Frank L. Packard ......................................................................................................................................1

Among New York's fashionable and ultraexclusive clubs, the St. James stood an acknowledged

leadermore 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 speakthat 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 nowadaysthere 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' outoftown 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 holierthanthou

Is there any doubt that Jimmie Dale was a gentlemanan 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 twentyone 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 safemanufacturing interests. He

lived a bachelor lifehis mother had been dead many yearsin 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

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 twentysix, a leading figure in the

newspaper world, whose rise from reporter to managing editor of the morning NEWSARGUS within the

They were at coffee and cigars, and Jimmie Dale was leaning back in his chair, his dark eyes fixed

Carruthers, intently engaged in trimming his cigar ash on the edge of the Limoges china saucer of his coffee

"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 himthe Gray Sealrather unique! Who stuck that on him you?"

"You don't mean to say, Jimmie, that you don't know about that, do you?" he asked incredulously. "Why, up

"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 himI 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

"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 kingpin of them all. Clever isn't the word for

him, or daredevil 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 histhat's where he got his name; he left every job he ever did with a

little gray paper affair, fashioned diamondshaped, stuck somewhere where it would be the first thing your

"Don't go so fast," smiled Jimmie Dale. "I don't quite get the connection. What did you have to do with

"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 himand I nearly did, half

"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 hareandhound 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 notesI'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

"H'm!" said Jimmie Dale facetiously. "I hope the size of the wreath you sent was an adequate tribute of your

"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

Carruthers shook his head. "You don't get it at all, Jimmie," he said earnestly. "The Gray Seal wasn't an

ordinary crookhe 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 breathingand live. He's dead; there's nothing to it but that he's

"Another good man gone wrong, then," said Jimmie Dale capriciously. "I suppose, though, that at least you

"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

"Poor old Carruthers!" grinned Jimmie Dale. "You did take it to heart, didn't you?"

"I'd have sold my soul to get himand so would you, if you had been in my boots," said Carruthers, biting

"Yes, by Jove, you're right!" admitted Carruthers, "I suppose I should. I actually got to love the fellowit

"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 onehe 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

"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

"Carruthers," said Jimmy Dale, with a quick little nod of approval, "you're positively interesting tonight.

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 tonight, Jimmie," said Carruthers; "it would take too long." He pulled out his watch mechanically as he

spoke, glanced at itand pushed back his chair. "Great Scott!" he exclaimed. "It's nearly halfpast 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

"All right, O slave." Jimmie Dale laughed backand slipped his hand, a trick of their old college days

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

It was, therefore, well on toward midnight when Jimmie Dale arrived at his house on Riverside Drive, and

"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?"

"Whywhy, 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 eyeswhat color?" demanded Jimmie Dale crisply. "Nose, lips, chinwhat shape?"

"Why, sir," gasped Jason, staring at his master, "II 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 tonight, Jason."

"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 clubwhen I returned would do, but it was imperative that I should have it

"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 anythingdo anything, do you hear? Only don't let her get

"Use force, sir?" he repeated weaklyand shook his head. "Youyou can't mean that, sir."

"Can't I?" inquired Jimmie Dale, with a mirthless smile. "I mean every word of it, Jasonand if I thought

there was the slightest chance of her giving you the opportunity, I'd be more imperative still. As it

Jimmie Dale started toward the stairsthen 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 familyfirst with

"Well, then, remember this," said Jimmie Dale slowly, looking into the other's eyes, "remember thiskeep

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 tonight. 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

"Thank you, Jason," said Jimmie Dale, his hand closing with an appreciative pressure on the other's shoulder

Upstairs on the first landing, Jimmie Dale opened a door, closed and locked it behind himand 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,

leathercovered lounging chairs, a huge, leathercovered davenport, and an easel or two with halffinished

sketches upon them; the walls were panelled, the panels of exquisite grain and matching; in the centre of the

room stood a flattopped rosewood desk; upon the floor was a dark, heavy velvet rug; and, perhaps most

inviting of all, there was a great, oldfashioned 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 welltrained athlete with no single ounce of superfluous fat about himthe

grace and ease of power in his poise. His strong, cleanshaven face, as the light fell upon it now, was

seriousa mood that became him wellthe firm lips closed, the dark, reliant eyes a little narrowed, a frown

Then abruptly he walked across the room to the desk, picked up an envelope that lay upon it, and, turning

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

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 brasshandled 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, barrelshaped safeone of his own design and planning in

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 aloneand 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, rolledup 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 loosefitting, 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 lengthand 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 strapsa 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 stoutsewn, upright little pockets all the way around, and in the pockets

grimly lay an array of fine, bluedsteel, highly tempered instrumentsa 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 insidebetween

Jimmie Dale snapped the case shut, returned it to its recess, and from another took out a black silk mask. He

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

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 resonantbelled cash receiver, and

On rattled the bus; it turned across town, passed the Circle, and headed for Fifth Avenuebut Jimmie Dale,

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, thatbut he knew her by no other. It WAS a woman,

surelythe handwriting was feminine, the diction eminently soand had SHE not come herself that night

to Jason! He remembered the last letter, apart from the one tonight, that he had received from her. It was a

year ago nowand 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 maudlinand she had written, in her

Things are a little too warm, aren't they, Jimmie? Let's let them cool for a year.

Since then until tonight he had heard nothing from her. It was a strange compact that he had entered

intoso strange that it could never have known, could never know a parallelunique, dangerous, bizarre, it

was all that and more. It had begun really through his connection with his father's businessthe business of

manufacturing safes that should defy the cleverest criminalswhen 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 thatbut at the bottom of it was his

He had meant to set the police by the ears, using his grayseal device both as an added barb and that no

innocent bystander of the underworld, innocent for once, might be involvedhe 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

crimeand he had succeeded. And then he had gone too farand he had been caughtby 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

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

She had caught himhow he did not knowhe had never seen herdid 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 beforeand 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 themor 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

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 caughtthere was no question about thatshe 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 alternativeto 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 NEWSARGUS, 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

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 "goodnight" to the conductor,

and headed briskly down the street before him. A little later he crossed into West Broadway, and his pace

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

righthand 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

shoulderthe policeman was not in sightand slipped like a shadow into the alleyway beside which he had

It was another Jimmie Dale nowthe 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 Broadwaythe last place certainly in

all New York that the managing editor of the NEWSARGUS, or any one else, for that matter, would have

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.

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 plankthen 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

Hardly a sound it made as it bit into the door. Half a minute passedthere was the faint fall of a small piece

of woodinto the aperture crept the delicate, tapering fingerscame a slight rasping of metalthen 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 instantand 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 cautiouslyand once more the flashlight in his hand showed the way for an

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, partitionedoff apartment that did duty for the establishment's

office, a sort of little boxedin place it was, about in the middle of the floor. Jimmie Dale's light played on it

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

He went swiftly back to the office nowand 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 interiorand rested on an antique, ponderous

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

graycoloured, diamondshaped 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

And now his hands and fingers seemed to work like lightning. Into the soft iron bit a drillbit in and

throughbit in and through again. It was dark, pitch blackand silent. Not a sound, save the quick, dull

rasp of the ratchetlike the distant gnawing of a mouse! Jimmie Dale worked fastanother hole went

through the face of the oldfashioned safeand then suddenly he straightened up to listen, every faculty

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 listenedthere was a scraping noise in the

In an instant the tools in Jimmie Dale's hands disappeared into their respective pockets beneath his vestand

"Too bad," muttered Jimmie Dale plaintively to himself. I could have made such an artistic job of itI swear

I could have cut Carruthers' profile in the hole in less than no timeto open it like this is really taking the

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 footstepa ray of lighta stumblenearerthe newcomer was inside the place now, and must

have found out that the back door had been tampered with. Nearer came the stepsstill nearerand 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

From around the cluttered piles of junk and miscellany swept the lightfull 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 metand 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 other was a smaller man than Jimmie Dale, but powerful for his buildand he fought now with all his

strength. This way and that the two men reeled, staggered, swayed, panting and gasping; and thenthey had

lurched back close to the office doorwith 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

There was a bulllike roar, the shrill CHEEPCHEEPCHEEP of the patrolman's whistle, and a shattering

crash as the officer flung his body against the partitionthen the bark of a revolver shot, the tinkle of

breaking glass, as the man fired through the office windowand past Jimmie Dale, speeding now for the

Out on the street dashed Jimmie Dale, whipping the mask from his faceand glanced like a hawk around

him. For all the racket, the neighbourhood had not yet been arousedno one was in sight. From just

overhead came the rattle of a downtown elevated train. In a hundredyard sprint, Jimmie Dale raced it a half

block to the station, tore up the stepsand a moment later dropped nonchalantly into a seat and pulled an

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 erratiche 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

"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,

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, andfor the eye of any one who might be watchingopened 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 anotherand 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

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 movementand, stepping in side, leaned with his back

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 tableunpawnable. A boy, he was

hardly more than that, perhaps twentytwo, from a posture in which he was huddled across the table with

"Goodmorning," said Jimmie Dale again. "Your name's Hagan, Bert Haganisn't it? And you work for

The boy's lips quivered, and the gaunt, hollow, halfstarved face, white, ashenwhite now, was pitiful.

"II guess you got me," he faltered "II suppose you're a plainclothes man, though I never knew dicks

"They don't generally," said Jimmie Dale coolly. "It's a fad of mineBert 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. Wouldwould you mind

The boy tiptoed across the room, opened a connecting door a little, peered inside, opened it a little

Jimmie Dale crossed to the boy, looked inside the other roomand 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 tumbledown bed, a

rag of clothing over herher 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

roomonly here upon a chair beside the bed was a cluster of medicine bottles and a little heap of fruit.

"Twon't take long," said Hagan, trying to smile. "She's my wife. The sickness took all we had. II kinder

got behind in the rent and things. They were going to fire us out of heretomorrow. And there wasn't any

money for the medicine, andand the things she had to have. Maybe you wouldn't have done itbut I did. I

couldn't see her dying there for the want of something a little money'd buy andand 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,

"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 tonight, and I fixed it so's she'd have medicine and things to eat. I was

going to beat it before daylight myselfI"he brushed his hand hurriedly across his cheek"I didn't want

"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

"Youyou ain't a dick!" he stammered. "Then how'd you know about me and my name when you found the

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 easyI 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

"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 youyou're talking the way I like to hear youyou 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 whyeh?"

"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 rightthat's what I said. Well, so longHagan." And Jimmie Dale had

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 itand leisurely proceeded to

remove his vest. Again the telephone rang. Jimmie Dale took off his curious, pocketed leather beltas the

telephone repeated its summons. He picked out the little drill he had used a short while before, and inspected

it criticallyfeeling 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, andeh? Oh, that you, Carruthers?"

"Yes," came Carruthers' voice excitedly. "Jimmie, listenlisten! The Gray Seal's come to life! He's just

The most puzzling bewildering, delightful crook in the annals of crime," Herman Carruthers, the editor of the

MORNING NEWSARGUS, 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 afterdinner coffee. That was before his

second debut, with Isaac Brolsky's povertystricken premises over on West Broadway as a setting for the

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

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 ravedraved 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, imbecilesor, still worse again, was there

some one "higher up" who was profiting by this rogue's work? New York would not stand for itNew York

would most decidedly notand 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 NEWSARGUS, had initiated it. The MORNING

NEWSARGUS offered twentyfive 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

Jimmie Dale, alias the Gray Seal, member of the ultraexclusive 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 burglarproof 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, leatherupholstered lounging chair as a support for the paper. The result of his

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

Eightyfive 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 gameQUITE a little! If he only knew who "she" was! It was a strange partnershipthe

He turned a little in his chair as a step sounded in the hallway withoutthat is, Jimmie Dale caught the

sound, muffled though it was by the heavy carpet. Came then a knock upon the door.

It was old Jason, the butler. The old man was visibly excited, as he extended a silver tray on which lay a

Jimmie Dale's hand reached quickly out, the long, slim tapering fingers closed upon the envelopebut his

"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

"Not the young person, begging your pardon, not the young lady, sir. A shuffer in a big automobile. 'Your

The door closed. Yes, it was from HERit was the same texture of paper, there was the same rare, haunting

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 moreor the skilfully sketched

outline of a new adventure? Which? He glanced at the few lines written on the sheet, and lunged forward

Jimmie Dale's face was set, and an angry red surge swept his cheeks. His lips moved, muttering audibly

For an instanta rare occurrence in Jimmie Dale's lifehe 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

"Act instantly!" The words seemed to leap at him, drum at his ears with constant repetition. Act instantly! But

how? How? Then his brainthat keen, clear, master brainsprang from stunned inaction into virility again.

He stepped to the deskand 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.

Jimmie Dale waited until it rang again, then he lifted the receiver from the hook.

"It's the Gray Seal again. I promised you I'd let you in on the ground floor next time anything happened, so

"Carruthers," said Jimmie languidly, "you newspaper chaps make me tired with your Gray Seal. I'm just

"Bed nothing!" spluttered Carruthers, from the other end of the wire. "Come down, I tell you. It's worth your

whilehalf the population of New York would give the toes off their feet for the chance. Come down, you

"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

"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 privatehouse

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

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 Boweryand

Jimmie Dale, in the tonneau, stretched out his legs under the front seat, and dug his hands into his

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

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

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 jealouslyas 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

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 knowonly 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 nowit 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

On the car flewand upon Jimmie Dale's face, as though chiselled in marble, was a look that was not good

"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

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 blocka 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

"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 tonight. Came down

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

"Say, Carruthers," said Jimmie Dale plaintively, suddenly hanging back, "I say, you know, it'sit'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 lookin, but isn't iter 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 clubyou 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 NEWSARGUS.

"It's awfully good of you," said Jimmie gratefully. "I have to have a notebook or something, don't I?"

A little way ahead, a crowd had collected on the sidewalk before a doorway, and Carruthers pointed with a

"It's in Moriarty's placea 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

They shouldered through the crowd and up to an officer at the door. The officer nodded, stepped aside, and

They climbed one flight, and then another. The cardrooms, 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 voicesone voice rose above the others, heavy

"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

"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 goodnaturedly, seemingly quite unaffected by what lay within arm's reach of them upon the

Carruthers smiled a little wryly, shrugged his shouldersand presented Jimmie Dale to Inspector Clayton.

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,

Clayton dropped Jimmie Dale's hand, and waved his own in the air. Jimmie Dale remained modestly on the

"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 strugglea

chair upturned, a table canted against the wall, broken pieces of crockery from the washstand on the carpet,

"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 evidentlya couple of blows. The left side of the temple was

crushed in. Right in the middle of the forehead, pasted there, a graycolored, diamond shaped paper seal

flaunted itselfthe device of the Gray Seal. In Jimmie Dale' hand, hidden as he turned his back, the tiny

Clayton guffawed. "That's right!" he called out. "Take a good look. That's a bright young man you've got,

Jimmie Dale looked up a little sheepishlyand got a grin from the assembled reporters, and a scowl from

Now, then," continued Clayton, "here's the factsas much of 'em as I can let you boys print at present. You

know I'm stretching a point to let you in heredon't forget that when you come to write up the

casehonour 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 tonightsee? 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 tonight."

Jimmie Dale was listeningto every word. But he stooped now again over the murdered man's head

deliberately, though he felt the inspector's rat's eyes upon himstooped, and, with his finger nail, lifted back

the righthand point of the diamondshaped seal where it bordered a faint thread of blood on the man's

There was a bulllike roar from the inspector, and he burst through the ring of reporters, and grabbed Jimmie

Embarrassed and confused, Jimmie Dale drew back, glanced around, and smiled again a little sheepishly as

"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

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

Jimmie Dale edged away, and, eyes lowered, fumbled nervously with the leaves of his notebook.

Clayton grunted, glared at Jimmie Dale for an instant viciouslyand 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 Metzersee? 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.

"Sure! Sure, I've got him." Inspector Clayton waved his fat hand airily. "Or I will have before morningbut

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 seeMetzer

laying on the bed there, and the gray seal stuck on his forehead and"he ended abruptly"I'll have the

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."

Inspector Clayton took it, looked at it, looked at Jimmie Dale; then his scowl relaxed into a selfsufficient

"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,

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

The room cleared, the reporters tumbling downstairs to make for the nearest telephones to get their "copy"

On the street, a few doors up from the house where they were free from the crowd, Carruthers halted Jimmie

"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 sketchhand it over, Jimmie; I'm going to

"It wasn't drawn for reproduction, Carruthersat least not yet," said Jimmie Dale quietly.

"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,

"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 thatand file it away in the archives with the fifty or more just

"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

"Very good!" said Jimmie Dale crisply, "Get an extra print of the enlargement from him thenfor a

"Because," said Jimmie Dale very seriously, "put it down to imagination or whatever you like, I think I smell

"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 tomorrow 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 elseand, 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 NEWSARGUS gets the biggest scoop of the century. Will you go in on

"Good!" returned Jimmie Dale. "The photograph by tomorrow afternoon then. And now"

"And now," said Caruthers, "I've got to hurry over to the office and get a writeup man at work. Will you

"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 tomorrow. Goodnight, Jimmie."

"Goodnight, 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 instantthe street was dimly lighted, almost dark, deserted. Jimmie Dale edged close to the

houses until his shadow blended with the shadows of the wallsand slipped suddenly into a pitchblack

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

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 exitsone 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 ita sanctuary!

He stepped to the window, assured himself that the shade was down and lighted the gas, blinking a little as

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

absencesome rather disreputable clothes hanging on the wall, and flung untidily across the bedthat was

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 SEALone of Jimmie Dale's own. There was no doubt of thathe had satisfied himself

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 ownand the collection that the police had made,

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 enoughcame with the sudden outthrust of

Jimmie Dale's lower jaw. ONE OF THE POLICE THEMSELVESno 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

partonly a merciless rage, and the muscles of Jimmie Dale's face quivered and twitched. MURDER,

foisted, shifted upon another, upon the Gray Sealmaking of that name a calumnyruining forever the

And then Jimmie Dale smiled mirthlessly, with thinning lips. The box before him was open. His fingers

worked quicklya little wax behind the ears, in the nostrils, under the upper lip, deftly placedhands, wrists,

neck, throat, and face received their quota of stain, applied with an artist's touchand then the spruce,

muscular Jimmie Dale, transformed into a slouching, viciousfeatured 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 widefrom 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 othernot 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, as Larry the Bata euphonious "monaker" bestowed possibly because this particular world

knew him only by nightbegan a search for the Runt. From one resort to another he hurried, talking in the

accepted style through one corner of his mouth to hardvisaged individuals behind dirty, reeking bars that

were reared on equally dirty and foulsmelling sawduststrewn floors; visiting dance halls, secretive back

But the Runt was decidedly elusive. There had been no news of him, no one had seen himand this after

fully an hour had passed since Jimmie Dale had left Carruthers in front of Moriarty's. The possibilities

however were still legionnumbered only by the numberless dives and dens sheltered by that quarter of the

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

"Something up," muttered Jimmie Dale to himself. "Lansing, of headquarters, and the other looks like

Jimmie Dale pushed in through the door of the Pagoda. A bedlam of noise surged out at hima tinpan

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 bunnyhug; 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

beerstained aprons and unshaven faces, juggled marvelous handfuls of glasses and mugs from the bar beside

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

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

"Nuthin' much," said Jimmie Dale. "Only I t'ought I'd let youse know. I was passin' Moriarty's an' got de tip.

"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."

The Runt pulled down one eyelid, and, with his knowing grin, the cigarette, clinging to his upper lip, sagged

"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

"De fly cops," Jimmie Dale repeated in wellsimulated surprise. "Dey was dere when I come inLansing

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 therethen a rush of

feetand 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:

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 StaceStace Morse. He come to me after croakin' Metzer, an' he's been

Stace Morseknown 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,

"Yer givin' me a steer, ain't youse?" He spoke again from the corner of his mouth, almost inaudibly. "Are

The Runt was listening, his eyes strained toward the stairs. The hall door to the street was closed, but both

"He told me," whispered the Runt. "Metzer was fixin' ter snitch on him ternight. Dey've got de goods on

"Why didn't he get out of de country den when he had de chanst, instead of hangin' around here all

"He was broke," the Runt answered. "We was gettin' de coin fer him ter fade away wid ternight, an'"

A revolver shot from above cut short his words. Came then the sound of a struggle, oaths, the shuffling tread

of feetbut in the dance hall the piano still rattled on, the mandolin twanged, voices sang and applauded,

They were on the stairs now, the officers, half carrying, half dragging some one between themand 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 facenot a prepossessing onevillainous,lowbrowed, contorted with a mixture

"It's a lie! A lie! A lie!" the man shrieked. "I never seen him in me lifeblast you!curse you!d'ye hear!"

"There's nothing to interest you around here!" he snapped maliciously. "Go on, nowbeat it!" And he

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 maneven for a minute. But there was no possibility of that now. Later,

Jimmie Dale returned to the Sanctuary, removed from his person all evidences of Larry the Batand from

In his den there, in the morning after breakfast, Jason, the butler, brought him the papers. Threeinch

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 onetime mysterious crook could now once and forever disillusion itself. The Gray Seal was Stace

Morseand 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 selfcomplacent, leaped out from the paper to meet Jimmie Dale's eyes and with it a

Something at first like dismay, the dismay of impotency, filled Jimmie Daleand then, cold, leaving him

unnaturally calm, the old merciless rage took its place. There was nothing to do now but waitwait until

Carruthers should send that photograph. Then if, after all, he were wrongthen 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 uphe had already spent quite a little time over it before

breakfastand 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 forwardand then Jimmie Dale met the old man's eyes. It wasn't from Carruthersit was

Jimmie Dale snatched the envelope from the tray, and waved the other from the room. As the door closed, he

Jimmie Dale stared at it. Failed! FailedHER! The haggard look was in his face again. It was the bond

between them that was at stakethe Gray Sealthe bond that had come, he knew for all time in that instant,

"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 passedand then by special messenger the little package

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

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

He was standing beside the rosewood desk, and he reached for the phone. Carruthers would be at home

"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, nono! . . . How? . . . Whyertell 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

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

Jimmie Dale rose from his chair as they came in. Jason, welltrained 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, inspectortry that one in front of the desk,

Carruthers, trying to catch Jimmie Dale's eye for some sort of a cue, and, failing, sat down. Inspector Clayton

"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 Daleand 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.

"Yes," he said slowly, a grim intonation in his voice, "going to draw youTRUE TO LIFE."

With an exclamation, Clayton slued around in his chair, half rose, and his shifty eyes, small and cunning,

"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 remarkableshall 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 overin an intimate and

Inspector Clayton surged up from his chair to his feet, his fists clenched, the red sweeping over his faceand

"So that's your game, is it!" he stormed. "Trying to crawl out of that twentyfive 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

workand 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 momentthen swung on his heel. "Goodafternoon, gentlemen," he sneered, as he started for

Clayton turned. Jimmie Dale was still leaning over the desk, but now one elbow was propped upon it, and in

"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 dogand 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 hesitatedthen sullenly retraced his steps; hesitated again

"Just this," said Jimmie Dale. "That I accuse you of the murder of Jake MetzerIT WAS YOU WHO

Then Clayton tried to laugh. "You'reyou're having a joke, ain't you? It was StaceI 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

"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 placethis time. Shall I draw you

nowtrue 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 himif 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

"You are quite wrong, Clayton. Seehere." He took a sheet of paper from the drawer of his desk.

"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 youalonewho 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

"You're wrong again, Clayton," he said calmly. "It WAS quite blank before I handed it to youbut not now.

I noticed yesterday that your hands were generally moist. I am sure they are more so now excitement, you

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

"Lampblack," explained Jimmie Dale. He shook the paper carefully, allowing the loose powder to fall on the

desk blotterand 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 looknot touch." He laid the paper down on the desk

in front of Clayton. Beside it he placed the notebook, open at the sketcha 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 diamondshaped background. "You will no doubt

recognise it as an official photograph, enlarged, taken of the gray seal on Metzer's foreheadAND 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

Jimmie Dale stopped. Clayton was on his feetrocking on his feet. His face was deathlike in its pallor.

"I didn't do it! I didn't do it!" he cried out wildly. "My God, I tell you, I DIDN'T do itandandthat

"Yes," said Jimmie Dale coldly, "and that's precisely where you're goingto the chair."

"I'm innocentinnocent!" 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 toto 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

guiltybut I'd have the proof both ways andand I'd collect the rewards, andand" The man collapsed

Carruthers was up from his seat, his hands gripping tight on the edge of the desk as he leaned over it.

"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

"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

"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 tomorrow morning,

and that gives you something like fourteen hours to put distance between yourself and New York. Here is a

penif 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 escapewithout forcing us to compound a felony understand?"

Clayton's hand trembled violently as he seized the pen. He scrawled his namelooked from one to the

otherwet his lipsand then, taking Jimmie Dale at his word, rushed for the doorand the door slammed

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 workand 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 deadnot 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 somehowand 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.

"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

"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 tomorrow that will be

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

It was the following evening, and they had dined together again at the St. James ClubJimmie Dale, and

Carruthers of the MORNING NEWSARGUS. 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

knowthat 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 smirkwhich 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,

Carruthers laughedand then glanced ludicrously at Jimmie Dale, as the door, ajar, was pushed open, and a

"Speaking of angels," murmured Jimmie Daleand sat up in his chair. "Hello, Markel!" he observed

Markel was fat and important; he had beady black eyes, fastidiously trimmed whiskersand a pronounced

"Of course, certainly," said he effusively. "I've met Carruthers several timesused his sheet more than once

The dominant note in Markel's voice was an ingratiating and unpleasant whine, and Carruthers nodded, not

"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 columnsay, 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 openand then, with a

complacent little chuckle that terminated in another fit of coughing, spilled the contents on the table under the

Like a thing of living, pulsing fire it rolled before their eyesa magnificent diamond necklace, of wondrous

beauty, gleaming and scintillating as the light rays shot back from a thousand facets.

"Little surprise for my wife," volunteered Markel, with a debonair wave of his pudgy hand, and trying to

The case lay openpatently 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

"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, Carrutherseh?

Say, a photograph of it, and one of Mrs. Markel eh? Please her, you knowshe's crazy on this society

Carruthers, very evidently, liked neither the man nor his manners, but Carruthers, above everything else, was

"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 itand

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

Carruthers smiled seriously. "Perhaps," he admitted. "I hope, though, for Mr. Markel's sake, that the Gray

Seal won't take a fancy to itif he does, Mr. Markel can say goodbye to his necklace."

"Pouf!" coughed Markel arrogantly. "Overrated! His cleverness is all in the newspaper columns. If he knows

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 lighta very large stone, whose weight would hardly be less than

fifteen carats. Jimmie Dale lowered his head for a closer examinationand to hide a curious, mocking little

"Yes, I should say you're right, Markel," he agreed judicially. "He ought to know better than to touch this.

"No," said Jimmie Dale. "Two hundred and ten thousand, you said. Any specialersignificance to the

occasion, if the question's not impertinent? Birthday, wedding anniversaryor something like that?"

"No, nothing like that!" Markel grinned, winked secretively, and rubbed his hands together. "I'm feeling

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

"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

"Say it!" prodded Jimmie Dale sweetly. "Don't feel restrained because you are a guestI absolve you in

"Yes, I see," he growled. "But I don't seeyou'll pardon my saying sohow vulgarity like that ever

"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 familiarI was only introduced to him last

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 handsthose 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

Carruthers scowled. "No," he said bluntly. "I am not. He'll read the NEWSARGUS a long time before he

But therein Carruthers was wrongthe NEWSARGUS carried the "story" of Markel's diamond necklace in

threeinch "caps" in red ink on the front page in the next morning's editionand Carruthers gloated over it

because the morning NEWSARGUS 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

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

"Yes," said Markel, and ran his fingers fussily, comb fashion, through his whiskers. "Quite a little run out to

They walked out of the club together, and Markel climbed importantly into the tonneau of a big gray touring

"Ahhome, Peters," he sniffed at his chauffeur; and then, with a grandiloquent wave of his hand to Jimmie

"Goodnight, Markel," he replied, and the smile crept curiously to the corners of his mouth as he watched the

"Home, Mr. Dale?" he asked cheerily, touching his cap. "Yes, Bensonhome," said Jimmie Dale absently,

It was a luxurious car, as everything that belonged to Jimmie Dale was luxuriousand he leaned back

luxuriously on the cushions, extended his legs luxuriously to their full length, plunged his hands into his

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

It was another of those mysterious missives fromHER. The texture of the paper was invariably the

samelike 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 dinnerhe 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 hishe smiled a little grimlyaccomplice in crime.

He took the envelope from his pocket and stared at it. His fingers had not been at faultit 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 areand

Jimmie Dale tore the envelope very gently, as though the tearing almost were an act of desecrationand

extracted the letter from within. He began to read aloud hurriedly and in snatches:

"DEAR PHILANTHROPIC CROOK: Charleton Park ManorMarkel's house is the second one from the

gates on the righthand sidelibrary leads off reception hall on left, door opposite staircasetelephone in

reception hall near vestibule entrance, lefthand sidesafe is one of your father's make, No.

14,321clothes closet behind the desk probably will be kept in cash boxfive servants; two men, three

maidsquarters on top storyMarkel and wife occupy room over libraryFrench windows to dining room

WOULD BE TOO LATEdispose of itsee fitHenry Wilbur, Marshall Building, Broadwayfifth

Through the glasspanelled 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 staredat 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

The Gray Seal! He smiled in his whimsical way. If it were ever known! He, Jimmie Dale, with his social

standing, his wealth, his positionthe Gray Seal! Not a police official, not a secretservice 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'seven 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

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 workthat always some

wrong might be righted, or gladness come where there had been gloom before, or hope where there had been

despairthat 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 onthe

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 immemorialCHERCHEZ LA FEMME!

Quite rightbut 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

Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders. Why go over all this tonight there were other things to do. She had

come to him againand 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. Markeleh? Jimmie Dale leaned back in his seat, clasped his hands behind his

headand his eyes, half closed now, were studying Benson's back again through the plateglass front.

He was still sitting in that position as the car approached his residence on Riverside Drivebut, 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

In the hallway, Jason, the butler, who had been butler to Jimmie Dale's father before him, took Jimmie Dale's

Jimmie Dale took out his silver cigarette case, selected a cigarette, tapped it daintily on the cover of the

"Yes, Jason." said Jimmie Dale, pleasantly facetious, "it a fine night, a glorious night, moon and stars and a

balmy breezequite too fine, indeed, to remain indoors. In fact, you might lay out my gray ulster; I think I

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 lightand Jimmie Dale's debonair nonchalance dropped from him as

Quick now in every action, he swung aside the portiere that curtained off the squat, barrelshaped 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 safeand 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 DriveJimmie Dale looked out.

Benson was just getting out of the touring car. Slipping the leather girdle, then, around his waist, Jimmie Dale

Jason had laid out a gray ulster on the hall stand. Jimmie Dale put it on, selected a leather cap with

motorgoggle attachment that pulled down almost to the tip of his nose, tucked a slouch hat into the pocket

He glanced at his watch as he startedit 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

But at first, across the city and through Brooklyn, for all his impatience, it was necessarily slowafter that,

Jimmie Dale took chances, and, once on the country roads of Long Island, the big, powerful car tore through

A half hour passedJimmie 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 pacehe should be very

near his destinationthat very ultraexclusive 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

rightand this Jimmie Dale scrutinised sharply. In fact, he stopped for an instant as he came opposite to a

"If it's not too far from the seat of war," commented Jimmie Dale to himself, as he went on again, "it will do

And then, a hundred yards farther on, Jimmie Dale nodded his head in satisfactionhe 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 realestate people, had evidently deemed it good advertising policy to

Another hundred yards farther on, Jimmie Dale turned his car around and returned past the gates to the wagon

track again. The road was desertednot a car nor a vehicle of any description was in sight. Jimmie Dale

made sure of thatand in another instant Jimmie Dale's own car, every light extinguished, had vanishedhe

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 roaduntil 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

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 houseshe caught

sight of one set back from the driveway on the rightwere quite far apart, each in its own rather spacious

"The second house on the right," her letter had said. Jimmie Dale had already passed the first onethe next

would be Markel's then and it loomed ahead of him now, black and shadowy and unlighted.

Jimmie Dale shot a glance around himthere was stillness, quiet everywhereno sign of lifeno sound.

Jimmie Dale's face became tense, his lips tightand 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 keptand,

therefore, soundless. He moved quickly now, but cautiously, from tree to tree, for the moonlight, flooding the

A minute, two, three went byand a shadow flitted here and there across the lightgreen sward, like the

moving of the trees swaying in the breezeand then Jimmie Dale was standing close up against one side of

But here, for a moment, Jimmie Dale seemed little occupied with the house itselfhe 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 gatesand he was getting the bearings of his car

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 lipsand his hand crept in under his vest. It came out againnot

emptyand Jimmie Dale leaned close against the window. There was a faint, almost inaudible, scratching

sound, then a slight, brittle crackand Jimmie Dale laid a neat little fourinch 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

boltrod handle, pushed the doors silently openwide openleft them openand 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

Here it was darka pitch blackness. He stood for a moment, listeningutter silence. And thenalert,

strained, tense in an instant, Jimmie Dale crouched against the walland then he smiled a little grimly. It

was only some one coughing upstairsMarkelin his sleep, perhaps, or, perhapsin wakefulness.

"I'm a fool!" confided Jimmie Dale to himself, as he recognised the cough that he had heard at the club. "And

yetI don't know. One's nerves get sort of taut. Pretty stiff business. If I'm ever caught, the penitentiary

A round button of light played along the wall from the flashlight in his handjust for an instantand 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.

Again the quick, firefly gleam of light to locate the stair case and the library door opposite to itand,

moving without the slightest noise, Jimmie Dale's hand was on the door itself. Again he paused to listen. All

The door swung under his hand, and, left open behind him, he was in the room. The flashlight winked

oncesuspiciously. Then he snapped its little switch, keeping the current on, and the ray dodged impudently

The safe was set in a sort of clothes closet behind the desk, she had said. Yes, there it wasthe door, at least.

Jimmie Dale moved toward itand 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

"Vein uncovered today. Undoubtedly mother lode. Enormously rich. Put the screws on at once. THURL."

"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

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 vaultand the white light travelled slowly, searchingly, critically over

the shining blackenamelled steel, the nickelled knobs, and dials of a safe that confronted him.

"It's number onefourthreetwoone, 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 crudeCarruthers would never forgive the Gray Seal for that!"

The light went outblackness 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 secondto palpitate through the quiet

houseto grow pregnant, premonitory of dread, of fearit 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, heavybreathed as from great exertion:

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

The ear might barely catch the soundit was as of metal sliding in welloiled grooves, of metal meeting

metal in a padded thud. The massive door swung outward. Jimmie Dale stood up, easing his cramped

After a moment, he knelt again. There was still the inner doorbut that was a minor matter to Jimmie Dale

Stillness once morea long period of it. And then again that cough from abovea prolonged paroxysm of it

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

"The cash box, probably," quoted Jimmie Dale, beneath his breath and picked it up from where it lay in the

The lock snipped under the insistent probe of a delicate little bluedsteel 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

"A tempting little thing, isn't it?" said Jimmie Dale gently. "It was really thoughtful of you, Markel, to buy

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 inwardbut 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, diamondshaped 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 safeas 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 boxand 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

Jimmie Dale listened. Like a statue he stood there in the black, absolutely motionlesshis head a little

forward and to one side. Nothingnot a sound. Then a very low, curious, swishing noise, and a faint creak.

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 stonethe 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

It happened quick, thenquick as the winking of an eye. Two sharp, almost simultaneous, clicks of the

electriclight buttons pressed by Markel, and the hall and library were a flood of lightand 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

revolvera bitter, smothered exclamation from Jimmie Dale as the cash box crashed to the floor from his

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 passedand the men rolled about the hall floor. Markel, over middle age and unheathily fat,

against Jimmie Dale's six feet of muscleonly Jimmie Dale's left hand, dripping a red stream now, was

From above came wild confusionwomen'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 foreheadand Markel, terrorstricken,

Jimmie Dale, still covering Markel with the weapon, stood up. The frightened faces of women protruded over

the banisters above. The two menservants, at best none too enthusiastically on the way down, stopped as

"I don't like you, Markel," he said, with cold impudence. The only decent thing you'll ever do will be to

dieand if those men of yours on the stairs move another step it will be your death warrant. Do you

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!"

Jimmie Dale backed to the library door, picked up the cash box, tucked it under his left armpit, and faced

"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 selfdefence, to shoot Mr. Markel. Mr.

"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.

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

They passed on along the side of the house and in among the trees. Fifty yards or so more, and Jimmie Dale

"You'll oblige me by keeping your mouth shut," observed Jimmie Dale politelyand he whipped the cord of

Markel's dressing gown loose and began to tie the man to the tree. "You have many unpleasant

characteristics, Markelyour 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 againthe 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 doI am going to put you on your honour! For the

"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 tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after, at my convenience,

Markel, you and I will meet againfor the LAST time. There can be no possible misapprehension on your

"Quite so," said Jimmie Dale, in velvet tones. He stood for an instant looking at the other with cool insolence;

then: "Goodnight, Markel"and five minutes later a great touring car was tearing New Yorkward over the

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 fifthstory window, and entered

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 listenif 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 groundglass

panel of which a light glowed faintlyas 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,

Jimmie Dale stole across the room, crouched by the door to look into the inner officeand his face went

"Good God!" he whispered. "As bad as that!"but it was a nonchalant Jimmie Dale to all outward

An elderly man, whitehaired, kindlyfaced, kindlyeyed, save now that the face was drawn and haggard,

the eyes full of weariness, was standing behind a flattopped 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

"I am afraid," said Jimmie Dale, smiling pleasantly, "that you were going to shoot yourself. Your name is

"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 wristfortunately only a flesh wounda little

"Yes," said Jimmie Dale imperturbably. "Do you mind if I wash a bitand could you oblige me with a

The man seemed dazed. In a subconscious way, he walked from the desk to a little cupboard, and took out

Jimmie Dale stooped, while the other's back was turned, picked up the revolver from the floor, and slipped it

"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 MarkelTheodore Markel?"

"No," said Jimmie Dale, smiling a little grimly. " He's pretty badly hurt, though, I imaginebut not in a

"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 Markelstrange that you should have come here tonight!"

Jimmie Dale did not answer. He glanced now and then at the other, as he deftly dressed his wristthe 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

Jimmie Dale put on his coat again, walked over to the desk, and picked up the 'phone.

"If I may?" he inquired courteouslyand 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

Another waitthen Jimmie Dale's voice changed its pitch and register to a pleasant and natural, though quite

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 forgotthis 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 ityou see, Mr. Carruthers, I am not ungrateful for, I might say, the

eulogistic manner in which the MORNING NEWSARGUS treated me in that last affair, and I trust I shall

be able to do you many more favoursI 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 parkMr. Markel

might be inclined to be reticent on that point, and it would be a pity to deprive the public of

anyer'atmosphere' in the story, you know. . . . What? . . . No; I am afraid Mr. Markel's 'phone

iserout 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.

"You see," said Jimmie Dale, turning to Wilburand then he stopped. The man was on his feet, swaying

"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 thenI am disgraced now. You have

robbed Markel's safeI am the one man in the world who would have a reason above all others for doing

thatand Markel knows it. He will accuse me of it. He can prove I had a motive. I have not been home

"Really," said Jimmie Dale, almost plaintively, swinging himself up on the corner of the desk and taking the

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

meI did not see through his trick until too late. Listen! For years, as a mining engineer, I made a good

salaryand I saved it. Two years ago I had nearly seventy thousand dollarsit represented my life work. I

bought an abandoned mine in Alaska for next to nothingI 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 timehe 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 refusedI was

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

strikeand 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 storytoo long to tell.

Thurl was at the bottom of those accidents. He knew as well as I did that the mine was richbetter 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 yesterdaythe mother lode. He was driving me as fast as he could into the last ditchfor

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 mineand

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

Again Wilbur stopped. He swept the moisture from his foreheadand his fist, clenched, came down upon

"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 awayand he got me. The first ten thousand wasn't enough. I

went to him for a second, a third, a fourth, a fifthhoping 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 itI blessed God for giving me such a frienduntil 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

veinthe 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 tomorrow morning. I can't meet it. He knew

I couldn't. With wealth in sightI'm wiped out. A DEMAND note, a call loan, do you understandand with

a few months in which to develop the new vein I could pay it readily. As it isI default the noteMarkel

attaches all I have left, which is the mine. The mine is sold to satisfy my indebtedness. Markel buys it in

Wilbur straightened up, and there was something akin to pathetic grandeur in the set of the old shoulders as

"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 blackhearted 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 tonight getting my affairs in order. My total insurance is fiftytwo thousand dollars, though I couldn't

BORROW anywhere near the full amount on itbut at my death, paid in full, it would satisfy the note. My

executors, by instruction would pay the noteand 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 abruptlywith a little gasp. Jimmie Dale had opened the cash box and was dangling the

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 tonight for

THAT? He would and will accuse me. I have heard of youthe Gray Sealyou have done a pitiful night's

"For this?" Jimmie Dale smiled ironically, holding the necklace up. Then he shook his head. "I didn't break

"Paste," said Jimmie Dale placidly, dropping the necklace back into its case. "Quite in keeping with Markel,

"But that doesn't change matters!" Wilbur cried out sharply, after a numbed instant's pause. "You still broke

"Ah, but, you seeI did know then," said Jimmie Dale softly. "I am reallyyou must take my word for

"A paper," said Jimmie Dale, with a little chuckleand produced it from the cash box. "It reads like this: 'On

"My note!" It came in a great, surging cry from Wilbur; and he strained forward to read it.

"Of course," said Jimmie Dale. "Of courseyour note. Did you think that I had just happened to drop in on

you? Now, then, see here, you just buck up, andersmile. 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 connectionthe 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 hourand you've still a

"To Markel," said Jimmie Dale pleasantly. "Write him in reply to his letter of the afternoon, and post it before

you leave herejust 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 itcan he? Eventually,

havingerno use for fake diamonds, I shall return the necklace, together with the papers in his cash box

"In a month or two or three, as the case may be," explained Jimmie Dale brightly. "Whenever you insert a

personal in the NEWSARGUS 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 deskand then he choked a little.

Wilbur, the tears streaming down his face, unable to speak, was holding out his hands to Jimmie Dale.

Halfway down the first flight of stairs he paused. Steps, running after him, sounded along the corridor above;

"Don't gonot yet," cried the old man. "I don't understand. How did you knowwho told you about the

Jimmie Dale did not answerhe went on noiselessly down the stairs. His mask was off now, and his lips

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

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

He stepped across to the sidewalk and proceeded slowly along. A month had gone by and he had not heard a

word fromHER. 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 successionand then this month of utter

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 herit was not that. It was the failure, total,

absolute, and complete, that was the only result for the month of ceaseless, unremitting, doggedlyexpended

effort, even as it had been the result many times before, in an attempt to solve the enigma that was so intimate

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 seenand 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 Wilburhow 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

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 thisof 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, whowho 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 hernot 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. Today, 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 ageand yet, strange paradox, no single crime had ever been committed!

Jimmie Dale's strong, finefeatured 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

evenand their blessings were worth a thousandfold the risk and peril of disaster that threatened him at

"Thank God for her!" murmured Jimmie Dale softly. "Butbut 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 monthand

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

ofthat 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 uselessall 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

It was baffling, puzzling, unbelievable, bordering, indeed, on the miraculousherself, 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 itit 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

"Larry the Bat, is a hard taskmaster!" he muttered facetiously. "I'm afraid I'm not very presentable this

eveningno bath this morning, and no shave, and, after nearly a month of makeup, 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 nighthe 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 NEWSARGUS, 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 tonight, 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

A bus, rumbling cityward, went by him, squeaking, creaking, and rattling in its uneasy jointsand out of the

noise, almost at his elbow it seemed, a voice spoke his nameand 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

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, whitegloved and dainty, was extended, and from the fingers to the

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 himand 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 seena whitegloved 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 overlookedthe 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

He stood and watched the car disappear up the Drive. What delicious irony! A month of gruelling, ceaseless

toil that had been vain, futile, uselessand the key, when he was not looking for it, unexpectedly, through no

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 thirtysix," said Jimmie Dale aloudand halted at the curb as

though rooted to the spot. It sounded strangely familiar, that number! He repeated it over again slowly:

"Onefiveeightthreesix." 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 thirtysix was the number of one of

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 beganand 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 consternationthat was at the end, as he read the postscript that was heavily

underscored: "Work quickly. They will raid tonight. Be careful. Look out for Kline, he is the sharpest man

For a brief instant longer, Jimmie Dale stood under the street lamp, his mind in a lightningquick way

cataloguing every point in her letter, viewing every point from a myriad angles, constructing, devising,

mapping out a plan to dovetail into themand then Jimmie Dale swung on a downtown bus. There was

neither time nor occasion to go home nowthat 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 tonight; 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

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 Avenueand 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, sweetfaced, grayhaired woman stood behind the

"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

Jimmie Dale drew back a little, and turned his head again as the door closedand a sudden, quick, alert, and

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

"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 outor somebody might think I was

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

The shop was emptyand Jimmie Dale was standing against the door on the outside. His position was

perfectly naturala hundred passersby would have noted nothing but a most commonplace occurrencea

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 fumblinghidden 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 tinkleand the key within fell from the lock to the floor. A faint clickand the bolt of the lock

slipped back. Jimmie Dale restored the skeleton keys and a little steel instrument that accompanied them to

his pocketand quietly opened the door. He stepped inside, picked up the key from the floor, inserted it in

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 anglesand 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,

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 leftand 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, toothe 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 roomand 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,

"Sammy! Sammy!" sobbed the woman piteously. "Say you didn't do it, Sammysay you didn't do it!"

Look here, Mrs. Matthews," said the man with the gray mustaches gently, "now don't you go to making

The young man, a hectic flush beginning to burn on his cheeks, gazed wildly from one to the other.

"I'm Kline of the secret service," he said gravely. "I'm sorry, Sammy, but I want you for that little job in

Sammy Matthews struggled away from his mother's arms, pulled himself forward in his chairand his

"You know, don't you?" the other answered steadily. He took a large, flat pocketbook from his pocket,

opened it, and took out a fivedollar bill. He held this before the sick man's eyes, but just out of reach, one

Matthews stared at it for a moment, and the hectic flush faded to a grayish pallor, and a queer, impotent

"I see you recognise it," said the other quietly. "It's open and shut, Sammy. That little imperfection in the

"It's a lie!" said Matthews hoarsely. "It's a lie! That plate was condemned in the bureau for that

"Condemned TO BE destroyed," corrected the other, without raising his voice. "There's a little difference

there, Sammyabout twenty years' differencein 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 Statesbut 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

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

The man glanced at Mrs. Matthews as he put the fivedollar 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

getaway, 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? Thenthen I'm done!" He clutched at his temples. "But it's not trueit'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 itI didn't, I tell you! I knew nothing of it, except that he and I were responsible for it

andand I left it to himthat'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, butbut I'll fight himhe can't prove itit's only his

"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

"I'm innocent!" he screamed out. "But I'm caught, I'm caught in a net, and I can't get outthey lied to

youbut no one will believe it any more than you do andand it means twenty years for meoh,

God!twenty years, and" His hands went wriggling to his temples again, and he toppled back in a faint

"You've killed him! You've killed my boy!" the old lady shrieked out piteously, and flung herself toward the

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 was a long, fluttering sigh, and Matthews opened his eyes; then a moment's silence; and then he spoke,

The words seemed to ring absolute terror in the old lady's ears. She turned, and dropped to her knees on the

"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

boyall 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

casehardened, I ought to bebut I guess I'm not. But I've got to do my duty. You're only making it worse

"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 anythingI'd pay anythinganythingI'll give you tenfifteen 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 supportand 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

"But you canyou 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 himit 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'llI'll take care of thatperhaps I could raise a little more than fifteen

The man stared at her a moment, stared at the white face on the reclining chairand passed his hand heavily

"You will! You will!" It came in a great surging cry of joy from the old lady. "You willoh, thank God,

"II 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'llI'll fix it up somehow. I haven't made any arrests yet, andwell, I'll

take my chances. I'll get the plate and turn it over to you tomorrow, onlyonly it's got to be destroyed in

"Yes, yes!" she cried, trying to smile through her tearsand then she flung her arms around her son's neck

again. "And when you come tomorrow, I'll be ready with the money to do my share, too, and"

"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

"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, "II don't think I

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 muchjust 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

"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.

"II locked the doorI'm sure I did," she said, more to herself than to Jimmie Dale, and hurried across the

Jimmie Dale, still politely curious, turned to watch her. For a moment bewilderment and a puzzled look were

"I must have turned the key in the lock without shutting the door tight," she explained, "for I knew I turned

"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

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 doorthe little

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 instantthere was the elevated, the surface carswhich

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 vexationand then with a jump he was across the street and hailing a passing

"Good!" Jimmie Dale ran alongside, and yanked the door open. "Do you know where the Palace Saloon on

The taxicab swerved around on little better than two wheels, started on a mad dash down the Avenueand

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.

"It's too bad I can't let old Carruthers in on this for a scoop with his precious MORNING

NEWSARGUSbut 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

"It's a strange coincidence, though possibly a very happy one," said Jimmie Dale, as he walked along, "that it

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 lightthat's good!" commented Jimmie Dale to himself. Then: "Window opens on alleyway ten feet

from groundshoe store, Russian Jew, in basementgo in front doorstraight hallwayroom at end

Russian Jew probably accomplicebe 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

The building itself was rickety and tumbledown, 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,

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

halland 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, howeverand 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 morethe 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 yieldedand not before. Without moving the bolt, he turnedand his flashlight for a

"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

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

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

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

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 flashlightand 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

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

diamondshaped, gray paper seal with the little tweezers, moistened the adhesive side, and stuck it in the

centre of the white cardboardbox 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 chuckleand 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 squareand through a trapdoor, opened wide now, a man's head appeared.

Jimmie Dale's eyes, fixed through the space between the piles of cases, narrowedthere was, indeed, little

doubt but that the shoestore proprietor below was an accomplice! The store served a most convenient purpose

in every respectas 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 roomit

The man in the trapdoorway 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,

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 tonight turn out half of 'em."

The sudden transition from the darkness for a moment dazzled Jimmie Dale's eyesbut 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, exceptthe Cap. And gun fighters, every one of them, toonice 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 smilethe man

who was coming up now and hoisting himself to the floor was the man who, half an hour before, had

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

"What for?" inquired Whitie Burns, a sharp, ferretfaced 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 usbut 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

"Say, what's the lay?" he demanded. "A joke? We printed one fiver off that plateand 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 painhe's got jingles in his dome factory! Run

"Aw, forget it!" observed Malone caustically. "Who's running this gang?" Then, with a malicious grin: "I got

a customer for those fiversfifteen thousand dollars for all we can turn out tonight. See?"

The others stared at him for a moment, incredulity and greed mingling in a curious halfhesitant,

"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 sickeh? 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 servicesee? 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

"Say, Capsay, you're all right!" he exclaimed excitedly. You're the boy! But what's the good of running

"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 tonightthat's why I sent word around to you this

"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

There was no surprise in Jimmie Dale's facehe 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 outfita highly efficient footpower press, rapidly being assembled by Whitie

Burns; an electric dryer, inks, a pile of white, silkthreaded banknote paper, a cutter, and a score of other

"Yes," said Jimmie Dale very gently to himself. "Yes, quite sobut 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 itand from that instant never left it. A minute passed, two, three of

themthe four men were silently busy about the roomMalone was carefully cleaning the plate.

"They will raid tonight. 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. Klinethe real Klinewas going to raid the

place tonight. When? At what time? It must be nearly eleven o'clock already, and

It came sudden, quick as the crack of dooma terrific crash against the bolted doorbut the door,

undoubtedly to the surprise of those without, held fast, thanks to the bolt. The four men, whitefaced, seemed

for an instant turned to statues. Came another crash against the doorand a sharp, imperative order to those

"We're pinched! Beat it!" whispered Whitie Burns wildlyand 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 othersbut 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

Malone, dazed, cowed, obeyed. A panel of the door split and rent down its lengththe 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

"An introduction for you to Mr. Kline out therethat 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 pocketbook, and extracted the fivedollar note" If you can open this with your toes

maybe you can get a way"he wrenched the trapdoor over and slammed it shut"goodnight,

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, graymustached,

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 groundinto encircling arms!

"Ah, no, you don't, my bucko!" snapped a hoarse voice in his ear. "Keep quiet now, or I'll crack your

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 shortarm jab smashed upon the point of the other's jaw, sending the man

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 CHEEPCHEEP! of the police

Down the block Jimmie Dale raced. The yells augmented in his rear. Another shotand this time he heard

the bullet buzz. And then he swervedinto the next alleywaythat 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

insideand then sacrificing speed to silence, went up the stairs like a cat, cramming his mask now into his

His room was on the first landing. In an instant he had unlocked the door, entered, and locked it again behind

"Get around and watch the saloon back of this, Heeneythere'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

"Stand guard on this landing, Peters. Higgins, you take the one above. We'll start from the top of the house

Kline!the sharpest man in the United States secret service, she had said. Jimmie Dale's lips set.

His fingers were working with the black substance in the hollow of his handand the long, slim, tapering

fingers, the shapely, wellcared for hands grew unkempt and grimy, black beneath the finger nailsand 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

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 floorand 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,

Jimmie Dale's eyes were closed, and he was breathing regularly, though just a little slower than in natural

There was a rush at itand 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 himand then he was

"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.

"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

None too gently, a policeman caught Jimmie Dale by the shoulder and shook him vigorouslyagain 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

"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

"All right!" interrupted Kline crisply. "He's no good to us! You say there's an exit from this house into that

"Yes, sir but the fellow, whoever he is, couldn't get away from there. Heeney's been over on guard from the

"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 gangand that one with the compliments of the Gray Seal!"

"One," said Jimmie Dale to himself, still motionless, still breathing in that slow way so characteristic of the

The minutes went bya quarter of an houra half hour. Still Jimmie Dale lay therestill motionlessstill

breathing with slow regularity. His muscles began to cramp, to give him exquisite torture. Around him all

was silenceonly distant sounds from the street reached him, muffled, and at intervals. Another quarter of

an hour passedan 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 silentand then out of the silence, just outside his door, a footstep creakedand a

"Five," said Jimmie Dale to himself. "The sharpest man in the United States secret service."

And then for the first time Jimmie Dale movedto wipe away the beads of sweat that had sprung out upon

Larry the Bat shambled out of the side door of the tenement into the back alleyway; shambled along the black

alleyway to the streetand smiled a little grimly as a shadow across the roadway suddenly shifted its

position. The game was growing acute, critical, desperate evenand 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 NEWSARGUS 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 moveand it was an impasse, ironical, sardonic, and it was worseit was full of

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 disastrousto Jimmie Dale. Larry the Bat, a known inmate of the house, might come and go

as he pleasedbut 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 personthat would inevitably lead further to the establishment of his identity as the Gray Seal. In time,

of course, the surveillance would ceasebut he could not wait. That was the monumental irony of itthe

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

discoveredand 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 existencethe solving of HER

identity. And for that month, as the best means to the endmeans, however, that only resulted as futilely as

the attempts that had gone beforehe 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 Fiveand he had not gone home! Eventually,

to save himself, he had, in the Sanctuary, performing the transformation in desperate haste, again been forced

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 supplywhen he got home.

Only he hadn't gone home! And now he needed moneyneeded 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 wanthe rattled two dimes, a nickel, and a few odd pennies thoughtfully against the

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 wellbut he dared not

trust even Jason with the secret of his dual personality. What was he to do? He needed money

imperativelyat 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 Dalehe must

live, act, and remain Larry the Bat until the secret service officer gave up the hunt. How bridge the gulf

Nor was that all. There was still another matter, and one that, in order to counteract it, demanded at once a

serious inroadto the extent of a telephone callupon his slender capital. A too prolonged and

unaccountedfor absence from home, and old Jason, in his anxious, blundering solicitude, would have the fat

in the fire at that endand the city, and the social firmament thereof, would be humming with the startling

news of the disappearance of a wellknown millionaire. The complications that would then ensue, with

himself powerless to lift a finger, Jimmie Dale did not care to think aboutsuch a contretemps must at all

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 bebut it was as well to be

sure. He walked then a few steps along the Boweryand 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

Larry the Bat was a very wellknown character in that resort, and the bulletheaded 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 boothand was

He gave the number of his residence on Riverside Drive, and waited for the connection. After some delay,

"Jason," said Jimmie Dale, in matteroffact 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

"Yes, sir," stammered Jason. "But, sir, it ain't thatgood Lord, Master Jim, it ain't that, sir! It'sit's one of

Something like a galvanic shock seemed to jerk the disreputable, loosejointed frame of Larry the Bat

"It came this morning, sirthat 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, sira

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

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.

Bring it to him! How? When? Where? Bring it to him! The ghastly irony of it! Jimmie Dale tried to

thinkprodding, 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 eyesnot just for the replenishing of funds

"NoI think not, Jason," said Jimmie Dale calmly. Just leave it where it is. And if she telephones again, say

that you have told methat will be sufficient to satisfy any further inquiries. And Jason"

"I haven't forgotten what you said once, Master Jim, sir," said the old man eagerly. "And I've been trying that

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. Goodnight." He hung the receiver on the hook, walked out of the booth, and mechanically

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 deathas 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 rightat 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 letterand 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, impliedfailure in

Fail her! Jimmie Dale's lips thinned into a hard, drawn lineand 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 herstranger

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 homeand he would be accused of his own murder! It was quite humourous, of

course, quite grotesquely bizarrebut it was equally an exceedingly grim possibility! There were drawbacks

"In a word," confided Jimmie Dale softly to himself, and a serious light crept into the dark, steady eyes, "I'm

At Astor Place he entered the subway; at Fourteenth Street he changed to an express, and at Ninetysixth

Street he got out. It was but a short walk west to Riverside Drive, and from there his house was only a few

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

glanceJimmie 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

Jimmie Dale inserted the key in the spring lock, and opened the door a cautious fraction of an inchto listen.

There was no soundyes, a subdued murmuredthe 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

"I must speak to Jason about being a little more watchful," muttered Jimmie Dale facetiously. "Here's all my

An instant he stood by the door, looking about himin the bright moonlight streaming in through the side

windows the room's appointments stood out in soft shadows, the huge davenport, the great, luxurious

easychairs, an easel with a halffinished canvas, as he had left it; the big, flattopped, rosewood desk, the

open fireplaceand then, his steps silent on the thick velvet rug under foot, he walked quickly to the desk.

Yes, there it wasthe letter. He placed it hurriedly in his pocketthe moonlight was not strong enough to

And now moneyfunds. In the alcove behind the portiere, Jimmie Dale dropped on his knees before the

squat, barrelshaped safe, and opened it. He reached inside, took out a package of banknotes, placed the bills

in his pocketand 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 SanctuaryTHEY

must not become suspiciousand 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 Batand remain there until Kline, beaten, called off

What, then, would he requirethat compact little kit of burglar tools, rolled in its leather jacket, that,

unrolled slipped about his body like a closefitting 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 bothat the Sanctuary, under the flooringbut there were

duplicates here! He slipped them into his pockets. Anything elseto 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 shutand, 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 curtainhad Jason heard it! It rang again

before he could reach the deskwas 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 wasSHE! She! It was HER voicehe had only heard it once in all his lifethat night, two nights

before, in a silvery laugh from the limousine as it had sped away from him down the roadbut he knew! It

thrilled him now with a mad rhapsody, robbing him for the moment of every thought save that she was living,

"Yes, I've got itit's all rightit'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

That rippling, silvery laugh again, but now, too, it seemed to his eager ear, with just the faintest note of

Jimmie Dale straightened up suddenlyJason's steps, running, sounded outside the room along the

"Hang up! Goodbye! Danger! Don't ring again!" he whispered hurriedly, and, with a miserable smile,

He reached it none too soon. The door opened, an electriclight switch clicked, and the room was flooded

"It'll be her again!" Jimmie Dale heard the old man mutter, as from the edge of the portiere he watched the

"Hello! Hello!" he calledthen began to click impatiently with the receiver hook. "Hello! . . . Who? . . .

Central? . . . I don't want any numbersomebody was calling here. . . . What? . . . Nobody on the wire!"

"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, wideeyed, staring, while a sickly pallor began to steal into his face.

"The letter!" he mumbled wildly. "The letter Master Jim's letterthe letterit'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

Jason's distress was very realhe was almost beside himself now with fear and anxiety. A whimsical,

affectionate smile played over Jimmie Dale's lips at the old man's anticsand changed suddenly into one of

consternation. Jason was making directly now for the curtain behind which he stood! Perhaps, though, he

The old man staggered back as though he had been struck, tried to speak, choked, and gazed at the curtain

"Isis that you, sirMaster Jimbehind the curtain there?" he finally blurted out. "Isiryou gave me a

"Don't lose your head, Jason," said Jimmie Dale coolly. "I've got the letter. Now do as I bid you."

"Pull down the window shades and draw the portiere together," directed Jimmie Dale.

"Now the lights, Jason," instructed Jimmie Dale. "Turn them off, and go and sit down in that chair at the

Again Jason obeyed, stumbling in the darkness as he returned from the electriclight switch at the farther end

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 tomorrow; I may not be back for a week. You will say nothing, not a

"Yes, sir," said Jason; then hesitantly: "Would you mind saying, sir, when you came in?"

"I wish you to remain where you are, without leaving that chair, for the next ten minutes." He moved across

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 housein 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 letterread 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

"It's a death warrant," muttered Jimmie Dale. "II guess tonight will see the end of the Gray Seal. She says

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 sheJimmie 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

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 pillowor under the sack,

rather, that he probably used for a pillow! What a queer thing to do! But then, old Luddy was a

characterapparently always in the most povertystricken 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, twentyfive years, perhaps, into unset stonediamonds. 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

stealingold Luddy had done well, and lived and existed on next to nothingthe stones, she said, were

worth about fifteen thousand dollars. Not so bad, even for twentyfive 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 itit was vital that if he were to succeed at all he

And after thatWHAT? His own chances were pretty slim at best. Jimmie Dale, staring at the grayness of

the subway wall through the window, shook his head slowlythen, 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 lifeof the Gray

It was halfpast 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 localityin 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 earlymorning 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,

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 soundedanother. Jimmie Dale drew quickly back around the corner into an areaway. Two men

passedin helmetsswinging their nightsticksthat 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 followand drew back again abruptly. A form flitted suddenly across the road and

disappeared in the darkness in the officers' waketen yards behind the first another followedat the same

The darkness hid all six, the two policemen, the four men behind themthe only sounds were the

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 Thomsand the Skeeter! The

Worst apaches in the city of New York; death contractorsthe lowest bidders! Professional assassins, and a

man's life any time for twentyfive dollars! I wonderI've never done it yetbut I wonder if it would be a

Jimmie Dale was at the corner againagain 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:

Jimmie Dale nodded. That was right. The first house on the righthand side, with the roomtorent 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 stairsthere was no other sound. The

In the darkness, noiselessly, Jimmie Dale groped for the stairway, found it, and began to ascend. The minutes

passedit seemed a minute even from step to step, and there were three flights to the top! There must be no

creaking this timethe 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 timesthe 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

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 hallwaythe

hallway ran to his right and left. To his right, on the opposite side of the hall, was the door of old Luddy's

For a moment Jimmie Dale stood hesitanta 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 victorythere had seemed no other way than that, since he had seen those four men

at the cornersince they were AHEAD of him. True, they were not much ahead of him, not enough to have

accomplished their purposeand, furthermore, they were not in that room. He knew that absolutely, beyond

question of doubt. He had listened for just that all the nerveracking way up the stairs. But where were they?

There was no soundnot a soundjust blackness, dark, impenetrable, utter, that began to palpitate now.

It came in a whisper, wavering, sibilantfrom 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

By the door he crouchedhis sensitive fingers, eyes to Jimmie Dale so oftenfeeling over jamb and panels

with a delicate, soundless touch. The door was just ajar. The fingers crept inside and touched the knob and

The whispering still went onbut it seemed like a screaming of vultures now in Jimmie Dale's ears, as the

"Aw, say, Skeeter, dis highbrow 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

"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 differentthen they'd know that was

The door was closedthe 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 keyhole.

"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

"Sure"the whisper came dully, in grudging intonation through the panelsthe door was locked. "Sure, but

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 itthe damnable, hellish ingenuity of it all seemed

"Luck!" muttered Jimmie Dale between his clenched teeth. "Oh, the blessed luck to get that door locked! I've

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 bonafide 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

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

disturbancewhen he was readyto 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 enoughthere 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 roofnot now, of course. It was too late in the year for

Yes, it was simple enough now. And the next morning the papers would rave with execrations against the

Gray Sealfor 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 NEWSARGUS, would be

moved to bitter attack. Good old Carrutherswho little thought that the Gray Seal was his old college pal,

his present most intimate friend, Jimmie Dale! And afterwardafter 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 crimesthat was all!

Jimmie Dale had reached old Luddy's door. The Gray Seal? Oh, yes, they would know it was the Gray

Sealthe 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

diamondshaped, 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 locka pitiful, paltry thing, a cheap lock, to

fingers that could play so intimately with twirling knobs and dials, masters of the intricate mechanism of

And then, about to open the door, a sort of sudden dismay fell upon him. He had not thought of

thatsomehow, 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?

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 roomshe had explained that in her

letter. It was slow progress to cross that room without sound, in silenceit was a snail's movementfor fear

And now he stood in the inner doorway. It was dark here, toand yet, how bizarre, a star seemed to twinkle

through the very roof of the room itself! The odour was pungent now. There was a longdrawn sighthen a

low, indescribable sound of movement. SOMEBODY, APART FROM OLD LUDDY, WAS IN THE

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 othersall fused into a compact logical whole. They had loosened

the scuttle during the day, probably when old Luddy was awayone of them had crept down there now to

chloroform the old man into insensibilitythe 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

It seemed like a cold hand, deathlike, clutching at his heart. Was he too late, after all! Chloroform alone

couldkill! To the right, just a little to the righthe must make no mistakehis ear placed the sound! He

whipped his hands from the side pockets of his coatthe 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 faceand then, roaring in the stillness, spitting a vicious lane of fire that

There was a yell, a scream, that echoed out, reverberated, and went racketing through the house, and Jimmie

Dale leaped forwardover 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, whitefaced, jaw dropped, lips working in

A cunning look swept the distorted face. Here, apparently, was only one manthere were pals, three of

"You ain't got nothing on me!" he snarled, sparring for time. "You police are too damned fresh with your

"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

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 bedit was the most dangerous thing he could dohe knew that well enough, none knew it

betterit was offering himself as a fair mark when the others rushed in, as they would in a moment

nowbut 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 stonesand 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 chloroformold 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'llah!" A little chamois bag

was in his hand. He laughed sneeringly at Thoms, opened the bag, allowed a few stones to trickle into his

handand then, without stopping to replace them, dashed stones and bag into his pocket. The door along the

"What's that?" he gasped out, in wellsimulated frightand sprang for the ladder that led up to the roof.

It had all taken, perhaps, the minute that he had counted onno 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 doorthen an oathand coupled with the oath an exclamation:

They had swept a flashlight over the door panelJimmie Dale, halfway up the ladder, smiled grimly.

The door openedthere was a rush of feet. The man with the shattered wrist yelled, cursing wildly:

Jimmie Dale was in the lightthey were in the dark of the outer room. He fired at the threshold, checking

their rushas 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 roomfrom the roof Jimmie Dale got a glimpse of them below, as he

flung himself clear of the opening. Bullets whistled through the aperturea voice roared up as he gained his

"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 Sealthe reward that's out for him is

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 nowwindows were opening, voices were calling to

one anotherfrom the windows across the street he must stand out in sharp outline against the sky. Yeshe

A woman's voice, from a topstory window across the street, screamed out, highpitched in excitement:

Jimmie Dale started on the run along the roof. The houses, built wall to wall, flatroofed, seemed to offer an

open course ahead of himuntil a lane or an intersecting street should bar his way! But they were not quite

all on the same level, thoughthe wall of the next house rose suddenly breast high in front of him. He flung

The crack of a revolver echoed through the nighta bullet drummed through the airthe 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 rushand they broke, black, flitting forms, for the shelter of

And now the whole neighbourhood seemed awakened. A dulltoned 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 yellsand high over all the shrill call of the policepatrol whistleand the CRACK,

CRACK, CRACK of the Skeeter's revolver shotsthe Skeeter and his hellhounds for once selfappointed

Twice again Jimmie Dale firedthen 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

He glanced about himand 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 behe caught his

breath suddenly in a queer little strangled cry of relief. Just back of him, a few yards away, his eyes made out

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 firedwide. Tight as was the corner he was in, little as was the mercy

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 thisthen 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 hourit 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 housebut it was his only

chance. He swung his body well out, let goand 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 blockbut the commotion was all in the FRONT of the

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

They were yelling, shouting down now through the skylight 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 outbut 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

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 handnoticing them for the first time. It

had been closealmost as close for him as it had been for old Luddy. And tomorrow the papers would

execrate the Gray Seal! He smiled a little wanly. His breath was still coming hard. Presently they would scour

the lanewhen they found that their quarry was not in the house. What a racket they were making! The

He kept on along the laneand dodged suddenly into a cross street where the two intersected. The clang of a

bell dinned discordantly in his earsa patrol wagon swept by him, racing for the scene of the

"I guess," said Jimmie Dale, "I'm pretty near all in. And I guess it's time that Larry the Bat wenthome."

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 pocketsand 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.

A whitegloved arm, a voice, and a silvery laugh! "Just thatno 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 whitegloved 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

herexcept those letters, of course, each of which had outlined the details of some affair for the Gray Seal to

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 Sanctuaryand Larry

the Bat bore the government indorsement, so to speak, of being no more suspicious a character than that of a

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 endand 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 seatand the next instant he was standing up, staring wildly

It had fallen at his feeta 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 paperwas hers. Hers! And she must be one of those around

himone 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 hatbut 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

twentyfour, was close to him now, within reachand as far removed as though a thousand miles separated

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 uselessof courseevery

effort that he had ever made to find her had been useless. She was too clever, far too clever for thatshe,

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

himand 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 tonethat was all he

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

He moved slowly now, very slowlyallowing those behind to press by him on the way to the entrance. A

babel of voices rose about him, as, tightpacked, the mass of people jostled, elbowed, and pushed

goodnaturedly. 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

vigilanceand 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, wellgroomed

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 himselfamong 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

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 timeit

had always been the sameit was only one more occasion added to the innumerable ones that had gone

And nowthere 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 failurethere was the letter! His lips parted in a strange,

halfserious, halfspeculative smile. The letterthat 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 timewhat 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 threeinch type tell the world that the Gray Seal wasJimmie

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

He hurried on. People still passed by himtoo 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 windowbut, 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

"Inspector Burton in plain clothes," he observed musingly to himself. "I wonder if it's just a flukeor

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,

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 sidestep Lannigan of headquarters, and do it with amazing celerityif he

"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

The sentence was never finished. Jimmie Dale's face was gray. The street seemed to rock about himand 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

Numbed for an instant, his brain cleared now, working with lightning speed, leaping from premise to

conclusion. The crush in the theatre lobbythe pushing, the jostling, the close contactthe 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 wasthe 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 exultationit 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 societyand there was ignominy for an honoured name, and

shame and disaster and convict stripes and sullen penitentiary wallsor death! A felon's deaththe 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 chancethe

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

He was in a downtown subway train nowthe 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 tightclosed

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 uponbut 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 spoilsthey 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 OPENEDJimmie Dale's lips grew tighter. THAT was the chance! It he

failed in thatJimmie 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

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 Batinfinitely 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 wellcut, fashionable tweedsbut that would take time. Time!

When, with every second, the one chance he had, desperate as that already was, was slipping away from him.

He went on againhis 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 himselfthat 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

Jimmie Dale's fingers crept inside his vest and fumbled there for a momentand 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 withina constant storm of applause, derision, and hilarity that was

hurled from the tables around the room at the turkeytrotting, tangowrithing 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

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.

The man behind the bar, well known to Jimmie Dale as one of the Wowzer's particular pals, favoured him

"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 awaybut on his hand, as, palm outward, he raised it to take his

The barkeeper put down the beer he had just drawn, wiped his hand hurriedly, and with sudden enthusiasm

"Nix!" said Jimmie Dale. "I just blew in from Chicago. Used to know de Wowzer dere. He said dis place was

"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.

"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."

"Forget it!" observed the barkeeper cordially. "Dis is on me. Any friend of de Wowzer's gets de glad hand

"T'anks!" said Jimmie Dale gratefully, as he turned away. "So long, thensee 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'stoo well. Underground Chinatownwhere a man's life was worth the

price of an opium pillor less! Mechanically his hand slipped into his pocket and closed over the automatic

that nestled there. Once inwhere he had to goand 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, andbut again he shook his head

and went on. There was not time. The Wowzer and his palit 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 letterwhat 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 earththe

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 openedbefore they KNEW! If he could only

get the chance to fight for itagainst ANY odds! Life! Life was a pitiful consideration against the alternative

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 alloutwardly; 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

"Luck! The blessed luck of it!" he muttered grimly, as he surveyed the sightseeing 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

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, wrinkledfaced little Celestial, oily, suave, greeted them with profuse bows,

"Chang Fooladies 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

allUPSTAIRS! The same old bunk dished out night after night at so much a headand 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 bunkand 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 wasUPSTAIRS!

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 hallwayand 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 onefor effectand for security.

Nervous little twitters began to emanate from the women the guide's voice rose reassuringly:

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 ladderlike

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

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

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 headquartershere, 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

The Wowzer! Jimmie Dale stole forward silently, without a sound, swiftlypausing 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 opiumand once, ironnerved 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 panelit

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 sightDago 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 pocketbook in his handswaving 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 vainthe letter had been opened and readTHE IDENTITY

"De Gray Sealsee! 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

tonight dat youse are tryin' to do me out of. Well, keep 'em"he shoved his face forward. "I keeps

"Everyt'ing I pinched tonight's on de table dere wid wot youse pinched yerself," cut in the Wowzer, in a

"Youse lie, an' youse knows it!" retorted Dago Jim. "Youse have given me de short end every time we've

"Why didn't youse open it an' read it, den, instead of lettin' me do it to keep me busy while youse

shortchanged me?" sneered Dago Jim. "Youse t'ought it was some sweet billydoo, eh? Well, t'anks,

Wowzerdat's wot it is! Say," he mocked, "dere's a guy'll cash a t'ousand century notes fer dis, an' if he

don'tsay, 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 yousean' mabbe I

Red, lurid red, a stream of flame seemed to cut across Jimmie Dale's line of vision, came the roar of a

revolver shotand 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 airand plunged with a sagging lurch face downward to the floor. There was a yell and an oath

from the Wowzerthe crack of another revolver shot, the hum of the bullet past Jimmie Dale's ear, the

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 edgeand men, table, and lamp crashed downward in a heap

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 darkno, not darka 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 commotionwhispering 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

There was not a second to lose before the room would be swarming with that rush from the

passagewayand there was still the letter, the pocketbook! The table had fallen half over Dago

JimJimmie Dale pushed it aside, tore the crushed letter and the pocketbook from the man's handsand

felt, with a grim, horrible sort of anxiety, for the other's heartbeat, for the verdict that meant life or death to

Jimmie Dale was on his feet now. A face, another, and another showed in the doorwaythe Wowzer was

regaining his senses, stumbling to his knees. There was one chancejust oneto 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 semidarknessonly 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:

Yells, a chorus of them, took up the refrainthen the rush of following feetand 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 nowand, 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 topJimmie Dale's right hand shot out with clubbed revolverand with a

grunt Chang Foo went down before the blow and the headlong rush. The next instant Jimmie Dale had sprung

A minute, two minutes more, and Chinatown would be in an uproar Chang Foo would see to thatand 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 taxicabwaiting, probably, for a private slumming

"Quick!" he flung at the startled chauffeur. "The nearest subway stationthere's a tenspot in it for you!

A crowd of Chinese, pouring like angry hornets from Chang Foo's shop, came yelling down the streetand

the taxi took the corner on two wheelsand Jimmie Dale, panting, choking for his breath like a man spent,

But five minutes later it was quite another Jimmie Dale, composed, nonchalant, imperturbable, who entered

an uptown 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 Jimbut 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,

butJimmie Dale smiled a little nowneither the Wowzer, nor Chang Foo, nor Chinatown would ever be

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 yetthere was the letter! It had already cost one life; was it

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 HudsonMercantile National Banktrusted employee is

exconvict, bad police record, served term in Sing Sing three years agoknown to police as Bookkeeper

Bob, real name is Robert Moyne, lives at Street, HarlemInspector Burton and Lannigan of

There was a great deal morefour 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

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 heelsor 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

At One Hundred and TwentyFifth 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 sidethere 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

Jimmie Dale, smiling a little grimly, retraced his steps again, and turned deliberately into a doorwaywhose

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 flatthree storiesMoyne lives on ground floor."

Jimmie Dale leaned against the vestibule doorthere was a faint clicka little steel instrument was

withdrawn from the lockand Jimmie Dale stepped into the hall, where a gas jet, turned down, burned

The door of the groundfloor 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 dooragain there was that almost inaudible clickand then cautiously, inch by

inch, the door opened under his hand. He peered insidedown a hallway lighted, if it could be called lighted

at all, by a subdued glow from two open doors that gave upon itpeered 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 pauseda 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 sceneand the next moment, his hand curved

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 throatthe sweet, innocent little face, upturned to his, was smiling at

Jimmie Dale turned away his headhis 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 packageand then another. He straightened up,

a bundle of crisp new hundreddollar notes in each handand 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 itit was a

secondclass 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 lipsand then, dropping the packages into his pockets, his own lips

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 himthere was

still one other call to make that nightstill those remaining and minute details in the latter part of her letter,

It was close upon one o'clock in the morning when Jimmie Dale stopped againthis time before a

fashionable dwelling just off Central Park. And here, for perhaps the space of a minute, he surveyed the

house from the sidewalkwatching, 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

"Yes," said Jimmie Dale, nodding his head, "I rather thought so. The servants will have retired hours ago. It's

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 halland the outer door was thrown back.

It was quite dark, too dark for either to distinguish the other's featuresand Jimmie Dale's hat was drawn far

"I want to see Mr. Thomas H. Carling, cashier of the HudsonMercantile National Bankit's very important,"

"Ah!" exclaimed the bank official sharply. "Well, it's about time! I've been waiting up for itthough I

The other closed the front door. "The servants are in bed, of course," he explained, as he led the way toward

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 carvedmahogany flattopped desk, and, as he reached

"Take a chair," he said, over his shoulderand 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 himand on Jimmie Dale's face

For an instant neither man spoke nor moved; then Carling, sparebuilt, dapper in evening clothes, edged back

"Quite neat! I compliment you! From headquarters with a report, I think you said?"

Carling, as though to put as much distance between them as possible, continued to edge back across the

roombut 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

"Yes," said Carling. "I am very stupid. Thank you. I" he had reached the other side of the room nowand

with a quick, sudden movement jerked his hand to the dial of the safe that stood against the wall.

But Jimmie Dale was quickerwithout shifting his position, his automatic, whipped from his pocket, held a

"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."

"So!" he sneered. "That's it, is it! The ordinary variety of sneak thief!" His voice was rising gradually. "Well,

"Mr. Carling," said Jimmie Dale, in a low, even tone, unless you moderate your voice some one in the house

might hear youI 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 pocketand his voice, cold before, rang peremptorily now. "Come back to the desk and sit down in

Jimmie Dale moved over, and stood in front of Carling on the other side of the deskand stared silently at

Under the prolonged gaze, Carling's composure, in a measure at least, seemed to forsake him. He began to

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

"About ten thousand dollars, I should say," said Jimmie Dale slowly. "I haven't counted it. Your bank was

"Yes!" Carling's voice was excited now, the colour back in his face. "But youhowdo you mean that you

Carling was once more the pompous bank official. He leaned back and surveyed Jimmie Dale critically with

"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."

"Moyne, eh?" Carling was alert, quick now, jerking out his words. "How did you come to get into this, then?

His pal? Doublecrossing him, eh? I suppose you want a rewardwe'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

"Just a minute," interposed Jimmie Dale gravely. "I want you to listen to a little story first."

"The man has got a home," said Jimmie Dale softly. "A home, and a wifeand 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 alreadya

better chance than any one with his record ever had before. We took him into the bank knowing that he was

an exconvict, but believing that we could make an honest man of him and this is the result."

"You refuseabsolutely?" Jimmie Dale's voice had a lingering, wistful note in 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 deskfar 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,

"And shall I tell you why you won't? Your bank was robbed tonight of one hundred thousand dollars. There

"You lie!" Ashen to the lips, Carling had risen in his chair. "You lie!" he cried. "Do you hear! You lie! I tell

The white in Carling's face had turned to gray, his lips were workingmechanically he sank down again in

Jimmie Dale still leaned over the desk, resting his weight on his right elbow, the automatic in his right hand

"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 firstshall 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 Yorkfar 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

wereonce. But you went through your fortune two years ago. Counted a model citizen, an upright man, an

honour to the communitywhat 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 wellbut your game is up.

Tonight, for instance, you are at the end of your tether, swamped with debts, exposure threatening you at

But now the man made no answer. He had sunk a little deeper in his chaira dawning look of terror in the

"You cur!" said Jimmie Dale again. "You cur, with your devil's work! A year ago you saw this night

comingwhen 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

coofficials were opposed to his appointment, but you, do you remember how you pleaded to give the man

his chanceand in your hellish ingenuity saw your way then out of the trap! An exconvict from Sing Sing!

It was enough, wasn't it? What chance had he!" Jimmie Dale paused, his left hand clenched until the skin

Carling's tongue sought his lips, made a circuit of themand he tried to speak, but his voice was an

"I'll not waste words," said Jimmie Dale, in his grim monotone. "I'm not sure enough myselfthat I could

keep my hands off you much longer. The actual details of how you stole the money today do not

matterNOW. A little later perhaps in courtbut not now. You were the last to leave the bank, but before

leaving you pretended to discover the theft of a hundred thousand dollarsthat, done up in a paper parcel,

was even then reposing in your desk. You brought the parcel home, put it in that safe thereand 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

tothe exconvict in the bank's employ. You knew Moyne was dining out tonight, you knew whereand

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 ticketwhich 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

youyou 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 outyou 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 doorand youyou"Jimmie Dale's voice choked again"you blot on God's earth, you slipped the

Carling came forward with a lurch in his chairand his hands went out, pawing in a wild, pleading fashion

"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 clewand 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 dollarsfor 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 primafacie 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

exconvict, a hardened criminal caught redhanded with a portion of the proceeds of robberyhe had

Carling's face was ghastly. His hands went out againagain his tongue moistened his dry lips. He

"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 deskthen a pen, which he dipped into the inkstand, and extended to the other. "The

"I have not used thisyet. You understand now whydon't you?" he said under his breath.

"No, no!" Carling pushed away the pen. "I'm ruinedruined as it is. But this would mean the penitentiary,

"Some other waysome other way!" Carling was babbling. "Let me out of thisfor God's sake, let me out

"Carling," said Jimmie Dale hoarsely, "I stood beside a little bed tonight and looked at a baby girla little

"Take this pen," said Jimmie Dale monotonously; "orTHIS!" The automatic lifted until the muzzle was on

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 papera bead of sweat spurting from the man's forehead dropped to the

There was silence in the room. A minute passedanother. 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

An instant Jimmie Dale watched the other, then he picked up the sheet of paper. It was a miserable document,

"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

From the paper, Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted to the figure by the couchand the paper fluttered suddenly from

his fingers to the desk. Carling was reeling, clutching at his throata small glass vial rolled upon the carpet.

And then, even as Jimmie Dale sprang forward, the other pitched head long over the couchand in a

Presently Jimmie Dale picked up the vialand dropped it back on the floor again. There was no label on it,

but it needed nonethe 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

For a little space, motionless, Jimmie Dale stood looking down at the silent, outstretched formthen 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 nowthere would be disgrace enough for some

one to bear, a mother perhapswho knew! And there was another way nowsince 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 hundreddollar 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 graycoloured,

diamondshaped 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

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

At the corner he stopped to light a cigaretteand the flame of the match spurting up disclosed a face that

was worn and haggard. He threw the match away, smiled a little wearilyand went on.

Choosing between the snowy napery, the sparkling glass and silver, the cozy, shaded tablelamps, the

famous French chef of the ultraexclusive 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

twopiece string orchestra played valiantly to the accompaniment of a hoarsethroated piano; and between

courses the diners took up the refrainand, as it was always between courses with some one, the place was a

bedlam of noisy riot. Nevertheless, it was Marlianne'sand 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 highpriced

imported car at the curb of the shabby street outsideand 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 tabled'hote with VIN

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 talkingtheir voices, over a momentary lull in violin

"Carling commit suicide! Not on your life! No; of course he didn't! It was that cursed Gray Seal croaked him,

The other grunted. "Yes; but what'd the Gray Seal want to pinch a hundred thousand out of the bank for, and

"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,

A burst of ragtime drowned out the man's words. Jimmie Dale placed a fiftycent piece and a tip beside it on

his dinner check, pushed back his chair, and rose from the table. There was a halftolerantly satirical,

halfangry 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 sentimentshe 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 Singhis 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 livedthat was his reward. Thatand SHE, whose mysterious letters

prompted and impelled his, the Gray Seal's, acts! Shenameless, 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 roomsthe interior of Marlianne's had never been altered from the

days when the place had been a family residence of some pretensionand, reaching the hall, received his hat

from the frowsylooking 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 HudsonMercantile

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

affairand 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 matchbut 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 thatit 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

"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 doorstopped. Some one had been tampering with

itit 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

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

intuitivelyknew it as he knew that he breathed. And that woman he had so leisurely watched as she had

He sprang from the car with a jump, his first impulse to dash after herand checked himself, laughing a

little bitterly. It was too late for that nowhe 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 himand, besides, he would not

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 hadhe 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

It was a gold seal ring, a small, dainty thing that bore a crest: a bell, surmounted by a bishop's mitrethe

bell, quaint in design, harking the imagination back to some oldtime belfry tower. And underneath, in the

scrolla motto. It was a full minute before Jimmie Dale could decipher it, for the lettering was minute and

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 then Jimmie Dale laughed abruptly, selfmockingly. 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 herand 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

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 aheadthe 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 crestthat 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 alarmthe Toscin! The

Tocsin the word seemed to visualise her, to give her a concrete form and being, to breathe her very

"The Tocsin!"Jimmie Dale whispered the word softly, a little wistfully. "Yes; I shall call you thatthe

He folded the glove very carefully, placed it with the ring in his pocketbook, picked up the letterand, 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 themand, after a moment, a smile, whimsical, came slowly to his

It was quite plain nowall of it. The glove, the ring, and the unsealed letterand 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

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 latewhen 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, apartfor another time, when every moment was not a priceless asset as it very

"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

For an instant, as mechanically he tore the letter into little shreds, he held there hesitantand the next,

slamming the door tight, he flung himself into the seat behind the wheel, and the big, sixtyhorsepower,

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 instantplans, 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

And now tonight 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,

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 nightstick, 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

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 fencefor 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 onea 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 jeopardizeit was a bulwark of safety, at it were, to

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 thenthe 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

The car turned again, and, approaching its destination, Jimmie Dale slowed down the speed perceptibly. It

was a strange case, not a pleasant oneand the raw edges where they showed were ugly in their nakedness.

Old Isaac Pelina, young Burton, and MaddonK. Wilmington Maddon, the wallpaper magnate! Curious,

that of the three he should already know twoold Isaac and Maddon! Everybody in the East Side, every

denizen of the underworld, and many who posed on a far higher plane knew old Isaacfence 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 reputationhe had heard the man

cursed in blasphemous, wholesouled 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," butJimmie Dale's lips

parted in a mirthless smilesome 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 MaddonJimmie

Dale's smile grew whimsicalhe 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 trioand 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

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

But for a sort of tinselled ostentation the place might well have been the Marlianne's that he had just leftit

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 closepacked 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 streetand 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,

The pawnshop made the corner of a very dark and narrow laneand, 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

And then suddenly Jimmie Dale shrank still closer against the wall. Was it intuition, premonitionor

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 movedhe 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 soundit 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

Jimmie Dale's brows were gathered in sharp furrows. There was evidently something afoot tonight 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

The lane was empty now, he was quite sure of thatand there was no further sound from the window

opposite. He started forward once moreonly 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

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 onesthen the repeated clicking of a latch, as though pulled by a

Jimmie Dale nodded to himself in the darkness. It was a spring lock; the signal was one long ring and three

short onesthe Tocsin had not missed even those small details. Also, Burton was late for his appointment,

for that must have been Burtonbusiness such as old Isaac had in hand that night would have permitted the

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 lockand 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

Once more he smileda 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 himsurely 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

And now voices reached himone, 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

Jimmie Dale moved along the hallvery slowlywithout 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 stepsthere were eight. Above, facing him, a door was open. The voices

were louder now. It was a sordidlooking room, what he could see of it, povertystricken 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 roomthat and a bare stretch of floor. The two men were not in the line of vision.

Burton's voiceit was unquestionably Burton speakingcame to Jimmie Dale now distinctly.

Jimmie Dale slipped his black silk mask over his face; and with extreme caution, on hands and knees, began

"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

nowwhat? It is too badtoo bad! It is not a pleasant thing to think of, that little chair up the river in its

"For God's sake, Isaacnot that! Do you hearnot that! My God, I didn't mean toI didn't know what I

Jimmie Dale crept up another step, another, and another. There was silence for a moment in the room; then

"Isaac, I'll make good to you some other way. I swear I willI swear it! If I'm caught at this I'llI'll get

"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 getfor murder? Eh, my friend, you have thought of thateh? It is a very little price I

"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. II tried to play

white all my life, and until that cursed night there's no man living could say I haven't. You know thatyou

know that, Isaac. I tell you I couldn't do it this afternoonI tell you I couldn't. I tried to andand I

Jimmie Dale was lying flat on the little landing now, peering into the room. Back a short distance from the

doorway, a repulsivelooking little man in unkempt clothes and soiled linen, with yellowishskinned,

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 twentyfive, 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

"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 eyesand laughed out suddenly in bitter mirth.

"A few rubies!" he cried. "The most magnificent stones on this side of the watera FEW rubies! It's been

Maddon's life hobby. Every child in New York knows that! A fewyes, there's only a fewbut those few

"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 nicelyeh, my young friend? See, it was tonight that

Maddon gives a little reception to his friends, and did you not say that the rubies would be taken from the

safedeposit 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 askand I pay

well, do I not? And so I gave you until tonight. Three days have gone, and I have said nothing, and the body

"You wouldn't dare!" he whispered thickly. "You wouldn't dare! I'd tell the story ofof what you tried to

"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 soeh? 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 thateh?"

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 tableand then,

with sudden revulsion of emotion, he drew back once more, and once more came that choked sob:

"I have been threatened very often," snapped the other contemptuously. "Bah, what are threats! I laugh at

themas I always will." Then, with a quick change of front, his voice a sudden snarl: "Well, we have talked

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,

machinelike way, his hand groped into the inside pocket of his vestand old Isaac cackled out in derision.

"So! You thought you could bluff me, ehyou 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 indeedit is my business. You would not have dared to come here tonight

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."

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 handsand he

"Ah, the little beauties! Ah, the pretty little things! Yes, yes; these are the ones! This is the great

Araconsee, see, the sixsided prism terminated by the sixsided pyramid. But it must be cutit must be cut

to sell it, eh? Ah, it is too badtoo bad! And this, this one here, I know them all, this is"

But his sentence was never finishedit was Jimmie Dale, on his feet now, leaning against the jamb of the

"Quite so, Isaac," he said coolly; "you know them all! Quite so, Isaacbut 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

moveda little whiter, the misery in his face almost apathetic, he moistened his lips with the tip of his

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 tonight, 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 worthwhat would you say?a

hundred, two hundred thousand alone, eh? A very famous stone, thathad your eye on it for quite a time,

Isaac did not answer; but, while he still held back from the table, he seemed to be regaining a little of his

composureburglars of whatever sort were no novelty to himand was staring fixedly at Jimmie Dale.

"Can't place methough 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.

"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"

"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 shareeh? 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

"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

"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

"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 stoppedthe words cut short off on his lips. It came without warninga crash, a pound on the door

Jimmie Dale's eyes, on old Isaac, narrowed. The pounding in the alleyway grew louder, more insistent. And

then his first suspicion passedit was no "game" of Isaac's. Crafty though the old fox was, the other's

Still the pounding continuedsome one was kicking viciously at the door, and banging a tattoo on the panels

"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

waitwaitI'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 outand 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 othertoo late! Came the roar of a revolver shot, a stream of flame cutting the darkness of the alleyway

from the window in the house oppositeand, without a sound, old Isaac crumpled up, hung limply for a

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

Burton, horrorstricken, unmanned, beside himself, was hanging, clutching with both hands at the table edge.

"Dead!" he whispered hoarsely. "II think I'm going mad. Three days of helland now this. We'dwe'd

"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 timeand that some of them have got him at last."

"Then I'm safe!" He mumbled the words, but there was dawning hope, relief in his white face. "Safe! I'm

safeif 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 knowyou don't understand. I stole them becausebecause he made mebecause Iit 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,

"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 Yorkand you went there on

the invitation of a stray acquaintance, a man named Perleyshall I describe him for you? A short, slimbuilt

"YOU know that!" The misery, the hopelessness was back in Burton's face againand suddenly he bent over

There was silence for a moment. Tightlipped, Jimmie Dale's eyes travelled from Burton's shaking shoulders

"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

halfdrunk 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 youand fired. He fell to the

flooryou saw the blood gush from his breast just above the hearthe was dead. In a panic you rushed

from the place and out into the street. I don't think you went home that night."

"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 hadI wouldn't have had today 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 dollarsthat 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 ityou 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 suspectedand there were Maddon's famous, priceless rubies."

"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!

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

"My GodPERLEY!" 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 thatas Perley. It will provide the police with an interesting little problemwhich

Burton was rocking on his feet, the tears were streaming down his face. He lurched heavilyand Jimmie

I thoughtI thought there was blood on my hands," said Burton brokenly; "thatthat 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 II

tried to do my work, andand 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. "Itit was like that I saw him last!" he whispered.

"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 tricka punctured bladder of red pigment concealed

"Let us get out of here!" Burton shuddered again. "Let us get out of hereat oncenow. If we're found

"There is no hurry," Jimmie Dale answered quietly. "I have told you that no one is liable to come here

tonightand whoever did this certainly will not raise an alarm. And besides, there is still the matter of the

"Yesthe rubieswhat are you going to do with them? II 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

"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 powerand, for that matter, as likely as any one else to have had a hand in Isaac's murder

tonight. Sagosto saw you once when Isaac brought you into his placenot 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 murdernaturally. Sagosto would not know you again from

Adamneither 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 probablyby a threat of exposure for

some oldtime offence, that Isaac held over him, if he didn't keep his mouth shut."

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, diamondshaped 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

Burton did not reply for a momenthe was gazing at the masked face in a halfeager, halfdoubtful way.

"Do with them?" Burton repeated slowly. "Why, I've told you. They'd go back to Mr. MaddonI'd take them

"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,

"Yes, I know," Burton answered a little listlessly. "I've thought of that. There's only one wayto take them

"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 thingsnot the man whose philosophy is 'all's

"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 Iwell, 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.

"I think, as I said before, you've had a lesson tonight that will last you all your life. I'm going to give you

another chancewith Maddon. Here are the stones." He reached into his pocket and laid the case on the

But now Burton made no effort to take the casehis eyes, in that puzzled way again, were on Jimmie Dale.

"Well, say at the expense of another man's reputationof 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

"Are you trying to make a fool of me?" he cried out. "Go to Maddon with a childish tale like that! There's no

"No?" inquired Jimmie Dale softly. "And yet I am inclined to think there are a good manythat even

Maddon would, hardheaded 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

"The Gray Seal!" Burton had snatched the case toward him, and was straining his eyes at the inside cover.

"The Gray Seal!" he whispered. Then, with a catch in his voice: "You mean this? You mean to let me have

these backyou meanyou mean all you've said? For God's sake, don't play with methe Gray Seal, the

most notorious criminal in the country, to give back a fortune like this! Youyou"

"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 understandI CAN'T understand!" he murmured. "They say that youand yet I believe you

nowyou've saved me from a ruined life tonight. The Gray Seal! Ifif every one knew what you had

"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

"I don't mean anything at all," interposed Jimmie Dale a little hurriedly. "Nothing, Burtonexcept that there

is still one little thing more to do to bolster up that 'childish' story of mineand 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 lightwe will have to pass the window to get to the door, and we

"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 electriclight switch, and the

And Burton, perforce, made his way across the roomand 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,

"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. "Ahhere it is!" He lifted a telephone receiver from its hook, and gave a number.

"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? . . .

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! . . . Rubiesyes. . . . 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 goneshall I hold the line while you investigate? . . . What? .

. . Don't shout, pleaseand 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 temporarilyare 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

"Now then, Burton, we'll get out of herand 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 murderedthere'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 passerby should happen to recollect that he saw two men of

They passed the door of Isaac's den, turned down a narrow corridor that led to the rear of the houseJimmie

Dale guiding unerringly, working from the mental map of the house that the Tocsin had drawn for

himdescended 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 houseand, a minute later, they were crouched against a building, a half block away,

Here Jimmie Dale peered out cautiously. There was no one in sight. He touched Burton's shoulder, and

"That's your way, Burtonmine's the other. Hurry while you've got the chance. Goodnight."

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 streetand five minutes later was passing through the noisy bedlam of the

"SONNEZ LE TOCSIN," Jimmie Dale was saying softly to himself. "I wonder what she'll do when she finds

The Tocsin! By neither act, sign, nor word had she evidenced the slightest interest in that ringand 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 whileso long a

while even that what had come to be his prerogative in the newspapers, the front page with threeinch 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

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 editorialand

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

"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 Sealthey are quite worthy even of his diabolical

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

Sealeven this! A series of the most coldblooded, callous murders and robberies, the work, on the face of

it, of a wellorganized 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 murderwhile 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 muchhe and she togetherthe 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 himselfbut from any one of which, let the identity of

the Gray Seal be once solved, there was and could be no escape! What exquisite ironyyet full, too, of the

Once more Jimmie Dale's eyes sought the paper, and this time scanned the headlines of the first page:

Jimmie Dale read onand as he read there came again that angry set to his lips. The details were not

pleasant. Herman Roessle, the paymaster of the MartindaleKensington 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 twentyodd thousand dollars; and had started back with

it for the mill. At first, it being broad daylight and a wellfrequented 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 clewno one could be found who had seen

the car on the crossroadthe murderer, or murderers, and the twentyodd thousand dollars in cash had

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 simplicityat 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

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

enoughit 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,

innocentlooking, unaddressed envelope, danger, perilit 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.

The man bowed and started away. Jimmie Dale laid the envelope on the arm of the lounging chair. The man

"Your chauffeur, sir," replied the other. "Your chauffeur gave it to the hall porter a moment ago, sir."

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,

It was a call to arms such as the Gray Seal had never received beforesuch 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 halfpast 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

In the cloakroom downstairs he secured his hat and overcoat, and, though it was a warm evening, put on the

At the curb, Benson, the chauffeur, sprang from his seat, and, touching his cap, opened the door of a

"I shall not keep you waiting any longer, Benson," he said. "You may take the car home, and put it up. I shall

"You sent in a letter a moment or so ago, Benson?" observed Jimmie Dale casually, opening his cigarette

"Yes, sir," said Benson. "I hope I didn't do wrong, sir. He said it was important, and that you were to have it

"A boy, sir," Benson amplified. "I couldn't get anything out of him. He just said he'd been told to give it to

"Not at all, Benson," said Jimmie Dale pleasantly. "It's quite all right. Goodnight, Benson."

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 samethe 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

instancethat the man was absolutely trustworthyor else she would never for an instant have risked the

letter in his possession. Was there anything that she did notyes, one thingshe did not know him in the

role he was going to play tonight. 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 wellknown character of the underworldthe 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 blockaand finally headed east into the dimly lighted cross street on

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 lightninglike side step, no longer Jimmie Dale now, but the Gray Seal, he disappeared

In a moment he was at the side door, listening for any sound from withinnone 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 stairsstairs 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,

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 himthe position of a

chair, of a cracked drinking glass on the brokenlegged 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

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 exchangean 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

facebut the hardness, the grim menace that now grew into the dominant characteristic of his features was

"Dear Philanthropic Crook"his eyes were on the Tocsin's letter that lay before him. He read onfor 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 beliefthe 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,

"Get him, Jimmiethe man higher up. Get him, Jimmiebefore another pays forfeit with his life"the

words seemed to leap out at him from the white page in red, dancing lines"Get himJimmiethe man

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, viciousfeatured denizen of the underworld went ona little wax

It was all thereall except the proof. And the proofhe 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 crimeand yet ingenious, clever, full of the craft and

Jimmie Dale's lips were curiously thin now. So it was Stangeist! A Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde with a

vengeance! He knew Stangeistnot 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

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 clientsprovided he were paid well enough for it. The man had become

more than the attorney for the crime worldhe had become part of it. Cunning, shrewd, crafty,

The form and features of the man pictured themselves in Jimmie Dale's mindthe sixfoot 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 againstill unpleasantly. So Stangeist had taken the plunge at last and branched out

into a wider field, had he? Well, there was nothing surprising in thatexcept 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 saidand 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 Deaneand he had driven

them a little too hard on the division of the spoilsand laughed at them, and cracked the whip much after the

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 aftermathand 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

itthe document automatically became a DEATH SENTENCE for Australian Ike, The Mope, and Clarie

It was very simpleand, 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,

Satisfied? Jimmie Dale shook his head. No; that was hardly the wordcowed, perhaps, for the moment,

would be better. But afterward, with a document like that in existence, when they would never be safe for an

instantwell, 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, onlyJimmie Dale, the final touches given to his features, stood up, and his hands clenched

suddenly, fiercelyit 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 tighterand 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

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 viciouslooking little bluedsteel burglar's tools were

stowed away in his pockets, the flooring carefully replaced, the oilcloth spread back again; and then, pulling a

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 enteredthen 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 drawingrooms, closed the door of the Sanctuary

behind him, shuffled down the stairs, shuffled out into the lane, and shuffled along the street toward the

"'Ello!" returned Jimmie Dale affably through the side of his mouth. "Fine night, ain't it?"and shuffled on

And now Jimmie Dale began to hurrystill 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 outthe

servants in town for a theatre or picture show probablyand 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 backas for the servants, that did not matter so much; servants in suburban homes had a

Jimmie Dale boarded a crosstown car, effected a transfer, and in a quarter of an hour after leaving the

Sanctuary was huddled, an inoffensive heap, like a tiredout 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

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 blindfoldedthe 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

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 kiddiesit seemed as though he could see them standing thereand 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 tonight, 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 differencethey would PAY, just as surely, just as certainly, once that paper was in his

Jimmie Dale was counting the houses as he passedthey were more infrequent now, farther apart. Stangeist

was no foolnot 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 itand 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

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 househe 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 roadthen, swinging his legs over, quick now in every action, he dropped to the other side, and

Here he stopped again, reached up to a window that was about on a level with his shoulders, and tested its

fastenings. The windowit was the window of Stangeist's private sanctum, according to the plan in her

letterwas securely locked. Jimmie Dale's hands went into his pocketand the black silk mask was slipped

over his face. He listened intentlythen a little steel instrument began to gnaw like a rat.

A minute passedtwo of them. Again Jimmie Dale listened. There was not a sound save the night

soundsthe light breeze whispering through the branches of the trees; the faroff rumble of a train; the whir

of insects; the hoarse croaking of a frog from some nearby 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 lateTOO 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 thatand went out. Jimmie Dale noddedthe 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,

He stepped from the portieres to the safe, and the flashlight played againthis 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 KfourtwoeightColby," muttered Jimmie Dale. "A nasty little beggarand 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

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 dialand

Time passed. The silence grew heavyseemed 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.

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 doorthen darkness once more.

Five minutes, ten minutes went by. The clock struck againand 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 openthe 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

"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

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 lefthand 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 oneand

nodded grimly. Three witnesses had testified to the signature of Stangeist, and a notary's seal, accompanied

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,

diamondshaped 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 NEWSARGUS, 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 telltale finger prints, laid it with the tweezers on the flap of the envelope, and pressed it firmly into place

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, orno, there it was again!a footfall on the gravel walk at

the front of the house. The sound became louder, clearertwo footfalls instead of one. It was Stangeist, and

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 itthe inner door of the safe

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 nowthey were in the hallhe could hear

Stangeist's voicethere came a dull glow from the hallway, following the click of an electriclight 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 windowand escape. He straightened up, stepped back, the

He was trappedcaught without so much as a corner in which to turn! Stangeist was even then coming into

the roomand 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 watchinghe drew a breath of relief. He had not been seen. Their voices

"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

"Aw, ferget it! " replied another voice. "Can the teeayter 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 nowsee! Beat it on yer toes fer the

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 thickset, uglyfacedlooking 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 latewith 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 timeand 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 measuresClarie Deane had dropped into a chair beside the desk; and The Mope and Australian

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

"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 sorethe man was dead enough as it was. See?"

Stangeist opened the bag, and dumped the contents on the deskpile after pile of banknotes, the pay roll of

"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

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

"Nix!" growled Clarie Deane suddenly. "Cut that out! Them's fivers in that wad. Make that five hundred

"Mistake," said Stangeist suavely, changing the figures with his pencil. "You're pretty wide awake for this

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

offbut 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,

"There's more'n twenty there," he said sullenlyand drew a match across the under edge of the desk with a

Stangeist's face lost its suavity, a snarl curled his lips; but, about to reply, he sprang suddenly to his feet

Stangeist's words ended in a gulp. He was staring into the muzzle of a heavycalibered revolver that Clarie

"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 inand one, with a bound, flung himself at Stangeist. The

man's hand, grasping a clubbed revolver, rose in the air, descended on Stangeist's headand 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

"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, purplefaced 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,

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

"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

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

"Wot d'ye think it means? We want that paper, an' we want it damn quicksee! 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 oldtime 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,

"Don't youse kid yerself!" retorted Clarie Deane. "D'ye think we're fools? This ain't like it was

yesterdaysee! We GETS the paper this timeso 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!"

"It's not here," he said innocently. "It's in my box in the safetydeposit 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

"You lie!" he choked. "The Mope, here, was the last of us you showed the paper to yesterday afernoon, an'

the vaults was closed thenan' you ain't been there today, 'cause you've been watched. That's why we fixed

it fer tonight after the divvy that you've just tried ter do us on again, 'cause we knew you had it here."

"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 upwe'll give you a minute

"That's all right," submitted Clarle Deane grimly. "There's a quarter 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

"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

"Two skirts!" jeered Clarie Deane. We ain't goin' ter run away from them. If they comes before we goes, we'll

"You can suit yerself," said Clarie Deane, with a vicious grin. "We know the paper's there, an' we gets it

before we leaves heresee? 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 nitroglycerin', 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."

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 againnone was in a better position than himself to know that there would be neither

"Suppose," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "suppose I open the safewhat thenafterward?"

"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,

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 breatha smile on his lips that was mirthless, deadly,

Stangeist had the outer door of the safe open nowand now the inner door swung back. He reached in his

hand to the pigeonhole, drew out the envelopeand with a sudden, wild cry, reeled to his feet.

"THE GRAY SEAL!"the words came with a jerk from his lips. He ripped the envelope open

franticallyand like a man stunned gazed at the four blank sheets, while the colour left his face. "IT'S

"Gone!" There was a burst of oaths from Australian Ike. "Gone! Den we're nippedde lot of us!"

With a cry, Stangeist, to elude the blow, ducked blindly backward into the portieresand with a rip and

It came instantaneouslya yell of mingled surprise and fury from the threethe crash and spit of Jimmie

Dale's revolver as he fired one shot at the floor to stop their rushthen he flung himself at the window,

A stream of flame cut the darkness above him, a bullet whistled by his headanotherand 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 thirdthey were dropping through the window after him. Came another shot, an

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

Red streaks swam before Jimmie Dale's eyes. The wall was such a long way offa yard or two was a very

long way more to gothe weakness seemed to be creeping up now even to numb his brain. No, here was the

wallthey hadn't hit him againhe laughed in a demented wayand rolled his body over, and fell to the

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 feetdark, rushing forms were almost at the wall. He firedoncetwicefired

Panting, gasping, he half fell into the tonneau. The car leaped forward, yells filled the airbut only one thing

was dominant in Jimmie Dale's reeling brain now. He pulled himself up to his feet, and leaned over the back

A bullet split the back panel of the carlittle spurting flames were dancing out from the roadway behind,

"Are you mad!" she shouted back at him. "Let me steerdo you want them to hit me!"

"Noo," said Jimmie Dale, in a queer singsong sort of way, and his head seemed to spin dizzily around.

"NoI guess" He choked. "The paperit's inmy pocket"and he went down unconscious on the

When he recovered his senses he was lying on a couch in a plainly furnished room, and a man, a stranger,

"You're all right," replied the man. "She said you'd come around in a little while."

"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 headit 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."

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

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 HOMEcould 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 doctorthe 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

Jimmie Dale tore the note up, and smiled wryly at the door. He felt in his pockets. Mask, revolver, burglar's

"And I had the sublime optimism," murmured Jimmie Dale, "to spend months trying to find her as Larry the

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 makeup was washed off, would excite little attention in that world where daily affrays were

commonplace 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

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

For years, as the Gray Seal, Jimmie Dale had lived with the slogan of the police, "The Gray Seal dead or

alivebut 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 lifebut 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

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 fourand 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 allfrom 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

"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 bethe 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 makeup and disguise, was

fraught now more than ever before with danger and peril. It seemed as though slowly the net was beginning

The murky, yellow flame of the gas jet flickered suddenly, as though in acquiescence with the quick,

impulsive shrug of Jimmie Dale's shouldersand Jimmie Dale, bending to peer into the cracked mirror that

was propped up on the brokenlegged 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 hidingplace 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 perfectfitting shoes and

trousers, the broad expanse of spotless white shirt bosom glistening even in the povertystricken flare from

Jimmie Dale took the watch from his pocket that had not been wound for many days, wound it mechanically,

set it by guessworkit was not far from eight o'clockand 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 mechanismno 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 remainedexcept 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

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 spurtand Jimmie Dale was on his feet, his face suddenly hard and white as

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

glanceevidences 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 weaponlessthe Tocsin had taken

the revolver from his pocket, together with those other telltale articles, the mask, the flashlight, the little

bluedsteel 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

morethe 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

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

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

awaybut it required the utmost caution to descend those stairs, rickety and tumbledown as they were,

with no more sound than that! Why such caution? Why not a more determined and prolonged effort at his

doorthe 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 cautiouslyhalf inchan 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 doorthat was all. All else

The door, on its welloiled hinges, swung wide open. Jimmie Dale thrust out his head into the halland

something fell upon the threshold with a little thudbut 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 strangea 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 yearshad 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 thatthe "catandmouse" act was never one it favoured, for the mouse had been

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! Beneathhe emptied the box on the tablehis black

silk mask, his automatic revolver, the kit of fine, small bluedsteel burglar's tools, his pocket flashlight, and

the thin metal insignia case. The Tocsin! Impulsively Jimmie Dale turned toward the doorand 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

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 thanan 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 attemptand failed. Some day, perhaps, his turn would come; some

day, perhaps, she would no longer be able to elude him, unlessthe letter crackled suddenly in his

fingersunless 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

"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 tonight."Jimmie Dale read

on, muttering snatches of the letter aloud: "Michael Breen prospecting in Alaskamap of location of rich

mining claim Hamvert, his former partner, had previously fleeced him of fifteen thousand dollarshis

share of a deal togetherBreen was always a very poor manBreen later struck a claim alone; but, taking

sick, came back homedied on arrival in New York after giving map to his wifewife in very needy

circumstanceslives with little daughter of seven in New Rochelleworks out by the day at Henry Mittel's

house on the Sound nearbywife intrusted map for safekeeping and advice to MittelHamvert after

maptelephone wires cutroom one hundred and fortyeight, corner, right, first floor, PalaisMetropole

Hotel, unoccupiedconnecting doorsquarter past nine tonightthe WeaselMittel's house laterthe

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

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

Jimmie Dale raised his hand to the gas fixture, circled the room with a glance that missed no single

detailthen 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 passersby, emerged on the street, walking

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

It was twelve minutes after nine when he drew up at the curb in front of the side entrance of the hotelhis

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

Jimmie Dale avoided the elevatorsit 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 fortyeight, the corner room on the right," the Tocsin had said. Jimmie Dale

walked nonchalantly alongpast 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

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 hotelthe 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

It was already a quarter past nine, but no one was as yet in the connecting roomthe fanlight next door had

been dark as he passed. His flashlight swept about him, located the connecting doorand 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

Jimmie Dale passed through the bathroom to the opposite door. This was already threequarters 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 flashlightand retreated back into No. 148, closing the door on his side

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 plannedand 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 secondstory 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, andJimmie Dale straightened up alertly once more. Steps againand this

time coming from the direction of the elevator; then voices; then the opening of the door of the next room;

"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

"Aw, dat's all right!" responded another voicequite evidently the Weasel's. "Don't youse worryde game's

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

therehis faculties for the moment were concentrated on traversing the bathroom silently. He reached the

farther door, crouched there, peered through the crackand the old whimsical smile flickered across his lips

The PalaisMetropole 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 surroundingselse he would never

have got farther than the lobby. The other was a short, thickset, heavyjowled 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.

"Leave it to me!" returned the Weasel, with assurance. "How's dere goin' ter be any comeback? Mittel keeps

it in his safe, don't he? Well, gentlemen's houses has been robbed beforean' dis job'll be a good one. De

geographfy stunt youse wants gets pinched wid de rest, dat's all. It disappearssee? Who's ter know youse

"Right!" agreed Hamvert brisklyand from his inside pocket produced a package of crisp new bills,

yellowbacks, and evidently of large denominations. "Half down and half on deliverythat's our deal."

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 pocketand in its

stead the blueblack 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

With a swift, noiseless sidestep 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

The Weasel, whose back had been to the door, squirmed around in his chairand in his turn stared into the

"Goodevening, Weasel," observed Jimmie Dale casually. "I seem to be in luck tonight. 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 momentif 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. Youerunderstand, both of you, that the slightest sound might

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 gleamand suddenly he laughed

"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

teeayter, an' dat youse are a cheapskate 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

"Do you think so, Weasel?" inquired Jimmie Dale politely. He carried his handkerchief to his mouth to cloak

a coughand his tongue touched the adhesive side of the little diamondshaped 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, Weaselit 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 threeyear job for even a first offender, ten for one already on nodding terms with the

police and fifteen to twenty forwell, say, for a man like you, WeaselIF HE WERE CAUGHT! Am I

The colour in the Weasel's cheeks faded a littlehis eyes were holding in sudden fascination upon Jimmie

"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

With a gasp, both men had strained forward, and were staring, wildeyed, at the gray seal stuck between them

"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 illadvised 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

banknotesand Jimmie Dale was backing for the doornot 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 furyand

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

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

outand 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

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 housethe

tenthousanddollar "theft" would not in any way change that, and it was a question of time now to forestall

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 nighta 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 sixtyhorsepower engines; the gray thread of open

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 Dalethe 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.

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 allit was

the same type and design, quite a popular make, of which there were hundreds around New York, as the one

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 racebut 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

PalaisMetropole, 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

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 momentthe black silk mask was on his face againand with a quick, agile, silent spring he was

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 wellfilled 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 safeand suddenly darted behind the desk

"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

"Lord!" exclaimed another voice. "Ain't it a good thing the missus is away. She'd have highsteericks!"

Steps came somewhat hesitantly across the floorfrom 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 maid closed the French windows, there were no others in the room, and bolted them; and, having gained

"My, but wasn't he cute!" she ejaculated." Cut the telephone wires, he did. And ain't he made an awful mess!

"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

"I was going to bed," said the cook, picking up her cue for what was probably the twentieth rehearsal of the

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 escapethrough the French windows! It was a matter of

seconds only before Mittel, with the police at his heels, would be in the roomand Jimmie Dale sprang to

his feet. There was a wild scream of terror from the maid, echoed by another from the cookand, still

"Mr. Mittel! Mr. Mittel!" shrieked the maidshe had flung herself out into the hall. "He'she's back

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 Mitteland Jimmie Dale leaped to the lawn,

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 Godgiven 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

The shouts swelled behind him. Jimmie Dale was running for his life. He flung a glance backward. One

formMittel, he was certainwas perhaps a hundred yards in the rear. The others were just emerging from

the French windowsgrotesque, leaping things they looked, in the light that streamed out behind them from

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 lawnthe police, racing in a pack, were more than halfway from the house. He flung the

line into the boat, sprang in after itand Mittel, looming over him, grasped at the boat's gunwhale.

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

There was no timenot a secondnot the fraction of a second. Desperately, frantically he shoved the boat

clear of the wharf. Oncetwicethree 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 nowthe man was staggering about,

his hands clapped to his face. A peremptory order to halt, coupled with a threat to fire, rang out sharplyand

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, highpitched, 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

favourbut 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 outwith 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 hourand 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, anotherand then, astern, Jimmie Dale caught the racket from the exhaust of a

highpowered engine, and a white streak seemed to shoot out upon the surface of the water from where,

obscured now, he placed the wharf. A quartermile lead, roughly four hundred yards; yes, he had as much as

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

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 pointand, 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 endsa 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 boxand the box was stuffed into his

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

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

wildone 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,

And then suddenly, with a swift, appraising glance behind him, he swerved the boat from her course and

headed for the shorenot 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

itthe point itself came between the two boats, hiding them from each otherand Jimmie Dale, with a long

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 waterbut the next moment his head was above the

surface again, and he was striking out swiftly for the shore. It was only a few yardsbut 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

Jimmie Dale's lips relaxed. There was no doubt that they had sighted their quarry againa 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

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 incongruouslooking 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 hookand as he

Mittel whirled at the sound, and, with a suppressed cry, instinctively drew backJimmie Dale's automatic

"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

"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

"Look here, my fine fellow," he burst out, "you're carrying things with a pretty high hand, aren't you? You

"No," interrupted Jimmie Dale softly, "let ME tell youall 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.

"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

Mittel, staring fascinated into the little, round, black muzzle of the automatic, edged back in his chair.

Soso that's what you're after, is it?" he jerked out. "Well"he laughed unnaturally and waved his hand at

"Me!" Mittel started up in his chair, a whiteness creeping into his face. "Me! II"

"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 caughtyou are ruined. Let me make it quite

plain that I know the details of your little game. You are a curb broker, Mr. Mittelostensibly. 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 unimportanthe came East with the

intention of getting in touch with a slick crook to help himthe 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 togetherbut 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 offerit was simply a matter of how you

could do it and still protect yourself. The Weasel was well qualified to point the waya fake robbery of your

house would answer the purpose admirablyyou 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

"But"Jimmie Dale was clipping off his words now viciously "neither you nor the Weasel were willing

to trust the other implicitlyperhaps 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 tonight. 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 advanceand 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

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

"Open it!" commanded Jimmie Dale. "And lay it on the desk, so that I can read itI am too wet to touch it."

A glance at the paper, and Jimmie Dale's eyes lifted againto sweep the floor of the room. He pointed to a

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 youyou

"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 justicebut 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."

"The balance of the amount." There was an ominous quiet in Jimmie Dale's voice. "A check payable to Mrs.

"No? Then I should advise you to see that you have by ten o'clock tomorrow morning!" returned Jimmie

Mittel hesitated. The revolver edged insistently a little farther across the deskand 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 deskthen 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

"Ask the Weasel," said Jimmie Daleand the next instant, lost in the shadows of the house, was running for

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 selffear, 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

paradoxa 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, illlighted 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 halfclosed, wellsimulated drugladen lids,

missed no detail either of his surroundings or pertaining to the passersby. Though already late in the

evening, halfnaked 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

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 implacabilitywhen 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

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 selfconstituted

sleuth, with the prod of selfpreservation behind him, sworn to the accomplishment of that unhallowed

slogandeath to the Gray Seal. Almost daily now he must show himself as Larry the Bat in some gathering

of the underworlda 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

considerthe Sanctuary was still the Sanctuary, and the role of Larry the Bat was still a refuge, the trump

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;

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 crooksthe cream of the underworld! His eyes, under halfclosed lids, swept the

faceslags, dips, gatmen, yeggs, mob stormers, murderers, petty sneak thieves, stalls, hangersonthey

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 gatheringLarry 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. Ifif he were ever run to earth!

His eyes met those of a heavybuilt, coarsefeatured 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, expugilist,

Jimmie Dale was standing in the doorway of a passage that prefaced a rear exit to the lane. He moved aside to

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 doorit 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 personallyany one who knew

Jimmie Dale slowed his shuffling gait, then quickened it again. Bristol Bob opened the door and passed into

the private roomthe door was just closing as Jimmie Dale shuffled by. He had had only a glance

insidebut 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 plainclothes man

in the countryand, 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 twoin 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

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 coldblooded 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

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 laneand 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

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 menand at the first words, the loose, disjointed frame of Larry the Bat

"This Gray Seal dope listens good, Whitey; but, coming from you, I'm leery. You've got to show me."

"You BET I want him!" returned the headquarters man with a suppressed savagery that left no doubt as to his

"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 nightget that? He's like a blasted wizard with

what he knows. And who'll he deal the icy mitt to next? Medamn himme, 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 you! " echoed Whitey Mack passionately. "Sure, I'll show you! That's what I'm going to doshow

you. I'll show you the Gray Seal! I ain't handing you any tips. I'VE FOUND OUT WHO THE GRAY SEAL

There was a tense silence. It seemed to Jimmie Dale as though cold fingers were clutching at his heart,

stifling its beatthen 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 menLannigan leaning suddenly

"That's what!" asserted Whitey Mack bluntly. "You heard me! That's what I said! I know who the Gray Seal

"Oh, no, you don't!" he growled. "Nix on that! What do you take me fora fool? You beat it out of here and

round him upehwhile 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

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

"Can that!" snapped Whitey Mack threateningly. "Can that sort of spiel right nowor quit! I ain't telling you

his nameyet. BUT I'LL TAKE YOU TO HIM TONIGHTand you and me nabs him together. Is that

"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, WhiteyI 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

keepscurse 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

"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 lookin,

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 offsure! Snitchingwell, you get the idea, eh?

"Well, then," announced Whitey Mack, "here's my proposition, and it's my turn to hand out the

'lookoutforyourself' 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 tonight 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 gloryyou can fix that up to suit yourself. The cash is differentyou come across with half

"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 tonight, I'll do better by you than that."

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

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 retreatas well one cross street as another.

He turned into the cross street, went along itand presently emerged into the full tide of the Bowery. It was

garishly lighted; people swarmed about him. Subconsciously, there were crowded sidewalks; subconsciously,

Ruin, disaster, peril faced himfaced him, and staggered him with the suddenness of the shock. Was it true?

No; it could not be true! It was a bluffWhitey 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 openhanded, 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 tonight 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 meantdeath 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 itmust be it! Whitey Mack had made a mistake. What clew could he have

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 coalblack. 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 diamondshaped, graycoloured, adhesive seals,

the insignia of the Gray Sealwas gone! Clew! It seemed as though there were an overpowering nausea

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

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 Batsome 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 Lanniganand 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

Jimmie Dale swept his hand across his forehead. It was damp from little clinging beads of moisture. Should

he go to the Sanctuary and changebecome Jimmie Dale again? Was it the safest thing to door 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 eveningor 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 coveror take the gambler's chance? Whitey Mack knew him as Larry the

He had halted, absorbed, in front of a movingpicture 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

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 afterwardJimmie Dale's lips

were like a thin, straight lineit was Whitey Mack's life or his own! Whitey Mack had said he was the only

one that was wiseand Whitey Mack had not told Lannigan yet, wouldn't tell Lannigan until the

showdown. 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'sWhitey

Mack, with his leanjawed, cleanshaven wolf's face! If he could get Whitey Mack before the other was

ready to tell Lannigan! Surely he had the right of selfpreservation! 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 lifethe 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 togetherthe odds would be two to one against himand he had no quarrel with

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 hurryhe 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 handall this was but suppositionthey 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 exitsa 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,

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 disposalthat he had even reached the Sanctuary

FIRST. How long had he loitered in that halfdazed way on the Bowery? He did not knowperhaps 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

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 treadand 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 lockclever 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

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 makeup from his face,

throat, neck, wrists, and hands. Occasionally his head was turned in a tense, listening attitude; but always the

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 welltailored 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 flashlighthis

automatic was already in his possession. His lips parted grimly. Who knew what part a flashlight might not

playand 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

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 tenementnone 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, longpracticed, 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 reliefand he was on the

A step, two, he took in the direction of the Boweryand 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 shadowlike 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 illlighted street. Nothing! There was not even a pedestrian

Jimmie Dale straightened up nonchalantly, and stooped almost instantly again, as though the lace were still

proving refractory. Again that sharp, searching glance. Againnothing! 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 cigarettestill 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 passersby 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 rawthat, perhaps, was the solution. Meanwhile, every minute was counting, if Whitey Mack

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 movingpicture 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 lifeor 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 crowdand the next instant, like a

man stunned, had stopped in his tracks. His fingers had closed in a fierce, spasmodic clutch over an envelope

"JIMMIE!" from somewhere came a low, quick voice. "Jimmie, it is halfpast eleven nowHURRY."

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 hersbut 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

"Say, have youse got de pip, or do youse t'ink youse owns de earth!" a man flung at him, heaving and pushing

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 samealways! For years she

had eluded him like that, come upon him without warning and disappeared, but leaving always that tangible

proof of her existencea letter, the call of the Gray Seal to arms. But tonight 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 periland 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 faulthe 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 herjust one word!

The letter in his hand crackled under his clenched fist. He stared at it in a halfblind, halfbitter 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

armsNOW! When with every faculty drained to its last resource, cornered, trapped, he was fighting for his

"Jimmie, it is halfpast eleven nowHURRY!" 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 againa 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

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

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 nothingnot even save himself probably. And then, with a little start, he

". . . Max Diestrichtdiamondsthe RossLogan stoneswedding sliding panel in wall of

workshopend of the room near windowten boards to the right from side wallpress small knot in the

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 RossLogans' 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

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 dollarslaid 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

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 newspapersthe 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 Squareand 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

nitroglycerinPOUF!and I am deaf and I hear nothing. It is a foolishness, that"he had a habit of

prodding at one with a levelled forefinger"every night somewhere they are robbed, and have I been

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 workhe had been commissioned to design and set the RossLogan 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,

daredevil beyond beliefand yet in its very audacity lay success. He finished the letter, read it once

moreand 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 forthis? 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 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'she could well have done without the aid of

the arc lamp which, even if dimly, indicated that low, almost tumbledown, twostory 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 themthe old Hollanders' name in painted

white letters stood out against the background of a darkened workshop window. In the story above, the lights,

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

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 directionone 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 stoodand, 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

Jimmie Dale breath was sucked through clenched teeth. They were close on his heels thenfar 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,

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 tonight. 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 outthis door and window here, and a window that's down there at the back. You

There was the sound of footsteps moving forward, then a vicious bump, the scraping of some object along the

"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

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 byeach 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

Slowly, very slowly, Jimmie Dale's hand crept into his pocketand 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 hourswas it only minutes? It seemed to ring through the nerveracking stillness like the shriek of a

"Watch yourself, Lannigan," whispered Whitey Mack. "He's coming now through the yard! Don't move till I

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, threeten. 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 blackbearded,

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 metallined 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

Jimmie Dale stirred. On hands and knees he was creeping now from beneath the workbench. Something

caught and tore behind himthe 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

"It's all right, Lannigan! I got him! NoHELL!" There was a terrific crash of breaking glass. "He's got

"Not yet, he hasn't!" gritted Jimmie Dale between his teeth, and his clubbed revolver swung crashing to the

There was a half sigh, half moan. The form slid limply to the floor. Lannigan was floundering down the shop,

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 itand 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

"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

Lannigan, as though the thought had never occurred to him, offered no resistance. He was staring in a dazed

"Your wrist, please!" requested Jimmie Dale pleasantly. "Nothe 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

Still bewildered, but a little sullen now, Lannigan obeyed. Jimmie Dale stooped quickly, and snapped the

"That's the approved way of taking your man, isn't it? Left wrist to the prisoner's right. He's only stunned;

"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

"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 surefire 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

floorand 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 suspectedexcept that

the police themselves, in the person of Inspector Lannigan of headquarters, would be prepared to prove a

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

Jimmie Dale stepped back. The electriclight 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."

In the subway, ten minutes before, a freckledfaced 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, dimenovelish, 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 obviousbut it was worth it all,

and in his soul he knew that he would not have had it otherwise even now. Tonight, tomorrow, the day

after, would come another letter from the Tocsin, and there would be another "crime" of the Gray Seal's

blazoned in the presswould that be the last affair, or would there be anotheror tonight, tomorrow, the

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

With his latchkey he let himself into the spacious, richly furnished, welllighted 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 servantsthey 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 himand 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 nighttime.

It was as though the window shades had been closely drawna thing Jason never did. But then Jason wasn't

there! Jimmie Dale, smiling then a little quizzically at himself, reached up for the electriclight switch beside

the door, pressed itand, his finger still on the button, whipped his automatic from his pocket with his other

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 lastin his own house! By whom? The police? The

thugs of the underworld? It made little differencethe 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 roomor was it his

imagination? His hand fell from the electriclight 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 duela duel of silence. What was the intruder, whoever he might be, waiting for? The abortive

click of the electriclight 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 aloudand on the

It seemed like a longdrawn sigh fluttering through the room, a gasp of reliefand then the blood was

pounding madly at his temples, and he was back in the room again, the door closed once more behind him.

"You!" he cried. "Youhere!" He was pressing the electriclight switch frantically, again and again.

"Why are you doing that, Jimmie? You know already that I have turned off the lights."

"At the socketsof course!" He laughed out the words almost hysterically. "Your faceI have never seen

your face, you know." He was moving quickly toward the reading lamp on his desk.

He laughed again, shortly, fiercely now. She was close to him, his hands reached out for her, touched her, and

Mad! Yeshe was mad with the wildest, most passionate exhilaration he had ever known. He found his

"These months and years that I have tried until my soul was sick to find you!" he cried out. "And you are here

She had wrenched herself away from him. He could hear her breath coming sharply in little gasps. He groped

"WAIT!"her tones seemed to ring suddenly vibrant through the room. "Wait, before you touch that lamp!

"Yes! I came here tonight because there was no other way. No other waydo 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 wrongI have no fear now. You will not light that lamp, and you will not make any attempt to prevent

my going away as I cameunknown. 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 areand do you think I'll let anything stop me now! I tell you, noa thousand

She made no answer. There was only her low, quick breathing coming from somewhere near him. He made

"I tell you, no!" he said again, and took another step forwardand stopped once more.

Still she made no answer. A minute passedanother. 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

"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!"

"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 thisthat I

"They will never get you, Jimmie," she said, in a suppressed voice. And some day, I promise you now, you

"I do not know," she answered gently. "Soon, perhapsperhaps sooner than either of us imagine."

"And by that you meanwhat?" 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

"You are beginning all over again, aren't you, Jimmie? And I have told you that tonight 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 tonight,

"Because it is different tonight 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.

"Yes," said Jimmie Dalebut 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 shouldhe steadied himself with a jerk, and drew away his hand. She

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 himit 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 Myersand Connie Myers had reason to

"And the tenement across the street from where you live as Larry the Batthat, of course, you know." He

"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, halfwitted, 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 incomewhich today must amount, at a minimum

"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. Tonight, 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

"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 halfwitted creature like that

anywhere; it was Connie Myers who lured him to the tenement and murdered him therebut 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 tonight 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 necessarybut 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 tonight! 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 tonightthat behind all this is a tragedy,

deeper, blacker, than even the brutal, coldblooded murder that is already done."

Her voice, in its passionate earnestness, died away; and an anger, cold, grim, remorseless, settled upon

Jimmie Dalesettled 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 himthe 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 Daleit would have to be then as Larry the Bat that the Gray Seal must work. That meant

"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 hastethere is no telling when they will.

Seehere!" 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 redhanded, 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 carefulI 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!"

Go! The word seemed suddenly to bring dismay. It was she again who was dominant now in his mind. Who

knew if tonight, when he was taking his life in his hands again, would not be the last! And she was here

She seemed to divine his thoughts, for she spoke again, a strange new note of tenderness in her voice that

"You must never let them get you, Jimmiefor my sake. It will not last much longerit is near the

"I?" She slipped suddenly away from him, retreating back down the room. "I will goas I came."

She was theresomewhere back there in the darkness still. He stood hesitant at the door. It seemed that

every faculty he possessed urged him back there againto 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

thoughtshe who had trusted to his honour! With a jerk, his hand swept out, felt for the doorknob, and

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 rationallyand then slowly, little by little, his grip upon himself came back. She had comeand

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 goneand

"Dicing with death!" The words, unbidden, came back once more. If they were true before, they were doubly

applicable now. It was different tonight 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. Tonight, 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

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

The answer would not comeonly the fact itself grew more and more deeply significant. The ghastly,

callous fiendishness that lured an old, halfwitted 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

He was close to the Sanctuary nowit was down the next cross street. He reached the corner and turned it,

heading east; but his brisk walk had changed to a nonchalant saunterthere 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 upthe 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 sparethe 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

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

Perhaps five minutes passedand 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

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 itselfthere might even be the evidence he wanted there that

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 Godgiven 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 herand he

swung on down the street toward the Bowery. He could not very well go in without passing her, without

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

simplypoor. Mrs. Hagan was poor. Her husband was a day labourer, often out of a joband 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 homeand Mrs. Hagan had driven Larry the Bat from the

door of her miserable oneroom lodging in that tenement with the bitter words on her tongue that only a

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 Stationand, 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 himexcept this one of old Luther

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 timeas 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,

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

The plan that she had given him showed an oldfashioned 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

silentlyand silently closed. Jimmie Dale was in the cellar. The hammering, much more distinct now,

heavy, thudding blows, came from a room in the frontthe 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 elseeven 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

There was no answersave 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, DOUBLEDthat 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

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 righthand 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,

"All right, that'll do!" grunted Connie Myers suddenly. "We can pry this one out now. Lend a hand on the

The other dropped his sledge, turned sideways as he stooped to help Connie Myers, his face came into

viewand, with an involuntary start, Jimmie Dale crouched farther back against the wall, as he stared at the

So that was it! That the murder had been committed in the tenement was not so strange now! A surge of

anger swept Jimmie Daleand 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

From Jimmie Dale's pocket came the black silk mask. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he fitted it over his

faceMike 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'

accomplicea murderer! But the man was not a hardened, confirmed criminal like Connie Myers. Mike

Hagana 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

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 dislodgethey were into the heart of the masonry nowseemed 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.

Crouched, on his hands and knees, Hagan inserted the point of the bar into the crevice. Connie Myers picked

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

It had come sudden as the crack of doom, that blowtoo 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 Myershe 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

"Kinks in his nut, kinks in his nut!" Connie Myers was muttering. "I'll drop the bar through from the top,

He regained his feet, picked up the bar, and ran with it into what was evidently the front hallthen his steps

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 thudand 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 runand Jimmie Dale

It was all simple enoughonce 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 outby 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 twoinch pipe up somewhere to the story above; and down this pipe he had dropped his little

stringtied cylinders of banknotes, satisfied that his hoard was safe! There seemed something pitfully ironic

in the elaborate, insane craftiness of the old man's feartwisted, demented mind.

And now Connie Myers was back in the room againand 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 gloatinglythen, 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 twoa letter, which Connie Myers

took out of an unsealed envelope. He dropped this suddenly on the table, as Mike Hagan, three feet away on

Hagan's eyes swept, bewildered, confused, around him, questioningly at Connie Myersand then, resting

"Damn you, you smashed me with that sledge on PURPOSE!" he burst outand began to struggle to his

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 nowinstead 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

"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

Hagan's face had gone a grayish whitehe had caught sight of the money on the table, and his eyes kept

"Murder!" he said huskily. "There is no murder. I don't know who Doyle is. You said this house was

yoursyou hired me to come here. You said you were going to tear down the fireplace and build another.

"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

Mike Hagan did not speakhis lips were twitching, and there was horror creeping into his eyes.

"D'ye get me!" sneered Connie Myers. "Tell your storywho'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 elsea 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 outsee?

Somebody's got to stand for the job, and if it's somebody else it won't be meget 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 throughand stand for it. I picked you, Mikethat's why I croaked old Doyle in your

tenement tonight. 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 hereI 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 meyou don't know who I am. So tell 'em the TRUTH!

They won't believe you anyway with evidence like that against youand the neater the story the more they'll

"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 Godyou 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 nowALL! She had been rightthere was need

tonight for the Gray Seal. So that was the game, inhuman, hellish, the whole of it, to the last filthy

dregsConnie 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 gamethere was still HIS hand to play! He edged forward a little nearer to

the doorand 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

And then, quick, almost on the instant, came a rush of feet, a crash upon the front dooran 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

nowthey could not see a light any more than he had. He must get Mike Hagan awaymust see that

Connie Myers did NOT get away. Myers was on his feet now, fear struck in his turn, the letter clutched in a

tightclosed fist, his revolver swung out, poised, in the other hand. Hagan, too, was on his feet, and,

Another crash upon the dooranother. Another demand in a harsh voice to open it. Then some one running

There was the roar of a report, a blinding flash almost in Jimmie Dale's eyes, as Connie Myers, whirling

instantly at his entrance, firedand missed. It happened quick then, in the space of the ticking of a

watchbefore 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 markand Connie Myers, a bullet in

"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.

"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 therequick! And no noise! They don't know how

Hagan, stupefied, dazed, obeyed mechanicallyand, in an instant, the trapdoor closed behind them, Jimmie

His flashlight winked, went out, winked again; then held steadily, in curious fascination it seemed, as, in its

circuit, the ray fell upon HaganFELL 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, Haganwhere is it?" he demanded hoarsely.

Hagan, almost in a state of collapse, muttered inaudibly. The crash of a toppling door sounded from above.

"Hehe was holding it tight, itit tore in his hand," Hagan stammered. "Does it make any difference? Oh,

Any difference! Jimmie Dale's jaws were clamped like a steel vise. Any difference! The difference between

life and death for the man beside himthat 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 thousandbut still a chance!

Voices from the house came plainly now, but there was no one in sight. The police, to a man, were evidently

"Run for the car!" Jimmie Dale jerked out from between set teeth and with Hagan beside him, steadying

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 readbut 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 thatand, if not quite to the satisfaction of the police, at least to the complete vindication of

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 Haganand 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 tonight, you'll probably go to the chair for a crime

"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 worryyou'll find you're out of this when you read the morning papers. Now get outhurry!" He

"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

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 populacethen out into the night again,

He had half an hourperhaps! It was a good thing Hagan did not know, or had not grasped the significance

of that torn letterthe 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

Half an hour! On roared the cartowns, 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 lastand 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

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 caseand in another moment a diamondshaped 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

He was running nowthrough 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

He was at the tenement nowshuffling 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 slowlysome one

was ahead of him. It was very darkhe could not see. The steps above died away. He reached the landing,

started along for Hagan's roomand 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,

"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 Pelhamit was almost certainly thathad 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, tooto Hagan's room with themsomehowthere was no other waythere 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

"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 workanyway, it won't do any harm." His hand fell heavily on Jimmie

"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 yousee? We're after something here, and you've blown the whole gamesavvy? You've spilled

In the darkness, Jimmie Dale smiled grimly. It was far more than he had dared to hope forthey were

"Who in hell said you did!" growled the officer. "You're supposed to have snitched the lay to us, that's

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

Came a cry of terror out of the darkness, a movement as of some one rising up hurriedly in bed; and then

The tableit was against the righthand wall, Jimmie Date remembered. He sidled quickly toward it.

Jimmie Dale's fingers were feeling under the edge of the tablea quick sweep along itNOTHING! He

stooped, reaching farther in another sweep of his armand his fingers closed on a sheet of paper and a

A match crackled and flared up. A lamp was lighted. Larry the Bat sulked sullenly against the wall.

Terrorstricken, wideeyed, Mrs. Hagan had clutched the child lying beside her to her arms, and was sitting

"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 downstairsLarry the Bat, here, has already told us the whole

"Murder!"her face went white. "My Mike MURDER!" She seemed for an instant stunnedand 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

"Him!" She was staring now at Jimmie Dale. "Oh, God!" she cried. "So that's what you are, are youa

stoolpigeon 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 murderyou LIE!"

She had risen slowly from the beda gaunt, pitiful figure, pitifully clothed, the black hair, graystreaked,

streaming thinly over her shoulders, still clutching the baby that, too, was crying now.

"Guess she's handing it straightwe'll have a look on our own hook," the leader muttered.

"It's you, is it," she whispered fiercely through her sobs "that would bring more shame and ruin hereyou

that's selling my man's life away with your filthy lies for what they're paying youit's you, is it, that" Her

There was a frightened, uneasy look in Larry the Bat's eyes, his lips were twitching weakly, he drew far back

against the walland then, glancing miserably at the officers, as though entreating their permission, began to

For a moment she watched him, her face white with outrage, her hand clenched at her sideand then she

"Get out of here!" she said, in a choked, strained way pointing to the door. "Get out of hereyou dirty

"Sure!" mumbled Larry the Bat, his eyes on the floor. "Sure!" he mumbledand the door closed behind him.

Whisperings! Always whisperings, low, sibilant, floating errantly from all sides, until they seemed a

component part of the drugladen atmosphere itself. And occasionally another sound: the soft SLAPSLAP of

looseslippered feet, the faint rustle of equally loosefitting 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

Larry the Bat, viciousfaced, 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 listenif 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 teashop, and an uninviting one at

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 doand at last he had taken refuge in Chang Foo's like a

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

"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

Whisperings! Nothing tangible! He could catch no words. Only the neverending whisperings of gathered

groups here and thereand sometimes the clink of coin where some game was in progress.

The curtain before his bunk was drawn suddenly asideand Larry the Bat's fingers, where his hand was

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 otherwell, 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 wasthe Gray Seal was responsible for the occupancy of too many

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:

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 chopsuey 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

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 fantan 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

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 gameand he could take no chance. Arrest for Larry the Bat, even on suspicion, could have

but one conclusionnot a pleasant onethe disclosure that Larry the Bat was not Larry the Bat at all, but

Jimmie Dale, the millionaire clubman, and, to complete a fatal triplication, that Larry the Bat and Jimmie

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 wellas 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 nothingnot 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

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

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

itLarry the Bat was known to be the Gray Seal, and a problem perilous enough in any aspect confronted

him. Dare he risk the Sanctuaryfor the clothes of Jimmie Dale? Or was it safer to burglarise, as he had

His thoughts were running riot, and he frowned, angry with himself. There was time enough to think of that

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 teashop. 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

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, 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 getaway 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,

"S'long, Chick!" responded Jimmie Daleand 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

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 disreputablelooking object in the place, even the waiter who approached him

accorded him a certain curious deferencewas not Larry the Bat the most celebrated dope fiend below the

"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 sightseeing slummers, they were men and women whose acquaintance with the

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 nowsince 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 imminentif 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 paythe 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 voiceay, 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 therefound 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

comewithout looking upon her face! Exquisite irony! But she had made him a promise thenthat the

work of the Gray Seal was nearly overthat soon there would be an end to the mystery that surrounded

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

tonight? 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 shotanother. Black Ike! He caught an instant's glimpse of the gunman's distorted

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

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 himit

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

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

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

roomthe Sanctuarythe home of Larry the Bat. There was need for silence, need for caution. In five

With a smile on his lips that mingled curiously chagrin and selfcommiseration, 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 tonight"?

The words had been ringing in his ears since the moment she had whispered them in that panicstricken

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

"DEAR PHILANTHROPIC CROOK: In an hour after you receive this, if all goes well, you shall know

everythingeverything. 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 tonight, I think, I

hope, I pray that it is all at an end: though against me, and against you tonight 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 millionsand 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 tonight with hope, anxiety, fear, and excitement.

"Listen, then, Jimmie: Be at the northeast corner of Sixth Avenue and Waverly Place at exactly halfpast 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

"I need not tell you to destroy this. Keep the appointment in your proper personas Jimmie Dale. Carry

nothing that might identify you as the Gray Seal if any accident should happen. And, lastly, trust the pseudo

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. Tonight! It was to be

tonight, the end of all this mystery. Tonight was to see the end of this dual life of his, with its constant

peril! Tonight the Gray Seal was to exit from the stage forever! Tonight, a wonderful climax of the years,

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

makeup stain from his face, his neck, his wrists, and hands as if by magic. It was a strange metamorphosis

that had taken placethe coarse, brutalfeatured, bleareyed, leering countenance of Larry the Bat was

gone, and in its place, cleancut, squarejawed, cleareyed, was the face of Jimmie Dale. And where before

had slouched a slopeshouldered, misshapen, flabby creature, a broadshouldered 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

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 diamondshaped, graycoloured,

adhesive paper sealsthe 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

tonight; tomorrow, 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 alivebut the Gray Seal!" forever

The thought was thrilling him again, bringing again that eager, exultant uplift. In an hour, ONE hour, and the

"It's for my sake tonight!" 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

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

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 whythat 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

He crossed the room, opened the door silently, stood for a moment listening, then stepped out into the black,

musty, illsmelling hallway, closing the door behind him. He stooped and locked it. The querulous cry of a

child reached him from somewhere abovea 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 superbeing to these fellow tenants who shared theirs with so many that there was not air

He had no doors to passhis 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

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 nearby pedestrianand 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 againand now he lighted a cigarette. Sixth Avenue was only a block away. At precisely halfpast

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

The cab started forward, turned the corner, and headed along Waverly Place toward Broadway. The chauffeur

twisted around in his seat in a matteroffact way, as though to ask further directions.

It lay where it always lay, that ring, between the folds of that little white glove in his pocketbook. Jimmie

The other's face changed instantlycomposure 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?"

"There's another taxi just turned in from Sixth Avenue," he reported the next instant.

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

"That looks bad!" the chauffeur gritted between his teeth. "We'll have to make sure. I'll run down Lower

"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

"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 tonight. I

couldn't tell up in the crowded districts if I was followed, could I? They won't come out into the open until

The car swerved sharply, rounded the corner, and, speeding up faster and faster, began to tear down Lower

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 Dalea

"If he holds our speed, we'll know!" the chauffeur was shouting now to make himself heard over the roar of

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

"Lean over here, where I can talk to you!" he rasped out. "The game's up, as far as I am concerned, I guess!

"Give her more speedor dodge into a cross street!" suggested Jimmie Dale coolly. "They haven't got us

"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 citythe 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 youthere's none for me. That

packageremember 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

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 lefthand 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

stopthe man driving the other car jumped for safetythey would be into it in an instant.

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

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 brasswrought 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

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

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 darkgreen frieze and beautifully

grained woodwork made the lower walls; while above, on a background of some softtoned 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

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 letterthe

package he was to getthe taxicabthe chauffeur, who was not a chauffeurthe chasethe trap. He lay

perfectly still. It was the professional Jimmie Dale now whose brain, in spite of the throbbing, brutally aching

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! Boxwhat 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!

Not a muscle of Jimmie Dale's face moved. His eyes shifted to a picture on the wall. THE MAN WAS

WATCHING HIMNOT 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 ironyhis good Samaritan wore a mask!

His selfcongratulations 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

Those two eyes shining in that mirror! There seemed something horribly spectrelike 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?

Jimmie Dale, with a wellsimulated start, sat upand, 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

"Look here!" he said awkwardly. "II don't quite understand. I remember that my taxi got into a smashup,

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

"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.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "I did not mean to intrude. I have only to thank you again, then, and bid you

"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

"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

"The St. James Club," broke in the other coldly, "is, I believe, north, not SOUTH of Waverly Placeand on

"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

"'Victim,' I presume, is the idea you desire to convey," observed the other evenly. "You were quite the victim

"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 tonight was not an accident.

Norin 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 establishingyou, 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 tonight

obtained the loan of the cab from one of the company's chauffeur's in return for a hundreddollar bill. Am I

"In view of what has happened," admitted Jimmie Dale simply, "I should not be surprised."

"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 stopwhich 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

"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

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

"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

"No! Well, then, there is still another mattera little package that was in the taxicab with you. Where is

"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

"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 uptodate 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

"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 socalled Gray Seal. Tonight

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.

Who was this man? Jimmie Dale was studying the other's chin, the lips, the white, even teeth, the jetblack

hair. Some day the tables might be turned. Could he recognise again this cool, imperturbable ruffian who so

"I am not a magician," said Jimmie Dale contemptuously. "I could not answer your questions if I wanted to."

"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 youI imagine it will

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

"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,

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 soundproof 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

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

"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 fieldin 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 roomsthe 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

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

And then suddenly, rubbing his eyes involuntarily, he was staring in a dazed way before him. The whole

righthand side of the wall was sinking without a sound into the floor, increasing the width of the room by

some five or six feetand in this space was disclosed what appeared to be a sort of chemical laboratory,

"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, perhapsit 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 glassstoppered 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

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

quicklythey were surely the two who had entered with him from the corridor. No! Including the leader,

A wave of the leader's hand, and the two men holding the glasses left the room. The man turned to Jimmie

"Shall we proceed to the second room, Mr. Dale?" he asked politely. "I think it is now prepared for usI do

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 himto 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 pseudobedroom; but here the movable wall

was already down. Ranged along the righthand 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 fulllength 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

"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

roomhere." He halted Jimmie Dale before the door. "I have asked you to answer two questions, Mr. Dale,"

They still stood before the door. There was that uncanny silence againit 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 spotand

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 glassesthe

chauffeur was bound hand and foot in a chair. One of the glasses was EMPTY; the other was still

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,

He tried to rouse himself mentally, to prod his brain to action, to pit it in a fight for life against these

selfconfessed 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 knownthe stake a fortune of millionsher 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

That EMPTY glass in the hand of one of the men! He could not take his eyes from itexcept 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

"Mr. Dale," he said, with cold significance, "I regret to admit that your pseudo taxicab driver was so

Five to one! That was the only way outand 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 werefive 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 perhapshe 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.

"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 tonight?"

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

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 soulsickening

Strange that thought should come! Strange that he should be framing a brain picture of such a scene, vivid,

minute in detail! Nonot 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 histhere 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

"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 tonight. 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

"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 ofa fool. Now your answer!"

"I have answered you," said Jimmie Daleand, relaxing the muscles in his arms, let them hang limply for an

It was only a sign, a motion of the leader's handbut 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

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

offand 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

But it could not last. Where one man went down before him, two remorselessly appearedthe room seemed

filled with menthey poured in through the doorhe laughed at them in a halfdemented waymore and

more of them camethere was no play for his arms, no room to fightthey seemed so close around him, so

many of them upon him, that he could not breatheand 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

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,

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 rodand 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

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

"I" He tried to speak, and found the words thick upon his tongue. "Ido notknow."

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 itand it needed but THREE drops

So this was deatha hazy, nebulous thing! There was no pain. It was likelikenothingness. And out of

the nothingness SHE came. Strange that she should come! Alone she had fought these fiends and outwitted

them forhow long was it? Three years! She would be more than ever alone now. Pray God she did not

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, andno! 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

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,

"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 withshall 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 themwe apply the test. And having applied the test, we are convinced that you

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. Daleand quite fruitless. Tomorrow

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

Jimmie Dale scowled. Sick, shaken, and weak as he was, the cool, imperturbable impudence of the man was

The man laughed. "I am sure you will not refuse, Mr. Dalesince 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 goodnight, Mr. Dale."

Jimmie Dale rubbed his eyes. The man was gonethrough 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

panellingand 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

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

He was apparentlythe "apparently" was a mental reservationquite 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 itand

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,

"The car is ready as soon as you are dressed," announced the other briefly. He laid the clothes upon the

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 wellfitting suit; and finally turned tentatively to the

"'Fortunate' would be the better word," rejoined the other meaninglyand, deftly knotting the scarf, led

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 littlethe 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

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 whatevereven 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

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 carnot hooded, the sense of touch told

himtherefore 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

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 denfrom 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 HOURand 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

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

The man beside him, at the sudden start, lifted a hand and felt hurriedly over the bandage across Jimmie

Jimmie Dale was scarcely conscious of the act. With that face before him, with the scene reenacting 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 tonighta 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 foolsand,

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

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 itselfonly 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 speculatefor at best it

could be only speculation. He had decided that once before! The man at his side felt again over the scarf to

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 tonight. 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 nothis lips curled in grim derisionhave been any more

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 remaineda 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 gomeaning 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,

Time passed, a very long time, as he sat there. It might have been an hourhe 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,

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 turnand 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 Daleand 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

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 graycoloured, 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 careerand now, instead, he was face to face with the gravest and most dangerous problem that

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

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 oldtime vigour and ease, mapping, planning, scheming

the way ahead. To strike, and strike quicklyto strike FIRST! It must be his move nextnot theirs! And he

must act tonight 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

He straightened up in his seat as the machine came to a haltbut 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 worewhy 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 tonight, 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

And then for the second time the car slowed downand this time the man on the seat beside Jimmie Dale

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 itand 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 bearingshe was standing on a corner on Riverside Drive,

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 milesOR FORTY YARDS! He

forced a laugh. It was just that, no more, no lesshe was as likely to have started on his ride from within a

Buthe aroused himself with a starthe 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 latchkeythey had at least permitted him to retain the contents of

his pockets when they had forced him to change his clothesopened the front door softly, and, stepping

He paused for an instant to listen. There was not a sound. The servants, naturally, would have been in bed

hours ago. Even old JasonJimmie 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

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 doto 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 muchmore than one of those mysterious letters of the Tocsin's had passed through Jason's

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 againa 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

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

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 silland then suddenly, with a low, sharp cry, he leaned

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

walltiny fragments of wood, as from an auger, were still on the silland here was a small particle of wire

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 themand he had been forestalled himself! This could only have been donethey had

had no interest in him before thenwhile 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

timethat those with him might be told that the work here had been completed, and he need no longer be

He edged away from the window, and, as cautiously as he had come, retraced his steps across the cellar and

up the stairsand 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 thingsand 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 deskhe would look there firstafterward 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 lightand stood stockstill in amazement.

The old butler, fully dressed, rubbing and blinking his eyes at the light, and with a startled cry, rose up from

"I beg pardon, sir, Master Jim," stammered the man. "II must have fallen asleep, sir."

"Well, sir," said Jason, still fumbling for his words, "itit was the telephone, sir."

"Yes, sir. A woman, begging your pardon, Master Jim, a lady, sir, has been telephoning every hour or so, and

"YES!" Jimmie Dale had jumped across the room and had caught the other fiercely by the shoulder.

"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, sirexcept to keep asking each time if she could speak

"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,

Jason, white, frightened, bewildered, touched his lips with the tip of his tongue.

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 herand she was here now, calling him! He could not speak

to herand 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

"Listen, Jason." Jimmie Dale was speaking rapidly, earnestly. "Say that I've come in and have gone to

bedin 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 herselfthat I wouldn't answer any 'phone tonight for anybody.

"Yeshello!" 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

"Kindly tell Mr. Dale that unless he comes to the 'phone now," a feminine voice, her voice, in wellsimulated

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

"Repeat what you said before, Jason," he instructed hurriedly. "Then say 'Goodnight.'"

"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. Goodnight, ma'am."

Jimmie Dale hung the receiver back on the hookand with his hand flirted away a bead of moisture that had

"Good Lord, Master Jim, what's wrong, sir? What's happened, sir? Andand those clothes, Master Jim, sir!

They aren't the ones you went out in, sirthey 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 light went out. Jimmie Dale moved to the rear of the roomto the window overlooking the garage and

A minute passedtwothree. 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 tonight. She knew that only peril of

the gravest moment would have kept him from the 'phoneand 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 awaythat would be almost a mechanical impossibility. Was it into the Crime Club itselfnear at

hand? Or the basement, say, of that apartment house across the driveway? Orwhere?

"I'm not sure, sir," Jason answered hesitantly. "I thought I saw a man move behind a tree out there across the

Below, in the shadow of the garage, a dark form, like a deeper shadow, stirredand was still again.

"Yes, sir; but"Jason's voice, low, troubled, came through the darkness from the upper end of the

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, dresssuited murderers of the Crime Club! The house was

already watched, would be watched now untiringly, unceasingly; not a movement of his henceforth but would

His hands, resting on the arms of the chair, closed slowly until they became tightclenched, knotted fists.

What was he to do? It was not only the Crime Club, it was not only the Tocsin and her perilthere 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 forman inquisitorial visit to his squalid

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 itbut 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

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 carit 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 Batbut 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 upliftonly 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

He could walk out of the house in the morning as Jimmie Dale without apparent hindrancethat was

obvious enough. And so long as he pursued the usual avocations of Jimmie Dale, he would not be interfered

withonly WATCHED. It was useless to consider that plan for a moment. It would not help him to reach

the Sanctuarywithout 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 DELIBERATELYand that he dared not risk. The strongest weapon in his hands now was his

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 worthlesshe would

have to return to his home here again within a reasonable time as Jimmie Dale, within a few hours at

mostor 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

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 escapeand 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 itjust that! It was very simple,

The smile left his lips, and once more his hands, clenched fiercely. No; it was not impossible! It MUST be

doneif he was to win through, if he was even to save himself! It must be doneor FAIL her! It COULD

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 waybut he must have assistance. Jasonyes, assuredly. Benson, his

chauffeuryes, 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 pathwaynot 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

Satisfied, Jimmie Dale swung briskly from the window, and, going now to his bedroom across the hall,

undressed and went to bedbut 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

"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'reyou're not ill, Master Jim, sir?"

"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!"

"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

"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

"Yes, sirgood Lord, sir!" gasped Jasonand left the room to carry out his orders.

An hour later, Doctor Merlin had been and goneand 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

"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 RossHendersons

"Very good," said Jimmie Dale softly. "Now go and telephone again, Jason. Present my regrets and excuses

to the RossHendersons, and say that under the doctor's orders I am confined to the house for the next few

"When Benson returns with the medicine let him bring it here himselfand 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

anythinga 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

He reached over to the table, picked up a pencil and paper, and began to jot down memoranda. He had just

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,

"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"

"And you have a 'best girl,' or at least could find one for such a purpose, if you were so inclined?"

"Very good!" Jimmie Dale interrupted. "Then tonight, Benson, taking advantage of my illness, and

tomorrow night, and the nights after that until further notice, you will acquire and put into practice that

"No; I dare say not," said Jimmie Daleand 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

"Well," said Jimmie Dale quietly, "the tables are turned today, 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

Benson looked for an instant from Jimmie Dale to Jason, caught the strained, troubled expression on the old

"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 regularlyand eat the

food yourself. You will answer all inquiries, telephone and otherwise, in personI am not seeing any one.

"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 againto 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! Tonight, at eight o'clock exactly, you are to go out from the back

door of the house to the garage. On the way outit will be quite dark thenI 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 ita 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 longenough only to permit, say, a passerby to glance into the car and satisfy himself that it is

empty. You understand, of course, Benson, that the hood must be downno closed car to invite even the

suggestion of concealmentthat 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 drivethat is what they will be

interested in your motive for going out tonight. And, as I said, take her driving again on each succeeding

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 tonight, 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 tonight, or tomorrow 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 vieweven in your drives, vary your runs. Is this clear,

"Very well, then," said Jimmie Dale. "Eight o'clock to the dot, Bensoncompare your time with Jason's.

The hours that followed were hours of sound and muchneeded sleep for Jimmie Dale, and from which he

"I've slept like a log, Jason!" he cried briskly, as he leaped out of bed. "Anything newanything happened?"

"No, sir; not a thing," Jason answered. "Only, Master Jim, sir" the old man twisted his hands

nervously"Iyou'll excuse my saying so, sirI do hope you'll be careful tonight, sir. I can't help being

"Nonsense, Jason!" Jimmie Dale laughed cheerfully. "There's nothing going to happento 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,

"Right!" Jimmie Dale respondedand followed Jason down the stairway, and to the head of the cellar stairs.

"God keep you, Master Jim!" said the old man huskily. "Goodnight, Jason," Jimmie Dale answered softly;

Here he moved quickly, noiselessly across to the windownot 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

With a lithe, agile movement, Jimmie Dale pulled himself up and through the windowand 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

He gained the interior of the garage, and, as Benson, came on again, stepped lightly into the car, lifted the

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 streetand stopped. He heard

Benson jump out and run backand 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 carthen silencethe car shook a little as

though some one's weight was on the stepthen the footsteps recededBenson returned on the runand

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

"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

"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?"

"All right," said Jimmie Dale quietly. "Turn into it. The more people the better. Tell me just as you are about

Jimmie Dale's hand reached out for the door catch, edged the door ajar, the car swerved, took the

cornerand Jimmie Dale stepped out on the running board, hung there negligently for a moment as though

chatting with Benson, and then with an airy "goodnight" dropped nonchalantly to the ground, and the next

A half minute later, a large gray automobile turned the corner and followed Bensonand 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 defenseand hers! In a few moments he would be at the Sanctuary; in a few more he would

be Larry the Bat, and by tomorrow at the latest he would seeThe 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

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 himand 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:

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, gaitbut 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.

Yes; she was still there, still whiningly imploring those who passed to buy her miserable pencilsand then,

with a quickflung whisper to him to follow as he slouched up close to her, she had started slowly down the

"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 Tocsinat 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 existencethe woman for whom he had fought; for whom he had risked,

and gladly risked, his wealth, his name, his honoureverything; 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 Tocsinthe woman whose face he had never seen before! The woman

whose face he had never seen beforeand who now was that wretched hag that hobbled along the street

before him, begging, whining, and importuning the passersby to purchase of her pitiful wares!

He laughed a littlebuoyantly. 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 makeup that brought haggard want and

age into the faceand 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

Where was she going? Where was she taking him? But what did it matter! The years of waiting were at an

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 thatthe 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 hereonly that at last they

On she went, traversing street after street, the direction always trending toward the riveruntil finally she

halted before what appeared to be, as nearly as he could make out in the almost total darkness of the

illlighted street, a small and tumbledown, selfcontained dwelling that bordered on what seemed to be an

unfenced store yard of some description. He drew his breath in sharply. She had haltedwaiting for him to

come up with her. She was waiting for himWAITING for him! It seemed as though he drank of some

strange, exhilarating elixirhe reached her side eagerlyand then and thenher 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

"We are safe here, Jimmie, for a little whilebut, oh, Jimmie, what have I done! What have I done to bring

you into thisonlyonlyI 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 dreama dream which was presently to be snatched from him in a bitter awakening.

And then he laughed out wildly, passionately. Noit was true, it was real! Her breath was on his cheek, it

was a living, pulsing hand that was still in hisand then soul and mind and body seemed engulfed and lost

in a mad ecstasyand 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 hishis! The years, the past, all were swept away and she was his at

lasthis 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

"You!" he cried outand strained her to him. "You!" he cried againand kissed her lips and her eyelids and

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

Then for a long time they stood there so, and for a long time neither spokeand 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

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

"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 thisprobably to your death. Jimmie, tell me what happened last

night, and since then. II've thought at times today I should go mad. Oh, Jimmie, there is so much to say

tonight, so much to do ifif we are ever to be together forfor always. Last night, Jimmiethe

He felt her hand close with a quick, spasmodic clutch upon his arm; her face grew whiteand for a moment

"Wait!" she interrupted quickly. "We are only wasting time like this! Tell me everything, everything just as it

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:

"Yes," said Jimmie Dale grimly; "I am sure." And then the pentup 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 sheabove allmore than anything

She checked him with a strangely wistful touch of her finger upon his lips, with a queer, pathetic shake of her

"But I am to knownow! Surely I am to know NOW!" he cried, a sudden sense of dismay upon him. Three

years! Three yearsand 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

"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 whenwhen you

came. Thatthat I would have nothing to fearfor youfor mebecauseit would be all over. And now

you are here, Jimmieand, oh, thank God for you!but I feel tonight almostalmost as though it were

"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 TocsinBEATEN! And after we have just scored

"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

understandbut 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 waytoday, 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 schemesand 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

DaleI know them better than you, and I give you two days, fortyeight hours at the outside, and possibly

"The capitalist? Yes!" said Jimmie Dale. "He died a few years ago. I know his brother Henry wellat the

"Do you!" she said evenly. "Well, the man you know is not Peter LaSalle's brother; he is an impostorand

"NotPeter 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

beenhe leaned quickly, tensely forward over the table, staring at her. "My God!" he whispered hoarsely.

"You are not, you cannot bethethe daughterPeter LaSalle's daughter, who disappeared strangely!"

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 heras Marie LaSalle; never met heruntil now, as the Tocsin, in this

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 placeand 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, thathe started

"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

"You mean," Jimmie Dale burst out, "you mean that he wasbut, 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 twentyfifth 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

periodthat is, when I was twentyfive bequeathed to him the sum of one hundred thousand dollars."

"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

"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 visitbut 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 fathermore restless, less settled, more rough and ready, preferring the

outdoor life of the Australian bush to the restrictions of any socalled 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

longproposed 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 timeand then"her

fingers, that had been abstractedly picking out the lines formed by the grain of the wood in the table top,

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 thatthat 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 himand, 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 thisforced

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, hota merciless craving that was a

"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

She paused againbut 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 impostorI 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 otherwisehe 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 untilTHAT 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 insomniaI 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 bookand after that another. There were plenty in my

room; but, irrationally, of course, none pleased me. I decided to go down to the librarynot 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,

"'If she's out of the way, there's no comeback,' the voice snarled. 'I won't listen to anything else! Do you

hear! Why, you fool, what are you trying to dohand me one! Turn everything into cash, and divvy, and

beat iteh? And I'm the goat, and I get caught and get twenty years for stealing trust fundsand 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

outthat's safeI 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 toto 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

"'You're talking too loud, both of you! Travers doesn't understand, but he's to be wised up tonight, according

"The voice became inaudible, muffledI 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 wereI 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

She turned away from the table, and began to pace nervously up and down the miserable room.

"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 directionand 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

"It seemed as though Travers could not speak for a moment. He kept looking wildly from one to the other. He

"'You've let me in forTHIS!' he said hoarsely, at last, 'You devilsyou devilsyou devils! You've let me

"Jimmie, I don't know why I did not scream out. Everything went black for a moment before my eyes. It was

"Murdered!" he exclaimed tensely. "Your father! Butbut 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."

"He died frominoculation," she said. "Diddid you not see something of that laboratory in the Crime

"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 eyesand 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

"'Hold your tongue!' he growled furiously. 'All you're asked to do is sign the papersnot talk!'

"'I won't!' he cried out. 'I won't have any hand in another murder in hers! My God, I won'tI won't, I tell

"'Look here, you fool!' the man who was posing as my uncle broke in then. 'You're in this too deep to get out

"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

"'I'm bad!' he cried. 'I've gone everything, everything but the limiteverything but murder. I stop there! I'll

have no more to do with this. I'm through! Youyou pulled me into this, andand 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 feetand, I do not know quite how to express it, Jimmie, he seemed

"'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

"'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 himand 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 awaybut the next instant I understood his ruse.

"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

She broke off abruptly, and once more rose from her chair, and once more began to pace the room. Back in

"It would take too long to tell you all that passed between us," she went on hurriedly. "The man was frankly a

criminalbut 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 ita member; but he had never come

into direct contact with themhe 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 attorneyand 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."

"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 LaSalleenough, 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 typewrittenan

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

"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

"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 himand 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 courteven 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

"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 wellknown 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

"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

"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 himand I never heard from him again until a month ago in the 'personal' column of the

"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 tothis, 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 nowfor 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

everythingeverything! 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 itwhy 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

She flung out her hands suddenly toward Jimmie Dale. "Oh, Jimmie, Jimmie, I'veI've fought so long

He came slowly to his feet. She had fought so longalone. But nownow it was his turn to fightfor her.

But how? She had not told him allsurely 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

"It'sit's pretty bad, isn't it, Jimmie? II told you that we did not hold many trumps."

Jimmie Dale dropped back into his chair again, and stared abstractedly before him. "We do not hold many

trumps, Jimmiewe 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 himto jeer at him, when all that was held at stake hung literally upon his

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 makeup on her face where the tears had left

Box number fourtwoeightJohn Johanssonthe Crime Clubthe 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 themif only he could glimpse a ray of light that would at least prompt action, when every

There were the men who were watching his house at that moment on Riverside Drivehe, 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 thathe had no time! Fortyeight hours, the Tocsin

insisted, was all the time that he could count upon before they would become suspicious of Jimmie Dale's

He mightthough this was even more hazardousmake 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

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 placebut such a move was almost suicide in itself. Time, and time alone, was

the vital factor. They, the Tocsin and he, must act quicklyand STRIKE that night if they were to win. His

fingers, the grimy fingers, dirtynailed, 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

findthat packageif 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. Somewheresomewhere 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

She came back from across the room, and sank down in her chair again. She did not speakthe question,

"Not yet!" he said. Then, almost curtly, in a quick, incisive way, as the keen, alert brain began to delve and

"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?"

"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

"If you had been able to watch him night and day, that might be so," he said crisply. "But, at best, you could

"Do you think, Jimmie, from what you, as the Gray Seal, know of me, that I would have watched in any

"Look at me!" she said quietly. "Have you ever seen me before? I mean as I am now."

"And yet"she smiled wanly again"you have not lived, or made the place you hold in the underworld,

"You!" exclaimed Jimmie Dale. "YouSilver Mag!" He stared at her wonderingly, as, crouchshouldered

now, the hair, graythreaded, straggling out from under the hood of a faded, darkblue, seamworn 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 Magas 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 riverand therefore the underworld swore

by Silver Mag. Always silver, never a bill; Silver Mag had never been seen with a banknotethat 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, andyes, he remembered, toowith 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; butit's no secretevery 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 valuenothing, 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 sentencewhile 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. Welldo 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 visitorswhat 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

establishedand 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,

"God knows!" he said bitterly. "And if they have been clever enough to escape you all these years, I'm almost

She watched him miserably, as he pushed back his chair impulsively and, standing up, stared down at her.

"We're against itHARD!" he said, with a mirthless laugh. Then, his lips tightening: "But we'll try another

tackthe 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

"That is the one definite thing I do knowthat it isn't!" he said positively. "It is nothing of that kind. It was

halfpast 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 accessibleand 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

"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 happenedand 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."

"But since last night, since you knew that things had gone wrong," he persisted, "surely you traced that

"Yes," she said, and shrugged her shoulders in a tired way. "Naturally I did thatbut, like everything else, it

amounted to nothing. He telephoned from Makoff's pawnshop on that alley off Thompson Street, and"

"WHERE!" Jimmie Dale, suddenly stockstill, almost shouted the word. "He telephoned fromwhere! Say

"Box number fourtwoeight!" He laughed out hysterically in his excitement. "John Johanssonbox

number fourtwoeight! And like a fool I never thought of it! Don't you see? Don't you know now yourself?

She stood up, clinging to him; a wild relief, that was based on her confidence in him, in her eyes and face,

"No," she said frantically. "NoI do not know. Tell me, Jimmie! Tell me quickly! You mean at Makoff's?"

"No! Not Makoff'sat 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 Landsand Makoff

is his partner. Spider buys the crooks' stuff, and Makoff disposes of it through the pawnshopit's only a step

"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 underworldfor 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

numbera box number he calls it, though, of course, there are no actual boxes. Letters come by mail

addressed to himthe 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 illgotten 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 safekeeping.

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 bothpossibly, a crook then himself, as he confessed, he may have acted in a legal

"Then," she saidand there was a glad, new note in her voice, "then, JimmieJimmie, we are safe! You

can get it, Jimmie! It is only a little thing for the Gray Seal to doto get it now that we know where it is."

"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, suddenlyand leaning forward like a flash, as he whipped

The room was in darkness. They stood there rigid, silent, listening. Her hand found and caught his arm.

And then it came againa low sound, the sound of a stealthy footstep just outside the window that faced on

A minute passedanother. 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 againand 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.

"I don't know," she answered, in a whisper. "He never came here before. There's a back way out, Jimmie, if

"No," he said quickly. "We've enemies enough, with out making one of the Magpie. He knows some one is

here with youour 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 roomand 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

His hand reached up to his hat, jerked the brim at a rakish angle over his eyesand 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, thata 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 onea smile flickered across the lips of Larry the Batone whose preeminence the Magpie, much

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, shrewdfaced, with sharp, quickglancing little

"'Ello, Larry!" grinned the Magpie. "Got yer breath back yet? I felt it through de windowpane when youse let

"'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 notsee? 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

"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

"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 tonight, an' I was t'inkin' of lettin' Young Dutchy in on it, but seem' youse are here an' in wid

"More'n de price of a coke sneeze!" returned the Magpie pertinently. "Dere's a century note fer youse, an'

"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

yousean' 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

fervencyand stared, anxiously expectant, at the Magpie. "Sure, I'm on Slimmy! Sure, I am! Cut it loose!

"Youse ain't through yet!" interrupted the Tocsin tartly. "I ain't heard youse askin' me nothin'! I ain't on me

"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

"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,

"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,

"Aw, ferget it!" said the Magpie earnestly. "Fer CASH, I saidde coin, de long greenunderstand? 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

daygettin' de checks cashed, an' gettin' de money in big billssee! I know of one bunch of eighty

"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

emptyhanded! Far from emptyhanded, it seemed! It would not be difficult for the estate's executor to

realise a vast sum in short order on instantly marketable, giltedged securitiessay, half a million dollars.

Not very bulky, eitherin large bills! Five thousand hundreddollar 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

"How de hell do youse suppose I knows!" demanded the Magpie, politely scornful. "Dat's his businessdat

"Nosure, it ain't!" admitted Larry the Bat ingratiatingly. "But go on, keep movin', Slimmy! Wot's he done

"Done wid it!" echoed the Magpie, with a short laugh. "Wot do youse t'ink! He's been luggin' it home to his

"Gee, dat's soft!" he murmured, and then suddenly, as though with painful inspiration: "Say, Slimmysay,

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 wellstimulated, 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

"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

"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,

"Well, den, dat's wot I want, dat's wot I come fer, Maga plan of de house. See?"

Jimmie Dale could feel the Tocsin's eyes upon him, questioning, searching, seeking a cue. A plan of the

"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'

The Magpie produced a pencil and a piece of paper from his pocket, and laid them on the table in front of the

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

"Aw, go ahead!" nodded Larry the Bat. "Youse can do it right, Mag. Youse don't have to make no oil paintin'!

"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

Larry the Bat, slouched forward over the table, his chin in his hands, appeared to watch the proceedings with

mild interestbut 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 theftOF HER

OWN MONEY! How far would he let the Magpie go? He did not know. Perhapswho 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 itthe 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 halfclosed 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, thenLarry the Bat's lips, working on his cigarette, formed in a

twisted smilethen, 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

exaggerationand the less likely in view of the fact that, if those in the Crime Club were preparing for an

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

"Aw, dat's all right, Slimmy!" Larry the Bat cut in airily. "If youse ferget anyt'ing when youse get in dere,

"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 willNOT!" 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 bullsyouse

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 getaway, youse two

start a drunk fight. Get me? Youse know de lay. T'row de talk loudan' I'll fade. Dat's all! We'll crack de

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 hersay 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

"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

"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 tonight de

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

onceand without exciting the Magpie's suspicions. He coughed again, looked nervously from the Tocsin to

"Nothin'," said Larry the Batand hesitated. "Nothin', only" He hesitated again; and then, the words in a

"Youse knows," he admitted sheepishly. "Just gimme de price of one, Slimmyjust one."

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 tonight 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

onean' it'll set me up. If I don't get none I'll be on de rocks before mornin'! Dat's straight, Slimmy ask

"Aw, let him go get it!" broke in the Tocsin wearily. "Dat's de best t'ing youse can do, Slimmydey're all

"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

"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, quickflung, significant glance. "See

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

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 directionbut the Sanctuary was on the next street.

Jimmie Dale reached the cornerand hesitated. It was strange how strong was the intuition upon him

tonight that bade him go on and make all speed to Spider Jack'swhile 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 yetit was already midnight!

Ostensibly both Makoff and Spider Jack closed their places at eleven. But that might mean

anythingdepending 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

And then, with sudden decision, taking his hesitation, as it were, by the throat, Jimmie Dale hurried on

againto the Sanctuary. At most, it could delay him but another fifteen minutes, and by halfpast twelve, or a

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, sharpflung 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,

andwhat he had never expected to use again when, early the night before, he had, as he had believed, put it

away foreverthe 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 pocketsand once more the

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, darkvisaged 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

On he shuffled along the street, until, reaching Spider Jack's, a little twostoried, tumbledown 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

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 nothingonly 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 shedand 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 blackand 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 byand 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

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 himthe 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 yardnor, from this new vantage point, could he discover, any

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 instantand 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 bluedsteel tools. The sensitive fingers travelled slowly up and down the side of

the doorand then he was at work in earnest. A minute passed anotherthere was a dull, low, grating

sound, a snick as of metal yielding suddenlyand Jimmie Dale was coolly stowing away his tools again

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 circleand went out. It was a sort of storeroom, innocent

enough and orderly enough in appearance, barefloored, with boxes and packing cases piled neatly against the

walls. In one corner a staircase led to the story aboveand from above, quite audibly now, he caught the

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

"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

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

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, oldfashioned 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,

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 makeshift

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 mindhe 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 packageat the revolver point! It was quite simple! Meanwhile Jimmie Dale

shrugged his shoulders, and, going over to the safe, knelt down in front of itmeanwhile, as well begin here

The trained fingers closed on the handleand on the instant, as though in startled amazement, shifted to the

dial. They came back to the handlea wrenchthen a low, amused chuckleand 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 lockedthe 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 safeand 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,

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 oldfashioned 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

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

"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 certainSpider Jack would, at least, show him where the

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

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

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 enterand 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 onethe first of the three. Was it an hallucination? Was he

maddreaming? It was Hilton Travers, THE CHAUFFEURthe 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

"I know," the chauffeur replied; "but I couldn't connect with my friends here. Shake hands with them,

"I suppose we're alone here, eh, Spider? Yes? Well, then, you know what I've come forthat

packageMarvin and Stead, here, are the ones that are in on it with me. Get it for me, will you, Spider?"

"SureMr. Johansson!" Spider grinned. "Sure! Come on into the back room and make yourselves

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 chauffeurALIVE! 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

"I'll just ask you gents not to leave the room," he said meaningly, over his shoulder, as he stepped toward the

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

"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 thousandit 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 Clubits multitude of disguises, though in this case they had the dead man's

clothes ready to their handsthe 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 amissbut 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 deathif he

could gain anything for her, for the Tocsin, by it. But what could he gainby dying? He clenched his hands

Spider Jack reentered the room, carrying what looked like a large, bulky, manila envelope, heavily sealed,

"I wonder," suggested the leader pleasantly, "if, now that we're here, Travers, your friend would mind letting

"Sure!" agreed Spider Jack cordially. "You're welcome to it! I'll wait out here in the store until you say the

"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

He ripped the package open, and disclosed perhaps a dozen officiallooking documents, besides a

miscellaneous number of others. He took up the first of the papers, glanced through it hurriedly, then tossed it

"Tear it up, and tear it upSMALL!" 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!

He went on glancing through the documents; and then suddenly, joining the others in their work, began to rip

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 voicenow he would recognise the leader's FACE. At least, that was left to himperhaps the

master trump of all. It would not be very hard to find the Crime Club nowwith 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

"Put these pieces in your pockets; we don't want to leave them here," he directed quietly. "And then let's get

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 storeand 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 timein plenty of time. They had just left Spider Jack's, and were, perhaps, fifty yards or so ahead

of him. He slouched on behind themthe 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

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 themin time to see them jump into a car, and the car speed

off along the street! He halted, as though he were suddenly dazedstarted involuntarily to run forward

againstopped with a hollow laugh at the futility of itand stood still and motionless on the sidewalk.

And then he swayed a little, and his face grew gray. Failure, defeat, ruinin 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,

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 playthe last card! There was a way there had

always been a way. The way the Crime Club tookMURDER. It was their own weapon! If the man who

"The Magpie was to be there at three!" he mutteredand started mechanically back along the street.

It was a horrible thingand 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 chanceand 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, coldblooded

premeditationhe 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 thoughtthere 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 twentyfifth birthday, or until there was

tangible evidence of her deathbut 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 thatit 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 estateand had failed in thatup 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

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

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 duplicatedHilton Travers was

deadMURDERED. 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 lawfor 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,

But to kill a man! To steal upon a man with cold intent in the blackness of the nightand take his life! To be

a murderer! To know the horror of blood forever upon one's hands, to rise, coldsweated, 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

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 wayand

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

cometo kill a man! It was onlyonly to get that money. Yeshe remembered nowthat money from

the safe, before the Magpie got it. The Magpie was to be there at three o'clockand the Tocsin was to be

there, too. The Tocsin! That package! He had failed! It had been her one hope, andand it was gone. What

could he say to her? How could he tell her the miserable truth? Butbut he had not come there in the dead of

"Yes; that's so!" he said hoarsely. He glanced numbly up and down the wide, deserted, but welllighted,

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! "II didn't

"Come across the streetunder 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?"

And then, with a violent effort, Jimmie Dale forced his mind back to the immediate present. He was only

"Where is the Magpie?" he asked, with quick apprehension. "Am I late? Is he in there already?"

"Wait!" he broke in. "Where is he now? You were both together! And you were both to be here at three. What

"The Magpie left my place an hour agoto 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 backthat you would be here

BEFORE us? There was no mistaking your meaningif I could get away from him, I was to come here and

Jimmie Dale passed his hand nervously across his eyes. Of course, he remembered now! What a frightful

"Yes; of course!" He tried to speak nonchalantly. "I had forgotten for the moment."

"YOUforget a thing like that! Jimmiesomething terrible has happened. Can't you see that I am nearly

mad with anxiety! What is it? What is it? That package, Jimmieis it the package?"

He did not answer. What could he say? It meant life, hope, joy, everything that the world held for herand it

"Yesit IS the package!" she whispered frantically. "Quick, Jimmie! Tell me! Itit was not there?

"They got it," he said. It was like a death sentence that he pronounced. "It is destroyed."

She did not speak or movesave 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 graygray as death. And there was misery and fear and a pitiful helplessness in itand then she

"Gone!" she murmured in a dead, colourless wayand suddenly laughed out sharply, hysterically.

She looked at him then for a moment in strange quietand lifted her hand and stroked his face in a numbed

"Itit would have been better, Jimmie, wouldn't it," she said in the same monotonous voice, "it would have

been better ifif I had never found out anything, and theythey had done the same to me that they did

"Marie! Marie!" It was the first time he had ever spoken her name, and it was on his lips now in an agony of

The minutes passed. When Jimmie Dale spoke again it was irrelevantlyand his face was very white:

"Have YOU forgotten in turn?" he said, with a steady smile. "That money in the safeit's yourswe can at

least save that out of the wreck. You only drew the basement plan and the first floor for the Magpiethe

more I know about the house the better, of course, in case anything goes wrong. Now, see, try and be

braveand tell me quickly, for I must get through before the Magpie comes, and I have barely half an hour."

"No, Jimmieno!" She slipped out of his arms. "Let it alone! I am afraid. SomethingII have a feeling

"No," he said. "I am goingso tell me quickly. Every minute that we wait is one that counts against us."

She hesitated an instantand then, speaking rapidly, made a verbal sketch of the upper portion of the house

"It's a very large house, isn't it?" he commented innocentlyto pave the way for the question, above all

"The first on the right, at the head of the landing," she answered. "Only, Jimmie, don'tdon't go!"

"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 drugand 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 yourselfyou 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 suspicionshe'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?"

"Just one thing more." He smiled at her reassuringly. "Did the Magpie say anything about how he intended to

"Yesby 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 gothen 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

And then, not daring to trust his voice, he released her suddenly, and stepped back out from under the

stoopand the next instant he was across the deserted avenue. Another, and he had slipped through the iron

gates that opened on the street drivewayand in yet another he was crouched close up against the front door

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 doorthe 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 shirtthe

Very slowly, very cautiously the door opened. He listened breathlessly, tensely. The door closed

againbehind 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 thingto kill a man!

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

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, twentyfive at the

outside. Twentyfive minutes! Twentyfive 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.

Selfpreservation was, perhaps, the first law, but he would save the Magpie if he couldthe 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 communitybut he was not a murderer, his life forfeit for a crime he had never

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 comethe 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

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

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 itsno, there were no longer any portieres; and there was the safe, he could see

The flashlight went out for the space of perhaps thirty seconds thirty seconds of absolute silence, absolute

stillnessthen the round, white ray of the light again, but glistening now on the nickel knobs and dial of the

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. Twentyfive 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 captureand 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 motiverobbery;

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 perpetratorthe Gray Seal. It would afford excellent food for the violent editorial

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

carpetto 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

How fast the time wentand 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

Came the sound, barely audible, as of steel sliding in welloiled grooves, the muffled thud of metal meeting

Jimmie Dale stretched his cramped limbs, and wiped the moisture from his facethen set to work again

upon the inner door. This was an easier matterfar easier. Five minutes, perhaps a little more, went byand

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 compartmentbut there was no half million of dollars!

He picked up one of the packages hurriedlyand drew in his breath. After all, there was a great dealthe

notes were of hundreddollar denomination, and on the bottom were two onethousanddollar bills!

Calculated roughly, if each of the other nine packages contained a like amount, the total must exceed a

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 forestalledby 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

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 twentyfive minutes? He

did not knowonly, 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 stairand 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 rightTHAT 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

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 elseonly that, the man upstairs in the first room

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 outthe man was a criminal, bloodstainedand 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!

He put his foot upon the bottom step againpaused still another instantand then began stealthily to mount

the stairs. The darkness! There had never been, it seemed, such darkness before! The stillnesshe 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 nervefor

now, as he gained the landing and slipped his automatic from his pocket, his hand was shaking with a queer

For an instant, fighting for his selfcomposure, 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 cautiouslythere was nothing. He edged

to the rightstill 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

He moved along now straight ahead of him, his hand on the wall, feeling for the doorand with every step

his bewilderment increased. Surely there must be some mistakeperhaps he had misunderstood! He had

come fully twice the distance that one would expectand 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 yetwhat else

could it be? He drew the hangings warily apart, and felt behind them. It was a window; but it was shuttered in

Jimmie Dale stood motionless there for fully a minute. It seemed absurd, preposterous, the conviction that

was being forced home upon himthat there were no rooms on the righthand 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 flashlightbut that, as long as he could feel his way, was an unnecessary risk. A

flashlight upstairs, where a sleepingroom 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

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, anotherand finally stopped by bringing up abruptly against the end wall

of the house. It was certainly very strange! There WERE no rooms on the righthand 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

nowshe 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, buthe dropped the portiere and faced around, carrying his hand in a nonplused

way to his eyesbut 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, unlesshe caught his breath suddenlyunless

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 doand taken this means of defeating it? If so well, it was too late for that now! There

was one wayonly one way! Whatever the cost, whatever it might mean for himthere was only one way

His flashlight was in his hand now, and the round, white ray shot down the corridorseemed suddenly to

falter unsteadilyswept in through an open door that was almost beside himand 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

His brain seemed to whirl, staggered as by some gigantic, ghastly mockery. The Crime Club! HERE! He had

thought to creep upon that manand he had run blindly into the very heart and centre of these hell fiends'

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 righthand 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 floorthat was all! It was quite clear now why the man never entertainedwhy 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 streetand 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 hisit was so obvious that therein lay its security. He

had mocked at the Magpie not many moments before on that scoreand 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 signpostand 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 movingor was it only fancy? He listenedwhile he strained his eyes through the

darkness. There was no sound; only that abnormal, heavy silence thatyes, he remembered that, too,

nowthat had clung about him last night like a pall. He could see nothing, hear nothingbut intuitively,

bringing a cold dismay, the greater because it was something unknown, intangible, he FELT as though eyes

And as he stood there, then, slowly there crept upon Jimmie Dale the sense of peril and disaster. It was not

intuition nowit 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,

upstairshad he set some system of alarm at work when he had touched that window? What did it

matterthe 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 safetapperor 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

He shook his head again. He could hardly hope for thathe 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

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 activefighting 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

openedif 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

Stillnessutter, absolute! Always that stillness. Always that sense of danger around himthe tense, bated

expectancy of momentary attacka revolver flash through the darknessa sudden rush upon him. But still

He gained the head of the stairs and began to descendand 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 easilyand so it must come now, in that next moment, their attack! Where were they?

Where were they now? The tablehe 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

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 circuitingif 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 meantthe first

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 untiluntil DAYLIGHT! That wasn't very far off, now, and when that came he

might still have the first shot, but after thathe 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 outand, 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 roomand, a second later, was holding

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 blasphemyand then, in a sort of staggered gasp, as he leaned suddenly forward

A moment the Magpie stood there; and then, cursing again in abandon, turned, and started back for the

window, his flashlight dancing before himand stopped, a snarl of fury on his lips. The flashlight was

"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 doorand he screamed out in an access of fury. "De double cross! A

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

There was a low moan, the movement as of some one staggering and lurching aroundand 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 himthe man who had posed as Henry LaSalle. Dead! The man was

dead! His mind ran riot for a moment. Where were the otherswere there only these two? Only these two in

the house! Only these twoand one was dead! And then Jimmie Dale was on his feet. One was deadbut

there was still the other, the man who was reeling there, back turned to him, by the electriclight switch. But

even as Jimmie Dale sprang forward, this second man, clawing at the wall for support, slipped to his knees

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 wellit was the leader of the

"So you're the Gray Seal!" he flung out contemptuously. "A clever enough safecrackerbut only a

lowbrow, like the rest of them. Another illusion dispelled! Well, you've got the moneybetter run, hadn't

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 forthough 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 deadthe man was dead! He checked himself sharply. He must think nowthink

The Magpie knew that Larry the Bat was the Gray Sealand 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 beforewith a snarl of triumph

now as of wolves who at last had pulled their quarry down. He had not a second to spareand yetthat

man wounded there on the floor! What of himguilty 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

With a sudden, low exclamation, Jimmie Dale jumped for the table, and, snatching up the telephone, rattled

"Give me"his voice came in wellsimulated gasps, each like a man fighting for every word"give

"What are you doing?" he demanded in a startled way. "Are you mad! Thank your stars you were lucky

"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

But Jimmie Dale was talking again into the telephonegasping, choking out his words as before:

"Police headquarters? I'm Henry LaSalle. Fifth Avenue. II've been shot. Take down this statement.

I'llI'll be dead before you get hereI'm not the real Henry LaSalle at all. We murdered Henry LaSallein

Australia, and murdered Peter LaSalle here. Wewe 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 tonight 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

upstairsifyouwant proof of what the gang's been doing. Hurry! Hurry! I'mI'mdone forI"

Jimmie Dale permitted the telephone to drop with a clash from his hand to the table.

"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 tomorrow, 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 fashionand then

suddenly, with a strange laugh, he carried one hand swiftly to his mouthand laughed againand before

A tiny vial rolled away upon the carpet. Jimmie Dale picked it up. A drop or two of liquid still remained in

itcolourless, 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 justicebut it was also death. In a surge of emotion,

the events of scarcely more than twentyfour hours, began to crowd upon himand 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 Tocsinclear 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 thereshe would get it back again when it had served its purpose, it would be

selfevident that it was the proceeds of that day's sale of the estate's securities over which the "quarrel" had

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 tableas 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 weaponand 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 clearfor her. And now if he could only save himself! There was no chance for Larry

He crossed the hall, a queer, halfgrim, halfwistful 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

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 actthat 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

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 himas 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, anda cry escaped him even as he ranit 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,

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 coursethat 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 factthe

Gray Seal was Larry the Bat. At the present moment the Magpie had a double incentive for "getting" the

Gray Sealthe 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. Nothingno sound! They were not here yetso 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 closedand 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 hidingplace, the grease paints and heterogeneous collection of

makeup 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 basinand, 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 nowat the head of the stairson the landing. His

revolver lifted, holding a steady bead on the door panel. And then there came a low voice:

The Tocsin! What was she doing here! Why had he not warned her up there on the avenue, fool that he was,

"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 himbut it"she tried to smile"it wasn't to obey you, to run awayI had

made up my mind I wouldn't do thatit 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

thereyou know them, Red Mose, the Midget, Harve Thoms, and the Skeeteryou 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 underworldthere will

Run! Half Larry the Bat, half Jimmie Daleand run! In another five minutes, perhapsyes. But there

"Yes," he said quietly. "I'll get away in a moment. You go at once. I'll"he was smiling at her

She looked at him then for an instantinterrupting him quickly, as she shook her head.

"I didn't notice, Jimmie. You cannot go like thatcan you? It would be even worse than being caught as

"No!" he said. "Go now! Go at once, Mariewhile you can. You have risked your life as it is to come here

The great, brown eyes were smiling bravely through a sudden mist. She shook her head again.

"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 deadthe 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!

"Clear! All clearfor me! II can go back toto my own life again!" It was as though she were

But now, for answer, suddenly she reached out and took the key from the door and put it in the pocket of her

"We will go together, Jimmieor not at all," she said simply. "We are wasting precious moments. Hurry and

He hesitated miserably. What could he doif she WOULD not go! And it was truethe moments were

flying. Better, rather than futile argument, to use them as she said. There was still a chance! Why not! Five

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 himin peril with every second that passed!

He had only to slip on his coat and vest nowand 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 clothesand straightened

"They are coming, Jimmie!" she called, in a low voice. But he had already heard themthe stairs were

creaking loudly under the tread of many feet. He pushed the Tocsin hurriedly back against the wall at the side

"Stand there!" he said, under his breath. "Out of the line of fire! Don't move!"

"Aw, cut dat out! Wot do youse want to doscare him away by bustin' it! Pick de lock, an' we'll lay for him

It was the Skeeter's voice. The Skeeter and his gangthe worst apaches in the city of New York!

Professional assassins, death contractors, he had called themand the lowest bidders! A man's life any time

for twentyfive dollars! No, they were not likely to forget the affair of the pushcart man, to forget old Luddy

and his diamonds, to forgetthe 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

A burst of yells answered the shot; and among them, high above the others, the Magpie's scream:

And then it seemed that pandemonium broke loosethere was a volley of shots, the bullets splintering

through the door panels as from a machine gun, so fast they cameand then another rush against the door.

Flat on the floor, but well back and to one side, Jimmie Dale fired steadilyagain and again.

And now from above, from overhead, came tumultwindows thrown up, the stamp of feet, cries of fright.

Once more the rush upon the doorand Jimmie Dale, a grim, twisted smile upon his lips, emptied his

revolver into the panels. Once more they fell backand then there came the Skeeter's voice, snarling like an

"He'll get de lot of us like dis! Cut it out! Besides, we'll have de bulls down here in a minutean' he's OUR

meat, not theirs. Dey'd be too damned soft wid himdey'd only send him to de chair. Youse chase upstairs,

Mose, an' pass de word to beat itan' beat it quick. We'll BURN de skunk outdat's wot. An' de bulls can

Jimmie Dale did not dare to look at the Tocsin's face. Mechanically he refilled the magazine of his

automaticand 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 moband not succeeding! Pretty

soon, with the riot call in, there would probably be a battlefor the Gray Seal! Sublime irony! It was death

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

Jimmie Dale stood up, his face drawn and haggard. The tenement would go like matchwood, burn like a

bonfire, with any kind of a startand 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 andhe 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 destructionthe 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 himselfonly himself! He crossed to the Tocsin and

The cape and hood had fallen from her, and with the hood had fallen the graystreaked hair of Silver

Magand now as she smiled at him it was from a face that was very beautiful and very brave and very full

It seeped in under the threshold of the door, it came from everywhere, filling the roomthe black, strangling

smoke. Outside in the hall all was silence nowsave 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

There was a chance, just oneif the fire had no headway along the upper end of the landingand if they

had not thought to set a watch for him ABOVE! Theythe Magpie, the Skeeter, and his gangmust have

"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 thiswe'll make the roof

It was an instant before she answered, an instant in which she lifted her face to his, and held his face between

He flung open the door, his arm around her to help her forwardand 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

And then all was blind madness. Together they ran. At the foot of the stairs she fell, recovered herself,

staggered up anotherand 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 moreone more! If he could only rest here for a moment! Yes, that was itrest. It

wasn't so bad here now. She stirred in his arms, struggled to her feetand he was helping her on again, and

And suddenly he found himself laughing in hysteriafor 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

airand 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

It took a long timeover one roof, and then another, and yet anotherand 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 hourand then they, too, were standing in the street, and all about them the crowd was

Up the block, inside the fire lines, the Sanctuary was blazing furiouslyand now suddenly the wall seemed

The Sanctuary wall bulged farther outward, seemed to hang an instant hesitant in midairand fell with a