the door, Lannigan stirred
+uneasily, shifting his position slightly.
+
+Was it hours--was it only minutes?  It seemed to ring through the
+nerve-racking stillness like the shriek of a hurtling shell--and it
+was only a whisper.
+
+"Watch yourself, Lannigan," whispered Whitey Mack.  "He's coming now
+through the yard!  Don't move till I start something.  Let him get
+his paws on the sparklers."
+
+Silence again.  And then a low rasping at the window, like the
+gnawing of a rat; then, inch by inch, the sash was lifted.  There
+was the sound as of a body forcing its way over the sill cautiously,
+then a step upon the floor inside, another, and still another.  The
+figure of a man loomed up suddenly against the glow of a flashlight
+as he threw the round, white ray inquisitively here and there over
+the rear wall.  And now he appeared to be counting the boards.  One,
+two, three--ten.  His hand ran up and down the tenth board.  Again
+and again he repeated the operation, and something like the snarl of
+a baited beast echoed through the room.  He half turned to snatch at
+something in his pocket, and the light for a moment showed a black-
+bearded, lowering face, partially hidden by a peaked cap that was
+pulled far down over his eyes.
+
+There was the rip and tear of rending wood, as a steel jimmy, in
+lieu of the spring the man evidently could not find, bit in between
+the boards, a muttered oath of satisfaction, and a portion of the
+wall slid back, disclosing what looked like a metal-lined cupboard.
+He reached in, seized one of a dozen little boxes, and wrenched off
+the cover.  A blue, scintillating gleam seemed to leap out to meet
+the white ray of the flashlight.  The man chuckled hoarsely, and
+began to cram the rest of the boxes into his pockets.
+
+Jimmie Dale stirred.  On hands and knees he was creeping now from
+beneath the workbench.  Something caught and tore behind him--the
+canvas curtain.  And at the sound, with a sharp cry, the man at the
+wall whirled, the light went out, and he sprang toward the window.
+Jimmie Dale gained his feet and leaped forward.  A revolver shot cut
+a lane of fire through the blackness; and, above the roar of the
+report, Whitey Mack's voice in a fierce yell:
+
+"It's all right, Lannigan!  I got him!  No--HELL!"  There was a
+terrific crash of breaking glass.  "He's got away!"
+
+"Not yet, he hasn't!" gritted Jimmie Dale between his teeth, and his
+clubbed revolver swung crashing to the head of a dark form in front
+of him.
+
+There was a half sigh, half moan.  The form slid limply to the
+floor.  Lannigan was floundering down the shop, leaping obstacles in
+a mad rush, his flashlight picking out the way.
+
+Jimmie Dale stepped swiftly backward, and his hand groped out for
+the droplight, over the end of the bench, that he had knocked
+against in his own rush.  His fingers clutched it--and the lower end
+of the shop was flooded with light.  Except for his felt hat that
+lay a little distance away, there was no sign of Whitey Mack; the
+huddled form of the man, who but a moment since had chuckled as he
+pocketed old Max Diestricht's gems, lay sprawled, inert, upon the
+floor, and Lannigan was staring into the muzzle of Jimmie Dale's
+automatic.
+
+"Drop that gun, Lannigan!" said Jimmie Dale coolly.  "And I'll
+trouble you not to make a noise; it might attract attention from the
+street; there's been too much already.  DROP THAT GUN!"
+
+The revolver clattered from Lannigan's hand to the floor.  A step
+forward, and Jimmie Dale's toe sent it spinning under a bench.
+Another step, and, his revolver still covering the other, he had
+whipped a pair of handcuffs from the officer's side pocket.
+
+Lannigan, as though the thought had never occurred to him, offered
+no resistance.  He was staring in a dazed sort of way back and forth
+from Jimmie Dale to the man on the floor.
+
+"What's this mean?" he burst out suddenly, "Where's--"
+
+"Your wrist, please!" requested Jimmie Dale pleasantly.  "No--the
+left one.  Thank you"--as the handcuff snapped shut.  "Now go over
+there and sit down on the floor beside that fellow.  QUICK!"  Jimmie
+Dale's voice rasped suddenly, imperatively.
+
+Still bewildered, but a little sullen now, Lannigan obeyed.  Jimmie
+Dale stooped quickly, and snapped the other link of the handcuff
+over the unconscious man's right wrist.
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled.
+
+"That's the approved way of taking your man, isn't it?  Left wrist
+to the prisoner's right.  He's only stunned; he'll be around in a
+moment.  Know him?"
+
+Lannigan shook his head.
+
+"Take a good look at him," invited Jimmie Dale.  "You ought to know
+most of them in the business."
+
+Lannigan bent over a little closer, and then, with an amazed cry,
+his free hand shot forward and tore away the other's beard.
+
+IT WAS WHITEY MACK!
+
+"My God!" gasped Lannigan.
+
+"Quite so!" said Jimmie Dale evenly.  "You'll find the diamonds in
+his pockets, and, excuse me"--his fingers were running through
+Whitey Mack's clothes--"ah, here it is"--the thin metal case was in
+his hand--"a little article that belongs to me, and whose loss, I am
+free to admit, caused me considerable concern until I was informed
+that he had only found it without having the slightest idea as to
+whom it belonged.  It made quite a difference!"  He had opened the
+case carelessly before Lannigan's eyes.  "'The Gray Seal!'  I'll say
+it for you," said Jimmie Dale whimsically.  "This is what probably
+put the idea into his head, after first, in some way, having
+discovered old Max Diestricht's hiding place; and, if I had given
+him time enough, he would probably have stuck one of these seals, in
+clumsy imitation of that little eccentricity of mine, on the wall
+over there to stamp the job as genuine.  You begin to get it, don't
+you Lannigan?  Pretty sure-fire as an alibi, eh?  And he'd have got
+away with it, too, as far as you were concerned.  He had only to
+fire that shot, smash the window, tuck his false beard, mustache,
+and peaked cap into his pocket, put on his own hat that you see
+there on the floor--and yell that the man had escaped.  He'd help
+you chase the thief, too!  Rather neat, don't you think, Lannigan?
+And worth the risk, too, considering the howl that would go up at
+the theft of those stones, and that, known as the slickest diamond
+thief in the country, he would be the first to be suspected--except
+that the police themselves, in the person of Inspector Lannigan of
+headquarters, would be prepared to prove a perfectly good alibi for
+him."
+
+Lannigan's head was thrust forward; his eyes, hard, were riveted on
+Whitey Mack.
+
+"My God!" he said again under his breath.  Then fiercely: "He'll get
+his for this!"
+
+It was a moment before Jimmie Dale spoke; he was musingly examining
+the automatic in his hand.
+
+"I am going now, Lannigan," he observed quietly.  "I require, say,
+fifteen minutes in which to effect my escape.  It is, of course,
+obvious that an alarm raised by you might prove extremely awkward,
+but a piece of canvas from that bench there, together with a bit of
+string, would make a most effective gag.  I prefer, however, not to
+submit you to that indignity.  Instead, I offer you the alternative
+of giving me your word to remain quietly where you are for--fifteen
+minutes."
+
+Lannigan hesitated.
+
+Jimmie Dale smiled.
+
+"I agree," said Lannigan shortly.
+
+Jimmie Dale stepped back.  The electric-light switch clicked.  The
+place was in darkness.  There was a moment, two, of utter stillness;
+then softly, from the front end of the shop, a whisper:
+
+"If I were you, Lannigan, I'd take that gun from Whitey's pocket
+before he comes round and beats you to it."
+
+And the door had closed silently behind Jimmie Dale.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+THE STOOL-PIGEON
+
+
+In the subway, ten minutes before, a freckled-faced messenger boy
+had squeezed himself into a seat beside Jimmie Dale, yanked a dime
+novel from a refractory pocket, and, blissfully lost to all the
+world, had buried his head in its pages.  Jimmie Dale's glance at
+the youngster had equally, perforce, embraced the lurid title of the
+thriller, "Dicing with Death," so imperturbably thrust under his
+nose.  At the time, he had smiled indulgently; but now, as he left
+the subway and headed for his home on Riverside Drive, the words not
+only refused to be ignored, but had resolved themselves into a
+curiously persistent refrain in his mind.  They were exactly what
+they purported to be, dime-novelish, of the deepest hue of yellow,
+melodramatic in the extreme; but also, to him now, they were grimly
+apt and premonitorily appropriate.  "Dicing with Death"--there was
+not an hour, not a moment in the day, when he was not literally
+dicing with death; when, with the underworld and the police allied
+against him, a single false move would lose him the throw that left
+death the winner!
+
+The risk of the dual life enforced upon him grew daily greater, and
+in the end there must be the reckoning.  He would have been a madman
+to have shut his eyes in the face of what was obvious--but it was
+worth it all, and in his soul he knew that he would not have had it
+otherwise even now.  To-night, to-morrow, the day after, would come
+another letter from the Tocsin, and there would be another "crime"
+of the Gray Seal's blazoned in the press--would that be the last
+affair, or would there be another--or to-night, to-morrow, the day
+after, would he be trapped before even one more letter came!
+
+He shrugged his shoulders, as he ran up the steps of his house.
+Those were the stakes that he himself had laid on the table to wager
+upon the game, he had no quarrel there; but if only, before the end
+came, or even with the end itself, he could find--HER!
+
+With his latchkey he let himself into the spacious, richly
+furnished, well-lighted reception hall, and, crossing this, went up
+the broad staircase, his steps noiseless on the heavy carpet.
+Below, faintly, he could hear some of the servants--they evidently
+had not heard him close the door behind him.  Discipline was relaxed
+somewhat, it was quite apparent, with Jason, that peer of butlers,
+away.  Jason, poor chap, was in the hospital.  Typhoid, they had
+thought it at first, though it had turned out to be some milder form
+of infection.  He would be back in a few days now; but meanwhile he
+missed the old man sorely from the house.
+
+He reached the landing, and, turning, went along the hall to the
+door of his own particular den, opened the door, closed it behind
+him--and in an instant the keen, agile brain, trained to the little
+things that never escaped it, that daily held his life in the
+balance, was alert.  The room was unusually dark, even for night-
+time.  It was as though the window shades had been closely drawn--a
+thing Jason never did.  But then Jason wasn't there!  Jimmie Dale,
+smiling then a little quizzically at himself, reached up for the
+electric-light switch beside the door, pressed it--and, his finger
+still on the button, whipped his automatic from his pocket with his
+other hand.  THE ROOM WAS STILL IN DARKNESS.
+
+The smile on Jimmie Dale's lips was gone, for his lips now had
+closed together in a tight, drawn line.  The lights in the rest of
+the house, as witness the reception hall, were in order.  This was
+no ACCIDENT!  Silent, motionless, he stood there, listening.  Was he
+trapped at last--in his own house!  By whom?  The police?  The thugs
+of the underworld?  It made little difference--the end would differ
+only in the method by which it was attained!  What was that!  Was
+there a slight stir, a movement at the lower end of the room--or was
+it his imagination?  His hand fell from the electric-light switch to
+the doorknob behind his back.  Slowly, without a sound, it began to
+turn under his slim, tapering fingers, whose deft, sensitive touch
+had made him known and feared as the master cracksman of them all;
+and, as noiselessly, the door began to open.
+
+It was like a duel--a duel of silence.  What was the intruder,
+whoever he might be, waiting for?  The abortive click of the
+electric-light switch, to say nothing of the opening of the door
+when he had entered, was evidence enough that he was there.  Was the
+other trying to place him exactly through the darkness to make sure
+of his attack!  The door was open now.  And suddenly Jimmie Dale
+laughed easily aloud--and on the instant shifted his position.
+
+"Well?" inquired Jimmie Dale coolly from the other side of the
+threshold.
+
+It seemed like a long-drawn sigh fluttering through the room, a gasp
+of relief--and then the blood was pounding madly at his temples, and
+he was back in the room again, the door closed once more behind him.
+
+"Oh, Jimmie--why didn't you speak?  I had to be sure that it was
+you."
+
+It was her voice!  HERS!  The Tocsin!  HERE!  She was here--here in
+his house!
+
+"You!" he cried.  "You--here!"  He was pressing the electric-light
+switch frantically, again and again.
+
+Her voice came out of the darkness from across the room:
+
+"Why are you doing that, Jimmie?  You know already that I have
+turned off the lights."
+
+"At the sockets--of course!"  He laughed out the words almost
+hysterically.  "Your face--I have never seen your face, you know."
+He was moving quickly toward the reading lamp on his desk.
+
+There was a quick, hurried swish of garments, and she was blocking
+his way.
+
+"No," she said, in a low voice; "you must not light that lamp."
+
+He laughed again, shortly, fiercely now.  She was close to him, his
+hands reached out for her, touched her, and thrilling at the touch,
+swept her toward him.
+
+"Jimmie--Jimmie--are you mad!" she breathed.
+
+Mad!  Yes--he was mad with the wildest, most passionate exhilaration
+he had ever known.  He found his voice with an effort.
+
+"These months and years that I have tried until my soul was sick to
+find you!" he cried out.  "And you are here now!  Your face--I must
+see your face!"
+
+She had wrenched herself away from him.  He could hear her breath
+coming sharply in little gasps.  He groped his way onward toward the
+desk.
+
+"WAIT!"--her tones seemed to ring suddenly vibrant through the room.
+"Wait, before you touch that lamp!  I--I put you on your honour not
+to light it."
+
+He stopped abruptly.
+
+"My--honour?" he repeated mechanically.
+
+"Yes!  I came here to-night because there was no other way.  No
+other way--do you understand?  I came, trusting to your honour not
+to take advantage of the conditions that forced me to do this.  I
+had no fear that I was wrong--I have no fear now.  You will not
+light that lamp, and you will not make any attempt to prevent my
+going away as I came--unknown.  Is there any question about it,
+Jimmie?  I am in YOUR house."
+
+"You don't know what you are saying!" he burst out wildly.  "I've
+risked my life for a chance like this again and again; I've gone
+through hell, living in squalour for a month on end as Larry the Bat
+in the hope that I might discover who you are--and do you think I'll
+let anything stop me now!  I tell you, no--a thousand times no!"
+
+She made no answer.  There was only her low, quick breathing coming
+from somewhere near him.  He made another step toward the lamp--and
+stopped.
+
+"I tell you, no!" he said again, and took another step forward--and
+stopped once more.
+
+Still she made no answer.  A minute passed--another.  His hand
+lifted and swept across his forehead in an agitated way.  Still
+silence.  She neither moved nor spoke.  His hand dropped slowly to
+his side.  There was a queer, twisted smile upon his lips.
+
+"You win!" he said hoarsely.
+
+"Thank you, Jimmie," she said simply.
+
+"And your name, who you are"--he was speaking, but he did not seem
+to recognise his own voice--"the hundred other things I've sworn I'd
+make you explain when I found you, are all taboo as well, I
+suppose!"
+
+"Yes," she said.
+
+He laughed bitterly.
+
+"Don't you know," he cried out, "that between the police and the
+underworld, our house of cards is likely to collapse at any minute--
+that they are hunting the Gray Seal day and night!  Is it to be
+always like this--that I am never to know--until it is too late!
+
+She came toward him out of the darkness impulsively.
+
+"They will never get you, Jimmie," she said, in a suppressed voice.
+And some day, I promise you now, you shall have your reward for to-
+night.  You shall know--everything."
+
+"When?"  The word came from him with fierce eagerness.
+
+"I do not know," she answered gently.  "Soon, perhaps--perhaps
+sooner than either of us imagine."
+
+"And by that you mean--what?" he asked, and his hand reached out for
+her again through the blackness.
+
+This time she did not draw away.  There was an instant's hesitation;
+then she spoke again hurriedly, a note of anxiety in her voice.
+
+"You are beginning all over again, aren't you, Jimmie?  And I have
+told you that to-night I can explain nothing.  And, besides, it is
+what has brought me here that counts now, and every moment is of--"
+
+"Yes.  I know," he interposed; "but, then, at least you will tell me
+one thing: Why did you come to-night, instead of sending me a letter
+as you always have before?"
+
+"Because it is different to-night than it ever was before," she
+replied earnestly.  "Because there is something in what has happened
+that I cannot explain myself; because there is danger, and where I
+could not see clearly I feared a trap, and so I dared not send what,
+in a letter, could at best be only vague and incomplete details.  Do
+you see?"
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale--but he was only listening in an abstracted
+way.  If he could only see that face, so close to his!  He had
+yearned for that with all his soul for years now!  And she was here,
+standing beside him, and his hand was upon her arm; and here, in his
+own den, in his own house, he was listening to another call to arms
+for the Gray Seal from her own lips!  Honour!  Was he but a poor,
+quixotic fool!  He had only to step to the desk and switch on the
+light!  Why should--he steadied himself with a jerk, and drew away
+his hand.  She was in HIS house.  "Go on," he said tersely.
+
+"Do you know, or did you ever hear of old Luther Doyle?" she asked.
+
+"No," said Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Do you know a man, then, named Connie Myers?"
+
+Connie Myers!  Who in the Bad Lands did not know Connie Myers, who
+boasted of the half dozen prison sentences already to his credit?
+Yes; he knew Connie Myers!  But, strangely enough, it was not in the
+Bad Lands or as Larry the Bat that he knew the man, or that the
+other knew him--it was as Jimmie Dale.  Connie Myers had introduced
+himself one night several years ago with a blackjack that had just
+missed its mark as the man had jumped out from a dark alleyway on
+the East Side, and he, Jimmie Dale, had thrashed the other to within
+an inch of his life.  He had reason to know Connie Myers--and Connie
+Myers had reason to remember him!
+
+"Yes," he said, with a grim smile; "I know Connie Myers."
+
+"And the tenement across the street from where you live as Larry the
+Bat--that, of course, you know."  He leaned toward her wonderingly
+now.
+
+"Of course!" he ejaculated.  "Naturally!"
+
+"Listen, then, Jimmie!"  She was speaking quickly now.  "It is a
+strange story.  This Luther Doyle was already over fifty, when, some
+eight or nine years ago, his parents died within a few months of
+each other, and he inherited somewhere in the neighbourhood of a
+hundred thousand dollars; but the man, though harmless enough, was
+mildly insane, half-witted, queer, and the old couple, on account of
+their son's mental defects, took care to leave the money securely
+invested, and so that he could only touch the interest.  During
+these eight or nine years he has lived by himself in the same old
+family house where he had lived with his parents, in a lonely spot
+near Pelham.  And he has lived in a most frugal, even miserly,
+manner.  His income could not have been less than six thousand
+dollars a year, and his expenditures could not have been more than
+six hundred.  His dementia, ironically enough from the day that he
+came into his fortune, took the form of a most pitiable and abject
+fear that he would die in poverty, misery, and want; and so, year
+after year, cashing his checks as fast as he got them, never
+trusting the bank with a penny, he kept hiding away somewhere in his
+house every cent he could scrape and save from his income--which to-
+day must amount, at a minimum calculation, to fifty thousand
+dollars."
+
+"And," observed Jimmie Dale quietly.  "Connie Myers robbed him of
+it, and--"
+
+"No!"  Her voice was quivering with passion, as she caught up his
+words.  "Twice in the last month Connie Myers TRIED to rob him, but
+the money was too securely hidden.  Twice he broke into Doyle's
+house when the old man was out, but on both occasions was
+unsuccessful in his search, and was interrupted and forced to make
+his escape on account of Doyle's return.  To-night, an hour ago, in
+an empty room on the second floor of that tenement, in the room
+facing the landing, old Luther Doyle was MURDERED!"
+
+There was silence for an instant.  Her hand had closed in a tight
+pressure on his arm.  The darkness seemed to add a sort of ghastly
+significance to her words.
+
+"In God's name, how do you know all this?" he demanded wildly.  "How
+do you know all these things?
+
+"Does that matter now?" she answered tensely.  "You will know that
+when you know the rest.  Oh, don't you understand, Jimmie, there is
+not a moment to lose now?  It was easy to lure a half-witted
+creature like that anywhere; it was Connie Myers who lured him to
+the tenement and murdered him there--but from that point, Jimmie, I
+am not sure of our ground.  I do not know whether Connie Myers is
+alone in this or not; but I do know that he is going to Doyle's
+house again to-night to make another search for the money.  There is
+no question but that old Doyle was murdered to give Connie Myers and
+his accomplices, if there are any, a chance to tear the house inside
+out to find the money, to give them the whole night to work in
+without interruption if necessary--but Doyle dead in his own house
+could have interfered no more with them than Doyle dead in that
+tenement!  Why was he lured to the tenement by Connie Myers when he
+could much more easily have been put out of the way in his own
+house?  Jimmie, there is something behind this, something more that
+you must find out.  There may be others in this besides Connie
+Myers, I do not know; but there is something here that I am afraid
+of.  Jimmie, you must get that man, you must get the others if there
+are others, and you must stop them from getting the money in that
+house to-night!  Do you understand now why I have come here?  I
+could not explain in a letter; I do not quite seem to be explaining
+now.  It would seem as though there were no need for the Gray Seal--
+that simply the police should be notified.  But I KNOW, Jimmie, call
+it intuition, what you will, I know that there is need for us, for
+you to-night--that behind all this is a tragedy, deeper, blacker,
+than even the brutal, cold-blooded murder that is already done."
+
+Her voice, in its passionate earnestness, died away; and an anger,
+cold, grim, remorseless, settled upon Jimmie Dale--settled as it
+always settled upon him at her call to arms.  His brain was already
+at work in its quick, instant way, probing, sifting, planning.  She
+was right!  It was strange, it was more than strange that, with the
+added risk, the danger, the difficulty, the man should have been
+brought miles to be done away with in that tenement!  Why?  Connie
+Myers took form before him--the coarse features, the tawny hair that
+straggled across the low forehead, the shifty eyes that were an
+indeterminate colour between brown and gray, the thin lips that
+seemed to draw in and give the jaw a protruding, belligerent effect.
+And Connie Myers knew him as Jimmie Dale--it would have to be then
+as Larry the Bat that the Gray Seal must work.  That meant time--to
+go to the Sanctuary and change.
+
+"The police," he asked suddenly, aloud, "they have not yet
+discovered the body?"
+
+"Not yet," she replied hurriedly.  "And that is still another reason
+for haste--there is no telling when they will.  See--here!"  She
+thrust a paper into his hand.  "Here is a plan of old Doyle's house,
+and directions for finding it.  You must get Connie Myers red-
+handed, you must make him convict himself, for the evidence through
+which I know him to be guilty can never be used against him.  And,
+Jimmie, be careful--I know I am not wrong, that there is still
+something more behind all this.  And now go, Jimmie, go!  There is
+no time to lose!"  She was pushing him across the room toward the
+door.
+
+Go!  The word seemed suddenly to bring dismay.  It was she again who
+was dominant now in his mind.  Who knew if to-night, when he was
+taking his life in his hands again, would not be the last!  And she
+was here now, here beside him--where she might never be again!
+
+She seemed to divine his thoughts, for she spoke again, a strange
+new note of tenderness in her voice that thrilled him.
+
+"You must never let them get you, Jimmie--for my sake.  It will not
+last much longer--it is near the end--and I shall keep my promise.
+But go, now, Jimmie--go!"
+
+"Go?" he repeated numbly.  "Go?  But--but you?"
+
+"I?"  She slipped suddenly away from him, retreating back down the
+room.  "I will go--as I came."
+
+"Wait!  Listen!" he pleaded.
+
+There was no answer.
+
+She was there--somewhere back there in the darkness still.  He stood
+hesitant at the door.  It seemed that every faculty he possessed
+urged him back there again--to her.  Could he let her escape him now
+when she was so utterly in his power, she who meant everything in
+his life!  And then, like a cold shock, came that other thought--she
+who had trusted to his honour!  With a jerk, his hand swept out,
+felt for the doorknob, and closed upon it.
+
+"Good-night!" he said heavily, and stepped out into the hall.
+
+It seemed for a while, even after he had gained the street and made
+his way again to the subway, that nothing was concrete around him,
+that he was living through some fantastical dream.  His head
+whirled, and he could not think rationally--and then slowly, little
+by little, his grip upon himself came back.  She had come--and gone!
+With the roar of the subway in his ears, its raucous note seeming to
+strike so perfectly in consonance with the turmoil within him, he
+smiled mirthlessly.  After all, it was as it always was!  She was
+gone--and ahead of him lay the chances of the night!
+
+"Dicing with death!"  The words, unbidden, came back once more.  If
+they were true before, they were doubly applicable now.  It was
+different to-night from what it had ever been before, as she had
+said.  Usually, to the smallest detail, everything was laid open,
+clear before him in those astounding letters.  To-night, it was
+vague at best.  A man had been murdered.  Connie Myers had committed
+the murder under circumstances that pointed strongly to some hidden
+motive behind and beyond the mere chance it afforded him to search
+his victim's house for the hidden cash.  What was it?
+
+Jimmie Dale stared out at the black subway walls.  The answer would
+not come.  Station after station passed.  At Fourteenth Street he
+changed from the express to a local, got out at Astor Place, and a
+few minutes later was walking rapidly down the upper end of the
+Bowery.
+
+The answer would not come--only the fact itself grew more and more
+deeply significant.  The ghastly, callous fiendishness that lured an
+old, half-witted man to his death had Jimmie Dale in that grip of
+cold, merciless anger again, and there was a dull flush now upon his
+cheeks.  Whatever it meant, whatever was behind it, one thing at
+least was certain--HE WOULD GET CONNIE MYERS!
+
+He was close to the Sanctuary now--it was down the next cross
+street.  He reached the corner and turned it, heading east; but his
+brisk walk had changed to a nonchalant saunter--there were some
+people coming toward him.  It was the Gray Seal now, alert and
+cautious.  The little group passed by.  Ahead, the tenement
+bordering on the black alleyway loomed up--the Sanctuary, with its
+three entrances and exits; the home of Larry the Bat.  And across
+from it was that other tenement, that held a new interest for him
+now, where, in an empty room on the second floor, she had said, old
+Doyle still lay.  Should he go there?  He was thinking quickly now,
+and shook his head.  It would take what he did not have to spare--
+time.  It was already ten o'clock; and, granted that Connie Myers
+had committed the crime only a little over an hour ago, the man by
+this time would certainly be on his way to Doyle's house near
+Pelham, if, indeed, he were not already there.  No, there was no
+time to spare--the question resolved itself simply into how long,
+since he had already searched twice and failed on both occasions, it
+would take Connie Myers to unearth old Doyle's hiding place for the
+money.
+
+Jimmie Dale glanced sharply around him, slipped into the alleyway,
+and, crouching against the tenement wall, moved noiselessly along to
+the side entrance.  A moment more, and he had negotiated the rickety
+stairs with practiced, soundless tread, was inside the squalid
+quarters of Larry the Bat, and the door of the Sanctuary was locked
+and bolted behind him.
+
+Perhaps five minutes passed--and then, where Jimmie Dale, the
+millionaire, had entered, there emerged Larry the Bat, of the
+aristocracy and the elite of the Bad Lands.  But instead of leaving
+by the side door and the alleyway, as he had entered, he went along
+the lower hallway to the front entrance.  And here, instinctively,
+he paused a moment at the top of the steps, as his eyes rested upon
+the tenement on the opposite side of the street.
+
+It was strange that the crime should have been committed there!
+Something again seemed to draw him toward that empty room on the
+second story.  He had decided once that he would not go, that there
+was not time; but, after all, it would not take long, and there was
+at least the possibility of gaining something more valuable even
+than time from the scene of the crime itself--there might even be
+the evidence he wanted there that would disclose the whole of Connie
+Myers' game.
+
+He went down the steps, and started across the street; but halfway
+over, he hesitated uncertainly, as a child's cry came petulantly
+from the doorway.  It was dark in the street; and, likewise, it was
+one of those hot, suffocating evenings when, in the crowded
+tenements of the poorer class, miserable enough in any case, misery
+was added to a hundredfold for lack of a single God-given breath of
+air.  These two facts, apparently irrelevant, caused Jimmie Dale to
+change his mind again.  He had not noticed the woman with the baby
+in her arms, sitting on the doorstep; but now, as he reached the
+curb, he not only saw, but recognised her--and he swung on down the
+street toward the Bowery.  He could not very well go in without
+passing her, without being recognised himself--and that was a
+needless risk.
+
+He smiled a little wanly.  Once the crime was discovered, she would
+not have hesitated long before informing the police that she had
+seen him enter there!  Mrs. Hagan was no friend of his!  One could
+not live as he had lived, as Larry the Bat, and not see something in
+an intimate way of the pitiful little tragedies of the poor around
+him; for, bad, tough, and dissolute as the quarter was, all were not
+degraded there, some were simply--poor.  Mrs. Hagan was poor.  Her
+husband was a day labourer, often out of a job--and sometimes he
+drank.  That was how he, Jimmie Dale, or rather, Larry the Bat, had
+come to earn Mrs. Hagan's enmity.  He had found Mike Hagan drunk one
+night, and in the act of being arrested, and had wheedled the man
+away from the officer on the promise that he would take Hagan home.
+And he was Larry the Bat, a dope fiend, a character known to all the
+neighbourhood, and Mrs. Hagan had laid her husband's condition to
+HIS influence and companionship!  He had taken Mike Hagan home--and
+Mrs. Hagan had driven Larry the Bat from the door of her miserable
+one-room lodging in that tenement with the bitter words on her
+tongue that only a woman can use when shame and grief and anger are
+breaking her heart.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders, as, back along the Bowery, he retraced
+his steps, but now, with the hurried shuffle of Larry the Bat where
+before had been the brisk, athletic stride of Jimmie Dale.
+
+At Astor Place again, he took the subway, this time to the Grand
+Central Station--and, well within an hour from the time he had left
+the Sanctuary, including the train journey to Pelham, he was
+standing in a clump of trees that fringed a deserted roadway.  He
+had passed but few houses, once he was away from Pelham, and, as
+well as he could judge, there was none now within a quarter of a
+mile of him--except this one of old Luther Doyle's that showed up
+black and shadowy just beyond the trees.
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the place.  It was little
+wonder that, known to have money, an attempt to rob old Doyle should
+have been made in a place like this!  It was even more grimly
+significant than ever of some deeper meaning that, in its loneliness
+an ideal place for a murder, the man should have been lured from
+there for that purpose to a crowded tenement in the city instead!
+What did it mean?  Why had it been done?  He shook his head.  The
+answer would not come now any more than it had come before in the
+subway, or in the train on the way out, when he had set his brain so
+futilely to solve the problem.
+
+From a survey of the house, Jimmie Dale gave attention to the
+details of his surroundings: the trees on either side; the open
+space in front, a distance of fifty yards to the road; the absence
+of any fence.  And then, abruptly, he stole forward.  There was no
+light to be seen anywhere about the house.  Was it possible that
+Connie Myers was not yet there?  He shook his head again
+impatiently.  Connie Myers would not have wasted any time--as the
+Tocsin had said, there was always present the possibility that the
+crime in that tenement might be discovered at ANY moment.  Connie
+Myers would have lost no time; for, let the discovery be made, let
+the police identify the body, as they most certainly would, and they
+would be out here hotfoot.  Jimmie Dale stood suddenly still.  What
+did it mean!  He had not thought of that before!  If old Doyle had
+been murdered HERE, there would not have been even the possibility
+of discovery until the morning at the earliest, and Connie Myers
+would have had all the time he wanted!
+
+WHAT WAS THAT SOUND!  A low, muffled tapping, like a succession of
+hammer blows, came from within the house.  Jimmie Dale darted
+forward, reached the side of the house, and dropped on hands and
+knees.  One question at least was answered--Connie Myers was inside.
+
+The plan that she had given him showed an old-fashioned cellarway,
+closed by folding trapdoors, that was located a little toward the
+rear and, in a moment, creeping along, he came upon it.  His hands
+felt over it.  It was shut, fastened by a padlock on the outside.
+Jimmie Dale's lips thinned a little, as he took a small steel
+instrument from his pocket.  Either through inadvertence or by
+intention, Connie Myers had passed up an almost childishly simple
+means of entrance into the house!  One side of the trapdoor was
+lifted up silently--and silently closed.  Jimmie Dale was in the
+cellar.  The hammering, much more distinct now, heavy, thudding
+blows, came from a room in the front--the connection between the
+cellar and the house, as shown on the Tocsin's plan, was through
+another trapdoor in the floor of the kitchen.
+
+Jimmie Dale's flashlight played on a short, ladderlike stairway, and
+in an instant he was climbing upward.  The sounds from the front of
+the house continued now without interruption; there was little fear
+that Connie Myers would hear anything else--even the protesting
+squeak of the hinges as Jimmie Dale cautiously pushed back the
+trapdoor in the flooring above his head.  An inch, two inches he
+lifted it; and, his eyes on a level with the opening now, he peered
+into the room.  The kitchen itself was intensely dark; but through
+an open doorway, well to one side so that he could not see into the
+room beyond, there struggled a curiously faint, dim glimmer of
+light.  And then Jimmie Dale's form straightened rigidly on the
+stairs.  The blows stopped, and a voice, in a low growl, presumably
+Connie Myers', reached him.
+
+"Here, take a drive at it from the lower edge!"
+
+There was no answer--save that the blows were resumed again.  Jimmie
+Dale's face had set hard.  Connie Myers was not alone in this, then!
+Well, the odds were a little heavier, DOUBLED--that was all!  He
+pushed the trapdoor wide open, swung himself up through the opening
+to the floor; and the next instant, back a little from the
+connecting doorway, his body pressed closely against the kitchen
+wall, he was staring, bewildered and amazed, into the next room.
+
+On the floor, presumably to lessen the chance of any light rays
+stealing through the tightly drawn window shades, burned a small oil
+lamp.  The place was in utter confusion.  The right-hand side of a
+large fireplace, made of rough, untrimmed stone and cement, and
+which occupied almost the entire end of the room, was already
+practically demolished, and the wreckage was littered everywhere;
+part of the furniture was piled unceremoniously into one corner out
+of the way; and at the fireplace itself, working with sledge and
+bar, were two men.  One was Connie Myers.  An ironical glint crept
+into Jimmie Dale's eyes.  The false beard and mustache the man wore
+would deceive no one who knew Connie Myers!  And that he should be
+wearing them now, as he knelt holding the bar while the other struck
+at it, seemed both uncalled for and absurd.  The other man, heavily
+built, roughly dressed, had his back turned, and Jimmie Dale could
+not see his face.
+
+The puzzled frown on Jimmie Dale's forehead deepened.  Somewhere in
+the masonry of the fireplace, of course, was where old Luther Doyle
+had hidden his money.  That was quite plain enough; and that Connie
+Myers, in some way or other, had made sure of that fact was equally
+obvious.  But how did old Luther Doyle get his money IN there from
+time to time, as he received the interest and dividends whose
+accumulation, according to the Tocsin, comprised his hoard!  And how
+did he get it OUT again?
+
+"All right, that'll do!" grunted Connie Myers suddenly.  "We can pry
+this one out now.  Lend a hand on the bar!"
+
+The other dropped his sledge, turned sideways as he stooped to help
+Connie Myers, his face came into view--and, with an involuntary
+start, Jimmie Dale crouched farther back against the wall, as he
+stared at the other.  It was Hagan!  Mrs. Hagan's husband!  Mike
+Hagan!"
+
+"My God!" whispered Jimmie Dale, under his breath.
+
+So that was it!  That the murder had been committed in the tenement
+was not so strange now!  A surge of anger swept Jimmie Dale--and was
+engulfed in a wave of pity.  Somehow, the thin, tired face of Mrs.
+Hagan had risen before him, and she seemed to be pleading with him
+to go away, to leave the house, to forget that he had ever been
+there, to forget what he had seen, what he was seeing now.  His
+hands clenched fiercely.  How realistically, how importunately, how
+pitifully she took form before him!  She was on her knees, clasping
+his knees, imploring him, terrified,
+
+From Jimmie Dale's pocket came the black silk mask.  Slowly, almost
+hesitantly, he fitted it over his face--Mike Hagan knew Larry the
+Bat.  Why should he have pity for Mike Hagan?  Had he any for Connie
+Myers?  What right had he to let pity sway him!  The man had gone
+the limit; he was Connie Myers' accomplice--a murderer!  But the man
+was not a hardened, confirmed criminal like Connie Myers.  Mike
+Hagan--a murderer!  It would have been unbelievable but for the
+evidence before his own eyes now.  The man had faults, brawled
+enough, and drank enough to have brought him several times to the
+notice of the police--but this!
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes had never left the scene before him.  Both men
+were throwing their weight upon the bar, and the stone that they
+were trying to dislodge--they were into the heart of the masonry
+now--seemed to move a little.  Connie Myers stood up, and, leaning
+forward, examined the stone critically at top and bottom, prodding
+it with the bar.  He turned from his examination abruptly, and
+thrust the bar into Hagan's hands.
+
+"Hold it!" he said tersely.  "I'll strike for a turn."
+
+Crouched, on his hands and knees, Hagan inserted the point of the
+bar into the crevice.  Connie Myers picked up the sledge.
+
+"Lower!  Bend lower!" he snapped--and swung the sledge.
+
+It seemed to go black for a moment before Jimmie Dale's eyes, seemed
+to paralyse all action of mind and body.  There was a low cry that
+was more a moan, the clang of the iron bar clattering on the floor,
+and Mike Hagan had pitched forward on his face, an inert and huddled
+heap.  A half laugh, half snarl purled from Connie Myers' lips, as
+he snatched a stout piece of cord from his pocket and swiftly
+knotted the unconscious man's wrists together.  Another instant,
+and, picking up the bar, prying with it again, the loosened stone
+toppled with a crash into the grate.
+
+It had come sudden as the crack of doom, that blow--too quick, too
+unexpected for Jimmie Dale to have lifted a finger to prevent it.
+And now that the first numbed shock of mingled horror and amazement
+was past, he fought back the quick, fierce impulse to spring out on
+Connie Myers.  Whether the man was killed or only stunned, he could
+do no good to Mike Hagan now, and there was Connie Myers--he was
+staring in a fascinated way at Connie Myers.  Behind the stone that
+the other had just dislodged was a large hollow space that had been
+left in the masonry, and from this now Connie Myers was eagerly
+collecting handfuls of banknotes that were rolled up into the shape
+of little cylinders, each one grotesquely tied with a string.  The
+man was feverishly excited, muttering to himself, running from the
+fireplace to where the table had been pushed aside with the rest of
+the furniture, dropping the curious little rolls of money on the
+table, and running back for more.  And then, having apparently
+emptied the receptacle, he wriggled his body over the dismantled
+fireplace, stuck his head into the opening, and peered upward.
+
+"Kinks in his nut, kinks in his nut!" Connie Myers was muttering.
+"I'll drop the bar through from the top, mabbe there's some got
+stuck in the pipe."
+
+He regained his feet, picked up the bar, and ran with it into what
+was evidently the front hall--then his steps sounded running
+upstairs.
+
+Like a flash, Jimmie Dale was across the room and at the fireplace.
+Like Connie Myers, he, too, put his head into the opening; and then,
+a queer, unpleasant smile on his lips, he bent quickly over the man
+on the floor.  Hagan was no more than stunned, and was even then
+beginning to show signs of returning consciousness.  There was a
+rattle, a clang, a thud--and the bar, too long to come all the way
+through, dropped into the opening and stood upright.  Connie Myers'
+footsteps sounded again, returning on the run--and Jimmie Dale was
+back once more on the other side of the kitchen doorway.
+
+It was all simple enough--once one understood!  The same queer smile
+was still flickering on Jimmie Dale's lips.  There was no way to get
+the money out, except the way Connie Myers had got it out--by
+digging it out!  With the irrational cunning of his mad brain, that
+had put the money even beyond his own reach, old Doyle had built his
+fireplace with a hollow some eighteen inches square in a great wall
+of solid stonework, and from it had run a two-inch pipe up somewhere
+to the story above; and down this pipe he had dropped his little
+string-tied cylinders of banknotes, satisfied that his hoard was
+safe!  There seemed something pitfully ironic in the elaborate,
+insane craftiness of the old man's fear-twisted, demented mind.
+
+And now Connie Myers was back in the room again--and again a puzzled
+expression settled upon Jimmie Dale's face as he watched the other.
+For perhaps a minute the man stood by the table sifting the little
+rolls of money through his fingers gloatingly--then, impulsively, he
+pushed these to one side, produced a revolver, laid it on the table,
+and from another pocket took out a little case which, as he opened
+it, Jimmie Dale could see contained a hypodermic syringe.  One more
+article followed the other two--a letter, which Connie Myers took
+out of an unsealed envelope.  He dropped this suddenly on the table,
+as Mike Hagan, three feet away on the floor, groaned and sat up.
+
+Hagan's eyes swept, bewildered, confused, around him, questioningly
+at Connie Myers--and then, resting suddenly on his bound wrists,
+they narrowed menacingly.
+
+"Damn you, you smashed me with that sledge on PURPOSE!" he burst
+out--and began to struggle to his feet.
+
+With a brutal chuckle, Connie Myers pushed Hagan back and shoved his
+revolver under the other's nose.
+
+"Sure!" he admitted evenly.  "And you keep quiet, or I'll finish you
+now--instead of letting the police do it!"  He laughed out
+jarringly.  "You're under arrest, you know, for the murder of Luther
+Doyle, and for robbing the poor old nut of his savings in his house
+here."
+
+Hagan wrenched himself up on his elbow.
+
+"What--what do you mean?" he stammered.
+
+"Oh, don't worry!" said Connie Myers maliciously.  "I'M not making
+the arrest, I'd rather the police did that.  I'm not mixing up in
+it, and by and by"--he lifted up the hypodermic for Hagan to see--
+"I'm going to shoot a little dope into you that'll keep you quiet
+while I get away myself."
+
+Hagan's face had gone a grayish white--he had caught sight of the
+money on the table, and his eyes kept shifting back and forth from
+it to Myers' face.
+
+"Murder!" he said huskily.  "There is no murder.  I don't know who
+Doyle is.  You said this house was yours--you hired me to come here.
+You said you were going to tear down the fireplace and build
+another.  You said I could work evenings and earn some extra money."
+
+"Sure, I did!"  There was a vicious leer now on Connie Myers' lips.
+"But you don't think I picked you out by ACCIDENT, do you?  Your
+reputation, my bucko, was just shady enough to satisfy anybody that
+it wouldn't be beyond you to go the limit.  Sure, you murdered
+Doyle!  Listen to this."  He took up the letter:
+
+
+"TO THE POLICE: Luther Doyle was murdered this evening in the
+tenement at 67 ---- Street.  You'll find his body in a room on the
+second floor.  If you want to know who did it, look in Mike Hagan's
+room on the floor above.  There's a paper stuck under the edge of
+Hagan's table with a piece of chewing gum, where he hid it.  You'll
+know what it is when you go out and take a look at Doyle's house in
+Pelham.  Yours truly,  A FRIEND."
+
+
+Mike Hagan did not speak--his lips were twitching, and there was
+horror creeping into his eyes.
+
+"D'ye get me!" sneered Connie Myers.  "Tell your story--who'd
+believe it!  I got you cinched.  Twice I tried to get this old dub's
+coin out here, and couldn't find it.  But the second time I found
+something else--a piece of paper with a drawing of the fireplace on
+it, and a place in the drawing marked with an X.  That was good
+enough, wasn't it?  That's the paper I stuck under your table this
+afternoon when your wife was out--see?  Somebody's got to stand for
+the job, and if it's somebody else it won't be me--get me!  When I
+had a look at that fireplace I knew I couldn't do the job alone in a
+week, and I didn't dare blast it with 'soup' for fear of spoiling
+what was inside.  And since I had to have somebody to help me, I
+thought I might as well let him help me all the way through--and
+stand for it.  I picked you, Mike--that's why I croaked old Doyle in
+your tenement to-night.  I wrote this letter while I was waiting for
+you to show up at the station to come out here with me, and I'm
+going to see that the police get it in the next hour.  When they
+find Doyle in the room below yours, and that paper in your room, and
+the busted fireplace here--I guess they won't look any farther for
+who did it.  And say"--he leaned forward with an ugly grin--"mabbe
+you think I'm soft to be telling you all this?  But don't you fool
+yourself.  You don't know me--you don't know who I am.  So tell 'em
+the TRUTH!  They won't believe you anyway with evidence like that
+against you--and the neater the story the more they'll think it
+shows brains enough on your part to have pulled a job like this!"
+
+"My God!" Hagan was rocking on his knees, beads of sweat were
+starting out on his forehead.  "You wouldn't plant a man like that!"
+he cried brokenly.  "You wouldn't do it, would you?  My God--you
+wouldn't do that!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's face under his mask was white and rigid.  There was
+something primal, elemental in the savagery that was sweeping upon
+him.  He had it all now--ALL!  She had been right--there was need
+to-night for the Gray Seal.  So that was the game, inhuman, hellish,
+the whole of it, to the last filthy dregs--Connie Myers, to protect
+himself, was railroading an innocent man to death for the crime that
+he himself had committed!  There was a cold smile on Jimmie Dale's
+lips now, as he took his automatic from his pocket.  No, it wasn't
+quite all the game--there was still HIS hand to play!  He edged
+forward a little nearer to the door--and halted abruptly, listening.
+An automobile had stopped outside on the road.  Hagan was still
+pleading in a frenzied way; Connie Myers was callously folding his
+letter, while he watched the other warily--neither of the men had
+heard the sound.
+
+And then, quick, almost on the instant, came a rush of feet, a crash
+upon the front door--an imperative command to open in the name of
+the law.  THE POLICE!  Jimmie Dale's brain was working now with
+lightning speed.  Somehow the police had stumbled upon the crime in
+that tenement; and, as he had foreseen in such an event, had
+identified Doyle.  But they could not be sure that any one was
+present here in the house now--they could not see a light any more
+than he had.  He must get Mike Hagan away--must see that Connie
+Myers did NOT get away.  Myers was on his feet now, fear struck in
+his turn, the letter clutched in a tight-closed fist, his revolver
+swung out, poised, in the other hand.  Hagan, too, was on his feet,
+and, unheeded now by Connie Myers, was wrenching his wrists apart.
+
+Another crash upon the door--another.  Another demand in a harsh
+voice to open it.  Then some one running around to the window at the
+side of the house--and Jimmie Dale sprang forward.
+
+There was the roar of a report, a blinding flash almost in Jimmie
+Dale's eyes, as Connie Myers, whirling instantly at his entrance,
+fired--and missed.  It happened quick then, in the space of the
+ticking of a watch--before Jimmie Dale, flinging himself forward,
+had reached the man.  Like a defiant challenge to their demand it
+must have seemed to the officers outside, that shot of Connie Myers
+at Jimmie Dale, for it was answered on the instant by another
+through the side window.  And the shot, fired at random, the
+interior of the room hidden from the officers outside by the drawn
+shades, found its mark--and Connie Myers, a bullet in his brain,
+pitched forward, dead, upon the floor.
+
+"QUICK!" Jimmie Dale flung at Hagan.  "Get that letter out of his
+hand!"  He jumped for the lamp on the floor, extinguished it, and
+turned again toward Hagan.  "Have you got it?" he whispered tensely.
+
+"Yes," said Hagan, in a numbed way.
+
+"This way, then!" Jimmie Dale caught Hagan's arm, and pulled the
+other across the room and into the kitchen to the trapdoor.
+"Quick!" he breathed again.  "Get down there--quick!  And no noise!
+They don't know how many are in the house.  When they find HIM
+they'll probably be satisfied."
+
+Hagan, stupefied, dazed, obeyed mechanically--and, in an instant,
+the trapdoor closed behind them, Jimmie Dale was standing beside the
+other in the cellar.
+
+"Not a sound now!" he cautioned once more.
+
+His flashlight winked, went out, winked again; then held steadily,
+in curious fascination it seemed, as, in its circuit, the ray fell
+upon Hagan--FELL UPON THE TORN, RAGGED EDGE OF A PAPER IN HAGAN'S
+HAND!  With a suppressed cry, Jimmie Dale snatched it away from the
+other.  It was but a torn HALF of the letter!  "The other half!  The
+other half, Hagan--where is it?" he demanded hoarsely.
+
+Hagan, almost in a state of collapse, muttered inaudibly.  The crash
+of a toppling door sounded from above.  Jimmie Dale shook the man
+desperately.
+
+"Where is it?" he repeated fiercely.
+
+"He--he was holding it tight, it--it tore in his hand," Hagan
+stammered.  "Does it make any difference?  Oh, let's get out of
+here, whoever you are--for God's sake let's get out of here!"
+
+Any difference!  Jimmie Dale's jaws were clamped like a steel vise.
+Any difference!  The difference between life and death for the man
+beside him--that was all!  He was reading the portion in his hand.
+It was the last part of the letter, beginning with: "There's a paper
+stuck under the edge of Hagan's table--"  From above, from the floor
+of the front room now, came the rush and trample of feet.  He could
+not go back for the other half.  And any attempt to conceal the fact
+that Connie Myers had been alone in the house was futile now.  They
+would find the torn letter in the dead man's hand, proof enough that
+some one else had been there.  What was in that part of the letter
+that was still clutched in that death grip upstairs?  A sentence
+from it, that he had heard Connie Myers read, seemed to burn itself
+into his brain.  "IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHO DID IT, LOOK IN MIKE
+HAGAN'S ROOM ON THE FLOOR ABOVE."  And then, suddenly, like light
+through the darkness, came a ray of hope.  He pulled Hagan to the
+cellarway, and stealthily lifted one side of the double trapdoor.
+There was a chance, desperate enough, one in a thousand--but still a
+chance!
+
+Voices from the house came plainly now, but there was no one in
+sight.  The police, to a man, were evidently all inside.  From the
+road in front showed the lamp glare of their automobile.
+
+"Run for the car!" Jimmie Dale jerked out from between set teeth--
+and with Hagan beside him, steadying the man by the arm, dashed
+across the intervening fifty yards.
+
+They had not been seen.  A minute more, and the car, evidently
+belonging to the local police, for it was headed in the direction of
+New York, and as though it had come from Pelham, swept down the
+road, swept around a turn, and Jimmie Dale, with a gasp of relief,
+straightened up a little from the wheel.
+
+How much time had he?  The police must have heard the car; but,
+equally, occupied as they were, they might well give it no thought
+other than that it was but another car passing by.  There was no
+telephone in the house; the nearest house was a quarter of a mile
+away, and that might or might not have a telephone.  Could he count
+on half an hour?  He glanced anxiously at the crouched figure beside
+him.  He would have to!  It was the only chance.  They would
+telephone the contents of the dead man's half of the letter to the
+New York police.  Could he get to Hagan's room FIRST!  "Look in
+Hagan's room," their part of the letter read--but it did not say for
+WHAT, or exactly WHERE!  If they found nothing, Hagan was safe.
+Connie Myers' reputation, the fact that he was found in disguise at
+Doyle's house, was, barring any incriminating evidence, quite enough
+to let Hagan out.  There would only remain in the minds of the
+police the question of who, beside Connie Myers, had been in old
+Doyle's house that night?  And now Jimmie Dale smiled a little
+whimsically.  Well, perhaps he could answer that--and, if not quite
+to the satisfaction of the police, at least to the complete
+vindication of Mike Hagan.
+
+But he could not drive through towns and villages with a mask on his
+face; and there, ahead now, lights were beginning to show.  And more
+than ever now, with what was before him, it was imperative that Mike
+Hagan should not recognise Larry the Bat.  Jimmie Dale glanced again
+at Hagan--and slowed down the car.  They were on the outskirts of a
+town, and off to the right he caught the twinkling lights of a
+street car.
+
+"Hagan," he said sharply, "pull yourself together, and listen to me!
+If you keep your mouth shut, you've nothing to fear; if you let out
+a word of what's happened to-night, you'll probably go to the chair
+for a crime you know nothing about.  Do you understand?--keep your
+mouth shut!"
+
+The car had stopped.  Hagan nodded his head.
+
+"All right, then.  You get out here, and take a street car into New
+York," continued Jimmie Dale crisply.  "But when you get there, keep
+away from your home for the next two or three hours.  Hang around
+with some of the boys you know, and if you're asked anything
+afterward, say you were batting around town all evening.  Don't
+worry--you'll find you're out of this when you read the morning
+papers.  Now get out--hurry!"  He pushed Hagan from the car.  "I've
+got to make my own get-away."
+
+Hagan, standing in the road, brushed his hand bewilderingly across
+his eyes.
+
+"Yes--but you--I--"
+
+"Never mind about that!" Jimmie Dale leaned out, and gripped Hagan's
+arm impressively.  "There's only one thing you've got to think of,
+or remember.  Keep your mouth shut!  No matter what happens, keep
+your mouth shut--if you want to save your neck!  Good-night, Hagan!"
+
+The car was racing forward again.  It shot streaking through the
+streets of the town ahead, and, dully, over its own inferno, echoed
+shouts, cries, and execrations of an outraged populace--then out
+into the night again, roaring its way toward New York.
+
+He had half an hour--perhaps!  It was a good thing Hagan did not
+know, or had not grasped the significance of that torn letter--the
+man would have been unmanageable with fear and excitement.  It would
+puzzle Hagan to find no paper stuck under his table when he came to
+look for it!  But that was a minor consideration, that mattered not
+at all,
+
+Half an hour!  On roared the car--towns, black roads, villages,
+wooded lands were kaleidoscopic in their passing.  Half an hour!
+Had he done it?  Had he come anywhere near doing it?  He did not
+know.  He was in the city at last--and now he had to moderate his
+speed; but, by keeping to the less frequented streets, he could
+still drive at a fast pace.  One piece of good fortune had been his--
+the long motor coat he had found in the car with which to cover the
+rags of Larry the Bat, and without which he would have been obliged
+to leave the car somewhere on the outskirts of the city, and to
+trust, like Mike Hagan, to other and slower means of transportation.
+
+Blocks away from Hagan's tenement, he ran the car into a lane,
+slipped off the motor coat, and from his pocket whipped out the
+little metal insignia case--and in another moment a diamond-shaped
+gray seal was neatly affixed to the black ebony rim of the steering
+wheel.  He smiled ironically.  It was necessary, quite necessary
+that the police should have no doubt as to who had been in Doyle's
+house with Connie Myers that night, or to whom they had so
+considerately loaned their automobile!
+
+He was running now--through lanes, dodging down side streets, taking
+every short cut he knew.  Had he beaten the police to Mike Hagan's
+room?  It would be easy then.  If they were ahead of him, then, by
+some means or other, he must still get that paper first.
+
+He was at the tenement now--shuffling leisurely up the steps.  The
+front door was open.  He entered, and went up the first flight of
+stairs, then along the hall, and up the next flight.  He had half
+expected the place to be bustling with excitement over the crime;
+but the police evidently had kept the affair quiet, for he had seen
+no one since he had entered.  But now, as he began to mount the
+third flight, he went more slowly--some one was ahead of him.  It
+was very dark--he could not see.  The steps above died away.  He
+reached the landing, started along for Hagan's room--and a light
+blazed suddenly in his face, and a hard, quick grip on his shoulder
+forced him back against the wall.  Then the flashlight wavered,
+glistened on brass buttons went out, and a voice laughed roughly:
+
+"It's only Larry the Bat!"
+
+"Larry the Bat, eh?"  It was another voice, harsh and curt.  "What
+are you doing here?"
+
+He was not first, after all!  The telephone message from Pelham--it
+was almost certainly that--had beaten him!  They were ahead of him,
+just ahead of him, they had only been a few steps ahead of him going
+up the stairs, just a second ahead of him on their way to Hagan's
+room!  Jimmie Dale was thinking fast now.  He must go, too--to
+Hagan's room with them--somehow--there was no other way--there was
+Hagan's life at stake.
+
+"Aw, I ain't done nothin'!" he whined.  "I was just goin' ter borrow
+the price of a feed from Mike Hagan--lemme go!"
+
+"Hagan, eh!" snapped the questioner.  "Are you a friend of his?"
+
+"Sure, I am!"
+
+The officers whispered for a moment together.
+
+"We'll try it," decided the one who appeared to be in command.
+"We're in the dark, anyhow, and the thing may be only a steer.
+Mabbe it'll work--anyway, it won't do any harm."  His hand fell
+heavily on Jimmie Dale's shoulder.  "Mrs. Hagan know you?"
+brusquely.
+
+"Sure she does!" sniffled Larry the Bat.
+
+"Good!" rasped the officer.  "Well, we'll make the visit with you.
+And you do what you're told, or we'll put the screws on you--see?
+We're after something here, and you've blown the whole game--savvy?
+You've spilled the gravy--understand?"
+
+In the darkness, Jimmie Dale smiled grimly.  It was far more than he
+had dared to hope for--they were playing into his hands!
+
+"But I don't know 'bout any game," grovelled Larry the Bat
+piteously.
+
+"Who in hell said you did!" growled the officer.  "You're supposed
+to have snitched the lay to us, that's all--and mind you play your
+part!  Come on!"
+
+It was two doors down the hall to Mike Hagan's room, and there one
+of the officers, putting his shoulder to the door, burst it open and
+sprang in.  The other shoved Jimmie Dale forward.  It was quickly
+done.  The three were in the room.  The door was closed again.
+
+Came a cry of terror out of the darkness, a movement as of some one
+rising up hurriedly in bed; and then Mrs. Hagan's voice:
+
+"What is it!  Who is it!  Mike!"
+
+The table--it was against the right-hand wall, Jimmie Date
+remembered.  He sidled quickly toward it.
+
+"Strike a light!" ordered the officer in charge.
+
+Jimmie Dale's fingers were feeling under the edge of the table--a
+quick sweep along it--NOTHING!  He stooped, reaching farther in--
+another sweep of his arm--and his fingers closed on a sheet of paper
+and a piece of hard gum.  In an instant they were in his pocket.
+
+A match crackled and flared up.  A lamp was lighted.  Larry the Bat
+sulked sullenly against the wall.
+
+Terror-stricken, wide-eyed, Mrs. Hagan had clutched the child lying
+beside her to her arms, and was sitting bolt upright in bed.
+
+"Now then, no fuss about it!" said the officer in charge, with
+brutal directness.  "You might as well make a clean breast of Mike's
+share in that murder downstairs--Larry the Bat, here, has already
+told us the whole story.  Come on, now--out with it!"
+
+"Murder!"--her face went white.  "My Mike-- MURDER!"  She seemed for
+an instant stunned--and then down the worn, thin, haggard face
+gushed the tears.  "I don't believe it!" she cried.  "I don't
+believe it!"
+
+"Come on now, cut that out!" prodded the officer roughly.  "I tell
+you Larry the Bat, here, has opened everything up wide.  You're only
+making it worse for yourself."
+
+"Him!"  She was staring now at Jimmie Dale.  "Oh, God!" she cried.
+"So that's what you are, are you--a stool-pigeon for the cops?
+Well, whatever you told them, you lie!  You're the curse of this
+neighbourhood, you are, and if my Mike is bad at all, it's you
+that's helped to make him bad.  But murder--you LIE!"
+
+She had risen slowly from the bed--a gaunt, pitiful figure,
+pitifully clothed, the black hair, gray-streaked, streaming thinly
+over her shoulders, still clutching the baby that, too, was crying
+now.
+
+The officers looked at one another and nodded.
+
+"Guess she's handing it straight--we'll have a look on our own
+hook," the leader muttered.
+
+She paid no attention to them--she was walking straight to Jimmie
+Dale.
+
+"It's you, is it," she whispered fiercely through her sobs "that
+would bring more shame and ruin here--you that's selling my man's
+life away with your filthy lies for what they're paying you--it's
+you, is it, that--"  Her voice broke.
+
+There was a frightened, uneasy look in Larry the Bat's eyes, his
+lips were twitching weakly, he drew far back against the wall--and
+then, glancing miserably at the officers, as though entreating their
+permission, began to edge toward the door.
+
+For a moment she watched him, her face white with outrage, her hand
+clenched at her side--and then she found her voice again.
+
+"Get out of here!" she said, in a choked, strained way pointing to
+the door.  "Get out of here--you dirty skate!"
+
+"Sure!" mumbled Larry the Bat, his eyes on the floor.  "Sure!" he
+mumbled--and the door closed behind him.
+
+
+
+PART TWO: THE WOMAN IN THE CASE
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+BELOW THE DEAD LINE
+
+
+Whisperings!  Always whisperings, low, sibilant, floating errantly
+from all sides, until they seemed a component part of the drug-laden
+atmosphere itself.  And occasionally another sound: the soft SLAP-
+SLAP of loose-slippered feet, the faint rustle of equally loose-
+fitting garments.  And everywhere the sweet, sickish smell of opium.
+It was Chang Foo's, simply a cellar or two deeper in Chang Foo's
+than that in which Dago Jim had quarrelled once--and died!
+
+Larry the Bat, vicious-faced, unkempt, disreputable, lay sprawled
+out on one of the dive's bunks, an opium pipe beside him.  But Larry
+the Bat was not smoking; instead, his ear was pressed closely
+against the boarding that formed the rather flimsy partition at the
+side of the bunk.  One heard many things in Chang Foo's if one cared
+to listen--if one could first win one's way through the carefully
+guarded gateway, that to the uninitiated offered nothing more
+interesting than the entrance to a Chinese tea-shop, and an
+uninviting one at that!
+
+HAD HE BEEN FOLLOWED IN HERE?  He had been shadowed for the last
+hour; of that, at least, he was certain.  Why?  By whom?  For an
+hour he had dodged in and out through the dens of the underworld, as
+only one who was at home there and known to all could do--and at
+last he had taken refuge in Chang Foo's like a fox burrowing deep
+into its hole.
+
+Few could find their way into the most infamous opium den in all New
+York, where not only the poppy ruled as master, but where crime was
+hatched, ay, and carried to its ghastly consummation, sometimes, as
+well; and of those few, not one but was of the underworld itself.
+And it was that fact which held his muscles strained and rigid now
+under the miserable rags that covered them, and it was that which
+kept the keen, quick brain alert and active, every faculty keyed up
+and tense.  If it were the police, he had little to fear, for they
+could not force their way in without warning; but if it were the
+underworld, he was in imminent peril, and had done little better
+than run himself into a trap from which there was no escape.
+
+"DEATH TO THE GRAY SEAL!"--he had heard that whispered more than
+once in this very place.  Who knew at what moment the role of Larry
+the Bat would be uncovered, and the underworld, where now he held so
+high a place, would be at his throat like a pack of snarling wolves!
+Who had been shadowing him during the last hour?
+
+Whisperings!  Nothing tangible!  He could catch no words.  Only the
+never-ending whisperings of gathered groups here and there--and
+sometimes the clink of coin where some game was in progress.
+
+The curtain before his bunk was drawn suddenly aside--and Larry the
+Bat's fingers, where his hand was carelessly hidden by his body
+tightened upon his automatic.
+
+"Smokee some more?"
+
+The fingers relaxed.  It was only Sam Wah, one of the attendants.
+
+"Nix!" said Larry the Bat, in a slightly muddled tone.  "Got
+enough."
+
+The curtain fell into place again.  Larry the Bat's lips set in a
+thin smile.  Ultimately it made little difference whether it was the
+police or the underworld!  The smile grew thinner.  It was the flip
+of a coin, that was all!  With one there was the death house at Sing
+Sing for the Gray Seal; with the other--well, there were many ways,
+from a shot or a knife thrust in the open street, to his murder in
+some hidden dive like this of Chang Foo's, for instance, where he
+now was--the Gray Seal was responsible for the occupancy of too many
+penitentiary cells by those of the underworld to look for any other
+fate!
+
+He raised himself up sharply on his elbow.  A shrill, high note,
+like the scream of a parrakeet, rang out a second time.  He tore the
+curtain aside, and jumped to his feet.  All around him, in the
+twinkling of an eye, Chinamen in fluttering blouses, chattering like
+magpies, mingled with snarling, cursing whites, were running madly.
+A voice, prefaced with an oath, bawled out behind him, as he sprang
+forward and joined the rush:
+
+"Beat it!  De cops!  Beat it!"
+
+The police!  A raid!  Was it for HIM?  From rooms, an amazing number
+of them, more forms rushed out, joined, divided, separated, and
+dashed, some this way, some that, along branching passageways.
+There had been raids before, the police had begun to change their
+minds about Chang Foo's, but Chang Foo's was not an easy place to
+raid.  House after house in that quarter of Chinese laundries, of
+tea shops, of chop-suey joints, opened one into the other through
+secret passages in the cellars.  Larry the Bat plunged down a
+staircase, and halted in the darkness of a cellar, drawing back
+against the wall while the flying feet of his fellow fugitives
+scurried by him.
+
+Was it for HIM, this raid?  If not, the police had not a hope of
+getting him if he kept his head; for back in Chang Foo's proper,
+which would be quite closed off now, Chang Foo would be blandly
+submitting to arrest, offering himself as a sort of glorified
+sacrifice while the police confiscated opium and fan-tan layouts.
+If the police had no other purpose than that in mind, Chang Foo
+would simply pay a fine; the next night the place would be in full
+blast again; and Chang Foo, higher than ever in the confidence of
+the underworld's aristocracy, would reap his reward--and that would
+be all there was to it.
+
+But was that all?  The raid had followed significantly close upon
+the heels of his entry into Chang Foo's.  Larry the Bat began to
+move forward again.  He dared not follow the others, and, later on,
+when quiet was restored, issue out into the street from any one of
+the various houses in which he might temporarily have taken refuge.
+There was a chance in that, a chance that the police might be more
+zealous than usual, even if he particularly was not their game--and
+he could take no chance.  Arrest for Larry the Bat, even on
+suspicion, could have but one conclusion--not a pleasant one--the
+disclosure that Larry the Bat was not Larry the Bat at all, but
+Jimmie Dale, the millionaire club-man, and, to complete a fatal
+triplication, that Larry the Bat and Jimmie Dale was the Gray Seal
+upon whose head was fixed a price!
+
+All was silence around him now, except that from overhead came
+occasionally the muffled tread of feet.  He felt his way along into
+a black, narrow passage, emerged into a second cellar, swept the
+place with a single, circling gleam from a pocket flashlight, passed
+a stairway that led upward, reached the opposite wall, and, dropping
+on hands and knees, crawled into what, innocently enough, appeared
+to be the opening of a coal bin.
+
+He knew Chang Foo's well--as he knew the ins and outs of every den
+and place he frequented, knew them as a man knows such things when
+his life at any moment might hang upon his knowledge.
+
+He was in another passage now, and this, in a few steps, brought him
+to a door.  Here he halted, and stood for a full five minutes,
+absolutely motionless, absolutely still, listening.  There was
+nothing--not a sound.  He tried the door cautiously.  It was locked.
+The slim, sensitive, tapering fingers of Jimmie Dale, unrecognisable
+now in the grimy digits of Larry the Bat, felt tentatively over the
+lock.  To fingers that seemed in their tips to possess all the human
+senses, that time and again in their delicate touch upon the dial of
+a safe had mocked at human ingenuity and driven the police into
+impotent frenzy, this was a pitiful thing.  From his pocket came a
+small steel instrument that was quickly and deftly inserted in the
+keyhole.  There was a click, the door swung open, and Jimmie Dale,
+alias Larry the Bat, stepped outside into a back yard half a block
+away from the entrance to Chang Foo's.
+
+Again he listened.  There did not appear to be any unusual
+excitement in the neighbourhood.  From open windows above him and
+from adjoining houses came the ordinary, commonplace sounds of
+voices talking and laughing, even the queer, weird notes of a
+Chinese chant.  He stole noiselessly across the yard, out into the
+lane, and made his way rapidly along to the cross street.
+
+In a measure, now, he was safe; but one thing, a very vital thing,
+remained to be done.  It was absolutely necessary that he should
+know whether he was the quarry that the police had been after in the
+raid, if it was the police who had been shadowing him all evening.
+If it was the police, there was but one meaning to it--Larry the Bat
+was known to be the Gray Seal, and a problem perilous enough in any
+aspect confronted him.  Dare he risk the Sanctuary--for the clothes
+of Jimmie Dale?  Or was it safer to burglarise, as he had once done
+before, his own mansion on Riverside Drive?
+
+His thoughts were running riot, and he frowned, angry with himself.
+There was time enough to think of that when he knew that it was the
+police against whom he had to match his wits.
+
+Well in the shadow of the buildings, he moved swiftly along the side
+street until he came to the corner of the street on which, halfway
+down the block, fronted Chang Foo's tea-shop.  A glance in that
+direction, and Jimmie Dale drew a breath of relief.  A patrol wagon
+was backed up to the curb, and a half dozen officers were busy
+loading it with what was evidently Chang Foo's far from meagre stock
+of gambling appurtenances; while Chang Foo himself, together with
+Sam Wah and another attendant, were in the grip of two other
+officers, waiting possibly for another patrol wagon.  There was a
+crowd, too, but the crowd was at a respectful distance--on the
+opposite side of the street.
+
+Jimmie Dale still hugged the corner.  A man swaggered out from a
+doorway, quite close to Chang Foo's, and came on along the street.
+As the other reached the corner, Jimmie Dale sidled forward.
+
+"'Ello, Chick!" he said, out of the corner of his mouth.  "Wot's de
+lay?"
+
+"'Ello, Larry!" returned the other.  "Aw, nuthin'!  De nutcracker on
+Chang, dat's all."
+
+"I t'ought mabbe dey was lookin' for some guy dat was in dere,"
+observed Jimmie Dale.
+
+"Nuthin' doin'!" the other answered.  "I was in dere meself.  De
+whole mob beat it clean, an' de bulls never batted an eye.  Didn't
+youse pipe me make me get-away outer Shanghai's a minute ago?  De
+bulls never went nowhere except into Chang's.  Dere's a new
+lootenant in de precinct inaugeratin' himself, dat's all.  S'long,
+Larry--I gotta date."
+
+"S'long, Chick!" responded Jimmie Dale--and started slowly back
+along the cross street.
+
+It was not the police, then, who were interested in his movements!
+Then who?  He shook his head with a little, savage, impotent
+gesture.  One thing was clear: it was too early to risk a return to
+the Sanctuary and attempt the rehabilitation of Jimmie Dale.  If any
+one was on the hunt for Larry the Bat, the Sanctuary would be the
+last place to be overlooked.
+
+He turned the next corner, hesitated a moment in front of a garishly
+lighted dance hall, and finally shuffled in through the door, made
+his way across the floor, nodding here and there to the elite of
+gangland, and, with a somewhat arrogant air of proprietorship, sat
+down at a table in the corner.  Little better than a tramp in
+appearance, certainly the most disreputable-looking object in the
+place, even the waiter who approached him accorded him a certain
+curious deference--was not Larry the Bat the most celebrated dope
+fiend below the dead line?
+
+"Gimme a mug o' suds!" ordered Jimmie Dale, and sprawled royally
+back in his chair.
+
+Under the rim of his slouch hat, pulled now far over his eyes, he
+searched the faces around him.  If he had been asked to pick the
+actors for a revel from the scum of the underworld, he could not
+have improved upon the gathering.  There were perhaps a hundred men
+and women in the room, the majority dancing, and, with the exception
+of a few sight-seeing slummers, they were men and women whose
+acquaintance with the police was intimate but not cordial--far from
+cordial.
+
+Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders, and sipped at the glass that had
+been set before him.  It was grimly ironic that he should be, not
+only there, but actually a factor and a part of the underworld's
+intimate life!  He, Jimmie Dale, a wealthy man, a member of New
+York's exclusive clubs, a member of New York's most exclusive
+society!  It was inconceivable.  He smiled sardonically.  Was it?
+Well, then, it was none the less true.  His life unquestionably was
+one unique, apart from any other man's, but it was, for all that,
+actual and real.
+
+There had been three years of it now--since SHE had come into his
+life.  Jimmie Dale slouched down a little in his chair.  The ice was
+thin, perilously thin, that he was skating on now.  Each letter,
+with its demand upon him to match his wits against police or
+underworld, or against both combined, perhaps, made that peril a
+little greater, a little more imminent--if that were possible, when
+already his life was almost literally carried, daily, hourly, in his
+hand.  Not that he rebelled against it; it was worth the price that
+some day he expected he must pay--the price of honour, wealth, a
+name disgraced, ruin, death.  Was he quixotic?  Immoderately so?  He
+smiled gravely.  Perhaps.  But he would do it all over again if the
+choice were his.  There were those who blessed the name of the Gray
+Seal, as well as those who cursed it.  And there was the Tocsin!
+
+Who was she?  He did not know, but he knew that he had come to love
+her, come to care for her, and that she had come to mean everything
+in life to him.  He had never seen her, to know her face.  He had
+never seen her face, but he knew her voice--ay, he had even held her
+for a moment, the moment of wildest happiness he had ever known, in
+his arms.  That night when he had entered his library, his own
+particular den in his own house, and in the darkness had found her
+there--found her finally through no effort of his own, when he had
+searched so fruitlessly for years to find her, using every resource
+at his command to find her!  And she, because she had come of her
+own volition, relying upon him, had held him in honour to let her go
+as she had come--without looking upon her face!  Exquisite irony!
+But she had made him a promise then--that the work of the Gray Seal
+was nearly over--that soon there would be an end to the mystery that
+surrounded her--that he should know all--that he should know HER.
+
+He smiled again, but it was a twisted smile on the mechanically
+misshapen lips of Larry the Bat.  NEARLY over!  Who knew?  That
+"nearly" might be too late!  Even tonight he had been shadowed, was
+skulking even now in this place as a refuge.  Who knew?  Another
+hour, and the newsboys might be shrieking their "Uxtra!  Uxtra!  De
+Gray Seal caught!  De millionaire Jimmie Dale de Jekyll an' Hyde of
+real life!"
+
+Jimmie Dale straightened up suddenly in his seat.  There was a
+shout, an oath bawled out high above the riot of noise, a chorus of
+feminine shrieks from across the room.  What was the matter with the
+underworld to-night?  He seemed fated to find nothing but centres of
+disturbance-- first a raid at Chang Foo's, and now this.  What was
+the matter here?  They were stampeding toward him from the other
+side of the room.  There was the roar of a revolver shot--another.
+Black Ike!  He caught an instant's glimpse of the gunman's distorted
+face through the crowd.  That was it probably--a row over some moll.
+
+And then, as Jimmie Dale lunged up from his chair to his feet to
+escape the rush, pandemonium itself seemed to break loose.  Yells,
+shots, screams, and oaths filled the air.  The crowd surged this way
+and that.  Tables were overturned and sent crashing to the floor.
+And then came sudden darkness, as some one of the attendants in
+misguided excitability switched off the lights.
+
+The darkness but served to increase the panic, not allay it.  With a
+savage snap of his jaws, Jimmie Dale swung from his table in the
+corner with the intention of making his way out by a side door
+behind him--it was a case of the police again, and the patrolman
+outside would probably be pulling a riot call by now.  And the
+police--  He stopped suddenly, as though he had been struck.  An
+envelope, thrust there out of the darkness, was in his hand; and her
+voice, HERS, the Tocsin's, was sounding in his ears:
+
+"Jimmie!  Jimmie!  I've been trying all evening to catch you!
+Quick!  Get to the Sanctuary and change your clothes.  There's not
+an instant to lose!  It's for my sake to-night!"
+
+And then a surging mob was around him on every side, and, pushing,
+jostling, half lifting him at times from his feet, carried him
+forward with its rush, and with him in its midst burst through the
+door and out into the street.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE CALL TO ARMS
+
+
+Not a sound as the key turned in the lock; not a sound as the door
+swung back on its carefully oiled hinges; not a sound as Larry the
+Bat slipped like a shadow into the blackness of the room, closing
+the door behind him again.  With a tread as noiseless as a cat's, he
+was across the room to satisfy himself that the shutters were
+tightly closed; and then the single gas jet flared up, murky,
+yellow, illuminating the miserable, squalid room--the Sanctuary--the
+home of Larry the Bat.  There was need for silence, need for
+caution.  In five minutes, ten at the outside, he must emerge again--
+as Jimmie Dale.
+
+With a smile on his lips that mingled curiously chagrin and self-
+commiseration, he took the letter from his pocket and tore it open.
+It was she, then, who had been following him all evening, and, like
+a blundering idiot, he had wasted precious, perhaps irreparable,
+hours!  What had she meant by "It's for my sake to-night"?  The
+words had been ringing in his ears since the moment she had
+whispered them in that panic-stricken crowd.  Was it not always for
+her sake that he answered these calls to arms?  Was it not always
+for her sake that he, as the Gray Seal, was--  The mental soliloquy
+came to an abrupt end.  He had subconsciously read the first
+sentence of the letter, and now, with sudden feverish eagerness and
+excitement, he was reading it to the last word.
+
+
+"DEAR PHILANTHROPIC CROOK:  In an hour after you receive this, if
+all goes well, you shall know everything--everything.  Who I am--
+yes, and my name.  It has been more than three years now, hasn't it?
+It has been incomprehensible to you, but there has been no other
+way.  I dared not take the chance of discovery by any one; I dared
+not expose you to the risk of being known by me.  Your life would
+not have been worth a moment's purchase.  Oh, Jimmie, am I only
+making the mystery more mystifying?  But to-night, I think, I hope,
+I pray that it is all at an end: though against me, and against you
+to-night when you go to help me, is the most powerful and pitiless
+organisation of criminals that the world has ever known; and the
+stake we are playing for is a fortune of millions--and my life.  And
+yet somehow I am afraid now, just because the end is so near, and
+the victory seems so surely won.  And so, Jimmie, be careful; use
+all that wonderful cleverness of yours as you have never used it
+before, and--  But there should be no need for that, it is so simple
+a thing that I am going to ask you to do.  Why am I writing so
+illogically!  Nothing, surely, can possibly happen.  This is not
+like one of my usual letters, is it?  I am beside myself to-night
+with hope, anxiety, fear, and excitement.
+
+"Listen, then, Jimmie:  Be at the northeast corner of Sixth Avenue
+and Waverly Place at exactly half-past ten.  A taxicab will drive
+up, as though you had signalled it in passing, and the chauffeur
+will say: "I've another fare, in half an hour, sir, but I can get
+you most anywhere in that time."  You will be smoking a cigarette.
+Toss it out into the street, make any reply you like, and get into
+the cab.  Give the chauffeur that little ring of mine with the crest
+of the bell and belfry and the motto, "Sonnez le Tocsin," that you
+found the night old Isaac Pelina was murdered, and the chauffeur
+will give you in exchange a sealed packet of papers.  He will drive
+you to your home, and I will telephone to you there.
+
+"I need not tell you to destroy this.  Keep the appointment in your
+proper person--as Jimmie Dale.  Carry nothing that might identify
+you as the Gray Seal if any accident should happen.  And, lastly,
+trust the pseudo chauffeur absolutely."
+
+
+There was no signature.  Her letters were never signed.  He stood
+for a moment staring at the closely written sheets in his hand, a
+heightened colour in his cheeks, his lips pressed tightly together--
+and then his fingers automatically began to tear the letter into
+pieces, and the pieces again into little shreds.  To-night!  It was
+to be to-night, the end of all this mystery.  To-night was to see
+the end of this dual life of his, with its constant peril!  To-night
+the Gray Seal was to exit from the stage forever!  To-night, a
+wonderful climax of the years, he was to see HER!
+
+His blood was quickened now, his heart pounding in a faster beat; a
+mad elation, a fierce uplift was upon him.  He thrust the torn bits
+of paper into his pocket hurriedly, stepped across the room to the
+corner, rolled back the oilcloth, and lifted up the loose plank in
+the flooring, so innocently dustladen, as, more than once, to have
+eluded the eyes of inquisitive visitors in the shape of police and
+plain clothes men from headquarters.
+
+From the space beneath he removed a neatly folded pile of clothes,
+laid these on the bed, and began to undress.  He was working rapidly
+now.  Tiny pieces of wax were removed from his nostrils, from under
+his lips, from behind his ears; water from a cracked pitcher poured
+into a battered tin basin, and mixed with a few drops of some liquid
+from a bottle which he procured from its hiding place under the
+flooring, banished the make-up stain from his face, his neck, his
+wrists, and hands as if by magic.  It was a strange metamorphosis
+that had taken place--the coarse, brutal-featured, blear-eyed,
+leering countenance of Larry the Bat was gone, and in its place,
+clean-cut, square-jawed, clear-eyed, was the face of Jimmie Dale.
+And where before had slouched a slope-shouldered, misshapen, flabby
+creature, a broad-shouldered form well over six feet in height now
+stood erect, and under the clean white skin the muscles of an
+athlete, like knobs of steel played back and forth with every
+movement of his body.
+
+In the streaked and broken mirror Jimmie Dale surveyed himself
+critically, methodically, and, with a nod of satisfaction, hastily
+donned the fashionably cut suit of tweeds upon the bed.  He rummaged
+then through the ragged garments he had just discarded, transferred
+to his pockets a roll of bills and his automatic, and paused
+hesitantly, staring at the thin metal case, like a cigarette case,
+that he held in the palm of his hand.  He shrugged his shoulders a
+little whimsically; it seemed strange indeed that he was through
+with that!  He snapped it open.  Within, between sheets of oil
+paper, lay the scores of little diamond-shaped, gray-coloured,
+adhesive paper seals--the insignia of the Gray Seal.  Yes, it seemed
+strange that he was never to use another!  He closed the case,
+gathered up the clothes of Larry the Bat, tucked the case in among
+them, and shoved the bundle into the hole under the flooring.  All
+these things would have to be destroyed, but there was not time to-
+night; to-morrow, or the next day, would do for that.  What would it
+be like to live a normal life again, without the menace of danger
+lurking on every hand, without that grim slogan of the underworld,
+"Death to the Gray Seal!" or that savage fiat of the police, "The
+Gray Seal, dead or alive--but the Gray Seal!" forever ringing in his
+ears?  What would it be like, this new life--with her?
+
+The thought was thrilling him again, bringing again that eager,
+exultant uplift.  In an hour, ONE hour, and the barriers of years
+would be swept away, and she would be in his arms!
+
+"It's for my sake to-night!"  His face grew suddenly tense, as the
+words came back to him.  That "hour" wasn't over yet!  It was no
+hysterical exaggeration that had prompted her to call her enemies
+the most powerful and pitiless organisation of criminals that the
+world had ever known.  It was not the Tocsin's way to exaggerate.
+The words would be literally true.  The very life she had led for
+the three years that had gone stood out now as a grim proof of her
+assertion.
+
+Jimmie Dale replaced the flooring, carefully brushed the dust back
+into the cracks, spread the oilcloth into place, and stood up.  Who
+and what was this organisation?  What was between it and the Tocsin?
+What was this immense fortune that was at stake?  And what was this
+priceless packet that was so crucial, that meant victory now, ay,
+and her life, too, she had said?
+
+The questions swept upon him in a sort of breathless succession.
+Why had she not let him play a part in this?  True, she had told him
+why--that she dared not expose him to the risk.  Risk!  Was there
+any risk that the Gray Seal had not taken, and at her instance!  He
+did not understand, he smiled a little uncertainly, as he reached up
+to turn out the gas.  There were a good many things that he did not
+understand about the Tocsin!
+
+The room was in darkness, and with the darkness Jimmie Dale's mind
+centred on the work immediately before him.  To enter the tenement
+where he was known and had an acknowledged right as Larry the Bat
+was one thing; for Jimmie Dale to be discovered there was quite
+another.
+
+He crossed the room, opened the door silently, stood for a moment
+listening, then stepped out into the black, musty, ill-smelling
+hallway, closing the door behind him.  He stooped and locked it.
+The querulous cry of a child reached him from somewhere above--a
+murmur of voices, muffled by closed doors, from everywhere.  How
+many families were housed beneath that sordid roof he had never
+known, only that there was miserable poverty there as well as vice
+and crime, only that Larry the Bat, who possessed a room all to
+himself, was as some lordly and super-being to these fellow tenants
+who shared theirs with so many that there was not air enough for all
+to breathe.
+
+He had no doors to pass--his was next to the staircase.  He began to
+descend.  They could scream and shriek, those stairs, like aged
+humans, twisted and rheumatic, at the least ungentle touch.  But
+there was no sound from them now.  There seemed something almost
+uncanny in the silent tread.  Stair after stair he descended, his
+entire weight thrown gradually upon one foot before the other was
+lifted.  The strain upon the muscles, trained and hardened as they
+were, told.  As he moved from the bottom step, he wiped little beads
+of perspiration from his forehead.
+
+The door, now, that gave on the alleyway!  He opened it, slipped
+outside, darted across the narrow lane, stole along where the
+shadows of the fence were blackest, paused, listening, as he reached
+the end of the alleyway, to assure himself that there was no near-by
+pedestrian--and stepped out into the street.
+
+He kept on along the block, turned into the Bowery, and, under the
+first lamp, consulted his watch.  It was a quarter past ten.  He
+could make it easily in a leisurely walk.  He continued on up the
+Bowery, finally crossed to Broadway, and shortly afterward turned
+into Waverly Place.  At the corner of Fifth Avenue he consulted his
+watch again--and now he lighted a cigarette.  Sixth Avenue was only
+a block away.  At precisely half-past ten, to the second, he halted
+on the designated corner, smoking nonchalantly.
+
+A taxicab, coincidentally coming from an uptown direction, swung in
+to the curb.
+
+"Taxi, sir?  Yes, sir?"  Then, with an admirable mingling of
+eagerness to secure the fare and a fear that his confession might
+cause him the loss of it: "I've another fare in half an hour, sir,
+but I can get you most anywhere in that time."
+
+Jimmie Dale's cigarette was tossed carelessly into the street.
+
+"St. James Club!" he said curtly, and stepped into the cab.
+
+The cab started forward, turned the corner, and headed along Waverly
+Place toward Broadway.  The chauffeur twisted around in his seat in
+a matter-of-fact way, as though to ask further directions.
+
+"Have you anything for me?" he inquired casually.
+
+It lay where it always lay, that ring, between the folds of that
+little white glove in his pocketbook.  Jimmie Dale took it out now,
+and handed it silently to the chauffeur.
+
+The other's face changed instantly--composure was gone, and a quick,
+strained look was in its place.
+
+"I'm afraid I've been watched," he said tersely.  "Look behind you,
+will you, and tell me if you see anything?"
+
+Jimmie Dale glanced backward through the little window in the hood.
+
+"There's another taxi just turned in from Sixth Avenue," he reported
+the next instant.
+
+"Keep your eye on it!" instructed the chauffeur shortly.
+
+The speed of the cab increased sensibly.
+
+With a curious tightening of his lips, Jimmie Dale settled himself
+in his seat so that he could watch the cab behind.  There was
+trouble coming, intuitively he sensed that; and, he reflected
+bitterly, he might have known!  It was too marvellous, too wonderful
+ever to come to pass that this one hour, the thought of which had
+fired his blood and made him glad beyond any gladness life had ever
+held for him before, should bring its promised happiness.
+
+"Where's the cab now?" the chauffeur flung back over his shoulder.
+
+They had passed Fifth Avenue, and were nearing Broadway.
+
+"About the same distance behind," Jimmie Dale answered.
+
+"That looks bad!" the chauffeur gritted between his teeth.  "We'll
+have to make sure.  I'll run down Lower Broadway."
+
+"If you think we're followed," suggested Jimmie Dale quietly, "why
+not run uptown and give them the slip somewhere where the traffic is
+thick?  Lower Broadway at this time of night is as empty and
+deserted as a country road."
+
+The chauffeur's sudden laugh was mirthless.
+
+"My God, you don't know what you are talking about!" he burst out.
+"If they're following, all hell couldn't throw them off the track.
+And I've got to know, I've got to be SURE before I dare make a move
+to-night.  I couldn't tell up in the crowded districts if I was
+followed, could I?  They won't come out into the open until their
+hands are forced."
+
+The car swerved sharply, rounded the corner, and, speeding up faster
+and faster, began to tear down Lower Broadway.
+
+"Watch!  WATCH!" cried the chauffeur.
+
+There was no word between them for a moment; then Jimmie Dale spoke
+crisply:
+
+"It's turned the corner!  It's coming this way!"
+
+The taxicab was rocking violently with the speed; silent, empty,
+Lower Broadway stretched away ahead.  Apart from an occasional
+street car, probably there would be nothing between them and the
+Battery.  Jimmie Dale glanced at his companion's face as a light,
+flashing by, threw it into relief.  It was set and stern, even a
+little haggard; but, too, there was something else there, something
+that appealed instantly to Jimmie Dale--a sort of bulldog grit that
+dominated it.
+
+"If he holds our speed, we'll know!" the chauffeur was shouting now
+to make himself heard over the roar of the car.  "Look again!  Where
+is it now?"
+
+Once more Jimmie Dale looked through the little rear window.  The
+cab had been a block behind them when it had turned the corner, and
+he watched it now in a sort of grim fascination.  There was no
+possible doubt of it!  The two bobbing, bouncing headlights were
+creeping steadily nearer.  And then a sort of unnatural calm settled
+upon Jimmie Dale, and his hand went mechanically to his pocket to
+feel his automatic there, as he turned again to the chauffeur.
+
+"If you've got any more speed, you'd better use it!" he said
+significantly.
+
+The man shot a quick look at him.
+
+"They are following us?  You are SURE?"
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale.
+
+The chauffeur laughed again in that mirthless, savage way.
+
+"Lean over here, where I can talk to you!" he rasped out.  "The
+game's up, as far as I am concerned, I guess!  But there's a chance
+for you.  They don't know you in this."
+
+"Give her more speed--or dodge into a cross street!" suggested
+Jimmie Dale coolly.  "They haven't got us yet, by a long way!"
+
+The other shook his head.
+
+"It's not only that cab behind," he answered, through set lips.
+"You don't know what we're up against.  If they're really after us,
+there's a trap laid in every section of this city--the devils!  It's
+the package they want.  Thank God for the presentiment that made me
+leave it behind!  I was going back for it, you understand, if I was
+satisfied that we weren't followed.  Listen!  There's a chance for
+you--there's none for me.  That package--remember this!--no one else
+knows where it is, and it's life and death to the one who sent you
+here.  It's in Box 428 at--  My God, LOOK!  Look there!" he yelled,
+and, with a wrench at the wheel, sent the taxi lurching and
+staggering for the car tracks in the centre of the street.
+
+The scene, fast as thought itself, was photographing itself in every
+detail upon Jimmie Dale's brain.  From the cross street ahead, one
+from each corner, two motor cars had nosed out into Broadway,
+blocking the road on both sides.  And now the car on the left-hand
+side was moving forward across the tracks to counteract the
+chauffeur's move, deliberately insuring a collision.  There was no
+chance, no further room to turn, no time to stop--the man driving
+the other car jumped for safety--they would be into it in an
+instant.
+
+"Box 428!" Jimmie pleaded fiercely.  "Go on, man!  Go on!  FINISH!"
+
+"Yes!" cried the chauffeur.  "John Johansson, at--"
+
+But Jimmie Dale heard no more.  There was the crash of impact as the
+taxicab plowed into the car that had been so craftily manoeuvered in
+front of it, and Jimmie Dale, lifted from his feet, was hurled
+violently forward with the shock, and all went black before his
+eyes.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE CRIME CLUB
+
+
+For what length of time he had remained unconscious, Jimmie Dale had
+not the slightest idea.  He regained his senses to find himself
+lying on a couch in a strange room that had a most exquisitely
+brass-wrought dome light in the ceiling.  That was what attracted
+his attention, because the light hurt his eyes, and his head was
+already throbbing as though a thousand devils were beating a
+diabolical tattoo upon it.
+
+He closed his eyes against the light.  Where was he?  What had
+happened?  Oh, yes, he remembered now!  That smash on Lower
+Broadway!  He had been hurt.  He moved first one limb and then
+another tentatively, and was relieved to find that, though his body
+ached as if it had been severely shaken, and his head was bad, he
+had apparently escaped without serious injury.
+
+Where was he?  In a hospital?  His fingers, resting at his side upon
+the couch, supplied him with the information that it was a very
+expensive couch, upholstered in finest leather.  If he were in a
+hospital, he would be in a cot.
+
+He opened his eyes again to glance curiously around him.  The room
+was quite in keeping with the artistic lighting fixture and the
+refined, if expensive, taste that was responsible for the couch.  A
+heavy velvet rug of rich, dark green was bordered by a polished
+hardwood floor; panellings of dark-green frieze and beautifully
+grained woodwork made the lower walls; while above, on a background
+of some soft-toned paper, hung a few, and evidently choice, oil
+paintings.  There was a big, inviting lounging chair; a massive
+writing table, or more properly, a desk of walnut; and behind the
+desk, his back half turned, apparently intent upon a book, sat a man
+in immaculate evening dress.
+
+Jimmie Dale closed his eyes again.  There was something reassuring
+about it all, comfortably reassuring.  Though why there should be
+any occasion for a feeling of reassurance at all, he could not for
+the moment make out.  And then, in a sudden flash, the details of
+the night came back to him.  The Tocsin's letter--the package he was
+to get--the taxicab--the chauffeur, who was not a chauffeur--the
+chase--the trap.  He lay perfectly still.  It was the professional
+Jimmie Dale now whose brain, in spite of the throbbing, brutally
+aching head, was at work, keen, alert.
+
+The chauffeur!  What had happened to him?  Had the man been killed
+in the auto smash; or, less fortunate than himself, fallen into the
+hands of those whose power he seemed both to fear and rate so
+highly?  And that package!  Box--what was the number?--yes, 428.
+What did that mean?  What box?  Where was it?  Who was John
+Johansson?  He hadn't heard any more than that; the smash had come
+then.  And lastly, he was back again to the same question he had
+begun with: Where was he now himself?  It looked as though some good
+Samaritan had picked him up.  Who was this gentleman so quietly
+reading there at the desk?
+
+Jimmie Dale opened his eyes for the third time.  How still, how
+absolutely silent the room was!  He studied the man's back
+speculatively for a moment, then his gaze travelled on past the man
+to the wall, riveted there, and his fingers, without movement of his
+arm, pressed against the outside of his coat pocket.  He thought as
+much!  His automatic was gone!
+
+Not a muscle of Jimmie Dale's face moved.  His eyes shifted to a
+picture on the wall.  THE MAN WAS WATCHING HIM--NOT READING!  Just
+above the level of the desk, a small mirror held the couch in focus--
+but, equally, it held the man in focus, and Jimmie Dale had seen
+the other's eyes, through a black mask that covered the face to the
+top of the upper lip, fixed intently upon him.
+
+There was a chill now where before there had been reassurance,
+something ominous in the very quiet and refinement of the room; and
+Jimmie Dale smiled inwardly in bitter irony--his good Samaritan wore
+a mask!  His self-congratulations had come too soon.  Whatever had
+happened to the chauffeur, it was evident enough that he himself was
+caught!  What was it the chauffeur had said?  Something about a
+chance through being unknown.  Was it to be a battle of wits, then?
+God, if his head did not ache so frightfully!  It was hard to think
+with the brain half sick with pain.
+
+Those two eyes shining in that mirror!  There seemed something
+horribly spectre-like about it.  He did not look again, but he knew
+they were there.  It was like a cat watching a mouse.  Why did not
+the man speak, or move, or do something, and--  He turned his head
+slowly; the man was laughing in a low, amused way.
+
+"You appear to be taken with that picture," observed a pleasant
+voice.  "Perhaps you recognise it from there?  It is a Corot."
+
+Jimmie Dale, with a well-simulated start, sat up--and, with another
+quite as well simulated, stared at the masked man.  The other had
+laid down his book, and swung around in his chair to face the couch.
+Jimmie Dale stood up a little shakily.
+
+"Look here!" he said awkwardly.  "I--I don't quite understand.  I
+remember that my taxi got into a smash-up, and I suppose I have to
+thank you for the assistance you must have rendered me; only, as I
+say"--he looked in a puzzled way around the room, and in an even
+more perplexed way at the mask on the other's face--"I must confess
+I am at a loss to understand quite the meaning of this."
+
+"Suppose that instead of trying to understand you simply accept
+things as you find them."  The voice was soft, but there was a
+finality in it that its blandness only served to make the more
+suggestive.
+
+Jimmie Dale drew himself up, and bowed coldly.
+
+"I beg your pardon," he said.  "I did not mean to intrude.  I have
+only to thank you again, then, and bid you good-night."
+
+The lips beneath the mask parted slightly in a politely deprecating
+smile.
+
+"There is no hurry," said the man, a sudden sharpness creeping into
+his tones.  "I am sorry that the rule I apply to you does not work
+both ways.  For instance, I might be quite at a loss to account for
+your presence in that taxicab."
+
+Jimmie Dale's smile was equally polite, equally deprecating.
+
+"I fail to see how it could be of the slightest possible interest to
+you," he replied.  "However, I have no objection to telling you.  I
+hailed the taxi at the corner of Sixth Avenue and Waverly Place,
+told the chauffeur to drive me to the St. James Club, and--"
+
+"The St. James Club," broke in the other coldly, "is, I believe,
+north, not SOUTH of Waverly Place--and on Broadway not at all."
+
+Jimmie Dale stared at the other for an instant in patient annoyance.
+
+"I am quite well aware of that," he said stiffly.  "Nevertheless I
+told the man to drive me to the St. James Club.  We came across
+Waverly Place, but on reaching Broadway, instead of turning uptown,
+he suddenly whirled in the other direction and sent the car flying
+at full speed down Lower Broadway.  I shouted at the man.  I don't
+know yet whether he was drunk or crazy or"--Jimmie Dale's eyes fixed
+disdainfully on the other's mask--"whether there might not, after
+all, have been method in his madness.  I can only say that before we
+had gone more than two or three blocks, a wild effort on his part to
+avoid a collision with an auto swinging out from a side street
+resulted in an even more disastrous smash with another on the other
+side, and I was knocked senseless."
+
+"'Victim,' I presume, is the idea you desire to convey," observed
+the other evenly.  "You were quite the victim of circumstances, as
+it were!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyebrows lifted slightly.
+
+"It would appear to be fairly obvious, I should say."
+
+"Very clever!" commented the man.  "But now suppose we remove the
+buttons from the foils!"  His voice rasped suddenly.  "You are quite
+as well aware as I am that what has happened to-night was not an
+accident.  Nor--in case the possibility may have occurred to you--
+are the police any the wiser, save for the existence of two wrecked
+cars on Lower Broadway, and another which escaped, and for which
+doubtless they are still searching assiduously.  The ownership of
+the taxicab you so inadvertently entered they will have no
+difficulty in establishing--you, perhaps, however, are in a better
+position than I am to appreciate the fact that the establishment of
+its ownership will lead them nowhere.  As I understand it, the man
+who drove you to-night obtained the loan of the cab from one of the
+company's chauffeur's in return for a hundred-dollar bill.  Am I
+right?"
+
+"In view of what has happened," admitted Jimmie Dale simply, "I
+should not be surprised."
+
+There was a sort of sardonic admiration in the other's laugh.
+
+"As for the other car," he went on, "I can assure you that its
+ownership will never be known.  When the nearest patrolman rushed
+up, there were no survivors of the disaster, save those in the third
+car which he was powerless to stop--which accounts for your presence
+here.  You will admit that I have been quite frank."
+
+"Oh, quite!" said Jimmie Dale, a little wearily.  "But would you
+mind telling me what all this is leading to?"
+
+The man had been leaning forward in his chair, one hand, palm
+downward, resting lightly on the desk.  He shifted his hand now
+suddenly to the arm of his chair.
+
+"THIS!" he said, and on the desk where his hand had been lay the
+Tocsin's gold signet ring.
+
+Jimmie Dale's face expressed mild curiosity.  He could feel the
+other's eyes boring into him.
+
+"We were speaking of ownership," said the man, in a low, menacing
+tone.  "I want to know where the woman who owns this ring can be
+found to-night."
+
+There was no play, no trifling here; the man was in deadly earnest.
+But it seemed to Jimmie Dale, even with the sense of peril more
+imminent with every instant, that he could have laughed outright in
+savage mockery at the irony of the question.  Where was she?  Even
+WHO was she?  And this was the hour in which he was to have known!
+
+"May I look at it?" he requested calmly.
+
+The other nodded, but his eyes never left Jimmie Dale.
+
+"It will give you an extra moment or so to frame your answer," he
+said sarcastically.
+
+Jimmie Dale ignored the thrust, picked up the ring, examined it
+deliberately, and set it back again on the table.
+
+"Since I do not know who owns it," he said, "I cannot answer your
+question."
+
+"No!  Well, then, there is still another matter--a little package
+that was in the taxicab with you.  Where is that?"
+
+"See here!" said Jimmie Dale irritably.  "This has gone far enough!
+I have seen no package, large or small, or of any description
+whatever.  You are evidently mistaking me for some one else.  You
+have only to telephone to the St. James Club."  He reached toward
+his pocket for his cardcase.  "My name is--"
+
+"Dale," supplied the other curtly.  "Don't bother about the card,
+Mr. Dale.  We have already taken the liberty of searching you."  He
+rose abruptly from his chair.  "I am afraid you do not quite realise
+your position, Mr. Dale," he said, with an ominous smile.  "Let me
+make it clear.  I do not wish to be theatrical about this, but we do
+not temporise here.  You will either answer both of those questions
+to my satisfaction, OR YOU WILL NEVER LEAVE THIS PLACE ALIVE."
+
+Jimmie Dale's face hardened.  His eyes met the other's steadily.
+
+"Ah, I think I begin to see!" he said caustically.  "When I have
+been thoroughly frightened I shall be offered my freedom at a price.
+A sort of up-to-date game of holdup!  The penalty of being a wealthy
+man!  If you had named your figure to begin with, we would have
+saved a lot of idle talk, and you would have had my answer the
+sooner: NOTHING!"
+
+"Do you know," said the other, in a grimly musing way, "there has
+always been one man, but only one until now, that I have wished I
+might add to my present associates.  I refer to the so-called Gray
+Seal.  To-night there are two.  I pay you the compliment of being
+the other.  But"--he was smiling ominously again--"we are wasting
+time, Mr. Dale.  I am willing to expose my hand to the extent of
+admitting that the information you are withholding is infinitely
+more valuable to me than the mere wreaking of reprisal upon you for
+a refusal to talk.  Therefore, if you will answer, I pledge you my
+word you will be free to leave here within five minutes.  If you
+refuse, you are already aware of the alternative.  Well, Mr. Dale?"
+
+Who was this man?  Jimmie Dale was studying the other's chin, the
+lips, the white, even teeth, the jet-black hair.  Some day the
+tables might be turned.  Could he recognise again this cool,
+imperturbable ruffian who so callously threatened him with murder?
+
+"Well, Mr. Dale?  I am waiting!"
+
+"I am not a magician," said Jimmie Dale contemptuously.  "I could
+not answer your questions if I wanted to."
+
+The other's hand slid instantly to a row of electric buttons on the
+desk.
+
+"Very well, Mr. Dale!" he said quietly.  "You do not believe, I see,
+that I would dare to carry my threat into execution; you perhaps
+even doubt my power.  I shall take the trouble to convince you--I
+imagine it will stimulate your memory."
+
+The door opened.  Two men were standing on the threshold, both in
+evening dress, both masked.  The man behind the desk came forward,
+took Jimmie Dale's arm almost courteously, and led him from the room
+out into a corridor, where he halted abruptly.
+
+"I want to call your attention first, Mr. Dale, to the fact that as
+far as you are concerned you neither have now, nor ever will have,
+any idea whether you are in the heart of New York or fifty miles
+away from it.  Now, listen!  Do you hear anything?"
+
+There was nothing.  Only the strange silence of that other room was
+intensified now.  There was not a sound; stillness such as it seemed
+to Jimmie Dale he had never experienced before was around him.
+
+"You may possibly infer from the silence that you are NOT in the
+city," suggested the other, after a moment's pause.  "I leave you to
+your own conclusions in that respect.  The cause, however, of the
+silence is internal, not external; we had sound-proof principles in
+mind to a perhaps exaggerated degree when this building was
+constructed.  If you care to do so, you have my permission to shout,
+say, for help, to your heart's content.  We shall make no effort to
+stop you."
+
+Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders.  He was staring down a
+brilliantly lighted, richly carpeted corridor.  There were doors on
+one side, windows on the other, the windows all hung with heavy,
+closely drawn portieres.  The corridor was certainly not on the
+ground floor, but whether it was on the second or third, or even
+above that again, he had no means of knowing.  From appearances,
+though, the place seemed more like a large, private mansion than
+anything else.
+
+"Just one word more before we proceed," continued the other.  "I do
+not wish you to labour under any illusion.  Here we are frankly
+criminals.  This is our home.  It should have some effect in
+impressing you with the power and resource at our command, and also
+with the class of men with whom you are dealing.  There is not one
+among us whose education is not fully equal to your own; not one,
+indeed, but who is chosen, granting first his criminal tendencies,
+because he is a specialist in his own particular field--in commerce,
+in the government diplomatic service, in the professions of law and
+medicine, in the ranks of pure science.  We are bordering on the
+fantastical, are we not?  Dreaming, you will probably say, of the
+Utopian in crime organisation.  Quite so, Mr. Dale.  I only ask you
+to consider the POSSIBILITIES if what I say is true.  Now let us
+proceed.  I am going to take you into three rooms--the three whose
+doors you see ahead of you.  You will notice that, including the one
+you have just left, there are four on this corridor.  I do not wish
+to strain your credulity, or play tricks upon you; so I am going to
+ask you to fix an approximate idea of the length of the corridor in
+your mind, as it will perhaps enable you to account more readily for
+what may appear to be a discrepancy in the corresponding size of the
+rooms."
+
+One of the men opened the door ahead.  Jimmie Dale, at a sign from
+his conductor, moved forward and entered.  Just what he had expected
+to find he could not have told; his brain was whirling, partly from
+his aching head, partly from his desperate effort to conceive some
+way of escape from the peril which, for all his nonchalance, he knew
+only too well was the gravest he had ever faced; but what he saw was
+simply a cozily furnished bedroom.  There was nothing peculiar about
+it; nothing out of the way, except perhaps that it was rather
+narrow.
+
+And then suddenly, rubbing his eyes involuntarily, he was staring in
+a dazed way before him.  The whole right-hand side of the wall was
+sinking without a sound into the floor, increasing the width of the
+room by some five or six feet--and in this space was disclosed what
+appeared to be a sort of chemical laboratory, elaborately equipped,
+extending the entire length of the room.
+
+"The wall is purely a matter of mechanical construction, operated
+hydraulically."  The man was speaking softly at Jimmie Dale's side.
+"The room beneath is built to correspond; the base, ceiling, and
+wall mouldings here do not have to be very ingenious to effect a
+disguise.  I might say, however, that few visitors, other than
+yourself, have ever seen anything here but a bedroom."  He waved his
+hand toward the retorts, the racks of test tubes, the hundred and
+one articles that strewed the laboratory bench.  "As for this, its
+purpose is twofold.  We, as well, as the police, have often need of
+analysis.  We make it.  If we require a drug, a poison, say, we
+compound it from its various ingredients, or, as the case may be,
+distil it, perhaps--it is, you will agree, somewhat more difficult
+to trace to its source if procured that way.  And speaking of
+poisons"--he stepped forward, and lifted a glass-stoppered bottle
+containing a colourless liquid from a shelf--"in a modest way we
+have even done some original research work here.  This, for
+instance, is as Utopian from our standpoint as the formation, and
+personnel of the organisation I have briefly outlined to you.  It
+possesses very essential qualities.  It is almost instantaneous in
+its action, requires a very small quantity, and defies detection
+even by autopsy."  He uncorked the bottle, and dipped in a long
+glass rod.  "Will you watch the experiment?" he invited, with a sort
+of ghastly pleasantry.  "I do not want you to accept anything on
+trust."
+
+With a start, Jimmie Dale swung around.  He had heard no sound, but
+another man was at his elbow now--and, struggling in the man's hand,
+was a little white rabbit.
+
+It was over in an instant.  A single drop in the rabbit's mouth, and
+the animal had stiffened out, a lifeless thing.
+
+"It is quite as effective on the human organism," continued the
+other, "only, instead of one drop, three are required.  If I make it
+ten"--he was carefully measuring the liquid into two wineglasses--
+"it is only that even you may be satisfied that the quantity is
+fatal."  He filled up the glasses with what was apparently wine of
+some description, which he poured from a decanter, and held out the
+glasses in front of him.
+
+And again Jimmie Dale started, again he had heard no one enter, and
+yet two men had stepped forward from behind him and had taken the
+glasses from their leader's hands.  He glanced around him, counting
+quickly--they were surely the two who had entered with him from the
+corridor.  No!  Including the leader, there were now six men, all in
+evening dress, all masked, in the room with him.
+
+A wave of the leader's hand, and the two men holding the glasses
+left the room.  The man turned to Jimmie Dale again.
+
+"Shall we proceed to the second room, Mr. Dale?" he asked politely.
+"I think it is now prepared for us--I do not wish to bore you with a
+repetition of magical sliding walls."
+
+There was something now that numbed the ache in Jimmie Dale's brain--
+a sense of some deadly, remorseless thing that seemed to be
+constantly creeping closer to him, clutching at him--to smother him,
+to choke him.  There was something absolutely fiendish, terrifying,
+in the veneer of culture around him.
+
+They had entered the second room.  This, like the other, was a
+pseudo-bedroom; but here the movable wall was already down.  Ranged
+along the right-hand side were a great number of cabinets that slid
+in and out, much after the style and fashion used by clothing
+dealers to stock and display their wares.  These cabinets were now
+all open, displaying hundreds of costumes of all kinds and
+descriptions, and evidently complete to the minutest detail.  The
+cabinets were flanked by full-length mirrors at each end of the
+room, and on little tables before the mirrors was an assortment,
+that none better than Jimmie Dale himself could appreciate, of make-
+up accessories.
+
+The man smiled apologetically.
+
+"I am afraid this is rather uninteresting," he said.  "I have shown
+it to you simply that you may understand that we are alive to the
+importance of detail.  Disguise, that is daily vital to us, is an
+art that depends essentially on detail.  I venture to say we could
+impersonate any character or type or nationality or class in the
+United States at a moment's notice.  But"--he took Jimmie Dale's arm
+again and conducted him out into the corridor, while the two men who
+were evidently acting the role of guards followed closely behind--
+"there is still the third room--here."  He halted Jimmie Dale before
+the door.  "I have asked you to answer two questions, Mr. Dale," he
+said softly.  "I ask you now to remember the alternative."
+
+They still stood before the door.  There was that uncanny silence
+again--it seemed to Jimmie Dale to last interminably.  Neither of
+the three men surrounding him moved nor spoke.  Then the door before
+him was opened on an unlighted room, and he was led across the
+threshold.  He heard the door close behind him.  The lights came on.
+And then it seemed as though he could not move, as though he were
+rooted to the spot---and the colour ebbed from his face.  Three
+figures were before him: the two men who had carried the glasses
+from the first room, and the chauffeur who had driven him in the
+taxicab.  The two men still held the glasses--the chauffeur was
+bound hand and foot in a chair.  One of the glasses was EMPTY; the
+other was still significantly full.
+
+Jimmie Dale, with a violent effort at self-control, leaned forward.
+
+The man in the chair was dead.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE INNOCENT BYSTANDER
+
+
+There was not a sound.  That stillness, weird, unnerving, that
+permeated, as it were, everywhere through that mysterious house,
+was, if that were possible, accentuated now.  The four masked men in
+evening dress, five including their leader, for the man who had
+appeared in that other room with the rabbit was not here, were as
+silent, as motionless, as the dead man who was lashed there in the
+chair.  And to Jimmie Dale it seemed at first as though his brain,
+stunned and stupefied at the shock, refused its functions, and left
+him groping blindly, vaguely, with only a sort of dull, subconscious
+realisation of menace and a deadly peril, imminent, hanging over
+him.
+
+He tried to rouse himself mentally, to prod his brain to action, to
+pit it in a fight for life against these self-confessed criminals
+and murderers with their mask of culture, who surrounded him now.
+Was there a way out?  What was it the Tocsin had said--"the most
+powerful and pitiless organisation of criminals the world has ever
+known--the stake a fortune of millions--her life!"  There had,
+indeed, been no overemphasis in the words she had used!  They had
+taken pains themselves to make that ominously clear, these men!
+Every detail of the strange house, with its luxurious furnishings,
+its cleverly contrived appointments, breathed a horribly suggestive
+degree of power, a deadly purpose, and an organisation swayed by a
+master mind; and, grim evidence of the merciless, inexorable length
+to which they would go, was the ghastly white face of the dead
+chauffeur, bound hand and foot, in the chair before him!
+
+That EMPTY glass in the hand of one of the men!  He could not take
+his eyes from it--except as his eyes were drawn magnetically to that
+FULL glass in the hand of one of the others.  What height of
+sardonic irony!  He was to drink that other glass, to die because he
+refused to answer questions that for years, with every resource at
+his command, risking his liberty, his wealth, his name, his life,
+with everything that he cared for thrown into the scales, he had
+struggled to solve--and failed!
+
+And then the leader spoke.
+
+"Mr. Dale," he said, with cold significance, "I regret to admit that
+your pseudo taxicab driver was so ill-advised as to refuse to answer
+the SAME questions that I have put to you."
+
+Five to one!  That was the only way out--and it was hopeless.  It
+was the only way out, because, convinced that he could answer those
+questions if he wanted to, these men were in deadly earnest; it was
+hopeless, because they were--five to one!  And probably there were
+as many more, twice or three times as many more within call.  But
+what did it matter how many more there were!  He could fight until
+he was overpowered, that was all he could do, and the five could
+accomplish that.  Still, if he could knock the full glass out of
+that man's hand, and gain the door, then perhaps--he turned quickly,
+as the door opened.  It was as though they had read his thoughts.  A
+number of men were grouped outside in the corridor, then the door
+closed again with a cordon ranged against it inside the room; and at
+the same instant his arms and wrists were caught in a powerful grasp
+by the two men immediately behind him, who all along had enacted the
+role of guards.
+
+Again the leader spoke.
+
+"I will repeat the questions," he said sharply.  "Where is the woman
+whose ring was found on that man there in the chair?  And where is
+the package that you two men had with you in the taxicab to-night?"
+
+Jimmie Dale glanced from the tall, straight, immaculately clothed
+figure of the speaker, from the threatening smile on the set lips
+that just showed under the edge of the mask, to the dead man in the
+chair.  He had faced the prospect of death before many times, but it
+had come with the heat of passion accompanying it, it had come
+quickly, abruptly, with every faculty called into action to combat
+it, without time to dwell upon it, to sift, weigh, or measure its
+meaning, and if there had been fear it had been subordinate to other
+emotions.  But it was different now.  He could not, of course,
+answer those questions; nor, he was doggedly conscious, would he
+have answered them if he could--and there was no middle course.
+
+Death, within the next few moments, stared him in the face; and it
+seemed curiously irrelevant that, in a sort of unnatural calmness,
+he should be attempting to analyse his feelings and emotions
+concerning it.  All his life it had seemed to him that the acme of
+human mental torture was the cell of a condemned criminal, with the
+horror of its hopelessness, with the time to dwell upon it; and that
+the acme of that torture itself must be that awful moment
+immediately preceding execution, when anticipation at last was to
+merge into soul-sickening reality.
+
+Strange that thought should come!  Strange that he should be framing
+a brain picture of such a scene, vivid, minute in detail!  No--not
+strange.  He was picturing himself.  The analogy was not perfect, it
+was true, he had not had the months, weeks, days and hours of
+suspense; but it was perfect enough to bring home to him with
+appalling force the realisation of his position.  He was standing as
+a condemned man might stand in those last, final moments, those
+moments which he had imagined must be the most terrible that could
+exist in life; but that dismay of soul, the horror, the terror were
+not his--there was, instead, a smouldering fury, a passionate
+amazement that it was his own life that was threatened.  It seemed
+impossible that it could be his voice that was speaking now in such
+quiet, measured tones.
+
+"Is it worth while, will it convince you now, any more than before,
+to repeat that there is some mistake here?  I am no more able to
+answer your questions than you are yourselves.  I never saw that man
+in the chair there in my life until the moment that I hailed him in
+his cab to-night.  I do not know who the woman is to whom that ring
+belongs, much less do I know where she is.  And if there was a
+package of any sort in the taxicab, as you state, I never saw it."
+
+The lips under the mask curved into a lupine smile.
+
+"Think well, Mr. Dale!"  The man's voice was low, menacing.
+"Ethically, if you so choose to consider it, your refusal may be the
+act of a brave man; practically, it is the act of--a fool.  Now--
+your answer!"
+
+"I have answered you," said Jimmie Dale--and, relaxing the muscles
+in his arms, let them hang limply for an instant in the grip of the
+two men behind him.  "I have no other answer."
+
+It was only a sign, a motion of the leader's hand--but with it,
+quick as a lightning flash, Jimmie Dale was in action.  The limp
+arms tautened into steel as he wrenched them loose, and, whirling
+around, he whipped his fist to the chin of one of the two guards.
+
+In an instant, with the blow, as the man staggered backward, the
+room was in pandemonium.  There was a rush from the door, and two,
+three, four leaping forms hurled themselves upon Jimmie Dale.  He
+shook them off--and they came again.  There was no chance
+ultimately, he knew that; it was only the elemental within him that
+rose in fierce revolt at the thought of tame submission, that bade
+him sell his life as dearly as he could.  Panting, gasping for
+breath, dragging them by sheer strength as they clung to him, he got
+his back to the wall, fighting with the savage fury and abandon of a
+wild cat.
+
+But it could not last.  Where one man went down before him, two
+remorselessly appeared--the room seemed filled with men--they poured
+in through the door--he laughed at them in a half-demented way--more
+and more of them came--there was no play for his arms, no room to
+fight--they seemed so close around him, so many of them upon him,
+that he could not breathe--and he was bending, being crushed down as
+by an intolerable weight.  And then his feet were jerked from
+beneath him, he crashed to the floor, and, in another moment, bound
+hand and foot, he was tied into a chair beside that other chair
+whose grim occupant sat in such ghastly apathy of the scene.
+
+The room cleared instantly of all but the original five.  His head
+was drawn suddenly, violently backward, and clamped in that
+position; and a metal instrument, forced into his mouth, while his
+lips bled in their resistance, pried jaws apart and held them open.
+
+"One drop!" the leader ordered curtly.
+
+The man with the full glass bent over him, and dipped a glass rod
+into the liquid.  The drop glistened a ruby red on the end of the
+rod--and fell with a sharp, acrid, burning sensation upon Jimmie
+Dale's tongue.
+
+For a moment Jimmie Dale's animation, mental and physical, seemed
+swept away from him in, as it were, a hiatus of hideous suspense.
+What was it to be like this passing?  Why did it not act at once, as
+it had acted on the rabbit they had showed him in the other room?
+Yes, he remembered!  It took more than one drop for a man; and
+besides, this was diluted.  One drop had no effect on a man; it
+required--  Good God, ONE DROP EVEN OF THIS WAS ENOUGH?  He strained
+forward in the chair until the sweat in great beads sprang from his
+forehead, strained and fought and tore at his bonds in a paroxysm of
+madness to free himself while there still remained a little
+strength.  There was something filming before his eyes, a numbed
+feeling was creeping through his limbs, robbing them, sapping them
+of their vitality and power.  He felt himself slipping away into a
+state of utter weakness, and his brain began to grow confused.
+
+A voice seemed to float in the air near him:  "For the last time--
+will you answer?"
+
+With a supreme effort, Jimmie Dale strove to rally his tottering
+senses.  Did they not understand the stupendous mockery of their
+questions?  Did they not understand that he did not know?  He had
+told them so--perhaps he had better tell them so again.
+
+"I--"  He tried to speak, and found the words thick upon his tongue.
+"I--do not--know."
+
+The glass itself was thrust abruptly between his lips.  Some of the
+contents spilled and trickled upon his chin, and then a flood of it,
+burning, fiery, poured down his throat.  A flood of it--and it
+needed but THREE drops and there had been TEN in the glass!
+
+So this was death--a hazy, nebulous thing!  There was no pain.  It
+was like--like--nothingness.  And out of the nothingness SHE came.
+Strange that she should come!  Alone she had fought these fiends and
+outwitted them for--how long was it?  Three years!  She would be
+more than ever alone now.  Pray God she did not finally fall into
+their clutches!
+
+How it burned now, that fatal draught they had forced down his
+throat, and how it gripped at him and seemed to eat and bore its way
+into the very tissues!  It was the end, and--no!  It was STIMULATING
+him!  Strength seemed to be returning to his limbs; it seemed as
+though he were being carried, as though the bonds about him were
+being loosened; and now his brain seemed to be growing clearer.
+
+He roused up with a startled exclamation.  He was back in the same
+room in which he had first returned to consciousness after the
+accident.  He was on the same couch.  The same masked figure was at
+the same desk.  Had he been dreaming?  Was this then only some
+horrible, ghastly nightmare through which he had passed?
+
+No, it had been real enough; his clothes, rent and torn, and the
+blood upon his hands, where the skin had been scraped from his
+knuckles in the fight, bore evidence to that.  He must then have
+lost consciousness for a while, though it seemed to him that at no
+moment, hazy, irrational though his brain might have been, had he
+become entirely oblivious to what was taking place around him.  And
+yet it must have been so!
+
+The eyes from behind the mask were fixed steadily upon him, and
+below the mask there was the hard, unpleasant set to the lips that
+Jimmie Dale had grown accustomed to expect.
+
+The man spoke abruptly.
+
+"That you find yourself alive, Mr. Dale," he said grimly, "is no
+confession of weakness upon the part of those with whom you have had
+to deal here.  To bear witness to that there is one who is not
+alive, as you have seen.  That man we knew.  With you it was
+somewhat different.  Your presence in the taxicab was only
+suspicious.  There was always the possibility that you might be one
+of those ubiquitous 'innocent bystanders.'  Your name, your
+position, the improbability that you could have anything in common
+with--shall we say, the matter that so deeply interests us?--was all
+in your favour.  However, presumption and probability are the tools
+of fools.  We do not depend upon them--we apply the test.  And
+having applied the test, we are convinced that you have told the
+truth--that is all."
+
+He rose from his chair brusquely.  "I shall not apologise to you for
+what has happened.  I doubt very much if you are in a frame of mind
+to accept anything of the sort.  I imagine, rather, that you are
+promising yourself that we shall pay, and pay dearly, for this--
+that, among other things, we shall answer for the murder of that man
+in the other room.  All this will be quite within your province, Mr.
+Dale--and quite fruitless.  To-morrow morning the story that you are
+preparing to tell now would sound incredible even in your own ears;
+furthermore, as we shall take pains to see that you leave this place
+with as little knowledge of its location as you obtained when you
+arrived, your story, even if believed, would do little service to
+you and less harm to us.  I think of nothing more, Mr. Dale, except--"
+There was a whimsical smile on the lips now.  "Ah, yes, the
+matter of your clothes.  We can, and shall be glad to make
+reparation to you to the slight extent of offering you a new suit
+before you go."
+
+Jimmie Dale scowled.  Sick, shaken, and weak as he was, the cool,
+imperturbable impudence of the man was fast growing unbearable.
+
+The man laughed.  "I am sure you will not refuse, Mr. Dale--since we
+insist.  The condition of the clothes you have on at present might--
+I say 'might'--in a measure support your story with some degree of
+tangible evidence.  It is not at all likely, of course; but we
+prefer to discount even so remote a possibility.  When you have
+changed, you will be motored back to your home.  I bid you good-
+night, Mr. Dale."
+
+Jimmie Dale rubbed his eyes.  The man was gone--through a door at
+the rear of the desk, a door that he had not noticed before, that
+was not even in evidence now, that was simply a movable section of
+the wall panelling--and for an instant Jimmie Dale experienced a
+sense of sickening impotence.  It was as though he stood
+defenceless, unarmed, and utterly at the mercy of some venomous
+power that could crush what it would remorselessly and at will in
+its might.
+
+The place was a veritable maze, a lair of hellish cleverness.  He
+had no illusions now, he laboured under no false estimate of either
+the ingenuity or the resources of this inhuman nest of vultures to
+whom murder was no more than a matter of detail.  And it was against
+these men that henceforth he was to match his wits!  There could be
+no truce, no armistice.  It was their lives, or hers, or his!  Well,
+he was alive now, the first round was over, and so far he had won.
+His brows furrowed suddenly.  Had he?  He was not so sure, after
+all.  He was conscious of a disquieting, premonitory intuition that,
+in some way which he could not explain, the honours were not
+entirely his.
+
+He was apparently--the "apparently" was a mental reservation--quite
+alone in the room.  He got up from the couch and walked shakily
+across the floor to the desk.  A revolver lay invitingly upon the
+blotting pad.  It was his own, the one they had taken from him after
+the accident.  Jimmie Dale picked it up, examined it--and smiled a
+little sarcastically at himself for his trouble.  It was unloaded,
+of course.  He was twirling it in his hand, as a man, masked as
+every one in the house was masked, and carrying a neatly folded suit
+over his arm, entered from the corridor.
+
+"The car is ready as soon as you are dressed," announced the other
+briefly.  He laid the clothes upon the couch--and settled himself
+significantly in a chair.
+
+Jimmie Dale hesitated.  Then, with a shrug of his shoulders,
+recrossed the room, and began to remove his torn garments.  What was
+the use!  They would certainly have their own way in the end.  It
+wasn't worth another fight, and there was nothing to be gained by a
+refusal except to offer a sop to his own exasperation.
+
+He dressed quickly, in what proved to be an exceedingly well-fitting
+suit; and finally turned tentatively to the man in the chair.
+
+The other stood up, and produced a heavy black silk scarf.
+
+"If you have no objections," he said curtly, "I'll tie this over
+your eyes."
+
+Again Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"I am glad enough to get out on any conditions," he answered
+caustically.
+
+"'Fortunate' would be the better word," rejoined the other
+meaningly--and, deftly knotting the scarf, led Jimmie Dale
+blindfolded from the room.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+ON GUARD
+
+
+Was he in the city?  In a suburban town?  On a country road?  It
+seemed childishly absurd that he could not at least differentiate to
+that extent; and yet, from the moment he had been placed in the
+automobile in which he now found himself, he was forced to admit
+that he could not tell.  He had started out with the belief that,
+knowing New York and its surroundings as minutely as he knew them,
+it would be impossible, do what they would to prevent it, that at
+the end of the journey he should be without a clew, and a very good
+clew at that, to the location of what he now called, appropriately
+enough it seemed, the Crime Club.
+
+But he had never ridden blindfolded in a car before!  He could see
+absolutely nothing.  And if that increased or accentuated his sense
+of hearing, it helped little--the roar of the racing car beat upon
+his eardrums the more heavily, that was all.  He could tell, of
+course, the nature of the roadbed.  They were running on an asphalt
+road, that was obvious enough; but city streets and suburban streets
+and hundreds of miles of country road around New York were of
+asphalt!
+
+Traffic?  He was quite sure, for he had strained his ears in an
+effort to detect it, that there was little or no traffic; but then,
+it must be one or two o'clock in the morning, and at that hour the
+city streets, certainly those that would be chosen by these men,
+would be quite as deserted as any country road!  And as for a sense
+of direction, he had none whatever--even if the car had not been
+persistently swerving and changing its course every little while.
+If he had been able to form even an approximate idea of the compass
+direction in which they had started, he might possibly have been
+able in a general way to counteract this further effort of theirs to
+confuse him; but without the initial direction he was essentially
+befogged.
+
+With these conclusions finally thrust home upon him, Jimmie Dale
+philosophically subordinated the matter in his mind, and, leaning
+back, composed himself as comfortably as he could upon his seat.
+There was a man beside him, and he could feel the legs of two men on
+the seat facing him.  These, with the driver, would make four.  He
+was still well guarded!  The car itself was a closed car--not
+hooded, the sense of touch told him--therefore a limousine of some
+description.  These facts, in a sense inconsequential, were absorbed
+subconsciously; and then Jimmie Dale's brain, remorselessly active,
+in spite of the pain from his throbbing head, was at work again.
+
+It seemed as though a year had passed since, in the early evening,
+as Larry the Bat, he had burrowed so ironically for refuge in Chang
+Foo's den--from her!  It seemed like some mocking unreality, some
+visionary dream that, so short a while before, he had read those
+words of hers that had sent the blood coursing and leaping through
+his veins in mad exultation at the thought that the culmination of
+the years had come, that all he longed for, hoped for, that all his
+soul cried out for was to be his--"in an hour."  An HOUR--and he was
+to have seen her, the woman whose face he had never seen, the woman
+whom he loved!  And the hour instead, the hours since then, had
+brought a nightmare of events so incredible as to seem but phantoms
+of the imagination.
+
+Phantoms!  He sat up suddenly with a jerk.  The face of the dead
+chauffeur, the limp form lashed in that chair, the horrible picture
+in its entirety, every detail standing out in ghastly relief, took
+form before him.  God knew there was no phantom there!
+
+The man beside him, at the sudden start, lifted a hand and felt
+hurriedly over the bandage across Jimmie Dale's eyes.
+
+Jimmie Dale was scarcely conscious of the act.  With that face
+before him, with the scene re-enacting itself in his mind again, had
+come another thought, staggering him for a moment with the new
+menace that it brought.  He had had neither time nor opportunity to
+think before; it had been all horror, all shock when he had entered
+that room.  But now, like an inspiration, he saw it all from another
+angle.  There was a glaring fallacy in the game these men had played
+for his benefit to-night--a fallacy which they had counted on
+glossing over, as it had, indeed, been glossed over, by the sudden
+shock with which they had forced that scene upon him; or, failing in
+that, they had counted on the fact that his, or any other man's
+nerve would have failed when it came to open defiance based on a
+supposition which might, after all, be wrong, and, being wrong,
+meant death.
+
+But it was not supposition.  Either he was right now, or these men
+were childish, immature fools--and, whatever else they might be,
+they were not that!  NOT A SINGLE DROP OF POISON HAD PASSED THE
+CHAUFFEUR'S LIPS.  The man had not been murdered in that room.  He
+had not, in a sense, been murdered at all.  The man, absolutely,
+unquestionably, without a loophole for doubt, had either been killed
+outright in the automobile accident, or had died immediately
+afterward, probably without regaining consciousness, certainly
+without supplying any of the information that was so determinedly
+sought.
+
+Yes, he saw it now!  Their backs were against the wall, they were at
+their wits' end, these men!  The knowledge that the chauffeur
+possessed, that they KNEW he possessed, was evidently life and death
+to them.  To kill the man before they had wormed out of him what
+they wanted to know, or, at least, until, by holding him a prisoner,
+they had exhausted every means at their command to make him speak,
+was the last thing they would do!
+
+Jimmie Dale sat for a long time quite motionless.  The car was
+speeding at a terrific rate along a straight stretch of road.  He
+could almost have sworn, guided by some intuitive sense, that they
+were in the country.  Well, even if it were so, what did that prove!
+They might have started FROM New York itself--only to return to it
+when they had satisfied themselves that he was sufficiently duped.
+Or they might have started legitimately from outside New York, and
+be going toward the city now.  Since the ultimate destination was
+New York, and they had made no attempt to hide that from him, it was
+useless to speculate--for at best it could be only speculation.  He
+had decided that once before!  The man at his side felt again over
+the scarf to see that it was in place.
+
+Curiously now Jimmie Dale recalled the inward monitor that had
+warned him the honours had not all been his in this first round with
+the Crime Club to-night.  If they had deliberately murdered the
+chauffeur because of a refusal to answer, they would equally have
+done the same to him.  Fool that he had been not to have seen that
+before!  And yet would it have made any difference?  He shook his
+head.  He could not have acted to any better advantage than he had
+done.  He could not--his lips curled in grim derision--have been any
+more convincing.
+
+Convincing!  It was all clear enough now!  If the chauffeur had
+suffered death rather than talk, even admitting the fact that they
+had more grounds for suspecting the chauffeur's complicity, would
+his, Jimmie Dale's, mere denial, his choice, too, of death, have
+been any the more convincing, or have saved his life where it had
+not saved the other's?  A certain added respect for these men,
+against whom, until the end now, his victory or theirs, he realised
+he was fighting for his life, came over him as he recognised the
+touch of a master hand.  They did not know where to find the Tocsin;
+the package that she had said was vital to them was still beyond
+their reach; the chauffeur was dead; and he, Jimmie Dale, alone
+remained--a clew that they had still to prove valid or invalid it
+was true, but the only clew in their possession.  And, gaining
+nothing from him by a show of force, to throw him off his guard,
+they had let him go--meaning him to believe they were convinced he
+knew nothing, and that the episode, the adventure of the night, was,
+as far as they were concerned, ended, finished, and done with!
+
+Time passed, a very long time, as he sat there.  It might have been
+an hour--he could only hazard a guess.  Not one of the men in the
+car had spoken a word.  But to Jimmie Dale, the car itself, the
+ride, its duration, these three strange companions, were for the
+time being extraneous.  Even that sick giddiness in his head had, at
+least temporarily, gone from him.
+
+And so, all unsuspectingly, he was to lead them to the Tocsin and
+fall into the trap himself!  His hands, thrust deep in his pockets,
+were tightly clenched.  They were clever enough, ingenious enough,
+powerful enough to watch him henceforth at every turn--and from now
+on, day and night, they were to be reckoned with.  Suppose that in
+some way, as it might well have happened, for it was now vitally
+necessary that she should communicate with him and he with her, he
+had played blindly into their hands, and through him she should have
+fallen into their power!  It brought a sickening chill, a sort of
+hideous panic to Jimmie Dale--and then fury, anger, in a torrent,
+surged upon him, and there came a merciless desire to crush, to
+strangle, to stamp out this inhuman band of criminals that, with
+intolerable effrontery to the laws of God and man, were so
+elaborately and scientifically equipped for their monstrous
+purposes!
+
+And then Jimmie Dale, in the darkness, smiled again grimly as the
+leader's reference to the Gray Seal recurred to him.  Well, perhaps,
+who knew, they would have reason more than they dreamed of to wish
+the Gray Seal enrolled in their own ranks!  It was strange, curious!
+He had thought all that was ended.  Only a few short hours before he
+had hidden away all, everything that was incident to the life of the
+Gray Seal, the clothes of Larry the Bat, that little metal case with
+the gray-coloured, adhesive seals, a dozen other things, believing
+that it only remained for him to return and destroy them at his
+leisure as a finishing touch to the Gray Seal's career--and now,
+instead, he was face to face with the gravest and most dangerous
+problem that she had ever called upon him to undertake!
+
+Well, at least, the odds were not all in the Crime Club's favour.
+Where they now certainly believed him to be entirely off his guard,
+he was thoroughly on his guard; and where they might suspect him,
+watch him, they would suspect and watch only the character, the
+person of Jimmie Dale, and count not at all upon either Larry the
+Bat or--the Gray Seal.
+
+A sort of savage elation fell upon Jimmie Dale.  His brain, that had
+been stagnant, confused, physically sick with pain and suffering,
+was working now with its old-time vigour and ease, mapping,
+planning, scheming the way ahead.  To strike, and strike quickly--to
+strike FIRST!  It must be his move next--not theirs!  And he must
+act to-night at once, the moment he was given this pretence to
+liberty that they had in store for him, before they had an
+opportunity of closing down around him with a network of spies that
+he could not elude.  By morning, Jimmie Dale would be Larry the Bat,
+and inhabiting the Sanctuary again.  And a tip to Jason, his old
+butler, to the effect, say, that he had gone away for a trip, would
+account for his disappearance satisfactorily enough; it would not
+necessarily arouse their suspicions when they eventually discovered
+he was gone, for against that was always the possible, and quite
+likely presumption that, where they had succeeded in nothing else,
+they had at least succeeded in frightening him thoroughly and to the
+extent of imbuing him with a hasty desire to put a safe distance
+between himself and them.
+
+And now, with his mind made up to his course of action, an intense
+impatience to put his plan into effect, an irritation at the useless
+twistings and turnings of the car that had latterly become more
+frequent, took hold upon him.  How much longer was this to last!
+They must have been fully an hour and a half on the road already,
+and--ah, the car was stopping now!
+
+He straightened up in his seat as the machine came to a halt--but
+the man at his side laid a restraining hand upon him.  The car door
+opened, and one of the men got out.  Jimmie Dale caught an
+indistinct murmur of voices from without, then the man returned to
+his seat, and the car went on again.
+
+Another half hour passed, that, curbing his irritation and
+impatience, was filled with the conjectures and questions that anew
+came crowding in upon his mind.  Why had the car made that stop?  It
+was rather curious.  It was certainly a prearranged meeting place.
+Why?  And these clothes that he now wore--why had they made him
+change?  His own had not been very badly torn.  The reason given him
+was, on the face of it now, in view of what he now knew, mere
+pretence.  What was the ulterior motive behind that pretence?  What
+did this package, that had already cost a man his life to-night,
+contain?  Who was the chauffeur?  What was this death feud between
+the Tocsin and these men?  Did she know where the Crime Club was?
+Who and where was John Johansson?  What was this box that was
+numbered 428?  Could she supply the links that would forge the chain
+into an unbroken whole?
+
+And then for the second time the car slowed down--and this time the
+man on the seat beside Jimmie Dale reached up and untied the scarf.
+
+"You get out here," said the man tersely.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE TRAP
+
+
+Had it not been for the stop the car had previously made, for the
+possibility that he might have obtained a glimpse outside when the
+door had been opened, the scarf over his eyes would have been
+superfluous; for now, with it removed, he could scarcely distinguish
+the forms of the three men around him, since the window curtains of
+the car were tightly drawn.  Nor was he given the opportunity to do
+more, even had it been possible.  The car stopped, the door was
+opened, he was pushed toward it--and even as he reached the ground,
+the door was closed behind him, and the car was speeding on again.
+But where he could not see before, it took now but a glance to
+obtain his bearings--he was standing on a corner on Riverside Drive,
+within a few doors of his own house.
+
+Jimmie Dale stood still for a moment, watching the car as it
+disappeared rapidly up the Drive.  And with a sort of grim
+facetiousness his brain began to correlate time and distance.  Where
+had he come from?  Where was this Crime Club?  They had been, as
+nearly as he could estimate, two hours in making the journey; and,
+as nearly as he could estimate, in their turnings and twistings had
+covered at least twice the distance that would be represented by a
+direct route.  Granting, then, an average speed of forty miles an
+hour, which was overgenerous to be on the safe side, and the fact
+that they certainly had not crossed the Hudson, which now lay before
+him, flanking the Drive, the Crime Club was somewhere within the
+area of a semicircle, whose centre was the corner on which he now
+stood, and whose radius was forty miles--OR FORTY YARDS!  He forced
+a laugh.  It was just that, no more, no less--he was as likely to
+have started on his ride from within a biscuit throw of where he now
+stood, as to have started on it from miles away!
+
+But--he aroused himself with a start--he was wasting time!  It must
+be very late, near morning, and he would have need for every moment
+that was left between now and daylight.  He turned, walked quickly
+to his house, mounted the steps, and with his latch-key--they had at
+least permitted him to retain the contents of his pockets when they
+had forced him to change his clothes--opened the front door softly,
+and, stepping inside, closed the door as silently as he had opened it.
+
+He paused for an instant to listen.  There was not a sound.  The
+servants, naturally, would have been in bed hours ago.  Even old
+Jason--Jimmie Dale smiled, half whimsically, half affectionately--
+whose paternal custom it was to sit up for his Master Jim, who, as
+he was fond of saying, he had dandled as a baby on his knee, had
+evidently given it up as a bad job on this occasion and had turned
+in himself.  Jason, however, had left the light burning here in the
+big reception hall.
+
+Jimmie Dale stepped to the switch and turned off the light; then
+stood hesitant in the darkness.  Was there anything to be gained by
+rousing Jason now and telling him what he intended to do--to
+instruct him to answer any inquiries by the statement that "Mr. Dale
+had gone away for a trip"?  He could trust Jason; Jason already knew
+much--more than one of those mysterious letters of the Tocsin's had
+passed through Jason's hands.
+
+Jimmie Dale shook his head.  No; he could communicate with Jason
+from downtown in the morning.  He had half expected to find Jason
+up, and, in that case, would have taken the other, as far as
+necessary, into his confidence; but it was not a matter that pressed
+for the moment.  He could get into touch with Jason at any time
+readily enough.  Was there anything else before he went?  He would
+not be able to get back as easily as he got out!  Money!  He shook
+his head again--a little grimly this time.  He had been caught once
+before as Larry the Bat without funds!  There was plenty of money
+now hidden in the Sanctuary, enough for any emergency, enough to
+last him indefinitely.
+
+He stepped forward along the hall, his tread noiseless on the rich,
+heavy rug, passed into the rear of the house, descended the back
+stairs, and reached the cellar.  It was below the level of the
+ground, of course; but a narrow window here, though quite large
+enough to permit of egress, gave on the driveway at the side of the
+house that led to the garage in the rear.
+
+Cautiously now, for the cement flooring was, in the stillness,
+little less than a sounding board, Jimmie Dale reached the wall and
+felt along it to the window, the lower edge of whose sill was just
+slightly below the level of his shoulder.  It opened inward, if he
+remembered correctly.  His fingers were feeling for the fastenings.
+It was too dark to see a thing.  He muttered in annoyance.  Where
+were the fastenings!  At the sides, or at the bottom?  His hand
+began to make a circuit of the sill--and then suddenly, with a low,
+sharp cry, he leaned forward!
+
+WHAT DID THIS MEAN?  Wires!  No wires had ever been there before!
+His fingers were working now with feverish haste, telegraphing their
+message to his brain.  The wires ran through the sill close to the
+corner of the wall--tiny fragments of wood, as from an auger, were
+still on the sill--and here was a small particle of wire insulation
+that, those sensitive finger tips proclaimed, was FRESH.
+
+A cold thrill ran through Jimmie Dale; and there came again that
+sickening sense of impotency in the face of the malignant, devilish
+cunning arrayed against him, that once before he had experienced,
+that night.  He had thought to forestall them--and he had been
+forestalled himself!  This could only have been done--they had had
+no interest in him before then--while they held him at the Crime
+Club, while he was spending that two hours in the car!  Was that why
+they had taken so long in coming?  Was that why the car had stopped
+that time--that those with him might be told that the work here had
+been completed, and he need no longer be kept away?
+
+He edged away from the window, and, as cautiously as he had come,
+retraced his steps across the cellar and up the stairs--and then,
+the possibility of being heard from without gone, he broke into a
+run.  There was no need to wonder long what those wires meant.  They
+could mean only one of two things--and the Crime Club would have
+little concern in his electric light!  THEY HAD TAPPED HIS
+TELEPHONE.  The mains, he knew, ran into the cellar from the
+underground service in the street.  He was racing like a madman now.
+How long ago, how many hours ago, had they done that!  Great Scott,
+SHE was to have telephoned!  Had she done so?  Was the game, all,
+everything, she herself, at their mercy already?  If she had
+telephoned, Jason would have left a message on his desk--he would
+look there first--afterward he would waken Jason.
+
+He gained the door of his den on the first landing, a room that ran
+the entire length of one side of the house from front to rear, burst
+in, switched on the light---and stood stock-still in amazement.
+
+"Jason!" he cried out.
+
+The old butler, fully dressed, rubbing and blinking his eyes at the
+light, and with a startled cry, rose up from the depths of a
+lounging chair.
+
+"Jason!" exclaimed Jimmie Dale again.
+
+"I beg pardon, sir, Master Jim," stammered the man.  "I--I must have
+fallen asleep, sir."
+
+"Jason, what are you doing here?" Jimmie Dale demanded sharply.
+
+"Well, sir," said Jason, still fumbling for his words, "it--it was
+the telephone, sir."
+
+"The--TELEPHONE!"
+
+"Yes, sir.  A woman, begging your pardon, Master Jim, a lady, sir,
+has been telephoning every hour or so, and she--"
+
+"YES!"  Jimmie Dale had jumped across the room and had caught the
+other fiercely by the shoulder.  "Yes--yes!  What did she say?
+QUICK, man!"
+
+"Good Lord, Master Jim!" faltered Jason.  "I--she--"
+
+"Jason," said Jimmie Dale, suddenly as cold as ice, "what did she
+say?  Think, man!  Every word!"
+
+"She didn't say anything, Master Jim.  Nothing at all, sir--except
+to keep asking each time if she could speak to you."
+
+"Nothing else, Jason?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"You are SURE?"
+
+"I'm sure, Master Jim.  Not another thing but that, sir, just as
+I've told you."
+
+"Thank God!" said Jimmie Dale, in a low voice.
+
+"Yes, sir," said Jason mechanically.
+
+"How long ago was it since she telephoned last?" asked Jimmie Dale
+quickly.
+
+"Well, sir, I couldn't rightly say.  You see, as I said, Master Jim,
+I must have gone to sleep, but--"
+
+They were staring tensely into each other's face.  The telephone on
+the desk was ringing vibrantly, clamourously, through the stillness
+of the room.
+
+Jason, white, frightened, bewildered, touched his lips with the tip
+of his tongue.
+
+"That'll be her again, sir," he said hoarsely.
+
+"Wait!" said Jimmie Dale tersely.
+
+He was trying to think, to think faster than he had ever thought
+before.  He could not tell Jason to say that he had not yet come in--
+THEY knew he was in, it would be but showing his hand to that "some
+one" who would be listening now on the wire.  He dared not speak to
+her, or, above all, allow her to expose herself by a single
+inadvertent word.  He dared not speak to her--and she was here now,
+calling him!  He could not speak to her--and it was life and death
+almost that she should know what had happened; life and death almost
+for both of them that he should know all and everything she could
+tell him.  True, it would take but a minute to run to the cellar and
+cut those wires, while Jason held her on the pretence of calling
+him, Jimmie Dale, to the 'phone; only a minute to cut those wires--
+and in so doing advertise to these fiends the fact that he had
+discovered their trick; admit, as though in so many words, that
+their suspicions of him were justified; lay himself open to some new
+move that he could not hope to foresee; and, paramount to all else,
+rob her and himself of this master trump the Crime Club had placed
+in his hands, by means of which there was a chance that he could
+hoist them with their own petard!
+
+The telephone rang again--imperatively, persistently.
+
+"Listen, Jason."  Jimmie Dale was speaking rapidly, earnestly.  "Say
+that I've come in and have gone to bed--in a vile humour.  That you
+told me a lady had been calling, but that I said if she called again
+I wasn't to be disturbed if it was the Queen of Sheba herself--that
+I wouldn't answer any 'phone to-night for anybody.  Do you
+understand?  No argument with her--just that.  Now, answer!"
+
+Jason lifted the receiver from the hook.
+
+"Yes--hello!" he said.  "Yes, ma'am, Mr. Dale has come in, but he
+has retired. . . .  Yes, I told him; but, begging your pardon,
+ma'am, he was in what I might say was a bit of a temper, and said he
+wasn't to be disturbed by any one."
+
+Jimmie Dale snatched the receiver from Jason, and put it to his own
+ear.
+
+"Kindly tell Mr. Dale that unless he comes to the 'phone now," a
+feminine voice, her voice, in well-simulated indignation, was
+saying, "it will be a very long day before I shall trouble myself
+to--"
+
+Jimmie Dale clapped his hand firmly over the mouthpiece of the
+instrument.  Thank God for that clever brain of hers!  She
+understood!
+
+"Repeat what you said before, Jason," he instructed hurriedly.
+"Then say 'Good-night.'"
+
+He removed his hand from the mouthpiece.
+
+"It's quite useless, ma'am," said Jason apologetically.  "In the
+rare temper he was in, he wouldn't come, to use his own words,
+ma'am, not for the Queen of Sheba herself, ma'am.  Good-night,
+ma'am."
+
+Jimmie Dale hung the receiver back on the hook--and with his hand
+flirted away a bead of moisture that had sprung to his forehead.
+
+"Good Lord, Master Jim, what's wrong, sir?  What's happened, sir?
+And--and those clothes, Master Jim, sir!  They aren't the ones you
+went out in, sir--they aren't yours at all, sir!"  Jason ventured
+anxiously.
+
+"Jason," said Jimmie Dale, "switch off the light, and go to the
+front window and look out.  Keep well behind the curtains.  Don't
+show yourself.  Tell me if you see anything."
+
+"Yes, sir," said Jason obediently.
+
+The light went out.  Jimmie Dale moved to the rear of the room--to
+the window overlooking the garage and yard.
+
+"I don't see anything, sir," Jason called.
+
+"Watch!" Jimmie Dale answered.
+
+A minute passed--two--three.  Jimmie Dale was staring down into the
+black of the yard.  She understood!  She knew, of course, before she
+'phoned that something had gone wrong to-night.  She knew that only
+peril of the gravest moment would have kept him from the 'phone--and
+her.  She knew now, as a logical conclusion, that it was dangerous
+to attempt to communicate with him at his home.  Those wires!  Where
+did they lead to?  Not far away--that would be almost a mechanical
+impossibility.  Was it into the Crime Club itself--near at hand?  Or
+the basement, say, of that apartment house across the driveway?
+Or--where?
+
+And then Jimmie Dale spoke again:
+
+"Do you see anything, Jason?"
+
+"I'm not sure, sir," Jason answered hesitantly.  "I thought I saw a
+man move behind a tree out there across the road a minute ago, sir.
+Yes, sir--there he is again!"
+
+There was a thin, mirthless smile on Jimmie Dale's lips.
+
+Below, in the shadow of the garage, a dark form, like a deeper
+shadow, stirred--and was still again.
+
+"What time is it, Jason?" Jimmie Dale asked presently.
+
+"It'll be about half-past four, sir."
+
+"Go to bed, Jason."
+
+"Yes, sir; but"--Jason's voice, low, troubled, came through the
+darkness from the upper end of the room--"Master Jim, sir, I--"
+
+"Go to bed, Jason--and not a word of this."
+
+"Yes, sir.  Good-night, Master Jim."
+
+"Good-night, Jason."
+
+Jimmie Dale groped his way to the big lounging chair in which he had
+found Jason asleep, and flung himself into it.  They had struck
+quickly, these ingenious, dress-suited murderers of the Crime Club!
+The house was already watched, would be watched now untiringly,
+unceasingly; not a movement of his henceforth but would be under
+their eyes!
+
+His hands, resting on the arms of the chair, closed slowly until
+they became tight-clenched, knotted fists.  What was he to do?  It
+was not only the Crime Club, it was not only the Tocsin and her
+peril--there was the underworld snapping and snarling at his heels,
+there was the police, dogged and sullen, ever on the trail of the
+Gray Seal!  His life, even before this, in his fight against the
+underworld and the police, had depended upon his freedom of action--
+and now, at one and the same time, that freedom was cut away from
+beneath his feet, as it were, and a third foe, equally as deadly as
+the others, was added to the list!
+
+For months, to preserve and sustain the character of Larry the Bat,
+he had been forced to assume the role almost daily; for, in that
+sordid empire below the dead line, whose one common bond and aim was
+the Gray Seal's death, where suspicion, one of the other, was
+rampant and extravagant, where each might be the one against whom
+all swore their vengeance, Larry the Bat could not mysteriously
+disappear from his accustomed haunts without inviting suspicion in
+an active and practical form--an inquisitorial visit to his squalid
+lodgings, the Sanctuary--and the end of Larry the Bat!
+
+If, as he had thought only a few hours before, he was through
+forever with his dual life, that would not have mattered, the
+underworld would have been welcome to make what it chose of it--but
+now the preservation of the character of Larry the Bat was more
+vital and necessary to him than it had ever been before.  It was a
+means of defense and offense against these men who lurked now
+outside his doors.  It was the sole means now of communication with
+her; for, warned both by Jason's words, and what must be an obvious
+fact to her, that their plans had miscarried, that it was dangerous
+to communicate with him as Jimmie Dale, she would expect him, count
+on him to make that move.  There would be no longer either reason or
+attempt on her part to maintain the mystery with which she had
+heretofore surrounded herself, the crisis had come, she would be
+watching, waiting, hoping, seeking for him more anxiously and with
+far more at stake than he had ever sought for her--until now!
+
+He got up impulsively from his chair, and, in the blackness, began
+to pace the room.  The next move was clear, pitifully clear; it had
+been clear from the first, it had been clear even in that ride in
+the car--it was so clear that it seemed veritably to mock him as he
+prodded his brains for some means of putting it into execution.  He
+must get to the Sanctuary, become Larry the Bat--but how?  HOW!  The
+question seemed at last to become resonant, to ring through the room
+with the weight of doom upon it.
+
+Schemes, plans, ideas came, bringing a momentary uplift--only to be
+discarded the next instant with a sort of bitter, desperate regret.
+These men were not men of mere ordinary intelligence; their
+cleverness, their power, the amazing scope of their organisation,
+all bore grim witness to the fact that they would be blinded not at
+all by any paltry ruse.
+
+He could walk out of the house in the morning as Jimmie Dale without
+apparent hindrance--that was obvious enough.  And so long as he
+pursued the usual avocations of Jimmie Dale, he would not be
+interfered with--only WATCHED.  It was useless to consider that plan
+for a moment.  It would not help him to reach the Sanctuary--without
+leading them there behind him!  True, there was always the chance
+that he might shake them off his trail, but he could hardly hope to
+accomplish anything like that without their knowing that it was done
+DELIBERATELY--and that he dared not risk.  The strongest weapon in
+his hands now was his secret knowledge that he was being watched.
+
+That telephone there, for instance, that most curiously kept on
+insisting in his mind that it, and it alone was the way out, was the
+last thing he could place in jeopardy.  Besides, there was another
+reason why such a plan would not do; for, granting even that he
+succeeded in eluding them on the way, and managed to reach the
+Sanctuary, his freedom of action would be so restricted and limited
+as to be practically worthless--he would have to return to his home
+here again within a reasonable time as Jimmie Dale, within a few
+hours at most--or again they would be in possession of the fact that
+he had discovered their surveillance.
+
+That, it was true, had been his original plan when he had entered
+the house half an hour previously, but it was an entirely different
+matter now.  Then, he had counted on GETTING AWAY without their
+knowing it, before they, as he had fondly thought, would have had a
+chance to establish their espionage, and when they would have had no
+reason to suspect, for a time at least, that he was not still within
+the house, when they would have been watching, as it were, an empty
+cage.
+
+He stopped in his walk, and, after a moment, dropped down into the
+lounging chair again.  That was it, of course.  An empty cage!  If
+he could escape from the house!  Not so much without their seeing
+him; that was more or less a mechanical detail.  But escape--and
+leave them in possession of a sort of guarantee or assurance that he
+was still there!  That would give him the freedom of action that he
+must have.  He smiled with bitter irony.  That solved the problem!
+That was all there was to it--just that!  It was very simple,
+exceedingly simple; it was only--impossible!
+
+The smile left his lips, and once more his hands, clenched fiercely.
+No; it was not impossible!  It MUST be done--if he was to win
+through, if he was even to save himself!  It must be done--or FAIL
+her!  It COULD be done; there was a way--if he could only see it!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE "HOUR"
+
+
+As the minutes passed, many of them, Jimmie Dale sat there
+motionless, staring before him at the desk that was faintly outlined
+in the unlighted room.  Then somewhere in the house a clock struck
+the hour.  Five o'clock!  He raised his head.  YES!  It could be
+done!  There was a way!  He had the germ of it now.  And now the
+plan began to grow, to take form and shape in his mind, to dovetail,
+to knit the integral parts into a comprehensive whole.  There was a
+way--but he must have assistance.  Jason--yes, assuredly.  Benson,
+his chauffeur--yes, equally as trustworthy as Jason.  Benson was
+devoted to him; and moreover Benson was young, alert, daring, cool.
+He had had more than one occasion to test Benson's resourcefulness
+and nerve!
+
+Jimmie Dale rose abruptly, went to the rear window, and, parting the
+curtains cautiously, stood peering down into the courtyard.  Yes, it
+was feasible; even a little more than feasible.  The garage fronted
+the driveway, of course, to give free entrance and egress to the
+cars, but where the wall of the garage and the rear wall of the
+house overlapped, as it were, the space between them was not much
+more than ten yards; and here the shadows of the two walls,
+mingling, lay like a black, impenetrable pathway--not like that
+other shadow he had seen moving at the side of the garage, and that,
+if not for the moment discernible, was none the less surely still
+lurking there!
+
+Satisfied, Jimmie Dale swung briskly from the window, and, going now
+to his bedroom across the hall, undressed and went to bed--but not
+to sleep.  There would be time enough to sleep, all day, if he
+wished; now, there were still the little details to be thought out
+that, more than anything else, could make or wreck his plans.  A
+point overdone, the faintest suggestion of a false note where men of
+the calibre of those against whom he was now fighting for his life
+were concerned, would not only make his scheme abortive, but would
+place him utterly at their mercy.
+
+It was nine o'clock when he rang for Jason.
+
+"Jason," he said abruptly, as the other entered, "I want you to
+telephone for Doctor Merlin."
+
+"The doctor, sir!" exclaimed the old man anxiously.  "You're--you're
+not ill, Master Jim, sir?"
+
+"Do I look ill, Jason?" inquired Jimmie Dale gravely.
+
+"Well, sir," admitted Jason, in concern; "a bit done up, sir,
+perhaps.  A little pale, sir; though I'm sure--"
+
+"I'm glad to hear it," said Jimmie Dale, sitting up in bed.  "The
+worse I look, the better!"
+
+"I--I beg pardon, sir?" stammered Jason.
+
+"Jason," said Jimmie Dale, gravely again, "you have had reason to
+know that on several occasions my life has been threatened.  It is
+threatened now.  You know from last night that this house is now
+watched.  You may, or you may not have surmised--that our telephone
+wires have been tapped."
+
+"Tapped, sir!"--Jason's face had gone a little gray.
+
+"Yes; a party line, so to speak," said Jimmie Dale grimly.  "Do you
+understand?  You must be careful to say no more, no less than
+exactly what I tell you to say.  Now go and telephone!  Ask the
+doctor to come over and see me this morning.  Simply say that I am
+not feeling well; but that, apart from being apparently in a very
+nervous condition, you do not know what is the matter."
+
+"Yes, sir--good Lord, sir!" gasped Jason--and left the room to carry
+out his orders.
+
+An hour later, Doctor Merlin had been and gone--and had left two
+prescriptions; one written, the other verbal.  With the written one,
+Benson, in his chauffeur's livery, was dispatched to the drug store;
+the verbal one was precisely what Jimmie Dale had expected from the
+fussy old family physician: "Two or three days of quiet in the house
+James; and if you need me again, let me know."
+
+"Now, Jason," said Jimmie Dale, when the old man had returned from
+ushering Doctor Merlin from the house, "our friends out there will
+be anxious to learn the verdict.  I was to dine with the Ross-
+Hendersons to-morrow night, was I not?"
+
+"Yes, sir; I think so, sir."
+
+"Make sure!" said Jimmie Dale.  "Look in my engagement book there on
+the table."
+
+Jason looked.
+
+"Yes, sir, that's right," he announced.
+
+"Very good," said Jimmie Dale softly.  "Now go and telephone again,
+Jason.  Present my regrets and excuses to the Ross-Hendersons, and
+say that under the doctor's orders I am confined to the house for
+the next few days--and, Jason!"
+
+"Yes, sir?"
+
+"When Benson returns with the medicine let him bring it here
+himself--and I shall want you as well."
+
+Jimmie Dale propped himself up a little wearily on the pillows, as
+Jason went out of the room.  After all, his condition was not
+entirely feigned.  He was, as a matter of fact, pretty well played
+out, both mentally and physically.  Certainly, that he should
+require a doctor and be confined to the house could not arouse
+suspicion even in the minds of those alert, aristocratic thugs of
+the Crime Club, prone as they would be to suspect anything--a man
+who had been knocked unconscious in an automobile smash the night
+before, had been in a fight, had been subjected to a terrific mental
+shock, to say nothing of the infernal drug that had been
+administered to him, might well be expected to be indisposed the
+next morning, and for several mornings following that!  It might,
+indeed, even cause them to relax their vigilance for the time being--
+though he dared build nothing on that.  Well, he had only to coach
+Benson and Jason in the parts they were to play, and the balance of
+the morning and all the afternoon was his in which to rest.
+
+He reached over to the table, picked up a pencil and paper, and
+began to jot down memoranda.  He had just tossed the pencil back on
+the table as the two men entered.
+
+Jason, at a sign, closed the door quietly.
+
+Jimmie Dale looked at Benson half musingly, half whimsically, for a
+moment before he spoke.
+
+"Benson," he said, "the back seat of the large touring car is hinged
+and lifts up, once the cushion is removed, doesn't it?"
+
+"Yes, sir," Benson answered promptly.
+
+"And there's space enough for, say, a man inside, isn't there?"
+
+"Why, yes, sir; I suppose so--at a squeeze"--Benson stared blankly.
+
+"Quite so!" said Jimmie Dale calmly.  "Now, another matter, Benson:
+I believe some chauffeurs have a habit, when occasion lends itself,
+of taking, shall we say, their 'best girl' out riding in their
+masters' machines?"
+
+"SOME might," Benson replied, a little stiffly.  "I hope you don't
+think, sir, that--"
+
+"One moment, Benson.  The point is, it's done--quite generally?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"And you have a 'best girl,' or at least could find one for such a
+purpose, if you were so inclined?"
+
+"Yes, sir," said Benson; "but--"
+
+"Very good!" Jimmie Dale interrupted.  "Then to-night, Benson,
+taking advantage of my illness, and to-morrow night, and the nights
+after that until further notice, you will acquire and put into
+practice that reprehensible habit."
+
+"I--I don't understand, Mr. Dale."
+
+"No; I dare say not," said Jimmie Dale--and then the whimsicality
+dropped from him.  "Benson," he said slowly, "do you remember a
+night, nearly four years ago, the first night you ever saw me?  You
+had, indiscreetly, I think, displayed more money than was wise in
+that East Side neighbourhood."
+
+"I remember," said Benson, with a sudden start; then simply: "I
+wouldn't be here now, sir, if it hadn't been for you."
+
+"Well," said Jimmie Dale quietly, "the tables are turned to-day,
+Benson.  As Jason already knows, this house is watched.  For reasons
+that I cannot explain, I am in great danger.  Bluntly, I am putting
+my life in your hands--and Jason's."
+
+Benson looked for an instant from Jimmie Dale to Jason, caught the
+strained, troubled expression on the old man's face, then back again
+at Jimmie Dale.
+
+"D'ye mean that, sir!" he cried.  "Then you can count on me, Mr.
+Dale, to the last ditch!"
+
+"I know that, Benson," Jimmie Dale said softly.  "And now, both of
+you, listen!  It is imperative that I should get away from the
+house; and equally imperative that those watching should believe
+that I am still here.  Not even the servants are to be permitted a
+suspicion that I am not here in my bed, ill.  That, Jason, is your
+task.  You will allow no one to wait on me but yourself; you will
+bring the meal trays up regularly--and eat the food yourself.  You
+will answer all inquiries, telephone and otherwise, in person--I am
+not seeing any one.  You understand perfectly, Jason?"
+
+"I understand, Master Jim.  You need have no fear, sir, on that
+score."
+
+"Now, you, Benson," Jimmie Dale went on.  "A few minutes ago I sent
+you out in your chauffeur's togs with that prescription.  You were
+undoubtedly observed.  I wanted you to be.  It was quite necessary
+that they should know and be able to recognise you again--to
+disabuse their minds later on of the possibility that I might be
+masquerading in your clothes; and also, of course, that they should
+know who you were, and what your position was in the household.
+Very well!  To-night, at eight o'clock exactly, you are to go out
+from the back door of the house to the garage.  On the way out--it
+will be quite dark then--I want you to drop something, say, a bunch
+of keys that you had been jingling in your hand.  You are to
+experience some difficulty in finding it again, move about a little
+to force any one that may be lurking by the garage to retreat around
+the corner.  Grumble a bit and make a little noise; but you are not
+to overdo it--a couple of minutes at the outside is enough, by that
+time I shall be under the car seat.  You will then run the machine
+out to the street and stop at the curb, jump out, and, as though you
+had forgotten something, hurry back to the garage.  You must not be
+away long--enough only to permit, say, a passer-by to glance into
+the car and satisfy himself that it is empty.  You understand, of
+course, Benson, that the hood must be down--no closed car to invite
+even the suggestion of concealment--that would be a fatal blunder.
+Drive then to the young lady's home by as direct a route as you can--
+give no appearance of being aware that you are followed, as you
+will be, and much less the appearance of attempting to elude
+pursuit.  Act naturally.  Between here and your destination I will
+manage readily enough to leave the car.  You will then take the
+young lady for her drive--that is what they will be interested in--
+your motive for going out to-night.  And, as I said, take her
+driving again on each succeeding night--establish the HABIT to their
+satisfaction."
+
+Jimmie Dale paused, glanced at the paper which he still held in his
+hand, then handed it to Benson.
+
+"Just one thing more, Benson," he said: "Listed on that paper you
+will find a different rendezvous for each night for the next five
+nights, excluding to-night, which, after you have returned the young
+lady to her home, you are to pass by on your way back here.  See
+that your drive is always over in time for you to pass each night's
+rendezvous at half past eleven sharp.  Don't stop unless I signal
+you.  If I am not there, go right on home, and be at the next place
+on the following night.  I am fairly well satisfied they will not
+bother about you after to-night, or to-morrow night at the most;
+but, for all that, you must take no chances, so, except in the route
+you take in going to the young lady's, always avoid covering the
+same ground twice, which might give the appearance of having some
+ulterior purpose in view--even in your drives, vary your runs.  Is
+this clear, Benson?"
+
+"Yes, sir," said Benson earnestly.
+
+"Very well, then," said Jimmie Dale.  "Eight o'clock to the dot,
+Benson--compare your time with Jason's.  And now, Jason, see that I
+get a chance to sleep until dinner time to-night."
+
+The hours that followed were hours of sound and much-needed sleep
+for Jimmie Dale, and from which he awoke only on Jason's entrance
+that evening with the dinner tray.
+
+"I've slept like a log, Jason!" he cried briskly, as he leaped out
+of bed.  "Anything new--anything happened?"
+
+"No, sir; not a thing," Jason answered.  "Only, Master Jim, sir"--
+the old man twisted his hands nervously--"I--you'll excuse my saying
+so, sir--I do hope you'll be careful to-night, sir.  I can't help
+being afraid that something'll happen to you, Master Jim."
+
+"Nonsense, Jason!" Jimmie Dale laughed cheerfully.  "There's nothing
+going to happen--to me!  You go ahead now and stay with the
+servants, and get them out of the road at the proper time."
+
+He bathed, dressed, ate his dinner, and was slipping cartridges into
+the magazine of his automatic when, within a minute or two of eight
+o'clock, Jason's whisper came from the doorway.
+
+"It's all clear now, Master Jim, sir."
+
+"Right!" Jimmie Dale responded--and followed Jason down the
+stairway, and to the head of the cellar stairs.
+
+Here Jason halted.
+
+"God keep you, Master Jim!" said the old man huskily.  "Good-night,
+Jason," Jimmie Dale answered softly; and, with a reassuring squeeze
+on the other's arm, went on down to the cellar.
+
+Here he moved quickly, noiselessly across to the window--not the
+window of the night before, but another of the same description,
+almost directly beneath the one in his den above, that faced the
+garage and lay in the line of that black shadow path between the two
+buildings.  Deftly, cautiously without sound, a half inch, an inch
+at a time he opened it.  He stood listening, then.  A minute passed.
+Then he heard Benson open and shut the back door; then Benson in the
+yard; and then Benson's voice in a muttered and irritable growl,
+talking to himself, as he stamped around on the ground.
+
+With a lithe, agile movement, Jimmie Dale pulled himself up and
+through the window--and began to creep rapidly on hands and knees
+toward the garage.  It was dark, intensely dark.  He could barely
+distinguish Benson's form, though, as he passed the other, the
+slight sounds he made drowned out by the chauffeur's angry
+mumblings, he could have reached out and touched Benson easily.
+
+He gained the interior of the garage, and, as Benson, came on again,
+stepped lightly into the car, lifted the seat, and wriggled his way
+inside.
+
+It was close, stuffy, abominably cramped, but Jimmie Dale was
+smiling grimly now.  Thanks to Benson, there wasn't a possibility
+that he had been seen.  He both felt and heard Benson start the car.
+Then the car moved forward, ran the length of the driveway, bumped
+slightly as it made the street--and stopped.  He heard Benson jump
+out and run back--and then he listened intently, and the grim smile
+flickered on his lips again.  Came the sound of a footstep on the
+sidewalk close beside the car--then silence--the car shook a little
+as though some one's weight was on the step--then the footsteps
+receded--Benson returned on the run--and the car started forward
+once more.
+
+Perhaps ten minutes passed.  Three times the car had swerved
+sharply, making a corner turn.  Then Jimmie Dale pushed up the seat,
+and, protected from observation from behind by the back of the car
+itself, crawled out and crouched down on the floor of the tonneau.
+
+"Don't look around, Benson," he said calmly.  "Are we followed?"
+
+"Yes, sir." Benson answered.  "At least, there's always been a car
+behind us, though not the same one.  They're pretty clever.  There
+must be three or four, each following the other.  Every time I turn
+a corner it's a different car that turns it behind me."
+
+"How far behind?" Jimmie Dale asked.
+
+"Half a block."
+
+"Slow down a little," instructed Jimmie Dale; "and don't turn
+another corner until they've had a chance to accomodate themselves
+to your new speed.  You are going too fast for me to jump, and I
+don't want them to notice any change in speed, except what is made
+in plain sight.  Yes; that's better.  Where are we, Benson?"
+
+"That's Amsterdam Avenue ahead," replied Benson.
+
+"All right," said Jimmie Dale quietly.  "Turn into it.  The more
+people the better.  Tell me just as you are about to turn."
+
+"Yes, sir," said Benson; then, almost on the instant, "All ready,
+sir!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's hand reached out for the door catch, edged the door
+ajar, the car swerved, took the corner--and Jimmie Dale stepped out
+on the running board, hung there negligently for a moment as though
+chatting with Benson, and then with an airy "good-night" dropped
+nonchalantly to the ground, and the next instant had mingled with
+the throng of pedestrians on the sidewalk.
+
+A half minute later, a large gray automobile turned the corner and
+followed Benson--and Jimmie Dale, stepping out into the street
+again, swung on a downtown car.  The road to the Sanctuary was open!
+
+In his impatience, now, the street car seemed to drag along every
+foot of the way; but a glance at his watch, as he finally reached
+the Bowery, and, walking then, rapidly approached the cross street a
+few steps ahead that led to the Sanctuary, told him that it was
+still but a quarter to nine.  But even at that he quickened his
+steps a little.  He was free now!  There was a sort of savage,
+elemental uplift upon him.  He was free!  He could strike now in his
+own defense--and hers!  In a few moments he would be at the
+Sanctuary; in a few more he would be Larry the Bat, and by to-morrow
+at the latest he would see--The Tocsin.  After all, that "hour" was
+not to be taken from him!  It was not, perhaps, the hour that she
+had meant it should be, thought and prayed, perhaps, that it might
+be!  It was not the hour of victory.  But it was the hour that meant
+to him the realisation of the years of longing, the hour when he
+should see her, see her for the first time face to face, when there
+should be no more barriers between them, when--"
+
+"Fer Gawd's sake, mister, buy a pencil!"
+
+A hand was plucking at his sleeve, the thin voice was whining in his
+ear.  He halted mechanically.  A woman, old, bedraggled, ragged, was
+thrusting a bunch of cheap pencils imploringly toward him--and then,
+with a stifled cry, Jimmie Dale leaned forward.  The eyes that
+lifted to his for an instant were bright and clear with the vigor of
+youth, great eyes of brown they were, and trouble, hope, fear,
+wistfulness, ay, and a glorious shyness were in their depths.  And
+then the voice he knew so well, the Tocsin's was whispering
+hurriedly:
+
+"I will be waiting here, Jimmie--for Larry the Bat."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+THE TOCSIN
+
+
+It was only a little way back along the street from the Sanctuary to
+the corner on the Bowery where as Jimmie Dale he had left her, where
+as Larry the Bat now he was going to meet her again; it would take
+only a moment or so, even at Larry the Bat's habitual,
+characteristic, slouching, gait--but it seemed that was all too
+slow, that he must throw discretion to the winds and run the
+distance.  His blood was tingling; there was elation upon him,
+coupled with an almost childlike dread that she might be gone.
+
+"The Tocsin!  The Tocsin!" he kept saying to himself.
+
+Yes; she was still there, still whiningly imploring those who passed
+to buy her miserable pencils--and then, with a quick-flung whisper
+to him to follow as he slouched up close to her, she had started
+slowly down the street.
+
+"The Tocsin!  The Tocsin!  The Tocsin!"--his brain seemed to be
+ringing with the words, ringing with them in a note clear as a
+silver bell.  The Tocsin--at last!  The woman who so strangely, so
+wonderfully, so mysteriously had entered into his life, and
+possessed it, and filled it with a love and yearning that had come
+to mold and sway and actuate his very existence--the woman for whom
+he had fought; for whom he had risked, and gladly risked, his
+wealth, his name, his honour--everything; the woman for whose sake
+he, the Gray Seal, was sought and hounded as the most notorious
+criminal of the age; she whose cleverness, whose resourcefulness,
+whose amazing intimacy with the hidden things of the underworld had
+seemed, indeed, to border on the supernatural; she, the Tocsin--the
+woman whose face he had never seen before!  The woman whose face he
+had never seen before--and who now was that wretched hag that
+hobbled along the street before him, begging, whining, and
+importuning the passers-by to purchase of her pitiful wares!
+
+He laughed a little--buoyantly.  He had never pictured a first
+meeting such as this!  A hag?  Yes!  And one as disreputable in
+appearance as he himself, as Larry the Bat, was disreputable!  But
+he had seen her eyes!  Inimitable as was her disguise, she could not
+hide her eyes, or hide the pledge they held of the beauty of form
+and feature beneath the tattered rags and the touch of a master in
+the make-up that brought haggard want and age into the face--and
+dimly he began to divine the source, the means by which she had
+acquired the information that for years had enabled her to plan
+their coups, that had enabled him to execute them under the guise of
+crime, that for years had seemed beyond all human reach.
+
+Where was she going?  Where was she taking him?  But what did it
+matter!  The years of waiting were at an end--the years of mystery
+in a few moments now would be mystery no more!
+
+Ah!  She had turned from the Bowery, and was heading east.  He
+shuffled on after her, guardedly, a half block behind.  It was well
+that Jimmie Dale had disappeared, that he was Larry the Bat again--
+the neighbourhood was growing more and more one that Jimmie Dale
+could not long linger in without attracting attention; while, on the
+other hand, it was the natural environment of such as Larry the Bat
+and such as she, who was leading him now to the supreme moment of
+his life.  Yes, it was that--the fulfillment of the years!  The
+thought of it alone filled his mind, his soul; it brushed aside, it
+blotted out for the time being the danger, the peril, the deadly
+menace that hung over them both.  It was only that she, the Tocsin,
+was here--only that at last they would be together.
+
+On she went, traversing street after street, the direction always
+trending toward the river--until finally she halted before what
+appeared to be, as nearly as he could make out in the almost total
+darkness of the ill-lighted street, a small and tumble-down, self-
+contained dwelling that bordered on what seemed to be an unfenced
+store yard of some description.  He drew his breath in sharply.  She
+had halted--waiting for him to come up with her.  She was waiting
+for him--WAITING for him!  It seemed as though he drank of some
+strange, exhilarating elixir--he reached her side eagerly--and then--
+and then--her hand had caught his, and she was leading him into the
+house, into a black passage where he could see nothing, into a room
+equally black over whose threshold he stumbled, and her voice in a
+low, conscious way, with a little tremour, a half sob in it that
+thrilled him with its promise, was in his ears:
+
+"We are safe here, Jimmie, for a little while--but, oh, Jimmie, what
+have I done!  What have I done to bring you into this--only--only--I
+was so sure, so sure, Jimmie, that there was nothing more to fear!"
+
+The blood was beating in hammer blows at his temples.  It seemed all
+unreal, untrue that this moment could be his, that it was not a
+dream--a dream which was presently to be snatched from him in a
+bitter awakening.  And then he laughed out wildly, passionately.
+No--it was true, it was real!  Her breath was on his cheek, it was a
+living, pulsing hand that was still in his--and then soul and mind
+and body seemed engulfed and lost in a mad ecstasy--and she was in
+his arms, crushed to him, and he was raining kisses upon her face.
+
+"I love you!  I love you!" he was crying hoarsely; and over and over
+again: "I love you!  I love you!"
+
+She did not struggle.  The warm, rich lips were yielding to his; he
+could feel the throb, the life in the young, lithe form against his
+own.  She was his--his!  The years, the past, all were swept away--
+and she was his at last--his for always.  And there came a mighty
+sense of kingship upon him, as though all the world were at his
+feet, and virility, and a great, glad strength above all other
+men's, and a song was in his soul, a song triumphant--for she was
+his!
+
+"You!" he cried out--and strained her to him.  "You!" he cried
+again--and kissed her lips and her eyelids and her lips again.
+
+And then her head was buried on his shoulder, and she was crying
+softly; but after a moment she raised her hands and laid them upon
+his face, and held them there, and because it was dark, dared to
+raise her head as well, and her eyes to look into his.
+
+Then for a long time they stood there so, and for a long time
+neither spoke--and then with a little startled, broken cry, as
+though the peril and the menace hanging over them, forgotten for the
+moment, were thrust like a knife stab suddenly upon her, she drew
+herself away, and ran from him, and went and got a lamp, and lighted
+it, and set it upon the table.
+
+And Jimmie Dale, still standing there, watched her.  How gloriously
+her eyes shone, dimmed and misty with the tears that filled them
+though they were!  And there was nothing incongruous in the rags
+that clothed her, in the squalour and poverty of the bare room, in
+the white furrows that the tears had plowed through the grime and
+make-up on her cheeks.
+
+"You wonderful, wonderful woman!" Jimmie Dale whispered.
+
+She shook her head as though almost in self-reproach.
+
+"I am not wonderful, Jimmie," she said, in a low voice.  "I"--and
+then she caught his arm, and her voice broke a little--"I've brought
+you into this--probably to your death.  Jimmie, tell me what
+happened last night, and since then.  I--I've thought at times to-
+day I should go mad.  Oh, Jimmie, there is so much to say to-night,
+so much to do if--if we are ever to be together for--for always.
+Last night, Jimmie--the telephone--I knew there was danger--that all
+had gone wrong--what was it?"
+
+His arms were around her shoulders, drawing her close to him again.
+
+"I found the wires tapped," he said slowly.
+
+"Yes, and--and the man you met--the chauffeur?"
+
+"He is dead," Jimmie Dale answered gently.
+
+He felt her hand close with a quick, spasmodic clutch upon his arm;
+her face grew white--and for a moment she turned away her head.
+
+"And--and the package?" she asked presently.
+
+"I do not know," replied Jimmie Dale.  "He did not have it with him;
+he--"
+
+"Wait!" she interrupted quickly.  "We are only wasting time like
+this!  Tell me everything, everything just as it happened,
+everything from the moment you received my letter."
+
+And, holding her there in his arms, softening as best he could the
+more brutal details, he told her.  And, at the end, for a little
+while she was silent; then in a strained, impulsive way she asked
+again:
+
+"The chauffeur--you are sure--you are positive that he is dead?"
+
+"Yes," said Jimmie Dale grimly; "I am sure."  And then the pent-up
+flood of questions burst from his lips.  Who was the chauffeur?  The
+package, the box numbered 428, and John Johansson?  And the Crime
+Club?  And the issue at stake?  The danger, the peril that
+surrounded her?  And she--above all--more than anything else--about
+herself--her strange life, its mystery?
+
+She checked him with a strangely wistful touch of her finger upon
+his lips, with a queer, pathetic shake of her head.
+
+"No, Jimmie; not that way.  You would never understand.  I cannot--"
+
+"But I am to know--now!  Surely I am to know NOW!" he cried, a
+sudden sense of dismay upon him.  Three years!  Three years--and
+always the "next" time!  "I must know now, if I am to help you!"
+
+She smiled a little wanly at him, as she drew herself away, and,
+dropping into a chair, placed her elbows on the rickety table,
+cupping her chin in her hands.
+
+"Yes; you are to know now," she said, almost as though she were
+talking to herself; then, with a swift intake of her breath,
+impulsively: "Jimmie!  Jimmie!  I had thought that it would be all
+so different when--when you came.  That--that I would have nothing
+to fear--for you--for me--because--it would be all over.  And now
+you are here, Jimmie--and, oh, thank God for you!--but I feel to-
+night almost--almost as though it were hopeless, that--that we were
+beaten."
+
+"Beaten!"  He stepped quickly to the table, and sat down, and took
+one of her hands away from her face to hold it in both his own.
+"Beaten!" he laughed out defiantly; then, playfully, soothingly, to
+reassure her: "Jimmie Dale and Larry the Bat and the Gray Seal and
+the Tocsin--BEATEN!  And after we have just scored the last trick!"
+
+"But we do not hold many trumps, Jimmie," she answered gravely.
+"You have seen something of this Crime Club's power, its methods,
+its merciless, cruel, inhuman cunning, and you, perhaps, think that
+you understand--but you have not begun to grasp the extent of either
+that power or cunning.  This horrible organisation has been in
+existence for many years.  I do not know how many.  I only know that
+the men of whom it is composed are not ordinary criminals, that they
+do not work in the ordinary way--to-day, they set the machinery of
+fraud, deception, robbery, and murder in motion that ten years from
+now, and, perhaps, only then, will culminate in the final success of
+their schemes--and they play only for enormous stakes.  But"--her
+lips grew set--"you will see for yourself.  I must not talk any
+longer than is necessary; we must not take too much time.  You count
+on three days before they begin to suspect that all is not right
+with Jimmie Dale--I know them better than you, and I give you two
+days, forty-eight hours at the outside, and possibly far less.
+Jimmie"--abruptly--"did you ever hear of Peter LaSalle?"
+
+"The capitalist?  Yes!" said Jimmie Dale.  "He died a few years ago.
+I know his brother Henry well--at the club, and all that."
+
+"Do you!" she said evenly.  "Well, the man you know is not Peter
+LaSalle's brother; he is an impostor--and one of the Crime Club."
+
+"Not--Peter LaSalle's brother!"--Jimmie Dale repeated the words
+mechanically.  And suddenly his brain was whirling.  Vaguely, dimly,
+in little memory snatches, events, not pertinent then, vitally
+significant now, came crowding upon him.  Peter LaSalle had come
+from somewhere in the West to live in New York; and very shortly
+afterward had died.  The estate had been worth something over eleven
+millions.  And there had been--he leaned quickly, tensely forward
+over the table, staring at her.  "My God!" he whispered hoarsely.
+"You are not, you cannot be--the--the daughter--Peter LaSalle's
+daughter, who disappeared strangely!"
+
+"Yes," she said quietly.  "I am Marie LaSalle."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE TOCSIN'S STORY
+
+
+LaSalle!  The old French name!  That old French inscription on the
+ring: "SONNEZ LE TOCSIN!"  Yes; he began to understand now.  She was
+Marie LaSalle!  He began to remember more clearly.
+
+Marie LaSalle!  They had said she was one of the most beautiful
+girls who had ever made her entree into New York society.  But he
+had never met her--as Marie LaSalle; never met her--until now, as
+the Tocsin, in this bare, destitute, squalid hovel, here at bay,
+both of them, for their lives.
+
+He had been away when she had come with her father to New York; and
+on his return there had only been the father's brother in the
+father's place--and she was gone.  He remembered the furor her
+disappearance had caused; the enormous rewards her uncle had offered
+in an effort to trace her; the thousand and one speculations as to
+what had become of her; and that then, gradually, as even the most
+startling and mystifying of events and happenings always do, the
+affair had dropped into oblivion and had been forgotten by the
+public at least.  He began to count back.  Yes, it must have been
+nearly five years ago; two years before she, as the Tocsin, and he,
+as the Gray Seal, had formed their amazing and singular partnership,
+that--he started suddenly, as she spoke.
+
+"I want to tell you in as few words as I can," she said abruptly,
+breaking the silence.  "Listen, then, Jimmie.  My mother died ten
+years ago.  I was little more than a child then.  Shortly after her
+death, father made a business trip to New York, and, on the advice
+of some supposed friends, he had a new will drawn up by a lawyer
+whom they recommended, and to whom they introduced him.  I do not
+know who those men were.  The lawyer's name was Travers, Hilton
+Travers."  She glanced curiously at Jimmie Dale, and added quickly:
+"He was the chauffeur--the man who was killed last night."
+
+"You mean," Jimmie Dale burst out, "you mean that he was--but,
+first, the will!  What was in the will?"
+
+"It was a very simple will," she answered.  "And from the nature of
+it, it was not at all strange that my father should have been
+willing to have had it drawn by a comparative stranger, if that is
+what you are thinking.  Summarised in a few words, the will left
+everything to me, and appointed my Uncle Henry as my guardian and
+the sole executor of the estate until I should have reached my
+twenty-fifth birthday.  It provided for a certain sum each year to
+be paid to my uncle for his services as executor; and at the
+expiration of the trust period--that is, when I was twenty-five--
+bequeathed to him the sum of one hundred thousand dollars."
+
+Jimmie Dale nodded.  "Go on!" he prompted.
+
+"It is hard to tell it in logical sequence," she said, hesitating a
+moment.  "So many things seem to overlap each other.  You must
+understand a little more about Hilton Travers.  During the five
+years following the signing of the will father came frequently to
+New York, and became, not only intimate with Travers, but so much
+impressed with the other's cleverness and ability that he kept
+putting more and more of his business into Travers' hands.  At the
+end of that five years, we moved to New York, and father, who was
+then quite an old man, retired from all active business, and turned
+over a great many of his personal affairs to Travers to look after
+for him, giving Travers power of attorney in a number of instances.
+So much for Travers.  Now about my uncle.  He was my father's only
+brother; in fact, they were the only surviving members of their
+family, apart from very distant connections in France, from where,
+generations back, the family originally came."  Her hand touched
+Jimmie Dale's for an instant.  "That ring, Jimmie, with its crest
+and inscription, is the old family coat of arms."
+
+"Yes," he said briefly; "I surmised as much."
+
+"Strange as it may seem, in view of the fact that they had not seen
+each other for twenty years," she went on hurriedly "my father and
+my uncle were more than ordinarily attached to each other.  Letters
+passed regularly between them, and there was constant talk of one
+paying the other a visit--but the visit never materialised.  My
+uncle was somewhere in Australia, my father was here, and
+consequently I never saw my uncle.  He was quite a different type of
+man from father--more restless, less settled, more rough and ready,
+preferring the outdoor life of the Australian bush to the
+restrictions of any so-called civilisation, I imagine.  Financially,
+I do not think he ever succeeded very well, for twice, in one way or
+another, he lost every sheep on his ranch and father set him up
+again; and I do not think he could ever have had much of a ranch,
+for I remember once, in one of the letters he wrote, that he said he
+had not seen a white man in weeks, so he must have lived a very
+lonely life.  Indeed, at about the time father drew the new will, my
+uncle wrote, saying that he had decided to give up sheep running on
+his own account as it did not pay, and to accept a very favourable
+offer that had been made to him to manage a ranch in New Zealand;
+and his next letter was from the latter country, stating that he had
+carried out his intentions, and was well satisfied with the change
+he had made.  The long-proposed visit still continued to occupy my
+father's thoughts, and on his retirement from business he definitely
+made up his mind to go out to New Zealand, taking me with him.  In
+fact, the plans were all arranged, my uncle expressed unbounded
+delight in his letters, and we were practically on the eve of
+sailing, when a cable came from my uncle, telling us to postpone the
+visit for a few months, as he was obliged to make a buying trip for
+his new employer that would keep him away that length of time--and
+then"--her fingers, that had been abstractedly picking out the lines
+formed by the grain of the wood in the table top, closed suddenly
+into tight-clenched fists--"and then--my father died."
+
+Jimmie Dale turned away his head.  There were tears in her eyes.
+The old sense of unreality was strong upon him again.  He was
+listening to the Tocsin's story.  It was strange that he should be
+doing that--that it could be really so!  It seemed as though
+magically he had been transported out of the world where for years
+past he had lived with danger lurking at every turn, where men set
+watch about his house to trap him, where the denizens of the
+underworld yowled like starving beasts to sink their fangs in him,
+where the police were ceaselessly upon his trail to wreak an
+insensate vengeance upon him; it seemed as though he had been
+transported away from all that to something that he had dreamed
+might, perhaps, sometime happen, that he had hoped might happen,
+that he had longed for always, but now that it was his, that it also
+was full of the sense of the unreal.  And yet as his mind followed
+the thread of her story, and leaped ahead and vaguely glimpsed what
+was to come, be was conscious in a sort of premonitory way of a
+vaster peril than any he had ever known, as though forces, for the
+moment masked, were arrayed against him whose strength and whose
+malignity were beyond human parallel.  In what a strange, almost
+incoherent way his brain was working!  He roused himself a little
+and looked around him--and, with a shock, the starkness of the room,
+the abject, pitiful air of destitution brought home to him with
+terrific, startling force the significance of the scene in which he
+was playing a part.  His face set suddenly in hard lines.  That she
+should have been brought to assume such a life as this--forced out
+of her environment of wealth and refinement, forced in her purity to
+rub shoulders with the vile, the dissolute, forced to exist as such
+a creature amid the crime and vice, the wretched horror of the
+underworld that swirled around her!  There was anger now upon him,
+burning, hot--a merciless craving that was a savage, hungry lust for
+vengeance.
+
+And then she was speaking again:
+
+"Father's death occurred very shortly after my uncle's message
+advising us to postpone our trip was received.  On his death,
+Travers, very naturally, as father's lawyer, cabled my uncle to come
+to New York at once; and my uncle replied, saying that he was coming
+by the first steamer."
+
+She paused again--but only for an instant, as though to frame her
+thoughts in words.
+
+"I have told you that I had never seen my uncle, that even my father
+had not seen him for twenty years; and I have told you that the man
+you know as Henry LaSalle is an impostor--I am using the word
+'uncle' now when I refer to him simply to avoid confusion.  You are,
+perhaps, expecting me to say that I took a distinctive dislike to
+him from the moment he arrived?  On the contrary, I had every reason
+to be predisposed toward him; and, indeed, was rather agreeably
+surprised than otherwise--he was not nearly so uncouth and
+unpolished as, somehow, I had pictured his life would have made him.
+Do you understand, Jimmie?  He was kind, sympathetic; and, in an
+apathetic way, I liked him.  I say 'apathetic' because I think that
+best describes my own attitude toward every one and everything
+following father's death until--THAT NIGHT."
+
+She rose abruptly from her chair, as though a passive position of
+any kind had suddenly become intolerable.
+
+"Why tell you what my father and I were to each other!" she cried
+out in a low, passionate voice.  "It seemed as though everything
+that meant anything had gone out of my life.  I became worn out,
+nervous; and though the days were bad enough, the nights were a
+source of dread.  I began to suffer from insomnia--I could not
+sleep.  This was even before my supposed uncle came.  I used to read
+for hours and hours in my room after I had gone to bed.  But"--she
+flung out her hand with an impatient gesture--"there is no need to
+dwell on that.  One night, about a week after that man had arrived,
+and a little over a month after father had died, I was in my room
+and had finished a book I was reading.  I remember that it was well
+after midnight.  I had not the slightest inclination to sleep.  I
+picked up another book--and after that another.  There were plenty
+in my room; but, irrationally, of course, none pleased me.  I
+decided to go down to the library--not that I think I really
+expected to find anything that I actually wanted, but more because
+it was an impulse, and furnished me for the moment with some
+definite objective, something to do.  I got up, slipped on a
+dressing gown, and went downstairs.  The lights were all out.  I was
+just on the point of switching on those in the reception hall, when
+suddenly it seemed as though I had not strength to lift my hand, and
+I remember that for an instant I grew terribly cold with dread and
+fear.  From the room on my right a voice had reached me.  The door
+was closed, but the voice was raised in an outburst of profanity.
+I--I could hear every word.
+
+"'If she's out of the way, there's no come-back,' the voice snarled.
+'I won't listen to anything else!  Do you hear!  Why, you fool, what
+are you trying to do--hand me one!  Turn everything into cash, and
+divvy, and beat it--eh?  And I'm the goat, and I get caught and get
+twenty years for stealing trust funds--and the rest of you get the
+coin!'  He swore terribly again.  'Who's taken the risk in this for
+the last five years!  There'll be no smart Aleck lawyer tricks--
+there'll be no halfway measures!  And who are you to dictate!  She
+goes out--that's safe--I inherit as next of kin, with no one to
+dispute it, and that's all there is to it!'
+
+"I stood there and could not move.  It was the voice of the man I
+knew as my uncle!  My heart seemed to have stopped beating.  I tried
+to tell myself that I was dreaming, that it was too horrible, too
+incredible to be real; that they could not really mean to--to MURDER
+me.  And then I recognised Hilton Travers' voice.
+
+"'I am not dictating, and you are not serious, of course,' he said,
+with what seemed an uneasy laugh.  'I am only warning you that you
+are forgetting to take the real Henry LaSalle into account.  He is
+bound to hear of this eventually, and then--'
+
+"Another voice broke in--one I did not recognise.
+
+"'You're talking too loud, both of you!  Travers doesn't understand,
+but he's to be wised up to-night, according to orders, and--'
+
+"The voice became inaudible, muffled--I could not hear any more.  I
+suppose I remained there another three or four minutes, too stunned
+to know what to do; and then I ran softly along the hall to the
+library door.  The library, you understand, was at the rear of the
+room they were in, and the two rooms were really one; that is, there
+was only an archway between them.  I cannot tell you what my
+emotions were--I do not know.  I only know that I kept repeating to
+myself, 'they are going to kill me, they are going to kill me!' and
+that it seemed I must try and find out everything, everything I
+could."
+
+She turned away from the table, and began to pace nervously up and
+down the miserable room.
+
+Jimmie Dale rose impulsively from his chair--but she waved him back
+again.
+
+"No; wait!" she said.  "Let me finish.  I crept into the library.
+It took me a long time, because I had to be so careful not to make
+the slightest noise.  I suppose it was fully six or seven minutes
+from the time I had first heard my supposed uncle's voice until I
+had crept far enough forward to be able to see into the room beyond.
+There were three men there.  The man I knew as my uncle was sitting
+at one end of the table; another had his back toward me; and Travers
+was facing in my direction--and I think I never saw so ghastly a
+face as was Hilton Travers' then.  He was standing up, sort of
+swaying, as he leaned with both hands on the table.
+
+"'Now then, Travers,' the man whose back was turned to me was saying
+threateningly, 'you've got the story now--sign those papers!'
+
+"It seemed as though Travers could not speak for a moment.  He kept
+looking wildly from one to the other.  He was white to the lips.
+
+"'You've let me in for--THIS!' he said hoarsely, at last, 'You
+devils--you devils--you devils!  You've let me in for--murder!  Both
+of them!  Both Peter and his brother--MURDERED!'"
+
+She stopped abruptly before Jimmie Dale, and clutched his arm
+tightly.
+
+"Jimmie, I don't know why I did not scream out.  Everything went
+black for a moment before my eyes.  It was the first suspicion I had
+had that my father had met with foul play, and I--"
+
+But now Jimmie Dale swayed up from his chair.
+
+"Murdered!" he exclaimed tensely.  "Your father!  But--but I
+remember perfectly, there was no hint of any such thing at the time,
+and never has been since.  He died from quite natural causes."
+
+She looked at him strangely.
+
+"He died from--inoculation," she said.  "Did--did you not see
+something of that laboratory in the Crime Club yourself the night
+before last--enough to understand?"
+
+"Good God!" muttered Jimmie Dale, in a startled way then: "Go on!
+Go on!  What happened then?"
+
+She passed her hand a little wearily across her eyes--and sank down
+into her chair again.
+
+"Travers," she continued, picking up the thread of her story, "had
+raised his voice, and the third man at the table leaned suddenly,
+aggressively toward him.
+
+"'Hold your tongue!' he growled furiously.  'All you're asked to do
+is sign the papers--not talk!'
+
+"Travers shook his head.
+
+"'I won't!' he cried out.  'I won't have any hand in another murder--
+in hers!  My God, I won't--I won't, I tell you!  It's horrible!'
+
+"'Look here, you fool!' the man who was posing as my uncle broke in
+then.  'You're in this too deep to get out now.  If you know what's
+good for you, you'll do as you're told!'
+
+"Jimmie, I shall never forget Travers' face.  It seemed to have
+changed from white to gray, and there was horror in his eyes: and
+then he seemed to lose all control of himself, shaking his fists in
+their faces, cursing them in utter abandon.
+
+"'I'm bad!' he cried.  'I've gone everything, everything but the
+limit--everything but murder.  I stop there!  I'll have no more to
+do with this.  I'm through!  You--you pulled me into this, and--and
+I didn't know!'
+
+"'Well, you know now!' the third man sneered.  'What are you going
+to do about it?'
+
+"'I'm going to see that no harm comes to Marie LaSalle,' Travers
+answered in a dull way.
+
+"The other man now was on his feet--and, I do not know quite how to
+express it, Jimmie, he seemed ominously quiet in both his voice and
+his movements.
+
+"'You'd better think that over again, Travers!' he said.  'Do you
+mean it?'
+
+"'I mean it,' Travers said.  'I mean it--God help me!'
+
+"'You may well add that!' returned the other, with an ugly laugh.
+He reached out his hand toward the telephone on the table.  'Do you
+know what will happen to you if I telephone a certain number and say
+that you have turned--traitor?'
+
+"'I'll have to take my chances,' Travers replied doggedly.  'I'm
+through!'
+
+"'Take them, then!' flung out the other.  'You'll have little time
+given you to do us any harm?'
+
+"Travers did not answer.  I think he almost expected an attack upon
+him then from the two men.  He hesitated a moment, then backed
+slowly toward the door.  What happened in the next few moments in
+that room, I do not know.  I stole out of the library.  I was
+obsessed with the thought that I must see Travers, see him at all
+costs, before he got away from the house.  I reached the end of the
+hall as the room door opened, and he came out.  It was dark, as I
+said, and I could not see distinctly, but I could make out his form.
+He closed the door behind him--and then I called his name in a
+whisper.  He took a quick step toward me, then turned and hurried
+toward the front door, and I thought he was going away--but the next
+instant I understood his ruse.  He opened the front door, shut it
+again quite loudly, and crept back to me.
+
+"'Take me somewhere where we will be safe--quick!' he whispered.
+
+"There was only one place where I was sure we would be safe.  I led
+him to the rear of the house and up the servants' stairs, and to my
+boudoir."
+
+She broke off abruptly, and once more rose from her chair, and once
+more began to pace the room.  Back in his chair, Jimmie Dale, tense
+and motionless now, watched her without a word.
+
+"It would take too long to tell you all that passed between us," she
+went on hurriedly.  "The man was frankly a criminal--but not to the
+extent of murder.  And in that respect, at least, he was honest with
+himself.  Almost the first words he said to me were: 'Miss LaSalle,
+I am as good as a dead man if I am caught by the devils behind those
+two men downstairs.'  And then he began to plead with me to make my
+own escape.  He did not know who the man was that was posing as my
+uncle, had never seen him before until he presented himself as Henry
+LaSalle; the other man he knew as Clarke, but knew also that
+'Clarke' was merely an assumed name.  He had fallen in with Clarke
+almost from the time that he had begun to practise his profession,
+and at Clarke's instigation had gone from one crooked deal to
+another, and had made a great deal of money.  He knew that behind
+Clarke was a powerful, daring, and unscrupulous band of criminals,
+organised on a gigantic scale, of which he himself was, in a sense--
+a probationary sense, as he put it--a member; but he had never come
+into direct contact with them--he had received all his orders and
+instructions through Clarke.  He had been told by Clarke that he was
+to cultivate father following the introduction, to win father's
+confidence, to get as many of father's affairs into his hands as
+possible, to reach the position, in fact, of becoming father's
+recognised attorney--and all this with the object, as he supposed of
+embezzling from father on a large scale.  Then father died, and
+Travers was instructed to cable my uncle.  He knew that the man who
+answered that summons was an impostor; but he did not know, until
+they had admitted it to him that night, that both my father and my
+uncle had been murdered, and that I, too, was to be made away with."
+
+She looked at Jimmie Dale, and suddenly laughed out bitterly.
+
+"No; you don't understand, even yet, the patient, ingenious deviltry
+of those fiends.  It was they, at the time the new will was drawn,
+who offered to buy out my real uncle's sheep ranch in that lonely,
+unsettled district in Australia, and offered him that new position
+in New Zealand.  My uncle never reached New Zealand.  He was
+murdered on his way there.  And in his place, assuming his name,
+appeared the man who has been posing as my uncle ever since.  Do you
+begin to see!  For five years they were patiently working out their
+plans, for five years before my father's death that man lived and
+became known and accepted, and ESTABLISHED himself as Henry LaSalle.
+Do you see now why he cabled us to postpone our visit?  He ran very
+little risk.  The chances were one in a thousand that any of his few
+acquaintances in Australia would ever run across him in New Zealand;
+and besides, he was chosen because it seems there was a slight
+resemblance between him and the real Henry LaSalle--enough, with his
+changed mode of living and more elaborate and pretentious
+surroundings, to have enabled him to carry through a bluff had it
+become necessary.  He had all of my uncle's papers; and the Crime
+Club furnished him with every detail of our lives here.  I forgot to
+say, too, that from the moment my uncle was supposed to have reached
+New Zealand all his letters were typewritten--an evidence in
+father's eyes that his brother had secured a position of some
+importance; as, indeed, from apparently unprejudiced sources, they
+took pains to assure father was a fact.  This left them with only my
+uncle's signature to forge to the letters--not a difficult matter
+for them!
+
+"Believing that they had Travers so deeply implicated that he could
+do nothing, even if he had the inclination, which they had not for a
+moment imagined, and arrogant in the belief in their own power to
+put him out of the way in any case if he proved refractory, they
+admitted all this to him that night when he brought up the issue of
+the real Henry LaSalle putting in an appearance sooner or later, and
+when they wanted him to smooth their path by releasing all documents
+where his power of attorney was involved.  Do you see now the part
+they gave Travers to play?  It was to put the stamp of genuineness
+upon the false Henry LaSalle.  Not but that they were prepared with
+what would appear to be overwhelmingly convincing evidence to prove
+it if it were necessary; but if the man were accepted by the
+estate's lawyer there was little chance of any one else questioning
+his identity."
+
+She halted again by the table--and forced a smile, as her eyes met
+Jimmie Dale's.
+
+"I am almost through, Jimmie.  That night was a terrible one for
+both of us.  Travers' life was not worth a moment's purchase once
+they found him--and mine was only under reprieve until sufficient
+time to obviate suspicion should have elapsed after father's death.
+We had no proof that would stand in any court--even if we should
+have been given the chance to adopt that course.  And without
+absolute, irrefutable proof, it was all so cleverly woven, stretched
+over so many years, that our charge must have been held to be too
+visionary and fantastic to have any basis in fact.
+
+"All Travers would have been able to advance was the statement that
+the supposed Henry LaSalle had admitted being an impostor and a
+murderer to him!  Who would believe it!  On the face of it, it
+appeared to be an absurdity.  And even granted that we were given an
+opportunity to bring the charge, they would be able to prove by a
+hundred influential and well-known men in New Zealand that the
+impostor was really Henry LaSalle; and were we able to find any of
+my uncle's old acquaintances in Australia, it would be necessary to
+get them here--and not one of them would have reached America alive.
+
+"But there was not a chance, not a chance, Jimmie, of doing that--
+they would have killed Travers the moment he showed himself in the
+open.  The only thing we could do that night was to try and save our
+own lives; the only thing we could look forward to was acquiring in
+some way, unknown to them, the proof, fully established, with which
+we could crush them in a single stroke, and before they would have
+time to strike back.
+
+"The vital thing was proof of my uncle's death.  That, if it could
+be obtained at all, could only be obtained in Australia.  Travers
+was obliged to go somewhere, to disappear from that moment if he
+wanted to save his life, and he volunteered to go out there.  He
+left the house that night by the back entrance in an old servant's
+suit, which I found for him--and I never heard from him again until
+a month ago in the 'personal' column of the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS,
+through which we had agreed to communicate.
+
+"As for myself, I left the house the next morning, telling my pseudo
+uncle that I was going to spend a few days with a friend.  And this
+I actually did; but in those few days I managed to turn all my own
+securities, that had been left me by my mother and which amounted to
+a considerable sum, into cash.  And then, Jimmie, I came to--this, I
+have lived like this and in different disguises, as a settlement
+worker, as a widow of means in a fashionable uptown apartment, but
+mostly as you see me now--for five years.  For five years I have
+watched my supposed uncle, hoping, praying that through him I could
+get to know the others associated with him; hoping, praying that
+Travers would succeed; hoping, praying that we would get them all--
+and watching day after day, and year after year the 'personal'
+column of the paper, until at last I began to be afraid that it was
+all useless.  And there was nothing, Jimmie, nothing anywhere, and I
+had no success"--her voice choked a little.  "Nothing!  Even Clarke
+never went again to the house.  You can understand now how I came to
+know the strange things that I wrote to the Gray Seal, how the life
+that I have led, how this life here in the underworld, how the
+constant search for some clew on my own account brought them to my
+knowledge; and you can understand now, too, why I never dared to let
+you meet me, for I knew well enough that, while I worked to
+undermine my father's and my uncle's murderers, they were moving
+heaven and earth to find me.
+
+"That is all, Jimmie.  The day before yesterday, a month after
+Travers' first message to let me know that he was coming, there was
+another 'personal' giving me an hour and a telephone number.  He was
+back!  He had everything--everything!  We dared not meet; he was
+afraid, suspicious that they had got track of him again.  You know
+the rest.  That package contained the proof that, with Travers'
+death, can probably never be obtained again.  Do you understand why
+THEY want it--why it is life and death to me?  Do you understand why
+my supposed uncle offered huge rewards for me, why secretly every
+resource of that hideous organisation has been employed to find me--
+that it is only by my DEATH the estate can pass into their hands,
+and now--"
+
+She flung out her hands suddenly toward Jimmie Dale.  "Oh, Jimmie,
+Jimmie, I've--I've fought so long alone!  Jimmie, what are we to
+do?"
+
+He came slowly to his feet.  She had fought so long--alone.  But
+now--now it was his turn to fight--for her.  But how?  She had not
+told him all--surely she had not told him all, for everything
+depended upon that package.  There had been so much to tell that she
+had not thought of all, and she had not told him the details about
+that.
+
+"That box--No. 428!" he cried quickly.  "What is that?  What does it
+mean?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"I do not know," she answered.
+
+"Then who is this John Johansson?"
+
+"I do not know," she said again.
+
+"Nor where the Crime Club is?"
+
+"No"--dully.
+
+He stared at her for a moment in a dazed way.
+
+"My God!" Jimmie Dale murmured.
+
+And then she turned away her head.
+
+"It's--it's pretty bad, isn't it, Jimmie?  I--I told you that we did
+not hold many trumps."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+SILVER MAG
+
+
+There was silence between them.  Minute after minute passed.
+Neither spoke.
+
+Jimmie Dale dropped back into his chair again, and stared
+abstractedly before him.  "We do not hold many trumps, Jimmie--we do
+not hold many trumps"--her words were repeating themselves over and
+over in his mind.  They seemed to challenge him mockingly to deny
+what was so obviously a fact, and because he could not deny it to
+taunt and jeer at him--to jeer at him, when all that was held at
+stake hung literally upon his next move!
+
+He looked up mechanically as the Tocsin walked to a broken mirror at
+the rear of the miserable room; nodded mechanically in approval as
+she began deftly to retouch the make-up on her face where the tears
+had left their traces--and resumed his abstracted gaze before him.
+
+Box number four-two-eight--John Johansson--the Crime Club--the
+identity of the man who was posing as Henry LaSalle!  If only he
+could hit upon a clew to the solution of a single one of those
+things, or a single phase of one of them--if only he could glimpse a
+ray of light that would at least prompt action, when every moment of
+inaction was multiplying the odds against them!
+
+There were the men who were watching his house at that moment on
+Riverside Drive--he, as Larry the Bat, might in turn keep watch on
+them.  He had though of that.  In time, perhaps, he might, by so
+doing, discover the whereabouts of the Crime Club.  In time!  It was
+just that--he had no time!  Forty-eight hours, the Tocsin insisted,
+was all the time that he could count upon before they would become
+suspicious of Jimmie Dale's "illness," before they would discover
+that they were watching an empty house!
+
+He might--though this was even more hazardous--make an attempt to
+trace the wires that tapped those of his telephone through the
+basement window that gave on the garage driveway.  And what then?
+True, they could not lead very far away; but, even if successful,
+what then?  They would not lead him to the Crime Club, but simply to
+some confederate, to some man or woman playing the part of a
+servant, perhaps, in the house next door, who, in turn, would have
+to be shadowed and watched.
+
+Jimmie Dale shook his head.  Better, of the two, to start in at once
+and shadow those who were shadowing his house.  But that was not the
+way!  He knew that intuitively.  He hated to eliminate it from
+consideration, for he had no other move to take its place--but such
+a move was almost suicide in itself.  Time, and time alone, was the
+vital factor.  They, the Tocsin and he, must act quickly--and STRIKE
+that night if they were to win.  His fingers, the grimy fingers,
+dirty-nailed, of Larry the Bat, that none now would recognise as the
+slim tapering, wonderfully sensitive fingers of Jimmie Dale, the
+fingers that had made the name of the Gray Seal famous, whose tips
+mocked at bars and safes and locks, and seemed to embody in
+themselves all the human senses, tightened spasmodically on the edge
+of the table.  Time!  Time!  Time!  It seemed to din in his ears.
+And while he sat there powerless, impotent, the Crime Club was
+moving heaven and earth to find what HE must find--that package--if
+he was to save this woman here, the woman whom he loved, she who had
+been forced, through the machinations of these hell fiends, to adopt
+the life of a wretched hag, to exist among the dregs of the
+underworld, whose squalour and vice and wantonness none knew better
+than he!
+
+Jimmie Dale's face set grimly.  Somewhere--somewhere in the past
+five years of this life of hers in which she had been fighting the
+Crime Club, pitting that clever brain of hers against it, MUST lie a
+clew.  She had told him her story only in baldest outline, with
+scarcely a reference to her own personal acts, with barely a single
+detail.  There must be something, something that perhaps she had
+overlooked, something, just the merest hint of something that would
+supply a starting point, give him a glimmer of light.
+
+She came back from across the room, and sank down in her chair
+again.  She did not speak--the question, that meant life and death
+to them both, was in her eyes.
+
+Jimmie answered the mute interrogation tersely.
+
+"Not yet!" he said.  Then, almost curtly, in a quick, incisive way,
+as the keen, alert brain began to delve and probe: "You say this man
+Clarke never returned to the house after that night?"
+
+She nodded her head quietly.
+
+"You are sure of that?" he insisted.
+
+"Yes," she said.  "I am sure."
+
+"And you say that all these years you have kept a watch on the man
+who is posing as your uncle, and that he never went anywhere, or
+associated with any one, that would afford you a clew to this Crime
+Club?"
+
+"Yes," she said again.
+
+It was a moment before Jimmie Dale spoke.
+
+"It's very strange!" he said musingly, at last.  "So strange, in
+fact, that it's impossible.  He must have communicated with the
+others, and communicated with them often.  The game they were
+playing was too big, too full of details, to admit of any other
+possibility.  And the telephone as an explanation isn't good
+enough."
+
+"And yet," she said earnestly, "possible or impossible, it is
+nevertheless true.  That he might have succeeded in eluding me on
+occasions was perhaps to be expected; but that in all those years I
+should not catch him once in what, if you are correct, must have
+been many and repeated conferences with the same men is too
+improbable to be thought of seriously."
+
+Jimmie Dale shook his head again.
+
+"If you had been able to watch him night and day, that might be so,"
+he said crisply.  "But, at best, you could only watch him a very
+small portion of the time."
+
+She smiled at him a little wanly.
+
+"Do you think, Jimmie, from what you, as the Gray Seal, know of me,
+that I would have watched in any haphazard way like that?"
+
+He glanced at her with a sudden start.
+
+"What do you mean?" he asked quickly.
+
+"Look at me!" she said quietly.  "Have you ever seen me before?  I
+mean as I am now."
+
+"No," he answered, after an instant.  "Not that I know of."
+
+"And yet"--she smiled wanly again--"you have not lived, or made the
+place you hold in the underworld, without having heard of Silver
+Mag."
+
+"You!" exclaimed Jimmie Dale.  "You--Silver Mag!"  He stared at her
+wonderingly, as, crouch-shouldered now, the hair, gray-threaded,
+straggling out from under the hood of a faded, dark-blue, seam-worn
+cloak, she sat before him, a typical creature of the underworld, her
+role an art in its conception, perfect in its execution.  Silver
+Mag!  Yes, he had heard of Silver Mag--as every one in the Bad Lands
+had heard of her.  Silver Mag and her pocketful of coin!  Always a
+pocketful of silver, so they said, that was dispensed prodigally to
+the wives and children temporarily deprived of support by husbands
+and fathers unfortunate enough in their clashes with the law to be
+doing "spaces" up the river--and therefore the underworld swore by
+Silver Mag.  Always silver, never a bill; Silver Mag had never been
+seen with a banknote--that was her eccentricity.  Much or little,
+she gave or paid out of her pocketful of jangling silver.  She was
+credited with being a sworn enemy of the police, and--yes, he
+remembered, too--with having done "time" herself.  "I don't quite
+understand," he said, in a puzzled way.  "I haven't run across you
+personally because you probably took care to see that I shouldn't;
+but--it's no secret--every one says you've served a jail sentence
+yourself."
+
+"That is simply enough explained," she answered gravely.  "The story
+is of my own making.  When I decided to adopt this life, both for my
+own safety and as the best means of keeping a watch on that man, I
+knew that I must win the confidence of the underworld, that I must
+have help, and that in order to obtain that help I must have some
+excuse for my enmity against the man known as Henry LaSalle.  To be
+widely known in the underworld was of inestimable value--nothing, I
+knew, could accomplish that as quickly as eccentricity.  You see now
+how and why I became known as Silver Mag.  I gained the confidence
+of every crook in New York through their wives and children.  I told
+them the story of my jail sentence--while I swore vengeance on Henry
+LaSalle.  I told them that he had had me arrested for something I
+never stole while I was working for him as a charwoman, and that he
+had had me railroaded to jail.  There wasn't one but gave me credit
+for the theft, perhaps; but equally, there wasn't one but
+understood, and my eccentricity helped this out, my wanting to 'get'
+Henry LaSalle.  Well--do you see now, Jimmie?  I had money, I had
+the confidence of the underworld, I had an excuse for my hatred of
+Henry LaSalle, and so I had all the help I wanted.  Day and night
+that man has been watched.  He receives no visitors--what social
+life he has is, as you know, at the club.  There is not a house that
+he has ever entered that, sooner or later, I have not entered after
+him in the hope of finding the headquarters of the clique.  Even the
+men and women, as far as human possibility could accomplish it, that
+he has talked to on the streets have been shadowed, and their
+identity satisfactorily established--and the net result has been
+failure; utter, absolute, complete failure!"
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes, that had held steadily on her face, shifted,
+troubled and perplexed, to the table top.
+
+"You are wonderful!" he said, under his breath.  "Wonderful!  And--
+and that makes it all the more amazing, all the more
+incomprehensible.  It is still impossible that he has not been in
+close and constant touch with his accomplices.  He MUST have been!
+We would be blind fools to argue against it!  It could not, on the
+face of it, have been otherwise!"
+
+"Then how, when, where has he done it?" she asked wearily.
+
+"God knows!" he said bitterly.  "And if they have been clever enough
+to escape you all these years, I'm almost inclined to say what you
+said a little while ago--that we're beaten."
+
+She watched him miserably, as he pushed back his chair impulsively
+and, standing up, stared down at her.
+
+"We're against it--HARD!" he said, with a mirthless laugh.  Then,
+his lips tightening: "But we'll try another tack--the chauffeur--
+Travers.  Though even here the Crime Club has a day's start of us,
+even if last night they knew no more about the whereabouts of that
+package than we know now.  I'm afraid of it!  The chances are more
+than even that they've already got it.  If they were able to catch
+Travers as the chauffeur, they would have had something tangible to
+work back from"--Jimmie Dale was talking more to himself than to the
+Tocsin now, as though he were muttering his thoughts aloud.  "How
+did they get track of him?  When?  Where?  What has it led to?  And
+what in Heaven's name," he burst out suddenly, "is this box number
+four-two-eight!"
+
+"A safety-deposit vault, perhaps, that he has taken somewhere," she
+hazarded.
+
+Jimmie Dale laughed mirthlessly again.
+
+"That is the one definite thing I do know--that it isn't!" he said
+positively.  "It is nothing of that kind.  It was half-past ten
+o'clock at night when I met him, and he said that he had intended
+going back for the package if it had been safe to do so.  Deposit
+vaults are not open at that hour.  The package is, or was, if they
+have not already got it, readily accessible--and at any hour.  Now
+go over everything again, every detail that passed between you and
+Travers.  He let you know that he was back in New York by means of a
+'personal,' you said.  What else was in that 'personal' besides the
+telephone number and the hour you were to call him?  Anything?"
+
+"Nothing that will help us any," she replied colourlessly.  There
+were simply the words 'northeast corner of Sixth Avenue and Waverly
+Place,' and the signature that we had agreed upon, the two first and
+two last letters of the alphabet transposed--BAZY."
+
+"I see," said Jimmie Dale quickly.  "And over the 'phone he
+completed his message.  Clever enough!"
+
+"Yes," she said.  "In that way, if any one were listening, or
+overhead the plan, there could be little harm come of it, for the
+essential feature of all, the place of rendezvous, was not
+mentioned.  It has not been Travers' fault that this happened--and
+in spite of every precaution it has cost him his life.  He wanted
+nothing to give them a clew to my whereabouts; he was trying to
+guard against the slightest evidence that would associate us one
+with the other.  He even warned me over the 'phone not to tell him
+how, where, or the mode of life I was living.  And naturally, he
+dared give me no particulars about himself.  I was simply to select
+a third party whom I could trust, and to follow out his
+instructions, which were those that I sent to you in my letter."
+
+Jimmie Dale began to pace nervously up and down the room.
+
+"Nothing else?" he queried, a little blankly.
+
+"Nothing else," she said monotonously.
+
+"But since last night, since you knew that things had gone wrong,"
+he persisted, "surely you traced that telephone number--the one you
+called up?"
+
+"Yes," she said, and shrugged her shoulders in a tired way.
+"Naturally I did that--but, like everything else, it amounted to
+nothing.  He telephoned from Makoff's pawnshop on that alley off
+Thompson Street, and--"
+
+"WHERE!" Jimmie Dale, suddenly stock-still, almost shouted the word.
+"He telephoned from--where!  Say that again!"
+
+She looked at him in amazement, half rising from her chair.
+
+"Jimmie, what is it?" she cried.  "You don't mean that--"
+
+He was beside her now, his hands pressed upon her shoulders, his
+face flushed.
+
+"Box number four-two-eight!"  He laughed out hysterically in his
+excitement.  "John Johansson--box number four-two-eight!  And like a
+fool I never thought of it!  Don't you see?  Don't you know now
+yourself?  THE UNDERGROUND POST OFFICE!"
+
+She stood up, clinging to him; a wild relief, that was based on her
+confidence in him, in her eyes and face, even while she shook her
+head.
+
+"No," she said frantically.  "No--I do not know.  Tell me, Jimmie!
+Tell me quickly!  You mean at Makoff's?"
+
+"No!  Not Makoff's--at Spider Jack's, on Thompson Street!"--he was
+clipping off his words, still holding her tightly by the shoulders,
+still staring into her eyes.  "You know Spider Jack!  Jack's little
+novelty store!  Ah, you have not learned all of the underworld yet!
+Spider Jack is the craftiest 'fence' in the Bad Lands--and Makoff is
+his partner.  Spider buys the crooks' stuff, and Makoff disposes of
+it through the pawnshop--it's only a step through the connecting
+back yard from one to the other, and--"
+
+"Yes--but," she interrupted feverishly, "the package--you said--"
+
+"Wait!" Jimmie Dale cried.  "I'm coming to that!  If Travers stood
+in with Makoff, he stood in with Spider Jack.  For years Spider has
+been a sort of clearing house for the underworld--for years he has
+conducted, and profitably, too, his underground post office.  Crooks
+from all over the country, let alone those in New York, communicate
+with each other through Spider Jack.  These, for a fee, are
+registered at Spider's, and given a number--a box number he calls
+it, though, of course, there are no actual boxes.  Letters come by
+mail addressed to him--the sealed envelope within containing the
+actually intended recipient's name.  These Spider either forwards,
+or delivers in person when they are called for.  Dozens of crooks,
+too, unwilling, perhaps, to dispose of small ill-gotten articles at
+ruinous 'fence' prices, and finding it unhealthy for the moment to
+keep them in their possession, use this means of depositing them
+temporarily for safe-keeping.  You see now, don't you?  It's certain
+that's where Travers left the package.  He used the name of John
+Johansson, not to hoodwink Spider Jack, I should say, but as an
+added safeguard against the Crime Club.  Travers must have known
+both Makoff and Spider Jack in the old days, and probably had
+reason, and good reason, to trust them both--possibly, a crook then
+himself, as he confessed, he may have acted in a legal capacity for
+them in their frequent tangles with the police."
+
+"Then," she said--and there was a glad, new note in her voice,
+"then, Jimmie--Jimmie, we are safe!  You can get it, Jimmie!  It is
+only a little thing for the Gray Seal to do--to get it now that we
+know where it is."
+
+"Yes," he said tersely.  "Yes--if it is still there."
+
+"Still there!"--she repeated the words quickly, nervously.  "Still
+there!  What do you mean?"
+
+"I mean if they, too, have not discovered that he was at Makoff's--
+if they have not got there first!" he said grimly.  "There seems to
+be no limit to their cleverness, or their power.  They penetrated
+his disguise as a chauffeur, and who knows what more they have
+learned since last night?  We are fighting them in the dark, and--
+WHAT'S THAT!" he whispered tensely, suddenly--and leaning forward
+like a flash, as he whipped his automatic from his pocket, he blew
+out the lamp.
+
+The room was in darkness.  They stood there rigid, silent,
+listening.  Her hand found and caught his arm.
+
+And then it came again--a low sound, the sound of a stealthy
+footstep just outside the window that faced on the storage yard.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+THE MAGPIE
+
+
+A minute passed--another.  The automatic at Jimmie Dale's hip, the
+muzzle just peeping over the table top, held a steady bead on the
+window.  Came the footstep again--and then suddenly, a series of
+low, quick tappings upon the windowpane.  The Tocsin's hand slipped
+away from his arm.  Jimmie Dale's set face relaxed as he read the
+underground Morse, and he replaced his revolver slowly in his
+pocket.
+
+"The Magpie!" said Jimmie Dale, in an undertone.  "What's he want?"
+
+"I don't know," she answered, in a whisper.  "He never came here
+before.  There's a back way out, Jimmie, if you--"
+
+"No," he said quickly.  "We've enemies enough, with out making one
+of the Magpie.  He knows some one is here with you--our shadows were
+on the blind.  Don't queer yourself.  Let him in.  I'll light the
+lamp."
+
+He struck a match, as she ran from the room, and, lifting the hot
+lamp chimney with the edge of his ragged coat, lighted the lamp.  He
+turned the wick down a little, shading and dimming the room--and
+then, as he flirted a bead of moisture from his forehead,
+whimsically stretched out his hand to watch it in the lamplight.
+
+"That's bad, Jimmie," he muttered gravely to himself, as he noted an
+almost imperceptible tremour.  "Got a start, didn't you!  Under a
+bit of a strain, eh?  Well"--grimly--"never mind!  It looks as though
+the luck had turned Makoff and Spider Jack!"
+
+His hand reached up to his hat, jerked the brim at a rakish angle
+over his eyes--and he sprawled himself out on a chair.  He heard the
+Tocsin's voice at the front door, and a man's voice, low and
+guarded, answer her.  Then the door closed, and their steps
+approached the room.  It was rather curious, that--a visit from the
+Magpie!  What could the Magpie want?  What could there be in common
+between the Magpie and Silver Mag?  The Magpie, alias Slimmy Joe,
+was counted the cleverest safe worker in the United States, barring
+only and always one--a smile flickered across the lips of Larry the
+Bat--one whose pre-eminence the Magpie, much to his own chagrin,
+admitted himself--the Gray Seal!
+
+He looked up, twisting the stub of a cigarette between his grimy
+fingers and fumbling for a match, as the Tocsin and, behind her, the
+Magpie, short, slim, and wiry, shrewd-faced, with sharp, quick-
+glancing little black eyes, entered the room.
+
+"'Ello, Larry!" grinned the Magpie.  "Got yer breath back yet?  I
+felt it through de windowpane when youse let go at de lamp!"
+
+"'Ello, Slimmy!" returned Jimmie Dale ungraciously, speaking through
+the corner of his mouth.  "Ferget it!"
+
+"Sure!" said the Magpie unconcernedly.  He stared about him, and
+finally, drawing a chair up to the table, sat down, motioned the
+Tocsin to do the same, and leaned forward amiably.  "I didn't mean
+to throw no scare into youse," he said, in a conciliating tone.
+"But I had a little business wid Mag, an' I was kind of interested
+in whether she was entertainin' company or not--see?  I didn't know
+youse an' Mag was workin' together."
+
+"Mabbe," observed Jimmie Dale, as ungraciously as before, "mabbe
+dere's some more t'ings youse don't know!"
+
+"Aw, cough up de grouch!" advised the Magpie, with a hint of
+impatience creeping into his voice.  "Youse don't need to be sore
+all night!  I told youse I wasn't tryin' to hand youse one, didn't
+I?"
+
+"Never mind Larry, Slimmy," put in the Tocsin petulantly.  "He's
+down on his luck, dat's all.  He ain't had de price of a pinch of
+coke fer two days."
+
+"Oho!" exclaimed the Magpie, grinning again.  "So dat's wot's givin'
+youse de pip, eh, Larry?  Well, den, say, youse can take it from me
+dat mabbe youse'll be glad I blew around.  I was lookin' fer a guy
+about yer size fer a little job to-night, an' I was t'inkin' of
+lettin' Young Dutchy in on it, but seem' youse are here an' in wid
+Mag, an' dat I got to get Mag in, too, youse are on if youse say de
+word."
+
+"Wot's de lay?" inquired Larry the Bat, unbending a little.
+
+The Magpie cocked his eye, and stuck his tongue in his cheek.
+
+"GOOD-night!" he said tersely.  "Nothin' like dat!  Are youse on, or
+ain't youse?"
+
+"Well, den, wot's in it fer me?" persisted Larrry the Bat.
+
+"More'n de price of a coke sneeze!" returned the Magpie pertinently.
+"Dere's a century note fer youse, an' mabbe two or t'ree of dem fer
+Mag."
+
+Larry the Bat's eyes gleamed avariciously.
+
+"Aw, quit yer kiddin'!" he said gruffly.  "A century note--fer me!"
+
+"Dat's wot I said!  Youse heard me!" rejoined the Magpie shortly.
+"Only if it listens good to youse now, I don't want no squealin'
+after the divvy.  I'm takin' de chances, youse has de soft end of
+it.  One century note fer youse--an' de rest is none of yer
+business!  Dat's puttin' it straight, ain't it?  Well, wot do youse
+say, an' say it quick--'cause if youse ain't comin' in, youse can
+beat it out of here so's I can talk to Mag."
+
+"Dere ain't nothin' I wouldn't take a chance on fer a hundred
+plunks!" declared Larry the Bat, with sudden fervency--and stared,
+anxiously expectant, at the Magpie.  "Sure, I'm on Slimmy!  Sure, I
+am!  Cut it loose!  Spill de story!"
+
+"Well, den," said the Magpie, "I wants--"
+
+"Youse ain't through yet!" interrupted the Tocsin tartly.  "I ain't
+heard youse askin' me nothin'!  I ain't on me uppers like Larry, an'
+mabbe de price don't cut so much ice--see?"
+
+"Aw," said the Magpie, with a smirk, "I don't have to ask youse on
+dis lay.  Dis is where youse'd come in on it fer marbles.  Say, dis
+is where we gets de hook into a guy by de name of Henry LaSalle!
+Get me?"
+
+HENRY LASALLE!  Under the table, Jimmie Dale's hand clenched
+suddenly; but not a muscle of his face moved, save, as with the tip
+of his tongue, he shifted the butt of the cigarette that was hanging
+royally from his lower lip to the other corner of his mouth.
+
+"Sure!  She's 'got' youse, Slimmy!" he flung out, with a grin, as
+the Tocsin wrinkled up her face menacingly and began to mumble to
+herself.  "He's de guy dat handed her one when she was young, an'
+she's been layin' fer him ever since!  Sure!  I know!  Ain't I
+worked him fer her till I wears me shoes out tryin' to get somet'ing
+on him!  Sure, she's in on it!  Go on, Slimmy, wot's de lay?  Wot do
+I do fer dat century?"
+
+The Magpie hitched his chair closer to the table and, as his sharp,
+little, ferret eyes glanced around the room, motioned the two to
+brings their heads nearer.
+
+"One of me influential broker friends down on Wall Street put me
+wise," he said, with a wink.  "Dat's good enough fer youse two, as
+far as dat goes.  But take it from me, I got it dead straight."  He
+lowered his voice "Say, he's one of de richest mugs in New York,
+ain't he?  Well, he's been sellin' stocks an' bonds all day,
+t'ousands an' t'ousands of dollars' worth--fer cash."
+
+"All dem t'ings is always sold fer cash," remarked Larry the Bat
+fatuously.
+
+"Aw, ferget it!" said the Magpie earnestly.  "Fer CASH, I said--de
+coin, de long green--understand?  He wasn't shovin' no checks fer
+what he sold into de bank except to get dem cashed.  Dat's wot he's
+been doin' all day--gettin' de checks cashed, an' gettin' de money
+in big bills--see!  I know of one bunch of eighty t'ousand--an'
+dat's only one!"
+
+"Wot fer?" inquired Larry the Bat.  It was the question that was
+pounding at his brain, as he stared innocently at the Magpie.  What
+did it mean?  Why was Henry LaSalle turning, and, if the Magpie was
+right, feverishly turning every security he could lay his hands on
+into cash?  And then, in a flash, the answer came.  THEY HAD NOT
+FOUND THE PACKAGE!  Equally to them, as to the Tocsin, sitting there
+before him, it meant life and death.  If the package were found by
+the Tocsin instead of themselves, the game was up!  They were
+preparing for eventualities.  If they were forced to run at a
+moment's notice, they at least were not going to run empty-handed!
+Far from empty-handed, it seemed!  It would not be difficult for the
+estate's executor to realise a vast sum in short order on instantly
+marketable, gilt-edged securities--say, half a million dollars.  Not
+very bulky, either--in large bills!  Five thousand hundred-dollar
+bills would make half a million.  It was astonishing how small a
+hand bag, say, might hold a fortune!  "Wot fer, Slimmy?" he inquired
+again, wiggling his cigarette butt on his tongue tip.  "Wot'd he do
+dat fer?"
+
+"How de hell do youse suppose I knows!" demanded the Magpie,
+politely scornful.  "Dat's his business--dat ain't wot's worryin'
+me!"
+
+"No--sure, it ain't!" admitted Larry the Bat ingratiatingly.  "But
+go on, keep movin', Slimmy!  Wot's he done wid de stuff?"
+
+"Done wid it!" echoed the Magpie, with a short laugh.  "Wot do youse
+t'ink!  He's been luggin' it home to his swell joint up dere on de
+avenoo, an' crammin' his safe full of it."
+
+Larry the Bat sucked in his breath.
+
+"Gee, dat's soft!" he murmured, and then suddenly, as though with
+painful inspiration: "Say, Slimmy--say, are youse sure youse ain't
+been handed a steer?"
+
+The Magpie grinned wickedly.
+
+"I ain't fallin' fer steers!" he said shortly.  "Dis is on de
+level."
+
+Jimmie Dale lurched up from his chair, and, leaning over the lamp
+chimney, drew wheezily on his cigarette to get a light.  His eyes
+sought the Tocsin's face.  To all intents and purposes she was
+entirely absorbed in the Magpie.  He sat down again to gape, with
+well-stimulated, doglike admiration, at Slimmy Joe.  WAS THIS, TOO,
+A PLANT?  Why had the Magpie come to THEM with this story of Henry
+LaSalle?  And then, the next instant, as the Magpie spoke, his
+suspicions were allayed.
+
+"Let's get down to cases!" the Magpie invited crisply.  "I didn't
+blow in here just by luck.  Dis Henry LaSalle is de guy youse worked
+fer once, ain't he, Mag?  Dat's de spiel, ain't it?--he sent youse
+up fer pinchin' de tacks out of his carpets!"
+
+"I never pinched nothin'!" snarled Silver Mag truculently.  "He's a
+dirty liar!  I never did!"
+
+"Cut it out!  Cut it out!  Can dat!" complained the Magpie
+patiently.  "De point is, youse worked in his house, didn't youse?"
+
+"Sure I did!" snapped the Tocsin, sullenly aggressive; "but--"
+
+"Well, den, dat's wot I want, dat's wot I come fer, Mag--a plan of
+de house.  See?"
+
+Jimmie Dale could feel the Tocsin's eyes upon him, questioning,
+searching, seeking a cue.  A plan of the house--yes or no?  And a
+decision on the instant!
+
+"Sure!" said Larry the Bat brightly.  "Dat's wot I was t'inkin'
+youse were after all de time.  Say, youse are all right, Slimmy!
+Youse are de kind to work wid!  Go on, Mag, draw de dope fer Slimmy.
+Dat's better dan tryin' to put one over on de swell guy.  Dis'll
+make him squeal fer fair!"
+
+The Magpie produced a pencil and a piece of paper from his pocket,
+and laid them on the table in front of the Tocsin.
+
+"Dere youse are," he announced.  "Help yerself, an' go to it, Mag!"
+
+The Tocsin, evidently not quite certain of her part, wet the pencil
+doubtfully on the end of her tongue.
+
+"I ain't never drawed plans," she said anxiously.  "Mabbe"--she
+glanced at Jimmie Dale--"mabbe I dunno how to do it RIGHT."
+
+"Aw, go ahead!" nodded Larry the Bat.  "Youse can do it right, Mag.
+Youse don't have to make no oil paintin'!  All de Magpie wants is de
+doors an' windows, eh, Slimmy?"
+
+"Sure," agreed the Magpie encouragingly.  "Dat's all, Mag.  Just
+mark de rooms out on de first floor, an' de basement.  Youse can
+explain wot youse 're doin' as youse goes along.  I'll get youse."
+
+The Tocsin cackled maliciously in assent; and then, while the Magpie
+got up from his chair and stood peering over her shoulder, she began
+to draw labouriously, her brows knitted, the pencil hooked awkwardly
+between cramped-up forefinger and thumb.
+
+Larry the Bat, slouched forward over the table, his chin in his
+hands, appeared to watch the proceedings with mild interest--but his
+eyes, like a hawk's, were following every line on the paper,
+transferring them to his brain, photographing every detail of the
+plan in his mind.  And as he watched, there seemed something that
+was near to the acme of all that was ironical in the Magpie standing
+there, his sharp, little, black eyes drinking in greedily the
+Tocsin's work, in the Tocsin herself aiding and abetting in the
+projected theft--OF HER OWN MONEY!  How far would he let the Magpie
+go?  He did not know.  Perhaps--who could tell!--all the way.
+Between now and then there lay that package!  If it were at
+Makoff's, at Spider Jack's, if he could find it, get it--the Magpie
+as a temporary custodian of the estate's money would at least
+preclude its loss by flight if the Crime Club took alarm too
+quickly.  Larry the Bat's eyes, under half-closed lids, rested
+musingly on the Magpie's face.  The Magpie would not get very far
+away with it!  On the other hand, if he failed at Spider Jack's, if,
+after all, he was wrong, and the package had never been there, or if
+they had forestalled him, turned the trick upon him, already secured
+it, then--Larry the Bat's lips, working on his cigarette, formed in
+a twisted smile--then, well then, that was quite another matter!
+Perhaps he and the Magpie might not agree so far!  A half million
+dollars was perhaps not much out of eleven millions, but it was a
+salvage not to be despised!  Why did he say half a million!  Well,
+why not?  If the Magpie knew of a single transaction of eighty
+thousand, and there had been many transactions during the day, a
+half million was little likely to prove an exaggeration--and the
+less likely in view of the fact that, if those in the Crime Club
+were preparing for an emergency, they would not stint themselves in
+the disposal of securities.
+
+The Magpie was keeping up a running fire of questions, as the Tocsin
+toiled on with her pencil.  Where did the hall lead to?  How many
+windows in the library?  Did she remember the kind of fastenings?
+Did the servants sleep in the basement, or above?  And finally,
+twice over, as she finished the clumsy drawing and pushed it toward
+him, he demanded minute details of the position of the safe.
+
+"Aw, dat's all right, Slimmy!" Larry the Bat cut in airily.  "If
+youse ferget anyt'ing when youse get in dere, youse can ask me.  I
+got it cinched!"
+
+The Magpie folded the paper and stowed it carefully away in his
+pocket.
+
+"Ask youse, eh!" he grunted sarcastically.  "An' where do youse
+t'ink youse'll be about dat time?"
+
+"In dere wid youse, of course," replied Larry the Bat promptly.
+"Dat's wot youse said."
+
+"Yes, youse will--NOT!" announced the Magpie, with cold finality.
+"Do youse t'ink I want to queer myself!  A hot one youse'd be on an
+inside job!  Youse'll be OUTSIDE, wid yer peepers skinned for de
+bulls--youse an' Mag here, too.  See!  Get dat straight.  While I'm
+on de job youse two plays de game.  Now youse listen to me, both of
+youse.  Don't start nothin' unless youse has to.  If it's a cinch I
+got to make a get-away, youse two start a drunk fight.  Get me?
+Youse know de lay.  T'row de talk loud--an' I'll fade.  Dat's all!
+We'll crack de crib early--it'll be quiet enough up dere by one
+o'clock"
+
+One o'clock!  Larry the Bat shook his head.  What time was it now?
+It was about nine when he had first met the Tocsin, then the
+Sanctuary, then the long walk as he had followed her--say a quarter
+of ten for that.  And he had certainly been here with her not less
+than an hour and a half.  It must be after eleven, then.  One
+o'clock!  And before that must come Makoff and Spider Jack!  The
+night that half an hour ago had seemed so sterile, was crowding a
+program of events upon him now--too fast!
+
+"Nothin' doin'!" he said thoughtfully.  "Youse are in wrong dere,
+Slimmy.  One o'clock don't go!  Say, take it from me, I've watched
+dat guy too many nights fer Mag.  'Tain't often he leaves de club
+before one o'clock--an' he ain't never in bed before two."
+
+"All right," agreed the Magpie, after a moment's reflection.  "Youse
+ought to know.  Make it three o'clock."  He pulled a cigar from his
+pocket, lighted it, and, leaning back in his chair, stuck his feet
+up on the table.  "If youse don't mind, Mag, I'll stick around a
+while," he decided calmly.  "Mabbe de less I'm seen to-night de
+better--an' I guess dere won't be nobody lookin' fer me here."
+
+Larry the Bat coughed suddenly, and rose up a little heavily from
+his chair.  He had not counted on that!  If the Magpie was settling
+down for a prolonged stay, it devolved upon him, Jimmie Dale, to get
+away, and at once--and without exciting the Magpie's suspicions.  He
+coughed again, looked nervously from the Tocsin to the Magpie--
+stammered--swallowed hard--and coughed once more.
+
+"Well, wot's bitin' youse?" inquired the Magpie ironically.
+
+"Nothin'," said Larry the Bat--and hesitated.  "Nothin', only--"  He
+hesitated again; and then, the words in a rush:
+
+"Say, Slimmy, couldn't youse come across wid a piece of dat century
+now?"
+
+"Wot fer?" demanded the Magpie, a little aggressively.
+
+Larry the Bat cleared his throat with a desperate effort.
+
+"Youse knows," he admitted sheepishly.  "Just gimme de price of one,
+Slimmy--just one."
+
+"Coke!" exploded the Magpie.  "An' get soaked to de eyes--not by a
+damn sight!"
+
+"No!  Honest to Gawd, no, Slimmy--just one!" pleaded Larry the Bat.
+
+"Nix!" said the Magpie shortly.
+
+Larry the Bat thrust out a hand before the Magpie's eyes that shook
+tremulously.
+
+"I got to have it!" he declared, with sudden fierceness.  "I GOT to--
+see!  Look at me!  I ain't goin' to be no good to-night if I don't.
+I tell youse, I got to!  I ain't goin' to t'row youse down, Slimmy--
+honest, I ain't!  Just one--an' it'll set me up.  If I don't get
+none I'll be on de rocks before mornin'!  Dat's straight, Slimmy--
+ask Mag, she knows."
+
+"Aw, let him go get it!" broke in the Tocsin wearily.  "Dat's de
+best t'ing youse can do, Slimmy--dey're all alike when dey gets in
+his class."
+
+"Youse cocaine sniffers gives me de pip!" snorted the Magpie, in
+disgust.  He dug down into his pocket, produced a bill, and flung it
+across the table to Larry the Bat.  "Well, dere youse are; but youse
+can take it from me, Larry, dat if youse gets whiffed"--he swore
+threateningly--"I'll crack every bone in yer face!  Get me?"
+
+"Slimmy," said Larry the Bat fervently, grabbing at the bill with a
+hungry hand, "youse can count on me.  I'll be up dere on de job
+before youse are.  Three o'clock, eh?  Well, so long, Slimmy"--he
+slouched eagerly to the door.  "So long, Mag"--he paused on the
+threshold for a single, quick-flung, significant glance.  "See youse
+on de avenoo, Mag--I'll be up dere before youse are.  So long!"
+
+"Oh, so long!" said the Tocsin contemptuously.
+
+And, an instant later, Jimmie Dale closed the outer door behind him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+JOHN JOHANSSON--FOUR-TWO-EIGHT
+
+
+Nearly midnight already!  It was even later than he had thought.
+Larry the Bat pressed his face against a shop's windowpane on the
+Bowery for a glance at a clock that had caught his eye on the wall
+within.  Nearly midnight!
+
+He slouched on again hurriedly, still debating in his mind, as he
+had been debating it all the way from the Tocsin's, the question of
+returning again to the Sanctuary.  So far, the way both to Spider
+Jack's and the Sanctuary had been in the same direction--but the
+Sanctuary was on the next street.
+
+Jimmie Dale reached the corner--and hesitated.  It was strange how
+strong was the intuition upon him to-night that bade him go on and
+make all speed to Spider Jack's--while equally strong was the cold,
+stubborn logic that bade him go first to the Sanctuary.  There were
+things that he needed there that would probably be absolutely
+essential to him before the night was out, things without which he
+might be so badly handicapped as to invite failure from the start;
+and yet--it was already midnight!
+
+Ostensibly both Makoff and Spider Jack closed their places at
+eleven.  But that might mean anything--depending upon their own
+respective inclinations, or on what of their own peculiar brand of
+deviltry might be afoot.  If they were still about, still in
+evidence, he was still too early, midnight though it was; though, on
+the other hand, if the coast was clear, he could ill afford to lose
+a moment of the time between now and the hour that the Magpie had
+planned for the robbery of Henry LaSalle, for it would not be an
+easy matter, even once inside Spider Jack's, to find that package--
+since it was Spider's open boast that things committed to his care
+were where the police, or any one else, might as well whistle and
+suck their thumbs as try to find them!
+
+And then, with sudden decision, taking his hesitation, as it were,
+by the throat, Jimmie Dale hurried on again--to the Sanctuary.  At
+most, it could delay him but another fifteen minutes, and by half-
+past twelve, or a quarter to one at the latest, he would be at
+Spider Jack's.
+
+Disdaining the secrecy of the side door on the alley, for who had a
+better right or was better known there than Larry the Bat, a tenant
+of years, he entered the tenement by the front door, scuffled up the
+stairs to the first landing, and let himself into his disreputable
+room.  He locked the door behind him, lighted the choked and wheezy
+gas jet, in a single, sharp-flung glance assured himself that the
+blinds were tightly shut, and, kneeling in the far corner, threw
+back the oilcloth and lifted up the loose section of the flooring
+beneath.  He reached inside, fumbling under the neatly folded
+clothes of Jimmie Dale, and in a moment laid his leather girdle with
+its kit of burglar's tools on the floor beside him; and beside that
+again an electric flashlight, a black silk mask, and--what he had
+never expected to use again when, early the night before, he had, as
+he had believed, put it away forever--the thin, metal insignia case
+of the Gray Seal.  Another moment, and, with the flooring replaced,
+the oilcloth rolled back into position, he had stripped off his coat
+and was pulling his spotted, greasy shirt off over his head; then,
+stooping quickly, he picked up the girdle, put it on, put on his
+shirt again over it, put on his coat, put the metal case, the
+flashlight, and the mask in his pockets--and once more the Sanctuary
+was in darkness.
+
+It was perhaps fifteen minutes later that Jimmie Dale turned into
+the upper section of Thompson Street.  Here he slowed his pace, that
+had been almost a run since he had left the Sanctuary, and began to
+shuffle leisurely along; for the street, that a few hours before
+would have been choked with its pushcarts and venders, its half
+naked children playing where they could find room in the gutters,
+its sidewalks thronged with shawled women and picturesquely dressed,
+earringed, dark-visaged men, a scene, as it were, transported from
+some foreign land, was still far from deserted; the quiet, if quiet
+it could be called, was but comparative, there were many yet about,
+and he had no desire to attract attention by any evidence of undue
+haste.  And, besides, Spider Jack's was just ahead, making the
+corner of the alleyway a few hundred feet farther on, and he had
+very good reasons for desiring to approach Spider's little novelty
+store at a pace that would afford him every opportunity for
+observation.
+
+On he shuffled along the street, until, reaching Spider Jack's, a
+little two-storied, tumble-down brick structure, a muttered
+exclamation of satisfaction escaped him.  The shop was closed and
+dark; and, though Spider Jack lived above the store, there were no
+lights even in the upper windows.  Spider Jack presumably was either
+out, or in bed!  So far, then, he could have asked for nothing more.
+
+Jimmie Dale edged in close to the building as he slouched by, so
+close that his hat brim seemed to touch the windowpane.  It was
+possible that from a room at the rear of the store there might be a
+light with a telltale ray perhaps filtering through, say, a door
+crack.  But there was nothing--only blackness within.
+
+He paused at the corner of the building by the alleyway.  Down here,
+adjoining the high board fence of Spider Jack's back yard, Makoff
+made pretense at pawnbrokering in a small and dingy wooden building,
+that was little more pretentious than a shed--and in Makoff's place,
+so far as he could see, there was no light, either.
+
+Jimmie Dale's fingers were industriously rolling a cigarette, as,
+under the brim of his slouch hat, his eyes were noting every detail
+around him.  A yard in against the wall of Spider Jack's, the wall
+cutting off the rays of the street lamp at a sharp angle, it was
+shadowy and black--and beyond that, farther in, the alleyway was
+like a pit.  It would take less, far less, than the fraction of a
+second to gain that yard, but some one was approaching behind him,
+and a little group of people loitered, with annoying persistency,
+directly across the way on the other side of the street.  Jimmie
+Dale stuck the cigarette between his lips, fumbled in his pockets,
+and finally produced a box of matches.  The group opposite was
+moving on now; the footsteps he had heard behind him, those of a
+man, drew nearer, the man passed by--and the box of matches in
+Jimmie Dale's hand dropped to the ground.  He reached to pick them
+up, and in his stooping posture, without seeming to turn his head,
+flung a quick glance behind him up the street.  No one, for that
+fraction of a second that he needed, was near enough to see--and in
+that fraction of a second Jimmie Dale disappeared.
+
+A dozen yards down the lane, he sprang for the top of the high
+fence, gripped it, and, lithe and active as a cat, swung himself up
+and over, and dropped noiselessly to the ground on the other side.
+Here he stood motionless for a moment, close against the fence, to
+get his bearings.  The rear of Spider Jack's building loomed up
+before him--the back windows as unlighted as those in front.  Luck
+so far, at least, was with him!  He turned and looked about him,
+and, his eyes growing accustomed to the darkness, he could just make
+out Makoff's place, bordering the end of the yard--nor, from this
+new vantage point, could he discover, any more than before, a single
+sign of life about the pawnbroker's establishment.
+
+Jimmie Dale stole forward across the yard, mounted the three steps
+of the low stoop at Spider Jack's back door, and tried the door
+cautiously.  It was locked.  From his pocket came the small steel
+instrument that had stood Larry the Bat in good stead a hundred
+times before in similar circumstances.  He inserted it in the
+keyhole, worked deftly with it for an instant--and tried the door
+again.  It was still locked.  And then Jimmie Dale smiled almost
+apologetically.  Spider Jack did not use ordinary locks on his back
+door!
+
+The discountenanced instrument went back into his pocket, and now
+Jimmie Dale's hand slipped inside his shirt, and from one of the
+little, upright pockets of the leather belt, and from still another,
+and from after that a third, came the vicious little blued-steel
+tools.  The sensitive fingers travelled slowly up and down the side
+of the door--and then he was at work in earnest.  A minute passed--
+another--there was a dull, low, grating sound, a snick as of metal
+yielding suddenly--and Jimmie Dale was coolly stowing away his tools
+again inside his shirt.
+
+He pushed the door open an inch, listened, then swung it wide,
+stepped inside, and closed it behind him.  A round, white beam of
+light flashed in a quick circle--and went out.  It was a sort of
+storeroom, innocent enough and orderly enough in appearance, bare-
+floored, with boxes and packing cases piled neatly against the
+walls.  In one corner a staircase led to the story above--and from
+above, quite audibly now, he caught the sound of snoring.  Spider
+Jack was in bed, then!
+
+Directly facing him was the open door of another room, and Jimmie
+Dale, moving softly forward, entered it.  He had never been in
+Spider Jack's before, and his first concern was to form an intimate
+acquaintanceship with his surroundings.  Again the flashlight
+circled, and again went out.
+
+"No windows!" muttered Jimmie Dale under his breath.  "Nothing very
+fancy about the architecture!  Three rooms in a row!  Store in front
+of this room through that door of course.  Wonder if the door's
+locked, though it's a foregone conclusion the package wouldn't be in
+there."
+
+Not a sound, his tread silent, he crossed to the closed door that he
+had noticed.  It was unlocked, and he opened it tentatively a little
+way.  A faint glow of light diffused itself through the opening.
+Jimmie Dale nodded his head and closed the door again.  The street
+lamp, shining through the shop windows, accounted for the light.
+
+And now the flashlight played with steady inquisitiveness about him.
+The room in which he stood seemed to combine a sort of office, with
+a lounging room, in which Spider Jack, no doubt, entertained his
+particular cronies.  There was table in the centre, cards still upon
+it, chairs about it.  Against the wall farthest away from the shop
+stood a huge, old-fashioned cabinet; and a little farther along,
+anglewise, partitioning off the corner, as it were, hung, for some
+purpose or other, a cretonne curtain.  Also, against the wall next
+to the lane, bringing a commiserating smile to Jimmie Dale's lips as
+his eyes fell upon it, was a clumsy, lumbering, antique safe.
+
+Jimmie Dale's eyes returned to the curtain.  What was it doing
+there?  What was it for?  Instinctively he stepped over to examine
+it.  A single glance, however, as he lifted it aside, sufficed.  It
+was nothing but a make-shift clothes closet.  He turned from it,
+switched off the flashlight, and stood staring meditatively into the
+darkness.  In a strange house, with the knowledge to begin with that
+what he sought was carefully hidden, it was no sinecure to find that
+package.  He had never for a moment imagined that it would be.  But
+of one thing, however, there was no uncertainty in his mind--he
+would get the package!--by search if possible, by other means if
+search failed.  It was now close to one o'clock.  If by two o'clock
+his efforts had been fruitless, Spider Jack would hand over the
+package--at the revolver point!  It was quite simple!  Meanwhile--
+Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders, and, going over to the safe,
+knelt down in front of it--meanwhile, as well begin here as anywhere
+else.
+
+The trained fingers closed on the handle--and on the instant, as
+though in startled amazement, shifted to the dial.  They came back
+to the handle--a wrench--then a low, amused chuckle--and the door
+swung open.  The great, unwieldy thing was only a monumental bluff!
+It not only had not been locked, but it COULD NOT be locked--the
+mechanism was out of order, the bolts could not be moved by so much
+as a hair's breadth!
+
+Still chuckling, Jimmie Dale shot the flashlight's ray into the
+interior of the safe--and the chuckle died on his lips, and into his
+face came a look of strained bewilderment.  Inside, everything was
+in chaos, books, papers, a miscellany of articles, as though they
+had first been ruthlessly pulled out on the floor, then gathered up
+in an armful and crammed back inside again.  For an instant he did
+not move, and then a queer, hard, mirthless smile drew down the
+corners of his mouth.  With a sort of bitter, expectant nod of his
+head, he turned the light upon the door of the safe.  Yes, there
+were the scratches that the tools had left; and, as though in
+sardonic jest, the holes, where the steel bit had bored, were
+plugged with putty and rubbed over with some black substance that
+was still wet and came off, smearing his finger, as he touched it.
+It could not have been done long ago, then!  How long?  A half hour--
+an hour?  Not more than that!
+
+Mechanically he closed the door of the safe, rose to his feet and,
+almost heedless of noise now, the flashlight ray dancing before him,
+he jumped across to the old-fashioned cabinet and pulled the door
+open.  Here, as within the safe, all inside, plain evidence of
+thorough, if hasty, search, was scattered and tossed about in
+hopeless confusion.
+
+He shut the cabinet door; the flashlight went out; and he stood like
+a man stunned, the sense of some abysmal disaster upon him.  He was
+too late!  The game was up!  If it had ever been here, the package
+was gone now--GONE!  The Crime Club had been here before him!
+
+"The game was up!  The game was up!"--his mind seemed to keep on
+repeating that.  The Crime Club had beaten him by an hour, at most,
+and had been here, and had searched.  It was strange, though, that
+they should have been at such curious pains to cover their tracks by
+leaving the room in order, by such paltry efforts to make the safe
+appear untouched when the first glance that was at all critical
+would disclose immediately what had been done!  Why should they need
+to cover their tracks at all; or, if it was necessary, why, above
+all, in such a pitifully inadequate way!  His mind barked back to
+the same ghastly refrain--"the game was up!"
+
+NO!  Not yet!  There was still a chance!  There was still Spider
+Jack!  Suppose, in spite of their search, they had failed to find
+the package!  Jimmie Dale's lips set in a thin line, as he started
+abruptly toward the door.  There was still that chance, and one
+thing was grimly certain--Spider Jack would, at least, show him
+where the package HAD BEEN!
+
+And then, halfway to the door, he halted suddenly, and stood still--
+listening.  An electric bell was ringing loudly, imperiously,
+somewhere upstairs.  Followed almost immediately the sound of some
+one, Spider Jack presumably, moving hurriedly about overhead; and
+then, a moment later, steps coming down the staircase in the
+adjoining room.
+
+Jimmie Dale drew back, flattening himself against the wall.  Spider
+Jack entered the room, stumbled across it, in the darkness, fumbled
+for the door that led into his little shop, opened it, passed
+through, fumbled around in there again, for matches evidently, then
+lighted a gas jet in the store, and, going to the street door,
+opened it.
+
+Jimmie Dale had edged along the wall a little to a position where he
+had an unobstructed view through the open doorway connecting the
+shop and the room in which he stood.  Spider Jack, in trousers and
+shirt, hastily donned, no doubt, as he had got out of bed, was
+standing in the street doorway, and beyond him loomed the forms of
+several men.  Spider Jack stepped aside to allow his visitors to
+enter--and suddenly, a cry barely suppressed upon his lips, Jimmie
+Dale involuntarily strained forward.  Three men had entered, but his
+eyes were fixed, fascinated, upon only one--the first of the three.
+Was it an hallucination?  Was he mad---dreaming?  It was Hilton
+Travers, THE CHAUFFEUR--the man whom he could have sworn he had last
+seen dead, lashed in that chair, in that ghastly death chamber of
+the Crime Club!
+
+"Rather rough on you, Spider, to pull you out of bed at this hour,"
+the chauffeur was saying apologetically.
+
+"Oh, that's all right, seein' it's you, Travers," Spider Jack
+answered, gruffly amiable.  "Only I was kind of lookin' for you last
+night."
+
+"I know," the chauffeur replied; "but I couldn't connect with my
+friends here.  Shake hands with them, Spider--Bob Marvin--Harry
+Stead."
+
+"Glad to know you, gents," said Spider Jack, with a handgrip apiece.
+
+The chauffeur lowered his voice a little.
+
+"I suppose we're alone here, eh, Spider?  Yes?  Well, then, you know
+what I've come for--that package--Marvin and Stead, here, are the
+ones that are in on it with me.  Get it for me, will you, Spider?"
+
+"Sure--Mr. Johansson!" Spider grinned.  "Sure!  Come on into the
+back room and make yourselves comfortable.  I'll be mabbe five
+minutes, or so."
+
+Jimmie Dale's brain was whirling.  What did it mean?  He could not
+seem to understand.  His mind seemed to refuse its functions.
+Travers, the chauffeur--ALIVE!  He drew in his breath sharply.  That
+curtain in the corner!  He must see this out now!  They were coming!
+Quick, noiseless, he stole along the side of the wall, reached the
+corner, and slipped in behind the curtain, as Spider Jack, striking
+a match, entered the room.
+
+Spider Jack lighted the gas, and, as the others followed behind him,
+waved them toward the chairs around the table.
+
+"I'll just ask you gents not to leave the room," he said meaningly,
+over his shoulder, as he stepped toward the rear door.  "It's kind
+of a fad of mine to keep some things even from my wife!"
+
+"All right, Spider--I understand," the chauffeur returned readily.
+
+Jimmie Dale's knife cut a tiny slit in the cretonne on a level with
+his eyes.  The three men had seated themselves at the table, and
+appeared to be listening intently.  Spider Jack's footsteps echoed
+back as he crossed the rear room, sounded dull and muffled
+descending the stoop outside, and died away.
+
+"I told you it wasn't in the house!" the man who had been introduced
+as Stead laughed shortly.  "We wasted the hour we had here."
+
+The third man spoke crisply, incisively, to the chauffeur.
+
+"Turn down that gas jet a little!  You've got across with it so far--
+but you can't stand a searchlight, Clarke!
+
+And at the words, in a flash, the meaning of it, all of it, to the
+last detail that was spelling death, ruin, and disaster for her, the
+Tocsin, for himself as well, burst upon Jimmie Dale.  That VOICE!
+He would have known it, recognised it, among a thousand--it was the
+masked man of the night before, the leader, the head of the Crime
+Club!  And it was not Travers there at all!  He remembered now, too
+well, that second room they had showed him in the Crime Club--its
+multitude of disguises, though in this case they had the dead man's
+clothes ready to their hands--the leader's boast that impersonation
+was but child's play to them!  And now he understood why they had
+covered up the traces of their search in only so curiously
+inadequate a manner.  They had failed to find the package, and, as a
+last resort, had adopted the ruse of impersonating Hilton Travers,
+the chauffeur, which made it necessary that when they called Spider
+Jack from his bed, as they had just done, that Spider Jack, at a
+CASUAL glance, should notice nothing amiss--but it would be no more
+than a casual glance, for, who should know better than they, he
+would not have to go for the package to any place that they had
+disturbed!  And he, Jimmie Dale, could only stand here and watch
+them, helpless, powerless to move!  Three of them!  A step out into
+the room was to invite certain death.  It would not matter, his
+death--if he could gain anything for her, for the Tocsin, by it.
+But what could he gain--by dying?  He clenched his hands until the
+nails bit into the flesh.
+
+Spider Jack re-entered the room, carrying what looked like a large,
+bulky, manila envelope, heavily sealed, in his hand.  He tossed it
+on the table.
+
+"There you are, Travers!" he said.
+
+"I wonder," suggested the leader pleasantly, "if, now that we're
+here, Travers, your friend would mind letting us have this room for
+a few minutes to ourselves to clean up the business?"
+
+"Sure!" agreed Spider Jack cordially.  "You're welcome to it!  I'll
+wait out here in the store until you say the word."
+
+He went out, closing the door after him.  The leader picked up the
+package.
+
+"We'll take no chances with this," he said grimly.  "It's been too
+close a call.  After we've had a look at it, we'll put it out of
+harm's way on the spot, here, while we've got it--before we leave!"
+
+He ripped the package open, and disclosed perhaps a dozen official-
+looking documents, besides a miscellaneous number of others.  He
+took up the first of the papers, glanced through it hurriedly, then
+tossed it to the pseudo chauffeur.
+
+"Tear it up, and tear it up--SMALL!" he ordered tersely.  The next,
+after examining it as he had the first, he tossed to the other man.
+"Go ahead!"--curtly.  "Work fast!  From the looks of these, Travers
+had us cold!  There's proof enough here of LaSalle's murder to send
+us all to the chair!"
+
+He went on glancing through the documents; and then suddenly,
+joining the others in their work, began to rip and tear at the
+papers himself.
+
+A sort of cold horror had settled upon Jimmie Dale, and his forehead
+was clammy wet.  The inhuman irony of it!  That he should stand
+there and watch, impotent to prevent it, the destruction of what he
+would have given his life to secure!  And then slowly, a grim, hard,
+merciless smile came to his lips.  He had recognised the leader's
+voice--now he would recognise the leader's FACE.  At least, that was
+left to him--perhaps the master trump of all.  It would not be very
+hard to find the Crime Club now--with that man to lead the way!
+
+The scraps of paper, tiny shreds, mounted into a heap on the table--
+and with the last of the contents of the package destroyed, the
+leader stood up.
+
+"Put these pieces in your pockets; we don't want to leave them
+here," he directed quietly.  "And then let's get out."
+
+In scarcely a moment, the last scrap of paper had vanished.  The
+three men walked to the door, passed through it, and joined Spider
+Jack in the store--and Jimmie Dale, slipping out from behind the
+curtain, gained the door of the rear room, crept through it, reached
+the stoop, and then, darting like the wind across the yard, was over
+the fence in a second, and in another was out of the alleyway and on
+the street.
+
+He was in time--in plenty of time.  They had just left Spider
+Jack's, and were, perhaps, fifty yards or so ahead of him.  He
+slouched on behind them--the cold, grim smile on his lips once more.
+It was the Crime Club now, that hell's cradle where their devil's
+schemes were hatched, that was the one thing left to him; they would
+lead him to that, and then--and then it would be his turn to STRIKE!
+
+They turned the first corner.  And suddenly, as the racing engine of
+an automobile caught his ear, he broke into a run, and dashed around
+the corner after them--in time to see them jump into a car, and the
+car speed off along the street!  He halted, as though he were
+suddenly dazed--started involuntarily to run forward again--stopped
+with a hollow laugh at the futility of it--and stood still and
+motionless on the sidewalk.
+
+And then he swayed a little, and his face grew gray.  Failure,
+defeat, ruin--in that moment he knew them all to their bitterest
+dregs.  How could he go to her!  How could he face her, and tell her
+that they were beaten, that the last hope was gone, that he had
+failed!
+
+"God!" he cried aloud, and clenched his hands.
+
+Then deep in his consciousness a thought stirred, and he swept a
+shaking hand across his eyes.  Why had it come again, that thought!
+Did it mean that HE must play--the last card!  There was a way--
+there had always been a way.  The way the Crime Club took--MURDER.
+It was their own weapon!  If the man who posed as Henry LaSalle were
+killed!  If that man--were killed!
+
+"The Magpie was to be there at three!" he muttered--and started
+mechanically back along the street.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+THE ONLY WAY
+
+
+It was a horrible thing--and it grew upon him.  In a blind,
+mechanical way, his brain receptive to nothing else, Jimmie Dale
+walked on along the street.  To kill a man!  Death he had faced
+himself a hundred times, witnessed it a hundred times in its most
+violent forms, had seen murder done before his eyes, had been in
+straits where, to save his own life, it had seemed the one last
+desperate chance--and yet his hands were still clean!  To kill a man
+in fair fight, in struggle, when the blood was hot, was terrible
+enough, a possibility that was always before him, the one thing from
+which he shrank, the one thing that, as the Gray Seal, he had always
+feared; but to kill a man deliberately, to creep upon his victim
+with hideous, cold-blooded premeditation--he shivered a little, and
+his hand shook as he drew it nervously across his eyes.
+
+But there was no other way!  Again and again, insidiously grappling
+with his revulsion, with the horror that the impulse to murder
+inspired, came that other thought--there was no other way.  If the
+man who posed as Henry LaSalle were DEAD!  If he were dead!  If he
+were dead!  See, now, what would happen if that man were dead!  How
+clear his brain was on that point!  The whole plot would tumble like
+a house of cards about the heads of the Crime Club.  The courts
+would require an auditing of the estate by a trustee of the courts'
+own appointing, who would continue to administer it until the
+Tocsin's twenty-fifth birthday, or until there was tangible evidence
+of her death--but the Tocsin, automatically with her pseudo uncle's
+death, could publicly appear again.  Her death could no longer
+benefit the Crime Club, since it, the Crime Club, with the supposed
+uncle dead, could not profit through the false Henry LaSalle
+inheriting as next of kin!  It was the weak link, the vulnerable
+point in the stupendous scheme of murder and crime with which these
+hell fiends had played for and won, so far, the stake of eleven
+millions.  Not that they had overlooked or been blind to this, they
+were too clever, too cunning for that--it was only that they had
+planned to accomplish the Tocsin's death, as they had her father's
+and uncle's, and ESTABLISH the false Henry LaSalle in undisputed
+possession and ownership of the estate--and had failed in that--up
+to the present.  But the material results remained the same, so long
+as the Tocsin, to save her life, was forced to remain in hiding, so
+long as proof that would convict the Crime Club was not forthcoming--
+SO LONG AS THAT MAN LIVED!
+
+Time passed to which Jimmie Dale was oblivious.  At times he walked
+slowly, scarcely moving; at times his pace was a nervous, hurried
+stride, that was almost a run.  And as he was oblivious to time, so
+was he oblivious to his surroundings, to the direction which he
+took.  At times his forehead was damp with moisture that was not
+there from physical exertion; at times his face, deathly white, was
+full as of the vision of some shuddering, abhorrent sight; at times
+his lips were thinned into a straight line, and there was a glitter
+in the dark eyes that was not good to see, while his hands at his
+sides clenched until the skin, tight over the knuckles, was an ivory
+white.  To kill a man!
+
+What other way was there?  The proof that it had taken Hilton
+Travers years to obtain, the proof on which the Tocsin's life
+depended, was destroyed utterly, irreparably.  It could never be
+duplicated--Hilton Travers was dead--MURDERED.  Murder!  That
+thought again!  It was their own weapon!  Murder!  Would one kill a
+venomous reptile in whose fangs was death?  What right had this man
+to life, whose life was forfeit even under the law--for murder?  Was
+she to drag on an intolerable existence among the dregs and the scum
+of the underworld, she, in her refinement and her purity, to exist
+among the vile and dissolute, in daily, hourly peril of her life,
+because the weapons that these inhuman vultures had used to rob her,
+to destroy those she loved, to make of her life a hideous, joyless
+thing, should not be used against them?
+
+But to kill a man!  To steal upon a man with cold intent in the
+blackness of the night--and take his life!  To be a murderer!  To
+know the horror of blood forever upon one's hands, to rise, cold-
+sweated, in the night, fearful of the very shadows around one, to
+live with every detail of that fearsome act sweeping like some dread
+spectre at unexpected moments upon the consciousness!  He put up his
+hands before his face, as though to blot out the thought from him.
+Mind and soul recoiled before it--to kill a man!
+
+He walked on and on, until at last, conscious of a sense of fatigue,
+he stopped.  He must have come a long way, been walking a long time.
+Where was he?  He looked about him for a moment in a dazed way--and
+suddenly, with a low cry, shrank back.  As though he had been drawn
+to it by some ghastly magnet, he found himself standing in front of
+the LaSalle mansion, on Fifth Avenue.  No, no; it was not for that
+he had come--to kill a man!  It was only--only to get that money.
+Yes--he remembered now--that money from the safe, before the Magpie
+got it.  The Magpie was to be there at three o'clock--and the Tocsin
+was to be there, too.  The Tocsin!  That package!  He had failed!
+It had been her one hope, and--and it was gone.  What could he say
+to her?  How could he tell her the miserable truth?  But--but he had
+not come there in the dead of night to kill a man, these other
+things were what had--
+
+"Jimmie!"  It was a quick-breathed whisper.  A hand was on his arm.
+
+He turned, startled.  It was the Tocsin--Silver Mag.
+
+"Jimmie!" in alarm.  "Why are you standing here like this?  You may
+be SEEN!"
+
+Seen!  Suppose he WERE seen?  He shuddered a little.
+
+"Yes; that's so!" he said hoarsely.  He glanced numbly up and down
+the wide, deserted, but well-lighted, avenue.  It was no place, that
+most aristocratic section of the city, for such as Silver Mag and
+Larry the Bat to be seen at that hour of night, or, rather, morning.
+And if anything HAPPENED inside that house!  "I--I didn't think of
+that," he said mechanically.
+
+"Come across the street--under the stoop of that house there."  She
+had his arm, and was half dragging him as she spoke, the alarm in
+her voice intensified.  And then, a moment later, safe from
+observation: "Jimmie, Jimmie, what is the matter?  What has
+happened?  What makes you act so strangely?"
+
+"Nothing," he said.  "I--"
+
+"TELL me!" she insisted wildly.
+
+And then, with a violent effort, Jimmie Dale forced his mind back to
+the immediate present.  He was only inspiring her with terror--and
+there was the Magpie--and that money in the safe!
+
+"Where is the Magpie?" he asked, with quick apprehension.  "Am I
+late?  Is he in there already?"
+
+"No," she said.  "He hasn't come yet."
+
+"What time is it?" he demanded anxiously.
+
+"About half-past two," she replied.  "But, Jimmie--"
+
+"Wait!" he broke in.  "Where is he now?  You were both together!
+And you were both to be here at three.  What are you doing here
+alone at half-past two?"
+
+A strange little exclamation, one almost of dismay, it seemed,
+escaped her.
+
+"The Magpie left my place an hour ago--to get his kit, I think.  And
+I came here at once because that was what you and I understood I was
+to do, wasn't it?  Jimmie, you frighten me!  You are not yourself.
+Don't you remember the last words you said, as you nodded to me
+behind the Magpie's back--that you would be here BEFORE us?  There
+was no mistaking your meaning--if I could get away from him, I was
+to come here and meet you."
+
+Jimmie Dale passed his hand nervously across his eyes.  Of course,
+he remembered now!  What a frightful turmoil his brain had been in!
+
+"Yes; of course!" He tried to speak nonchalantly.  "I had forgotten
+for the moment."
+
+She caught his arm in a quick, tight hold, shaking him in a
+terrified way.
+
+"YOU--forget a thing like that!  Jimmie--something terrible has
+happened.  Can't you see that I am nearly mad with anxiety!  What is
+it?  What is it?  That package, Jimmie--is it the package?"
+
+He did not answer.  What could he say?  It meant life, hope, joy,
+everything that the world held for her--and it was gone.
+
+"Yes--it IS the package!" she whispered frantically.  "Quick,
+Jimmie!  Tell me!  It--it was not there?  You--you could not find
+it?"
+
+"It was there," he said, as though the words were literally forced
+from him.
+
+"Then?  Then--WHAT, Jimmie?"  The clutch on his arm was like a vise.
+
+"They got it," he said.  It was like a death sentence that he
+pronounced.  "It is destroyed."
+
+She did not speak or move--save that her hands, as though nerveless
+and without strength, fell away from his arms, and dropped to her
+sides.  It was dark there under the stoop, though not so dark but
+that he could see her face.  It was gray--gray as death.  And there
+was misery and fear and a pitiful helplessness in it--and then she
+swayed a little, and he caught her in his arms.
+
+"Gone!" she murmured in a dead, colourless way--and suddenly laughed
+out sharply, hysterically.
+
+"Don't!  For God's sake, don't do that!" he pleaded wildly.
+
+She looked at him then for a moment in strange quiet--and lifted her
+hand and stroked his face in a numbed way.
+
+"It--it would have been better, Jimmie, wouldn't it," she said in
+the same monotonous voice, "it would have been better if--if I had
+never found out anything, and they--they had done the same to me
+that they did to--to father."
+
+"Marie!  Marie!"  It was the first time he had ever spoken her name,
+and it was on his lips now in an agony of tenderness and appeal.
+"Don't!  You mustn't speak like that!"
+
+"I'm tired," she said.  "I--I can't fight any more."
+
+She did not cry.  She lay there in his arms quite still--like a
+weary child.
+
+The minutes passed.  When Jimmie Dale spoke again it was
+irrelevantly--and his face was very white:
+
+"Marie, describe the upper floor of that house over there for me."
+
+She roused herself with a start.
+
+"The upper floor?" she repeated slowly.  "Why--why do you ask that?"
+
+"Have YOU forgotten in turn?" he said, with a steady smile.  "That
+money in the safe--it's yours--we can at least save that out of the
+wreck.  You only drew the basement plan and the first floor for the
+Magpie--the more I know about the house the better, of course, in
+case anything goes wrong.  Now, see, try and be brave--and tell me
+quickly, for I must get through before the Magpie comes, and I have
+barely half an hour."
+
+"No, Jimmie--no!"  She slipped out of his arms.  "Let it alone!  I
+am afraid.  Something--I--I have a feeling that something will
+happen."
+
+"It is the only way."  He said it involuntarily, more to himself
+than to her.
+
+"Jimmie, let it alone!" she said again.
+
+"No," he said.  "I am going--so tell me quickly.  Every minute that
+we wait is one that counts against us."
+
+She hesitated an instant--and then, speaking rapidly, made a verbal
+sketch of the upper portion of the house for him.
+
+"It's a very large house, isn't it?" he commented innocently--to
+pave the way for the question, above all others, that he had to ask.
+"Which is your uncle's, I mean that man's room?"
+
+"The first on the right, at the head of the landing," she answered.
+"Only, Jimmie, don't--don't go!"
+
+He drew her close to him again.
+
+"Now, listen," he said quietly.  "When the Magpie comes and finds I
+am not here, lead him to think that the money he gave me was too
+much for me; that I am probably in some den, doped with drug--and
+hold him as long as you can on the pretext that there is always the
+possibility I may, after all, show up before he goes in there.  You
+understand?  And now about yourself--you must do exactly as I say.
+On no account allow yourself to be seen by ANY ONE except the
+Magpie.  I would tell you to go now, only, unless it is vitally
+necessary, we cannot afford to arouse the Magpie's suspicions--he'd
+have every crook in the underworld snarling at our heels.  But you
+are not to wait, even for him, if you detect the slightest
+disturbance in that house before he comes.  And, equally, after he
+has gone in, whether I have come out or not, at the first indication
+of anything unusual you are to get away at once.  You understand--
+Marie?"
+
+"Yes," she said.  "But--but, Jimmie, you--"
+
+"Just one thing more."  He smiled at her reassuringly.  "Did the
+Magpie say anything about how he intended to get in?"
+
+"Yes--by the side away from the corner of the street," she said
+tremulously.  "You see, there's quite a space between the house and
+the one next door; and, besides, the house next door is closed up,
+there's nobody there, the family has gone away for the summer.  The
+library window there is low enough to reach from the ground."
+
+For a moment longer he held her close to him, as though he could not
+let her go--then bent and kissed her passionately.  And in that
+moment all the emotions he had known as he had walked blindly from
+Spider Jack's that night surged again upon him; and that voice was
+whispering, whispering, whispering: "It is the only way--it is the
+only way."
+
+And then, not daring to trust his voice, he released her suddenly,
+and stepped back out from under the stoop--and the next instant he
+was across the deserted avenue.  Another, and he had slipped through
+the iron gates that opened on the street driveway--and in yet
+another he was crouched close up against the front door of the
+LaSalle mansion.
+
+It was a large house, a very large house, one of the few that, even
+amid the wealth and luxury of that quarter, boasted its own grounds,
+and those so restricted as scarcely to deserve the name; but it was
+set far enough back from the street to escape the radius of the
+street lamps, and so guarantee in its shadows security from
+observation.  It was not the Magpie's way, the front door--the
+obvious to the Magpie and his ilk was a thing always to be shunned.
+Jimmie Dale's lips were set in a grim smile, as his fingers worked
+with lightning speed, now taking this instrument and now that from
+the leather pockets in the girdle beneath his shirt--the
+penitentiaries were full of Magpies who shunned the obvious!
+
+Very slowly, very cautiously the door opened.  He listened
+breathlessly, tensely.  The door closed again--behind him.  He was
+inside now.  Stillness!  Blackness!  Not a sound!  A minute went by--
+another.  And then, as he stood there, strained, listening, the
+silence itself began, it seemed, to palpitate, and pound, pound,
+pound, and be full of strange noises.  It was a horrible thing--to
+kill a man!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+OUT OF THE DARKNESS
+
+
+A moment later, Jimmie Dale stepped forward through the vestibule.
+He was quite calm now; a sort of cold, merciless precision in every
+movement succeeding the riot of turbulent emotions that had
+possessed him as he had entered the house.
+
+The half hour, the maximum length of time before the Magpie would
+appear, as he had estimated it when out there under the stoop with
+the Tocsin, had dwindled now to perhaps twenty minutes, twenty-five
+at the outside.  Twenty-five minutes!  Twenty-five minutes was so
+little that for an instant the temptation was strong upon him to
+sacrifice, rather than any of those precious minutes, the Magpie
+instead!  And then in the darkness, as he stole noiselessly across
+the hall, he shook his head.  It would be a cowardly, brutal thing
+to do.  What chance would a man with a record like the Magpie's
+stand if caught there?  How easy it would be to shift the murder of
+the supposed Henry LaSalle to the Magpie's shoulders!  Jimmie Dale's
+lips closed firmly.  Self-preservation was, perhaps, the first law,
+but he would save the Magpie if he could--the Magpie should have his
+chance!  The man might be a criminal, might deserve punishment at
+the hands of the law, his liberty might be a menace to the
+community--but he was not a murderer, his life forfeit for a crime
+he had never committed!
+
+If he, Jimmie Dale, could only in some way have arranged with the
+Tocsin out there to keep the Magpie away altogether!  But it could
+not be done without arousing the Magpie's suspicions; and, as a
+corollary to that, afterward, with the subsequent events, would
+come--the deluge!  The law of the underworld was clear, concise, and
+admitting of no appeal on that point; to double cross a pal meant,
+sooner or later, a knife thrust, a blackjack, or--  But what
+difference did it make what form the execution of the sentence took?
+And, since, then, that was out of the question, since he could not
+keep the Magpie away without practically risking his own life, the
+Magpie at least must have his chance.
+
+Jimmie Dale was at the library door now, that, according to the plan
+the Tocsin had drawn for the Magpie, and as he remembered her
+description when she had told him her story earlier in the evening,
+was just at the foot of the staircase.  How dark it was!  Though the
+stairs could be only a few feet away, he could not see them.  And
+how intense the silence was again!  Here, where he stood, the
+slightest stir from above must have reached him--but there was not a
+sound.
+
+His hand felt out for the doorknob, found it, turned it, and pushed
+the door open.  He stepped inside the room and closed the door
+behind him.  The safe, according to the Tocsin's plan again, was in
+that sort of alcove at the lower end of the library.  Jimmie Dale's
+flashlight played inquisitively about the room.  There was the
+window, the only one in the room, the window through which the
+Magpie proposed to enter; there was the archway of the alcove, with
+its--no, there were no longer any portieres; and there was the safe,
+he could see it quite plainly from where he stood at the upper end
+of the room.
+
+The flashlight went out for the space of perhaps thirty seconds--
+thirty seconds of absolute silence, absolute stillness--then the
+round, white ray of the light again, but glistening now on the
+nickel knobs and dial of the safe--and Jimmie Dale was on his knees
+before it.
+
+A low, scarcely breathed exclamation, that seemed to mingle anxiety
+and hesitation, escaped him.  He, who knew the make of every safe in
+the country, knew this one for its true worth.  Twenty-five minutes!
+Could he open it in that time, let alone with any time to spare!  It
+was not like the one in Spider Jack's; it was the kind that the
+Magpie, however clever he might be in his own way, would be forced
+to negotiate with "soup," and, with the attendant noise, double his
+chance of discovery and capture--and the responsibility for what
+might have happened UPSTAIRS!  No; the Magpie must have his chance!
+And, besides, the money in the safe apart, why should not he, Jimmie
+Dale, have his own chance, as well?  All this would help.  The
+motive--robbery; the perpetrator, there was grim mockery on his lips
+now as the light went out and the sensitive fingers closed on the
+knob of the dial, the perpetrator--the Gray Seal.  It would afford
+excellent food for the violent editorial diatribes under which the
+police again would writhe in frenzy!
+
+Stillness again!  Silence!  Only a low, tense breathing; only, so
+faint that it could not be heard a foot away, a curious scratching,
+as from time to time the supersensitive fingers fell away from the
+dial to rub upon the carpet--to increase even their sensitiveness by
+setting the nerves to throbbing through the skin surface at the
+tips.  And then Jimmie Dale's head, ear pressed close against the
+safe to catch the tumbler's fall, was lifted--and the flashlight
+played again on the dial.
+
+"Twenty-eight and a quarter--left."
+
+How fast the time went--and how slowly!  Still the black shape
+crouched there in the darkness against the safe.  At times, in
+strange, ghostly flashes, the nickel dial with the ray upon it
+seemed to leap out and glisten through the surrounding blackness; at
+times, the quick intake of breath, as from great exertion; at times,
+faint, musical little clicks, as, after abortive effort, the dial
+whirled, preparatory to a fresh attempt.  And then, at last--a gasp
+of relief:
+
+"Ah!"
+
+Came the sound, barely audible, as of steel sliding in well-oiled
+grooves, the muffled thud of metal meeting metal as the bolts shot
+back--and the heavy door swung outward.
+
+Jimmie Dale stretched his cramped limbs, and wiped the moisture from
+his face--then set to work again upon the inner door.  This was an
+easier matter--far easier.  Five minutes, perhaps a little more,
+went by--and then the inner door was open, and the flashlight's ray
+was flooding the interior of the safe.
+
+A queer little sound, half of astonishment, half of disappointment,
+issued from Jimmie Dale's lips.  There was money here, a great deal
+of money, undoubtedly, but there was no such sum as he had, somehow,
+fantastically imagined from the Magpie's evidently overcoloured
+story that there would be; there was money, ten packages of
+banknotes neatly piled in the bottom compartment--but there was no
+half million of dollars!  He picked up one of the packages
+hurriedly--and drew in his breath.  After all, there was a great
+deal--the notes were of hundred-dollar denomination, and on the
+bottom were two one-thousand-dollar bills!  Calculated roughly, if
+each of the other nine packages contained a like amount, the total
+must exceed a hundred thousand.
+
+And now Jimmie Dale began to work with feverish haste.  From the
+leather girdle inside his shirt came the thin metal insignia case--
+and a gray seal was stuck firmly on the dial knob of the safe.  This
+done, he tucked away the packages of banknotes, some into his
+pockets and some inside his shirt; and then quickly ransacked the
+interior of the safe, flauntingly spilling the contents of drawers
+and pigeonholes out upon the floor.
+
+He stood up, and, leaving the safe door wide open, walked back
+across the room to the window, unfastened the catch, and opened the
+window an inch or two.  The way was open now for the Magpie!  The
+Magpie would have no need to make any noise in forcing an entrance;
+he would be able to see almost at a glance that he had been
+forestalled--by the Gray Seal; and that, as far as he was concerned,
+the game was up.  The Magpie had his chance!  If the Magpie did not
+take the hint and make his escape as noiselessly as he had entered--
+it was his own fault!  He, Jimmie Dale, had given the Magpie his
+chance.
+
+Jimmie Dale turned from the window, and made his way out of the
+library to the foot of the stairs, leaving the library door open
+behind him.  How long had he been?  Was it more or less than the
+twenty-five minutes?  He did not know--only, as yet, the Magpie had
+not come, and now perhaps it did not make so much difference.
+
+Where was he going now?  His foot was on the first stair--and
+suddenly he drew it back, the cold sweat bursting out on his
+forehead.  Where was he going now?  "THE FIRST ROOM ON THE RIGHT AT
+THE HEAD OF THE LANDING."  From his inner consciousness, as it were,
+the answer, in all the bald, naked horror that it implied, flashed
+upon him.  The first room on the right--THAT man's room!  God, how
+the darkness and the stillness began to palpitate again, and
+suddenly seem to shriek out at him over and over the one single,
+ghastly word--MURDER!
+
+It had been with him, that thought, all the time he had been working
+at the safe; but it had been there then only subconsciously, like
+some heavy, nameless dread, subjugated for the moment by the work he
+had had to do which had demanded the centred attention of every
+faculty he possessed.  But now the moment had come when there was
+only THAT before him, only that, nothing else--only that, the man
+upstairs in the first room to the right of the landing!
+
+Why did he hesitate?  Why did he stand there while the priceless
+moments before daylight came were passing?  The man was a murderer,
+a blotch on society, and, his life already forfeited, he was living
+now only because the law had not found him out--the man was a
+criminal, bloodstained--and his life, because he had taken her
+father's life and had tried to take the Tocsin's own life, stood
+between her and every hope of happiness, robbing her even literally,
+in a material sense, of everything that the world could hold for
+her!  Why did he hesitate?  It was that man's life--or hers!  It was
+the only way!
+
+He put his foot upon the bottom step again--paused still another
+instant--and then began stealthily to mount the stairs.  The
+darkness!  There had never been, it seemed, such darkness before!
+The stillness--he had never known silence so heavy, so full of
+strange, premonitory pulsings; a silence that seemed so
+incongruously full of clamouring whispers in his ears!  It must be
+those imagined whispers that were affecting his nerve--for now, as
+he gained the landing and slipped his automatic from his pocket, his
+hand was shaking with a queer twitching motion.
+
+For an instant, fighting for his self-composure, he stood striving
+to locate his surroundings through the darkness.  The staircase was
+a circular one, making the landing nearly at the front of the house,
+and rearward from this, the Tocsin had said, a hallway ran down the
+centre, with rooms on either side.  The first room to the right,
+therefore, should be just at his hand.  He reached out, feeling
+cautiously--there was nothing.  He edged to the right--still
+nothing; edged a little farther, a sense of bewilderment growing
+upon him, and finally his fingers touched the wall.  It was very
+strange!  The hallway must be much wider than he had understood it
+to be from what she had said!
+
+He moved along now straight ahead of him, his hand on the wall,
+feeling for the door--and with every step his bewilderment
+increased.  Surely there must be some mistake--perhaps he had
+misunderstood!  He had come fully twice the distance that one would
+expect--and yet there was no door.  Ah, what was that?  His fingers
+closed on soft, heavy velvet hangings.  These could hardly be in
+front of a door, and yet--what else could it be?  He drew the
+hangings warily apart, and felt behind them.  It was a window; but
+it was shuttered in some way evidently, for he could not see out.
+
+Jimmie Dale stood motionless there for fully a minute.  It seemed
+absurd, preposterous, the conviction that was being forced home upon
+him--that there were no rooms on the right-hand side of the corridor
+at all!  But that was not like the Tocsin, accurate always in the
+most minute details.  The room must be still farther along.  He was
+tempted to use his flashlight--but that, as long as he could feel
+his way, was an unnecessary risk.  A flashlight upstairs, where a
+sleeping-room door might be ajar, or even wide open, where some one
+wakeful, THAT man himself, perhaps, might see it, was quite another
+matter than a flashlight in the closed and deserted library below!
+
+He went on once more, still guiding himself by a light finger touch
+upon the wall, passed another portiere similar to the first, and,
+after that, another--and finally stopped by bringing up abruptly
+against the end wall of the house.  It was certainly very strange!
+There WERE no rooms on the right-hand side of the corridor.  And
+here, hanging across the end wall, was another of those ubiquitous
+velvet portieres.  He parted it, and, a little to his surprise,
+found a window that was not shuttered, but that, instead, was
+heavily barred by an ornamental grille work.  He could see out,
+however, and found that he was looking directly out from the rear of
+the house.  A lamp from the side street threw what was undoubtedly
+the garage into shadowy outline, and he made out below him a short
+stretch of yard between the garage and the house.  He remembered
+that now--she had described all that to the Magpie.  There was no
+driveway between the front and the rear.  The house being on the
+corner, the entrance to the garage was directly from the side
+street.  Yes, she had described all that exactly as it was, but--he
+dropped the portiere and faced around, carrying his hand in a
+nonplused way to his eyes--but here, upstairs, within the house, it
+was not as she had said it was at all!  What did it mean?  She could
+not have blundered so egregiously as that, unless--he caught his
+breath suddenly--unless she had done so intentionally!  Was that it?
+Had she surmised, formed a suspicion of what was in his mind, of
+what he meant to do--and taken this means of defeating it?  If so--
+well, it was too late for that now!  There was one way--only one
+way!  Whatever the cost, whatever it might mean for him--there was
+only one way out for her.
+
+His flashlight was in his hand now, and the round, white ray shot
+down the corridor--seemed suddenly to falter unsteadily--swept in
+through an open door that was almost beside him--and then, as though
+a nerveless hand held it, the ray dropped and played shakily on the
+toe of his boot before it went out.
+
+A stifled cry rose to his lips.  Something cold, like a hand of ice,
+seemed to clutch at his heart.  Those portieres, the wide, richly
+carpeted corridor!  It was the corridor of the night before!  That
+room at his side was the room where he had seen Hilton Travers, the
+chauffeur, dead, lashed in a chair!  He felt the sweat beads burst
+out anew upon his forehead.
+
+IT WAS THE CRIME CLUB!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+RETRIBUTION
+
+
+His brain seemed to whirl, staggered as by some gigantic, ghastly
+mockery.  The Crime Club!  HERE!  He had thought to creep upon that
+man--and he had run blindly into the very heart and centre of these
+hell fiends' nest!
+
+Silently he stood there, holding his breath as he listened now,
+motionless as a statue, forcing his mind to THINK.  He remembered
+that last night his impression of the place had been that it was
+more like some great private mansion than anything else.  Well, he
+had been right, it seemed!  He could have laughed aloud--
+sardonically, hysterically.  It was not so strange now that there
+were no rooms on the right-hand side of the corridor!  And what
+could have suited their purpose better, what, by its very location,
+its unimpeachable character, could be a more ideal lair for them
+than this house!  And how grimly simple it was now, the explanation!
+In the five years that the false Henry LaSalle had been in
+possession, they had cunningly remodelled the upper floor--that was
+all!  It was quite clear now why the man never entertained--why he
+had never been caught or found or known to be in communication with
+his fellow conspirators!  It was no longer curious that one might
+watch the door of the house for months at a stretch and go
+unrewarded for one's pains, as the Tocsin had done, when access to
+the house by those who frequented it was so easy through the garage
+on the side street--and from the garage, if their work there was in
+keeping with their clever contrivances within the house, by an
+underground connection into, say, the cellar or basement!
+
+Again Jimmie Dale checked that nervous, unnatural inclination to
+laugh aloud.  Was there anything, any single incident, any single
+detail of all that had transpired, that was not explained, borne
+out, as it could be explained and borne out in no other way save
+that the Crime Club should be no other than this very house itself?
+It was the exposition of that favourite theory of his--it was so
+obvious that therein lay its security.  He had mocked at the Magpie
+not many moments before on that score--and now it was the beam in
+his own eye!  It was so obvious now, so glaringly obvious, that the
+Crime Club could have been nowhere else; so obvious, with every word
+of the Tocsin's story pointing it out like a signpost--and he had
+not seen it!
+
+And then suddenly every muscle grew strained and rigid.  WAS THERE
+SOME ONE IN THE CORRIDOR?  Was it some one moving--or was it only
+fancy?  He listened--while he strained his eyes through the
+darkness.  There was no sound; only that abnormal, heavy silence
+that--yes, he remembered that, too, now--that had clung about him
+last night like a pall.  He could see nothing, hear nothing--but
+intuitively, bringing a cold dismay, the greater because it was
+something unknown, intangible, he FELT as though eyes were upon him,
+that even in the darkness he was being watched!
+
+And as he stood there, then, slowly there crept upon Jimmie Dale the
+sense of peril and disaster.  It was not intuition now--it was
+certainty.  He was trapped!  It was the part of a fool to imagine
+that with their devil's cunning, their cleverness, their ingenuity,
+he, or any one else, could enter that house unknown to its
+occupants!  Had he made electric contact when he had opened the
+front door, and rung a signal here, perhaps, upstairs--had he set
+some system of alarm at work when he had touched that window?  What
+did it matter--the details that had heralded his entrance?  He was
+certain now that his presence in the house was known.  Only, why had
+they left him so long without attack?  He shook his head with a
+quick, impatient movement.  That, too, was obvious!  He was under
+observation.  Who was he?  Why had he come?  Was he simply a paltry
+safe-tapper--or was he one whom they had a real need to fear?  And
+then, too, there might well be another reason.  It was far from
+likely, in fact unreasonable, to imagine that all the men he had
+seen here the night before were in the house now.  Not many of them,
+if any, would LIVE here, for CONSTANT, daily coming and going, even
+through the garage, could not escape notice; and, of the servants,
+probably a lesser breed of criminal, some of them, at least, no
+doubt, were engaged at that moment in watching his own house on
+Riverside Drive!  There was even the possibility that the man posing
+as Henry LaSalle was, for the time being, here alone.
+
+He shook his head again.  He could hardly hope for that--he had no
+right to hope for anything more now than a struggle, with an
+inevitably fatal ending to himself, but one in which at least he
+could sell his life as dearly as possible, one in which, perhaps, he
+might pay the Tocsin's score with the man he had come to find!  If
+he could do that--well, after all, the price was not too great!
+
+There were no tremours of the muscles now.  It was Jimmie Dale, the
+Gray Seal, every faculty alert, tense, keyed up to its highest
+efficiency; the brain cool, keen, and active--fighting for his life.
+The front door through which he had entered was an impossibility;
+but there was the window in the library that he had opened--if they
+would let him get that far!  That was as good a chance as any.  If
+he made an effort to find, say, a way to the flat above and chanced
+some means of escape there, it would in no wise obviate an attack
+upon him, and he would only be under the added disadvantage of
+unfamiliar surroundings.
+
+Feeling out with his left hand, his automatic thrown a little
+forward in his right, he began to retrace his way along the blank
+wall of the corridor, pausing between each step to listen, moving
+silently, his tread on the heavy carpet as noiseless as though it
+were some shadow creeping there.
+
+Stillness--utter, absolute!  Always that stillness.  Always that
+sense of danger around him--the tense, bated expectancy of momentary
+attack--a revolver flash through the darkness--a sudden rush upon
+him.  But still there was nothing--only the darkness, only the
+silence.
+
+He gained the head of the stairs and began to descend--and now the
+strain began to tell upon his nerves again.  Again he was possessed
+of the mad impulse to cry out, to do anything that would force the
+issue, that would end the horrible, unbearable suspense.  Why did
+that revolver shot not come?  Why had they not yet rushed upon him?
+Why were they playing with him as a cat with a mouse?  Or was it all
+wild, fanciful imagination?  NO!  What was that again!  He could
+have sworn this time that he had heard a sound, but he could neither
+define its character, nor locate the direction from which it had
+come.
+
+He was at the foot of the stairs now; and, guiding himself by the
+wall, moving now barely an inch at a time, he reached the library
+door that he had left open, and stole in over the threshold.
+Halfway down the room and diagonally across from where he stood was
+the window.  In a moment now he could gain that, but they would
+never let him go so easily--and so it must come now, in that next
+moment, their attack!  Where were they?  Where were they now?  The
+table--he must remember not to bump into the table!  A pause between
+each step, he was crossing the room.  He was halfway to the window.
+Had it been all fancy, was he to--  And then Jimmie Dale stood
+motionless.  SOME ONE HAD CLOSED THE LIBRARY DOOR SOFTLY!
+
+Stillness again!  A sort of deadly calm upon him, Jimmie Dale felt
+out behind his back for the big library table that he had been
+circuiting--if the window were wide open it might be done, but to
+jump for it and stand silhouetted there during the pause necessary
+to fling the window up was little less than suicidal.  He edged back
+noiselessly until his fingers touched the table; then, lowering
+himself to his knees, he backed in underneath it, and lay flat upon
+the floor.  It was not much protection, but it had one advantage: if
+they switched on the lights it would show an EMPTY room for the
+first instant, and that instant meant--the first shot!
+
+Where were they now?  By the library door?  How many of them were
+there?  Well, it was their move!  Two could play at cat and mouse
+until--until DAYLIGHT!  That wasn't very far off, now, and when that
+came he might still have the first shot, but after that--he turned
+his head quickly toward the window.  There was a faint scratching
+noise as of finger nails gripping the sill; then the window, very
+slowly, almost silently, was pushed steadily upward, and a dark form
+loomed up outside; and then, crawling through, a man dropped, as
+though his feet were padded like a cat's on the floor inside the
+room.  The Magpie!
+
+A flashlight's ray shot out--and, with a twisted smile propped now
+on his left elbow to give free play to his revolver arm, Jimmie Dale
+followed the white spot eagerly with his eyes.  But it did not
+circle around; instead, the light was turned almost instantly toward
+the lower end of the room--and, a second later, was holding steadily
+on the open door of the safe, and the litter of papers on the floor.
+
+Came a savage growl of amazed fury from the Magpie: then his step
+down the room; and, as he reached the safe, a torrent of unbridled
+blasphemy--and then, in a sort of staggered gasp, as he leaned
+suddenly forward examining the knob of the dial:
+
+"The Gray Seal!"
+
+A moment the Magpie stood there; and then, cursing again in abandon,
+turned, and started back for the window, his flashlight dancing
+before him--and stopped, a snarl of fury on his lips.  The
+flashlight was playing full on Jimmie Dale under the table!
+
+"Larry the Bat!  The Gray Seal!  By God!" choked the Magpie.  "You--
+you--"  The Magpie's flashlight, as he shifted it from his right
+hand to his left and wrenched out his revolver, had fallen upon two
+men crouched close against the wall by the library door--and he
+screamed out in an access of fury.  "De double cross!  A plant!  De
+bulls!  You damned snitch, Larry!" screamed out the Magpie--and
+fired.
+
+The bullet tore into the carpet beside Jimmie Dale.  Came answering
+shots from the men by the door; and then the Magpie, emptying his
+automatic at the two men as he ran, the flame tongues cutting
+vicious lanes of fire through the darkness, dashed for the window.
+There was a cry, the crash of a heavy body pitching to the floor--
+and the Magpie had flung himself out through the window, and in the
+momentary ensuing silence within the room came the sound of his
+footsteps running on the gravel below.
+
+There was a low moan, the movement as of some one staggering and
+lurching around--and then the lights went on.  But for an instant
+Jimmie Dale did not move.  He was staring at the form of a man still
+and motionless on the floor in front of him--the man who had posed
+as Henry LaSalle.  Dead!  The man was dead!  His mind ran riot for a
+moment.  Where were the others--were there only these two?  Only
+these two in the house!  Only these two--and one was dead!  And then
+Jimmie Dale was on his feet.  One was dead--but there was still the
+other, the man who was reeling there, back turned to him, by the
+electric-light switch.  But even as Jimmie Dale sprang forward, this
+second man, clawing at the wall for support, slipped to his knees
+and fell upon the carpet.
+
+Jimmie Dale reached him, snatched the revolver from his hand, and
+bent over him.  It was the man whose name he did not know, but whose
+face he had reason enough to know too well--it was the leader of the
+Crime Club.
+
+The man, though evidently badly wounded, smiled defiantly in spite
+of his pain.
+
+"So you're the Gray Seal!" he flung out contemptuously.  "A clever
+enough safe-cracker--but only a lowbrow, like the rest of them.
+Another illusion dispelled!  Well, you've got the money--better run,
+hadn't you?"
+
+Jimmie Dale made no answer.  Satisfied that the man was too badly
+hurt to move, he went and bent over the silent form in the centre of
+the room.  A moment's examination was enough.  "Henry LaSalle" was
+dead.
+
+He stood there looking down at the man.  It was what he had come
+for--though it was the Magpie, not himself, who had accomplished it!
+The man was dead!  The words began to run through his mind in a
+queer reiteration.  The man was dead--the man was dead!  He checked
+himself sharply.  He must think now--think fast, and think RIGHT.
+
+The Magpie knew that Larry the Bat was the Gray Seal--and as fast as
+the Magpie could get there, the news would spread like wildfire
+through the underworld.  "Death to the Gray Seal!  Death to the Gray
+Seal!"  He could hear that slogan ringing again in his ears, but as
+he had never heard it before--with a snarl of triumph now as of
+wolves who at last had pulled their quarry down.  He had not a
+second to spare--and yet--that man wounded there on the floor!  What
+of him--guilty of murder, the brains of this inhuman, monstrous
+organisation, the one to whom, more even than to that dead man, the
+Tocsin owed the horror and the misery and the grief and despair that
+had come into her life!  What of him?  What of the Crime Club here?
+What of this nest of vipers?  Were they to escape?  Were they to--
+
+With a sudden, low exclamation, Jimmie Dale jumped for the table,
+and, snatching up the telephone, rattled the hook violently.
+
+"Give me"--his voice came in well-simulated gasps, each like a man
+fighting for every word--"give me--police--headquarters!  Quick!
+QUICK!  I've--been--shot!"
+
+The wounded man on the floor raised himself on his elbow.
+
+"What are you doing?" he demanded in a startled way.  "Are you mad!
+Thank your stars you were lucky enough to get out of this alive--and
+get out now, while you have the chance!"
+
+Jimmie Dale pressed his hand firmly over the mouthpiece of the
+telephone.
+
+"I'll go," he said, with a cold smile, "when I've settled with you--
+for the murder of Henry LaSalle."
+
+"That man!" ejaculated the man scornfully, pointing to the form on
+the floor.  "So that's your game!  Going to try and cover your
+tracks!  Why, you fool, I LIVE here!  Do you think the police would
+imagine for an instant that I killed him?"
+
+"I said--HENRY LASALLE," said Jimmie Dale evenly.
+
+The man came farther up on his elbow, a sudden look of fear in his
+face.
+
+"What--what do you mean?" he cried hoarsely.
+
+But Jimmie Dale was talking again into the telephone--gasping,
+choking out his words as before:
+
+"Police headquarters?  I'm Henry LaSalle.  Fifth Avenue.  I--I've
+been shot.  Take down this statement.  I'll--I'll be dead before you
+get here--I'm not the real Henry LaSalle at all.  We murdered Henry
+LaSalle--in Australia, and murdered Peter LaSalle here.  We--we
+tried to kill the daughter, but she ran away.  This house has been
+our headquarters for the last five years.  The man who shot me to-
+night is the leader of the gang.  We quarrelled over the division of
+a haul.  He's here on the floor now, wounded.  Get them all, get
+them all, damn them!--do you hear?--get them all!  They're out of
+the house now, but lay a trap for them.  They always come in through
+the garage on the side street.  Oh, God, I'm done for!  Break down
+the west walls of the rooms upstairs--if--you--want proof of what--
+the gang's been doing.  Hurry!  Hurry!  I'm--I'm--done for--I--"
+
+Jimmie Dale permitted the telephone to drop with a clash from his
+hand to the table.
+
+The face of the man on the floor was livid.
+
+"Who are you?  In God's name, who are you?" he cried out wildly.
+
+"Does it matter?" inquired Jimmie Dale grimly.  "Your game is up.
+You'll go to the chair for the murder of 'Henry LaSalle'--if it is
+by proxy!  Those rooms upstairs alone are enough to damn you, to
+prove every word of that dying "confession"--but to-morrow, added to
+it, will come the story of Marie LaSalle herself."
+
+For a moment the man hung there swaying on his elbow, his face
+working in ghastly fashion--and then suddenly, with a strange laugh,
+he carried one hand swiftly to his mouth--and laughed again--and
+before Jimmie Dale could reach him was lifeless on the floor.
+
+A tiny vial rolled away upon the carpet.  Jimmie Dale picked it up.
+A drop or two of liquid still remained in it--colourless, clear,
+like that liquid this same man had dropped into the rabbit's mouth
+the night before, like the liquid in the glasses they had carried
+into that third room, like the liquid that his man had said was from
+a formula of their own, that was instantaneous in its action, that
+defied detection by autopsy!
+
+The set, stern features of Jimmie Dale relaxed.  It was justice--but
+it was also death.  In a surge of emotion, the events of scarcely
+more than twenty-four hours, began to crowd upon him--and then,
+ominously dominant, above all else, that slogan of the underworld,
+"Death to the Gray Seal!" came ringing once more in his ears.  It
+brought him, with a startled movement of his hand across his eyes,
+to a realisation of his own desperate position.  Yes, yes, he must
+go!  The way was clear now for the Tocsin--clear now for her!
+
+He dropped the vial into his pocket, and, running to the safe,
+quickly scraped the gray seal from the dial's knob; then he drew the
+packages of money from his shirt and pockets and tossed them on the
+floor among the litter of papers already there--she would get it
+back again when it had served its purpose, it would be self-evident
+that it was the proceeds of that day's sale of the estate's
+securities over which the "quarrel" had occurred!
+
+And now the window!  He ran to it, closed it, and LOCKED it; then,
+laying the revolver he had taken from the leader down beside the
+man, he stepped across the room again and drew the body of "Henry
+LaSalle" closer to the table--as though the man had fallen there
+when the telephone had dropped from his hand.
+
+It was done now!  On the floor beside him lay each man's weapon--and
+both of the revolvers had been discharged several times.  Jimmie
+Dale paused on the library threshold for a final survey of the room.
+It was done!  The way was clear--for her.  And now if he could only
+save himself!  There was no chance for Larry the Bat!  Could he
+save--JIMMIE DALE!
+
+He crossed the hall, a queer, half-grim, half-wistful smile on his
+lips, unlocked the front door, stepped out, locked it behind him--
+and in another moment, doubling around the corner, was running along
+like a hare along the side street.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+"DEATH TO THE GRAY SEAL!"
+
+
+On Jimmie Dale ran.  Across on Fourth Avenue he swung on a car that
+took him to Astor Place.  Then striking east once more, making a
+detour to avoid the Bowery, he ran on at top speed again.  To reach
+the Sanctuary, not before the Magpie should have spread the alarm,
+that was impossible, but to reach it before the underworld should
+have had time to recover its breath, as it were, before the
+underworld should have had time to act--that was his only chance!
+The Magpie had, at the outside, a start of fifteen minutes; but he,
+Jimmie Dale, had probably retrieved five minutes of that in the time
+he had made in getting downtown.  That left the Magpie ten to the
+good.  How long would it take the Magpie to bring the underworld
+swarming like hornets around the Sanctuary?
+
+On Larry the Bat ran.  At the Sanctuary were the clothes, the
+belongings of Jimmie Dale.  Could he save Jimmie Dale!  If he could
+get there, change, and get out again, the way was clear for him--as
+clear as for the Tocsin now.  In a few hours the police would have
+every member of the Crime Club in the trap; there would be no watch
+any more around his house on Riverside Drive; and he would be free
+to return there and resume his normal life as Jimmie Dale again if
+he could make the Sanctuary in time!  But let the Magpie get there
+first, let the underworld tear the place to pieces in its fury as it
+would do, let them discover that hiding place under the flooring,
+for instance, and the Gray Seal would not be merely Larry the Bat,
+but Jimmie Dale as well, and--a cry escaped him even as he ran--it
+meant ruin, the disgrace of an honoured name, death, crimes without
+number at his door.  Crimes!  The Gray Seal had never committed a
+crime!  But the crimes attributed to the Gray Seal he could not
+disprove, not one of them!  He had meant them to appear as crimes--
+and he had succeeded so well that the Gray Seal's name, execrated,
+was a synonym for the most callous, dangerous, and unscrupulous
+criminal of the age!
+
+He was gasping for breath as finally, making for the side door, he
+darted into the alleyway that flanked the Sanctuary.  What story
+would the Magpie tell?  Not the truth, of course--that would let the
+Magpie in for what had happened that night, for the Magpie must be
+well aware that he had shot at least one of the two men in that
+room.  But the truth wasn't necessary; it was foreign, and had no
+bearing on the one outstanding fact--the Gray Seal was Larry the
+Bat.  At the present moment the Magpie had a double incentive for
+"getting" the Gray Seal--the Gray Seal was the only one who could
+prove murder against him that night in the LaSalle mansion.  And
+afterwards, when the police version of the affair was made public,
+the Magpie, to save himself, would be careful enough to do or say
+nothing to contradict "Henry LaSalle's" confession!
+
+Larry the Bat slipped in through the door, halted there, listened;
+and then began to mount the rickety stairs, with his silent tread.
+At the top he paused again.  Nothing--no sound!  They were not here
+yet--so far he was in time!  He stepped to the Sanctuary door,
+unlocked it, passed into the squalid, miserable room that had
+harboured him for so long as Larry the Bat, locked the door behind
+him, crossed quickly to the window to make sure that the shutters
+were closed--and then, for the first time, as the gray light
+streaked in through the interstices, he was conscious that it was
+already dawn.  So much the more need for haste then!
+
+He whipped out his revolver and laid it at his hand on the
+dilapidated table; then the flooring in the corner was up in an
+instant, and he began to strip off the rags of Larry the Bat.
+Boots, mismated socks, the torn, patched trousers, the greasy
+flannel shirt, the threadbare coat, the nondescript slouch hat were
+thrown in a pile on the floor; and with them, from their hiding-
+place, the grease paints and heterogeneous collection of make-up
+accessories.  This done, he began to slip on the clothes of Jimmie
+Dale; and, when half dressed, turned to the table again to remove
+the characteristic grime, stain, and paint of Larry the Bat from
+face, hands, wrists, throat, and neck.  This was a longer, more
+arduous task.  He reached for the cracked pitcher to pour more water
+into the basin--and, snatching up his revolver instead, whirled to
+face the door.
+
+Some one was outside!  He had caught the creak of a footstep upon
+the stairs.  In a flash he was across the room and crouched by the
+door.  Yes, the step was nearer now--at the head of the stairs--on
+the landing.  His revolver lifted, holding a steady bead on the door
+panel.  And then there came a low voice:
+
+"Jimmie!  Jimmie!  Are you there?  Quick, Jimmie!  Are you there?"
+
+The Tocsin!  What was she doing here!  Why had he not warned her up
+there on the avenue, fool that he was, that of all places she was to
+keep away from here!
+
+She slipped into the room as he unlocked the door.
+
+"They're coming, Jimmie!" she panted breathlessly.  "There's not an
+instant to lose!  Listen!  When the Magpie ran from the house, I ran
+with him--but it"--she tried to smile--"it wasn't to obey you, to
+run away--I had made up my mind I wouldn't do that--it was to find
+out from him what had happened.  He told me you were the Gray Seal.
+He did not suspect me.  He thinks you were no more than just Larry
+the Bat to me, as you were to everybody else.  He went straight to
+Chicago Ike's gambling rooms and found the Skeeter's gang there--you
+know them, Red Mose, the Midget, Harve Thoms, and the Skeeter--you
+remember your fight with them over old Luddy's diamonds!  Well, they
+have not forgotten, either!  They are on their way here, now!  The
+news that you are the Gray Seal is travelling like lightning all
+through the underworld--there will be a mob here on the Skeeter's
+heels.  So, Jimmie--quick!  Run!"
+
+Run!  Half Larry the Bat, half Jimmie Dale--and run!  In another
+five minutes, perhaps--yes.  But there probably would not be five
+minutes--and she--if she were found here!
+
+"Yes," he said quietly.  "I'll get away in a moment.  You go at
+once.  I'll"--he was smiling at her reassuringly--"I'll meet you at--"
+
+She looked at him then for an instant--interrupting him quickly, as
+she shook her head.
+
+"I didn't notice, Jimmie.  You cannot go like that--can you?  It
+would be even worse than being caught as Larry the Bat.  Hurry
+then--I am not going without you."
+
+"No!" he said.  "Go now!  Go at once, Marie--while you can.  You
+have risked your life as it is to come here and tell me this.  For
+God's sake, go now!"
+
+The great, brown eyes were smiling bravely through a sudden mist.
+She shook her head again.
+
+"Not without you, Jimmie."
+
+It brought a fierce, wild throb of joy upon him--and then a cold,
+sickening fear.
+
+"Listen!" he cried out desperately.  "You must go now!  You cannot
+take any chances now, Marie.  Everything is right for you.  That man
+who posed as your uncle is dead--the leader of the Crime Club is
+dead.  Don't you understand what that means!  You have only to be
+Marie LaSalle again and claim your own.  I cannot tell you all now--
+there's no time.  That house was the Crime Club itself.  The police
+will get them all.  Don't you see!  Don't you see!  Everything is
+clear for you now--and now go!  Go--you must go!"
+
+She was staring at him, a strange wonder in her face.
+
+"Clear!  All clear--for me!  I--I can go back to--to my own life
+again!"  It was as though she were whispering some amazing thing of
+unbelievable joy to herself.
+
+"YES!" he cried out again.  "Yes!  But go--go, Marie!"
+
+But now, for answer, suddenly she reached out and took the key from
+the door and put it in the pocket of her dress.
+
+"We will go together, Jimmie--or not at all," she said simply.  "We
+are wasting precious moments.  Hurry and dress!"
+
+He hesitated miserably.  What could he do--if she WOULD not go!  And
+it was true--the moments were flying.  Better, rather than futile
+argument, to use them as she said.  There was still a chance!  Why
+not!  Five minutes!  He could do better than that!  He MUST do
+better than that!
+
+Without a word, he ran back across the room.  In frantic haste, from
+face, hands, wrists, and neck came the stain.  There was still time.
+She was standing there by the door, listening.  She, the Tocsin, she
+whom he loved, she who, all through the years that had gone, had
+been so strangely elusive and yet so intimately a part of his life,
+SHE was standing there now, here with him--in peril with every
+second that passed!
+
+He had only to slip on his coat and vest now--and make a bundle of
+Larry the Bat's things on the floor, so that he could carry them
+away to destroy them.  He stooped to gather up the clothes--and
+straightened suddenly--and jumped toward the door again.
+
+"They are coming, Jimmie!" she called, in a low voice.  But he had
+already heard them--the stairs were creaking loudly under the tread
+of many feet.  He pushed the Tocsin hurriedly back against the wall
+at the side of the door.
+
+"Stand there!" he said, under his breath.  "Out of the line of fire!
+Don't move!"
+
+There was a rush against the door--and then a voice growled:
+
+"Aw, cut dat out!  Wot do youse want to do--scare him away by
+bustin' it!  Pick de lock, an' we'll lay for him inside till he
+shows up."
+
+It was the Skeeter's voice.  The Skeeter and his gang--the worst
+apaches in the city of New York!  Professional assassins, death
+contractors, he had called them--and the lowest bidders!  A man's
+life any time for twenty-five dollars!  No, they were not likely to
+forget the affair of the pushcart man, to forget old Luddy and his
+diamonds, to forget--the Gray Seal!  And they were only the vanguard
+of what was to come!
+
+Some one was working at the lock now.  There was one way to stop
+that.  It would not take them long to find out that he WAS there
+once the door was opened!  Better know it with the door SHUT!
+Jimmie Dale lifted his revolver coolly and fired through the panel.
+
+A burst of yells answered the shot; and among them, high above the
+others, the Magpie's scream:
+
+"We got him!  We got him!  He's dere now!"
+
+And then it seemed that pandemonium broke loose--there was a volley
+of shots, the bullets splintering through the door panels as from a
+machine gun, so fast they came--and then another rush against the
+door.
+
+Flat on the floor, but well back and to one side, Jimmie Dale fired
+steadily--again and again.
+
+Came screams of pain, yells, and oaths--and they fell back from the
+door.
+
+And now from above, from overhead, came tumult--windows thrown up,
+the stamp of feet, cries of fright.  And from the street, a low,
+sullen roar.  The underworld was gathering fast!
+
+Once more the rush upon the door--and Jimmie Dale, a grim, twisted
+smile upon his lips, emptied his revolver into the panels.  Once
+more they fell back--and then there came the Skeeter's voice,
+snarling like an infuriated beast:
+
+"He'll get de lot of us like dis!  Cut it out!  Besides, we'll have
+de bulls down here in a minute--an' he's OUR meat, not theirs.
+Dey'd be too damned soft wid him--dey'd only send him to de chair.
+Youse chase upstairs, Mose, an' pass de word to beat it--an' beat it
+quick.  We'll BURN de skunk out--dat's wot.  An' de bulls can stand
+alongside an' watch, if dey likes--but he's our meat."
+
+Jimmie Dale did not dare to look at the Tocsin's face.  Mechanically
+he refilled the magazine of his automatic--and lay there, waiting.
+The roar from the street grew louder.  They seemed to be fighting
+out there, as though an inadequate number of police were trying to
+disperse a mob--and not succeeding!  Pretty soon, with the riot call
+in, there would probably be a battle--for the Gray Seal!  Sublime
+irony!  It was death at the hands of either one!
+
+Children whimpered on the stairs outside, men swore, women cried,
+feet shuffled hurriedly by as the tenement emptied.  Occasionally, a
+pertinent invitation to him to remain where he was, there was a
+vicious rip through the panel, and the drumming whir of a bullet
+flying through the room.  And then a curious, ominous crackling
+sound--and then the smell of smoke.
+
+Jimmie Dale stood up, his face drawn and haggard.  The tenement
+would go like matchwood, burn like a bonfire, with any kind of a
+start--and there was no doubt about the start!  The Skeeter, the
+Magpie, and the rest would have seen that it had headway enough to
+serve their purpose before either firemen or police could thwart
+them.  He, Jimmie Dale, could take his choice: walk out into a
+bullet, or stay there and--he smiled miserably as his eyes fell upon
+the pile of Larry the Bat's clothing on the floor.  There was no
+longer need to worry about ITS destruction--the fire would take care
+of that only too well!  And then a low, bitter cry came to his lips,
+and he clenched his hands.  If it were only himself--only himself!
+He crossed to the Tocsin and caught her in his arms.
+
+"Oh, my God--Marie!" he faltered.
+
+The cape and hood had fallen from her, and with the hood had fallen
+the gray-streaked hair of Silver Mag--and now as she smiled at him
+it was from a face that was very beautiful and very brave and very
+full of tenderness.
+
+And he held her there--and neither spoke.
+
+It seeped in under the threshold of the door, it came from
+everywhere, filling the room--the black, strangling smoke.  Outside
+in the hall all was silence now--save for that crackle of flame that
+grew in volume, that came now in quick, sharp reports, like revolver
+shots.  From out in the street swelled a cry: "Death to the Gray
+Seal!"  Then the clang of bells, the roar and rattle of fire
+apparatus, strident voices bellowing orders, and the crowd again,
+blood hungry: "Death to the Gray Seal!"
+
+There was a chance, just one--if the fire had no headway along the
+upper end of the landing--and if they had not thought to set a watch
+for him ABOVE!  They--the Magpie, the Skeeter, and his gang--must
+have been driven even out of the house now by the smoke and flame.
+
+"Give me the key, I am going to open the door, Marie," he said
+quietly.  "Cover your face with a handkerchief, anything, and run to
+the LEFT to the next flight of stairs.  There are two flats above
+this--we'll make the roof if we can.  Now--are you ready?"
+
+It was an instant before she answered, an instant in which she
+lifted her face to his, and held his face between her two hands--and
+then:
+
+"I am ready, Jimmie."
+
+He flung open the door, his arm around her to help her forward--and
+instinctively, with a cry, fell back for a moment.  With the inrush
+of the draft poured the smoke, and through it, lurid, yellow, showed
+the flames leaping from the stair well.
+
+And then all was blind madness.  Together they ran.  At the foot of
+the stairs she fell, recovered herself, staggered up another--and
+fell again.  He caught her up in his arms and, staggering now as she
+had staggered, went on.  His lungs seemed to be bursting.  His limbs
+grew weak and trembled under him.  He could not see or breathe.  The
+nauseating fumes suffocated him, bringing an intolerable agony.  He
+gained the first landing above.  There was one more--one more!  If
+he could only rest here for a moment!  Yes, that was it--rest.  It
+wasn't so bad here now.  She stirred in his arms, struggled to her
+feet--and he was helping her on again, and up the next flight of
+stairs.
+
+And suddenly he found himself laughing in hysteria--for they were
+climbing a half stair, half ladderway at the end of the upper
+landing, and the open skylight was above them, and they were
+drinking in the pure, fresh air--and now they were out upon the
+roof, and the roar from the street was in their ears, like the roar
+of great waters from some canyon far below.  Jimmie Dale tried to
+speak, and found his lips were cracked and dry.  He wet them with
+his tongue.
+
+"Don't stand up--we'd be seen--CRAWL," he mumbled hoarsely.
+
+It took a long time--over one roof, and then another, and yet
+another--and then through the skylight of a tenement whose occupants
+were either craning from the front windows, or were on the street
+below.  It was, perhaps, half an hour--and then they, too, were
+standing in the street, and all about them the crowd was shouting in
+wild excitement.
+
+Up the block, inside the fire lines, the Sanctuary was blazing
+furiously--and now suddenly the wall seemed to bulge outward.  It
+brought a yell from the crowd:
+
+"Death to the Gray Seal!"
+
+She pulled at his arm.
+
+"Let us get away!  Let us get away, Jimmie!" she whispered
+frantically.
+
+A strange smile was on Jimmie Dale's lips.
+
+"We're safe now--for always," he whispered back.  "Look!"
+
+The Sanctuary wall bulged farther outward, seemed to hang an instant
+hesitant in mid-air--and fell with a mighty crash.
+
+The Gray Seal was dead!
+
+
+
+
+
+End of this Project Gutenberg etext of The Adventures of Jimmie Dale.
+
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