CHAPTER III
THE MOTHER LODE
It was the following evening, and they had dined together again at theSt. James Club--Jimmie Dale, and Carruthers of the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS.From Clayton and a discussion of the Metzer murder, the conversation hadturned, not illogically, upon the physiognomy of criminals in general.Jimmie Dale, lazily ensconced now in a lounging chair in one of theclub's private library rooms, flicked a minute speck of cigar ash fromthe sleeve of his dinner jacket, and smiled whimsically across the tableat his friend.
"Oh, I dare say there's a lot in physiognomy, Carruthers," he drawled."Never studied the thing, you know--that is, from the standpointof crime. Personally, I've only got one prejudice: I distrust, onprinciple, the man who wears a perennial and pompous smirk--which isn't,of course, strictly speaking, physiognomy at all. You see, a man can'thelp his eyes being beady or his nose pronounced, but pomposity and asmirk, now--" Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders.
Carruthers laughed--and then glanced ludicrously at Jimmie Dale, as thedoor, ajar, was pushed open, and a man entered.
"Speaking of angels," murmured Jimmie Dale--and sat up in his chair."Hello, Markel!" he observed casually, "You've met Carruthers, of theNEWS-ARGUS, haven't you?"
Markel was fat and important; he had beady black eyes, fastidiouslytrimmed whiskers--and a pronounced smirk.
Markel blew his nose vigorously, coughed asthmatically, and held out hishand.
"Of course, certainly," said he effusively. "I've met Carruthers severaltimes--used his sheet more than once to advertise a new bond flotation."
The dominant note in Markel's voice was an ingratiating and unpleasantwhine, and Carruthers nodded, not very cordially--and shook hands.
Markel went back to the door, closed it carefully, and returned to thetable.
"Fact is," he smiled confidentially, "I saw you two come in here a fewminutes ago, and I've got something that I thought Carruthers might beglad to have for his society column--say, in the Sunday edition."
He dove into the inside pocket of his coat, produced a large moroccoleather jeweller's case, and, holding it out over the table betweenCarruthers and Jimmie Dale, suddenly snapped the cover open--and then,with a complacent little chuckle that terminated in another fit ofcoughing, spilled the contents on the table under the electric readinglamp.
Like a thing of living, pulsing fire it rolled before their eyes--amagnificent diamond necklace, of wondrous beauty, gleaming andscintillating as the light rays shot back from a thousand facets.
For a moment, both men gazed at it without a word.
"Little surprise for my wife," volunteered Markel, with a debonair waveof his pudgy hand, and trying to make his voice sound careless.
The case lay open--patently displaying the name of the most famousjewelry house in America. Jimmie Dale's eyes fixed on Markel's whiskerswhere they were brushed outward in an ornate and fastidious gray-blacksweep.
"By Jove!" he commented. "You don't do things by halves, do you,Markel?"
"Two hundred and ten thousand dollars I paid for that little bunch ofgewgaws," said Markel, waving his hand again. Then he clapped Carruthersheartily on the shoulder. "What do you think of it, Carruthers--eh?Say, a photograph of it, and one of Mrs. Markel--eh? Please her, youknow--she's crazy on this society stunt--all flubdub to me of course.How's it strike you, Carruthers?"
Carruthers, very evidently, liked neither the man nor his manners, butCarruthers, above everything else, was a gentleman.
"To be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Markel," he said a little frigidly,"I don't believe in this sort of thing. It's all right from a newspaperstandpoint, and we do it; but it's just in this way that owners ofvaluable jewelry lay themselves open to theft. It simply amounts toadvising every crook in the country that you have a quarter of a millionat his disposal, which he can carry away in his vest pocket, once he canget his hands on it--and you invite him to try."
Jimmie Dale laughed. "What Carruthers means, Markel, is that you'll havethe 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 beentrying so long to catch the chap that it's become an obsession. Eh,Carruthers?"
Carruthers smiled seriously. "Perhaps," he admitted. "I hope, though,for Mr. Markel's sake, that the Gray Seal won't take a fancy to it--ifhe does, Mr. Markel can say good-bye to his necklace."
"Pouf!" coughed Markel arrogantly. "Overrated! His cleverness is allin the newspaper columns. If he knows what's good for him, he'll knowenough to leave this alone."
Jimmie Dale was leaning over the table poking gingerly with the tip ofhis forefinger at the centre stone in the setting, revolving it gentlyto and fro in the light--a very large stone, whose weight would hardlybe less than fifteen carats. Jimmie Dale lowered his head for a closerexamination--and to hide a curious, mocking little gleam that crept intohis dark eyes.
"Yes, I should say you're right, Markel," he agreed judicially. "Heought to know better than to touch this. It--it would be too hard todispose of."
"I'm not worrying," declared Markel importantly.
"No," said Jimmie Dale. "Two hundred and ten thousand, you said.Any special--er--significance to the occasion, if the question's notimpertinent? Birthday, wedding anniversary--or something like that?"
"No, nothing like that!" Markel grinned, winked secretively, and rubbedhis hands together. "I'm feeling good, that's all--I'm going to make thekilling of my life to-morrow."
"Oh!" said Jimmie Dale.
Markel turned to Carruthers. "I'll let you in on that, too, Carruthers,in a day or two, if you'll send a reporter around--financial man, youknow. It'll be worth your while. And now, how about this? What do yousay to a little article and the photos next Sunday?"
There was a slight hint of rising colour in Carruthers' face.
"If you'll send them to the society editor, I've no doubt he'll be ableto use them," he said brusquely.
"Right!" said Markel, and coughed, and patted Carruthers' shoulderpatronisingly again. "I'll just do that little thing." He picked up thenecklace, dangled it till it flashed and flashed again under the light,then restored it very ostentatiously to its case, and the case to hispocket. "Thanks awfully, Carruthers," he said, as he rose from hischair. "See you again, Dale. Good-night!"
Carruthers glared at the door as it closed behind the man.
"Say it!" prodded Jimmie Dale sweetly. "Don't feel restrained becauseyou are a guest--I absolve you in advance."
"Rotter!" said Carruthers.
"Well," said Jimmie Dale softly. "You see--Carruthers?"
Carruthers' match crackled savagely as he lighted a cigar.
"Yes, I see," he growled. "But I don't see--you'll pardon my sayingso--how vulgarity like that ever acquired membership in the St. JamesClub."
"Carruthers," said Jimmie Dale plaintively, "you ought to know betterthan that. You know, to begin with, since it seems he has advertisedwith you, that he runs some sort of brokerage business in Boston. He'staken a summer home up here on Long Island, and some misguided chap puthim on the club's visitor's list. His card will NOT be renewed. Sleekcustomer, isn't he? Trifle familiar--I was only introduced to him lastnight."
Carruthers grunted, broke his burned match into pieces, and began totoss the pieces into an ash tray.
Jimmie Dale became absorbed in an inspection of his hands--thosewonderful hands with long, slim, tapering fingers, whose clean, pinkflesh 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 aboutthe 'costliest and most beautiful necklace in America'?" he inquiredinnocently.
Carruthers scowled. "No," he said bluntly. "I am not. He'll read theNEWS-ARGUS a long time before he reads anything about that, Jimmie."
But therein Carruthers was wrong--the NEWS-ARGUS carried the "story" ofMarkel's diamond necklace in three-inch "caps" in red ink on the frontpage in the next morning's edition--and Carruthers gloated over itbecause the mor
ning NEWS-ARGUS was the ONLY paper in New York that did.Carruthers was to hear more of Markel and Markel's necklace than hethought, though for the time being the subject dropped between the twomen.
It was still early, barely ten o'clock, when Carruthers left the club,and, preferring to walk to the newspaper offices, refused Jimmie Dale'soffer 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, inturn sought the coat room, where Markel was being assisted into hiscoat.
"Getting home early, aren't you, Markel?" remarked Jimmie Dalepleasantly.
"Yes," said Markel, and ran his fingers fussily, comb fashion, throughhis whiskers. "Quite a little run out to my place, you know--and with,you know what, I don't care to be out too late."
"No, of course," concurred Jimmie Dale, getting into his own coat.
They walked out of the club together, and Markel climbed importantlyinto the tonneau of a big gray touring car.
"Ah--home, Peters," he sniffed at his chauffeur; and then, with agrandiloquent wave of his hand to Jimmie Dale: "'Night, Dale."
Jimmie Dale smiled with his eyes--which were hidden by the brim of hishat.
"Good-night, Markel," he replied, and the smile crept curiously tothe corners of his mouth as he watched the gray car disappear down thestreet.
A limousine drew up, and Benson, Jimmie Dale's chauffeur, opened thedoor.
"Home, Mr. Dale?" he asked cheerily, touching his cap. "Yes,Benson--home," said Jimmie Dale absently, and stepped into the car.
It was a luxurious car, as everything that belonged to Jimmie Dale wasluxurious--and he leaned back luxuriously on the cushions, extendedhis legs luxuriously to their full length, plunged his hands into hisovercoat pockets--and then a change stole strangely, slowly over JimmieDale.
The sensitive fingers of his right hand in the pocket had touched, andnow played delicately over a sealed envelope that they had found there,played over it as though indeed by the sense of touch alone they couldread the contents--and he drew his body gradually erect.
It was another of those mysterious missives from--HER. The texture ofthe paper was invariably the same--like this one. How had it come there?Collusion with the coat boy at the club? That was hardly probable.Perhaps it had been there before he had entered the club for dinner--heremembered, now, that there had been several people passing, and that hehad been jostled slightly in crossing the sidewalk. What, however, didit matter? It was there mysteriously, as scores of others had come tohim mysteriously, with never a clew to her identity, to the identity ofhis--he smiled a little grimly--accomplice in crime.
He took the envelope from his pocket and stared at it. His fingers hadnot been at fault--it was one of hers. The faint, elusive, exquisitefragrance of some rare perfume came to him as he held it.
"I'd give," said Jimmie Dale wistfully to himself--"I'd give everythingI own to know who you are--and some day, please God, I will know."
Jimmie Dale tore the envelope very gently, as though the tearing almostwere an act of desecration--and extracted the letter from within. Hebegan to read aloud hurriedly and in snatches:
"DEAR PHILANTHROPIC CROOK: Charleton Park Manor--Markel's house is thesecond one from the gates on the right-hand side--library leads offreception hall on left, door opposite staircase--telephone in receptionhall near vestibule entrance, left-hand side--safe is one of yourfather's make, No. 14,321--clothes closet behind the desk--probably willbe kept in cash box--five servants; two men, three maids--quarters ontop story--Markel and wife occupy room over library--French windows todining room on opposite side of the house--opening on the lawn--getit TO-NIGHT, Jimmie--TO-MORROW WOULD BE TOO LATE--dispose of it--seefit--Henry Wilbur, Marshall Building, Broadway--fifth story--"
Through the glass-panelled front of the car, Jimmie Dale could see hischauffeur's back, and the hand that held the letter dropped now to hisside, and Jimmie Dale stared--at his chauffeur's back. Then, presently,he read the letter again, as though committing it to memory now; andthen, tearing the paper into tiny shreds, as he did with every one ofher communications, he reached out of the window and allowed the littlepieces to filter gradually from his hand.
The Gray Seal! He smiled in his whimsical way. If it were ever known!He, Jimmie Dale, with his social standing, his wealth, his position--theGray Seal! Not a police official, not a secret-service bureau probablyin the civilised world, but knew the name--not a man, woman, or childcertainly in this great city around him but to whom it was asfamiliar as their own! Danger? Yes. A battle of wits? Yes. His againsteverybody's--even against Carruthers', his old college chum! For, evenas a reporter, before he had risen to the editorial desk, and even nowthat he had, Carruthers had been one of the keenest on the scent of theGray Seal.
Danger? Yes. But it was worth it! Worth it a thousand times for the verylure of the danger itself; but worth it most of all for his associationwith her who, by some amazing means, verging indeed on the miraculous,came into touch with all these things, and supplied him with the data onwhich to work--that always some wrong might be righted, or gladnesscome where there had been gloom before, or hope where there had beendespair--that into some fellow human's heart should come a gleamof sunshine. Yes, in spite of the howls of the police, the virulentdiatribes of the press, an angry public screaming for his arrest,conviction, and punishment, there were those perhaps who even on theirbended knees at night asked God's blessing on--the Gray Seal!
Was it strange, then, after all, that the police, seeking a clew throughmotive, should have been driven to frenzy on every occasion in findingthemselves forever confronted with what, from every angle they were ableto view it, was quite a purposeless crime! On one point only theywere right, the old dogma, the old, old cry, old as the institution ofpolice, older than that, old since time immemorial--CHERCHEZ LA FEMME!Quite right--but also quite purposeless! Jimmie Dale's eyes grewwistful. He had been "hunting for the woman in the case" himself,now, for months and years indefatigably, using every resource at hiscommand--quite purposelessly.
Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders. Why go over all this to-night--therewere other things to do. She had come to him again--and this time witha matter that entailed more than ordinary difficulty, more than usualdanger, that would tax his wits and his skill to the utmost, not onlyto succeed, but to get out of it himself with a whole skin. Markel--eh?Jimmie Dale leaned back in his seat, clasped his hands behind hishead--and his eyes, half closed now, were studying Benson's back againthrough the plate-glass front.
He was still sitting in that position as the car approached hisresidence on Riverside Drive--but, as it came to a stop, and Bensonopened the door, it was a very alert Jimmie Dale that stepped to thesidewalk.
"Benson," he said crisply, "I am going downtown again later on, but Ishall drive myself. Bring the touring car around and leave it in frontof the house. I'll run it into the garage when I get back--you need notwait up."
"Very good, sir," said Benson.
In the hallway, Jason, the butler, who had been butler to Jimmie Dale'sfather before him, took Jimmie Dale's hat and coat.
"It's a fine evening, Master Jim," said the privileged old manaffectionately.
Jimmie Dale took out his silver cigarette case, selected a cigarette,tapped it daintily on the cover of the case--and accepted the match theold man hastily produced.
"Yes, Jason." said Jimmie Dale, pleasantly facetious, "it a fine night,a glorious night, moon and stars and a balmy breeze--quite too fine,indeed, to remain indoors. In fact, you might lay out my gray ulster; Ithink I will go for a spin presently, when I have changed."
"Yes, sir," said Jason. "Anything else, Master Jim?"
"No; that's all, Jason. Don't sit up for me--you may go to bed now."
"Thank you, sir," said the old man.
Jimmie Dale went upstairs, opened the door of his own particular den onthe right of the landing, stepped inside, closed the door, switched onthe light--and Jimmie Dale's debonair nonchalance dropped from hi
m as amask instantly--and it was another Jimmie Dale--the professional JimmieDale.
Quick now in every action, he swung aside the portiere that curtainedoff the squat, barrel-shaped safe in the little alcove, opened the safe,took out that curious leather girdle with its kit of burglar's tools,added to it a flashlight and an automatic revolver, closed the safe--andpassed into his dressing room. Here, he proceeded to divest himselfrapidly of his evening clothes, selecting in their stead a suit of darktweed. He heard Jason come up the stairs, pass along the hall, and mountthe second flight to his own quarters; and presently came the sound ofan automobile without. The dressing room fronted on the Drive--JimmieDale looked out. Benson was just getting out of the touring car.Slipping the leather girdle, then, around his waist, Jimmie Dale put onhis vest, then his coat--and walked briskly downstairs.
Jason had laid out a gray ulster on the hall stand. Jimmie Dale put iton, selected a leather cap with motor-goggle attachment that pulled downalmost to the tip of his nose, tucked a slouch hat into the pocket ofthe ulster, and, leaving the house, climbed into his car.
He glanced at his watch as he started--it was a quarter of eleven.Jimmie Dale's lips pursed a little.
"I guess it'll make a night of it, and a tight squeeze, at that, to getback under cover before daylight," he muttered. "I'll have to do sometall speeding."
But at first, across the city and through Brooklyn, for all hisimpatience, it was necessarily slow--after that, Jimmie Dale tookchances, and, once on the country roads of Long Island, the big,powerful car tore through the night like a greyhound whose leash isslipped.
A half hour passed--Jimmie Dale's eyes shifting occasionally from thegray 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 carto a snail's pace--he should be very near his destination--that veryultra-exclusive subdivision of Charleton Park Manor.
On either side of the road now was quite a thickly set stretch of woodedland, rising slightly on the right--and this Jimmie Dale scrutinisedsharply. In fact, he stopped for an instant as he came opposite to awagon track--it seemed to be little more than that--that led in throughthe trees.
"If it's not too far from the seat of war," commented Jimmie Dale tohimself, as he went on again, "it will do admirably."
And then, a hundred yards farther on, Jimmie Dale nodded his head insatisfaction--he was passing the rather ornate stone pillars that markedthe entrance to Charleton Park Manor, and on which the initial promotersof the subdivision, the real-estate people, had evidently deemed it goodadvertising policy to expend a small fortune.
Another hundred yards farther on, Jimmie Dale turned his car aroundand returned past the gates to the wagon track again. The road wasdeserted--not a car nor a vehicle of any description was in sight.Jimmie Dale made sure of that--and in another instant Jimmie Dale's owncar, every light extinguished, had vanished--he had backed it up thewagon track, just far enough in for the trees to screen it thoroughlyfrom the main road.
Nor did Jimmie Dale himself appear again on the main road--until just ashe emerged close to the gates of Charleton Park Manor from a short cutthrough the woods. Also, he was without his ulster now, and the slouchhat had replaced the motor cap.
Jimmie Dale, in the moonlight, took stock of his surroundings, as hepassed in at a businesslike walk through the gates. It was a large park,if that name could properly be applied to it at all, and the houses--hecaught sight of one set back from the driveway on the right--were quitefar apart, each in its own rather spacious grounds among the trees.
"The second house on the right," her letter had said. Jimmie Dale hadalready passed the first one--the next would be Markel's then--and itloomed ahead of him now, black and shadowy and unlighted.
Jimmie Dale shot a glance around him--there was stillness, quieteverywhere--no sign of life--no sound.
Jimmie Dale's face became tense, his lips tight--and he stepped suddenlyfrom the sidewalk in among the trees. They were not thick here, ofcourse, the trees, and the turf beneath his feet was well kept--and,therefore, soundless. He moved quickly now, but cautiously, from tree totree, for the moonlight, flooding the lawn and house, threw all objectsinto bold relief.
A minute, two, three went by--and a shadow flitted here and there acrossthe light-green sward, like the moving of the trees swaying in thebreeze--and then Jimmie Dale was standing close up against one side ofthe house, hidden by the protecting black shadows of the walls.
But here, for a moment, Jimmie Dale seemed little occupied with thehouse itself--he was staring down past its length to where the woodsmade a heavy, dark background at the rear. Then he turned his head,to face directly to the main road, then back again slowly, as thoughmeasuring an angle. Jimmie Dale had no intention of making his escape bythe roundabout way in which he had been forced to come in order to makecertain of locating the right house, the second one from the gates--andhe was getting the bearings of his car and the wagon track now.
"I guess that'll be about right," Jimmie Dale muttered finally. "And nowfor--"
He slipped along the side of the house and halted where, almost on alevel with the ground, the French windows of the dining room opened onthe lawn. Jimmie Dale tried them gently. They were locked.
An indulgent smile crept to Jimmie Dale's lips--and his hand crept inunder his vest. It came out again--not empty--and Jimmie Dale leanedclose against the window. There was a faint, almost inaudible,scratching sound, then a slight, brittle crack--and Jimmie Dale laid aneat little four-inch square of glass on the ground at his feet. Throughthe aperture he reached in his hand, turned the key that was in thelock, turned the bolt-rod handle, pushed the doors silently open--wideopen--left them open--and stepped into the room.
He could see quite well within, thanks to the moonlight. Jimmie Daleproduced a black silk mask from one of the little leather pockets,adjusted it carefully over his face, and crossed the room to the halldoor. He opened this--wide open--left it open--and entered the hall.
Here it was dark--a pitch blackness. He stood for a moment,listening--utter silence. And then--alert, strained, tense in aninstant, Jimmie Dale crouched against the wall--and then he smiled alittle grimly. It was only some one coughing upstairs--Markel--in hissleep, perhaps, or, perhaps--in wakefulness.
"I'm a fool!" confided Jimmie Dale to himself, as he recognised thecough that he had heard at the club. "And yet--I don't know. One'snerves get sort of taut. Pretty stiff business. If I'm ever caught, thepenitentiary sentence I get will be the smallest part of what's to pay."
A round button of light played along the wall from the flashlight inhis hand--just for an instant--and all was blackness again. But in thatinstant Jimmie Dale was across the hall, and his fingers were tracingthe telephone connection from the instrument to where the wiresdisappeared in the baseboard of the floor. Another instant, and he hadsevered the wires with a pair of nippers.
Again the quick, firefly gleam of light to locate the stair case and thelibrary door opposite to it--and, moving without the slightest noise,Jimmie Dale's hand was on the door itself. Again he paused to listen.All was silence now.
The door swung under his hand, and, left open behind him, he was inthe room. The flashlight winked once--suspiciously. Then he snapped itslittle switch, keeping the current on, and the ray dodged impudentlyhere and there all over the apartment.
The safe was set in a sort of clothes closet behind the desk, she hadsaid. Yes, there it was--the door, at least. Jimmie Dale moved towardit--and paused as his light swept the top of the intervening desk. Amass of papers, books, and correspondence littered it untidily. Theyellow sheet of a telegram caught Jimmie Dale's eye.
He picked it up and glanced at it. It read:
"Vein uncovered to-day. Undoubtedly mother lode. Enormously rich. Putthe screws on at once. THURL."
Under the mask, Jimmie Dale's lips twitched.
"I think, Markel, you miserable
hound," said he softly, "that God willforgive me for depriving you of a share of the profits. Two hundred andten thousand, I think it was, you said the sparklers cost." A curiouslittle sound came from Jimmie Dale's lips--like a chuckle.
Jimmie Dale tossed the telegram back on the desk, moved on behind thedesk, opened the door of the closet that had been metamorphosed intoa vault--and the white light travelled slowly, searchingly, criticallyover the shining black-enamelled steel, the nickelled knobs, and dialsof a safe that confronted him.
Jimmie Dale nodded at it--familiarly, grimly.
"It's number one-four-three-two-one, all right," he murmured. "And oneof the best we ever made. Pretty tough. But I've done it before. Say,half an hour of gentle persuasion. It would be too bad to crack it with'soup'--besides, that's crude--Carruthers would never forgive the GraySeal for that!"
The light went out--blackness fell. Jimmie Dale's slim, sensitivefingers closed on the dial's knob, his head touched the steel front ofthe safe as he pressed his ear against it for the tumblers' fall.
And then silence. It seemed to grow heavier, that silence, witheach second--to palpitate through the quiet house--to grow pregnant,premonitory of dread, of fear--it seemed to throb in long undulations,and the stillness grew LOUD. A moonbeam filtered in between the edgeof the drawn shade and the edge of the window. It struggled across thefloor in a wavering path, strayed over the desk, and died away, shadowyand formless, against the blackness of the opened recess door, againstthe blackness of the great steel safe, the blackness of a huddledform crouched against it. Only now and then, in a strange, projected,wraithlike effect, the moon ray glinted timidly on the tip of a nickeldial, and, ghostlike, disclosed a human hand.
Upstairs, Markel coughed again. Then from the safe a whisper,heavy-breathed as from great exertion:
"MISSED IT!"
The dial whirled with faint, musical, little metallic clicks; thenbegan to move slowly again, very, very slowly. The moonbeam, as thoughpetulant at its own abortive attempt to satisfy its curiosity, retreatedback across the floor, and faded away.
Blackness!
Time passed. Then from the safe again, but now in a low gasp, a pant ofrelief:
"Ah!"
The ear might barely catch the sound--it was as of metal sliding inwell-oiled grooves, of metal meeting metal in a padded thud. The massivedoor swung outward. Jimmie Dale stood up, easing his cramped muscles,and flirted the sweat beads from his forehead.
After a moment, he knelt again. There was still the inner door--but thatwas a minor matter to Jimmie Dale compared with what had gone before.
Stillness once more--a long period of it. And then again that cough fromabove--a prolonged paroxysm of it this time that went racketing throughthe house.
Jimmie Dale, in the act of swinging back the inner door of the safe,paused to listen, and little furrows under his mask gathered on hisforehead. The coughing stopped. Jimmie Dale waited a moment, stilllistening--then his flashlight bored into the interior of the safe.
"The cash box, probably," quoted Jimmie Dale, beneath his breath--andpicked it up from where it lay in the bottom compartment of the safe.
The lock snipped under the insistent probe of a delicate littleblued-steel instrument, and Jimmie Dale lifted the cover. There wasa package of papers and documents on top, held together with elasticbands. Jimmie Dale spent a moment or two examining these, thenhis fingers dived down underneath, and the next minute, under theflashlight, the morocco leather case open, the diamond necklace wassparkling and flashing on its white satin bed.
"A tempting little thing, isn't it?" said Jimmie Dale gently. "It wasreally thoughtful of you, Markel, to buy that this afternoon!"
Jimmie Dale replaced the necklace in the cash box, set the cash box onthe floor, closed the inner door of the safe, and swung the outer doora little inward--but left it flauntingly ajar. Then from a pocket of theleather girdle beneath his vest he produced his small, thin, flat, metalcase. From this, from between sheets of oil paper, with the aid of apair of tweezers, he lifted out a gray, diamond-shaped seal. JimmieDale was apparently fastidious. He held the seal with the tweezers ashe moistened the adhesive side with his tongue, laid the seal on hishandkerchief, and pressed the handkerchief firmly against the safe--asusual, Jimmie Dale's insignia bore no finger prints as it lay neatlycapping the knob of the dial.
He reached down, picked up the cash box--and then, for the second timethat night, held suddenly tense, alert, listening, his every muscletaut. A door opened upstairs. There came a murmur of voices. Then amomentary lull.
Jimmie Dale listened. Like a statue he stood there in the black,absolutely motionless--his head a little forward and to one side.Nothing--not a sound. Then a very low, curious, swishing noise, and afaint creak. SOMEBODY WAS COMING DOWN THE STAIRS!
Jimmie Dale moved stealthily from the recess, and noiselessly to thedesk. Very faintly, but distinctly now, came a pad of either slipperedor bare feet on the stairway carpet. Like a cat, soundless in hismovements, Jimmie Dale crept toward the door of the room. Down thestairs came that pad of feet; occasionally came that swishing sound.Nearer the door crept Jimmie Dale, and his lips were thinned now, hisjaws clamped. How near were they together, he and this night prowler? Attimes he could not hear the other at all, and, besides, the heavy carpetmade the judgment of distance an impossibility. If he could gain thehall, and, in the darkness, elude the other, the way of escape throughthe dining room was open. And then, within a few feet of the door,Jimmie Dale halted abruptly, as a woman's voice rose querulously fromthe hallway above:
"You are making a perfect fool of yourself, Theodore Markel! Come backhere to bed!"
Jimmie Dale's face hardened like stone--the answer came almost from thevery threshold in front of him:
"I can't sleep, I tell you"--it was Markel's voice, in a disgruntledsnarl. "I was a fool to bring the confounded thing home. I'm going totake the library couch for the rest of the night."
It happened quick, then--quick as the winking of an eye. Two sharp,almost simultaneous, clicks of the electric-light buttons pressed byMarkel, and the hall and library were a flood of light--and Jimmie Daleleaped forward to where, in dressing gown and pajamas, blankets andbedding over one arm, a revolver dangling in the other hand, Markelstood full before the door in the hallway without.
There was a wild yell of terror and surprise from Markel, then adeafening roar and a spit of flame from his revolver--a bitter,smothered exclamation from Jimmie Dale as the cash box crashed to thefloor from his left hand, and he was upon the other like a tiger.
With the impact, both men went to the floor, grappled, and rolled overand over. Half mad with fear, shock, and surprise, Markel fought like amaniac, and his voice, in gasping shouts, rang through the house.
A minute, two passed--and the men rolled about the hall floor. Markel,over middle age and unheathily fat, against Jimmie Dale's six feet ofmuscle--only Jimmie Dale's left hand, dripping a red stream now, wasalmost useless.
From above came wild confusion--women's voices in little shrieks; men'svoices shouting in excitement; doors opening, running feet. And thenJimmie Dale had snatched the revolver from the floor where Markelhad dropped it in the scuffle, and was pressing it against Markel'sforehead--and Markel, terror-stricken, had collapsed in a flabby, pliantheap.
Jimmie Dale, still covering Markel with the weapon, stood up. Thefrightened faces of women protruded over the banisters above. The twomen-servants, at best none too enthusiastically on the way down, stoppedas though stunned as Jimmie Dale swung the revolver upon them.
Then Jimmie Dale spoke--to Markel--pointing the weapon at Markel again.
"I don't like you, Markel," he said, with cold impudence. "The onlydecent thing you'll ever do will be to die--and if those men of yourson the stairs move another step it will be your death warrant. Do youunderstand? I would suggest that you request them to stay where theyare."
Cold sweat was on Markel's face as he stared into the muzzle of therevolver, and his tee
th chattered.
"Go back!" he screamed hysterically at the servants. "Go back! Sit down!Don't move! Do what he tells you!"
"Thank you!" said Jimmie Dale grimly. "Now, get up yourself!"
Markel got up.
Jimmie Dale backed to the library door, picked up the cash box, tuckedit under his left armpit, and faced those on the stairs.
"Mr. Markel and I are going out for a little walk," he announced coolly."If one of you make a move or raise an alarm before your master comesback, I shall be obliged, in self-defence, to shoot--Mr. Markel. Mr.Markel quite understands that--I am sure. Do you not, Mr. Markel?"
"Helen," screamed Markel to his wife, "don't let 'em move! For God'ssake, do as he says!"
Jimmie Dale's lips, just showing beneath the edge of his mask, broadenedin a pleasant little smile.
"Will you lead the way, Mr. Markel?" he requested, with ironicdeference. "Through the dining room, please. Yes, that's right!"
Markel walked weakly into the dining room, and Jimmie Dale followed. Aprod in the back from the revolver muzzle, and Markel stepped throughthe French windows and out on the lawn. Jimmie Dale faced the othertoward the woods at the rear of the house.
"Go on!" Jimmie Dale's voice was curt now, uncompromising. "And steplively!"
They passed on along the side of the house and in among the trees. Fiftyyards or so more, and Jimmie Dale halted. He backed Markel up against alarge tree--not over gently.
"I--I say"--Markel's teeth were going like castanets. "I--"
"You'll oblige me by keeping your mouth shut," observed Jimmie Dalepolitely--and he whipped the cord of Markel's dressing gown looseand began to tie the man to the tree. "You have many unpleasantcharacteristics, Markel--your voice is one of them. Shall I repeat thatI do not like you?" He stepped to the back of the tree. "Pardon me if Idraw this uncomfortably tight. I don't think you can reach around to theknot. No? The trunk is too large? Quite so!" He stepped around to faceMarkel again--the man was thoroughly frightened, his face was livid, hisjaw sagged weakly, and his eyes followed every movement of the revolverin Jimmie Dale's hand in a sort of miserable fascination. Jimmie Dalesmiled unhappily. "I am going to do something, Markel, that I shouldadvise no other man to do--I am going to put you on your honour! For thenext fifteen minutes you are not to utter a sound. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes," said Markel hoarsely.
"No," said Jimmie Dale sadly, "I don' think you do. Let me be painfullyexplicit. If you break your vow of silence by so much as a second, thento-morrow, or the next day, or the day after, at my convenience, Markel,you and I will meet again--for the LAST time. There can be no possiblemisapprehension on your part now--Markel?"
"N-no,"--Markel could scarcely chatter out the word.
"Quite so," said Jimmie Dale, in velvet tones. He stood for aninstant looking at the other with cool insolence; then: "Good-night,Markel"--and five minutes later a great touring car was tearing NewYorkward over the Long Island roads at express speed.
It was one o'clock in the morning as Jimmie Dale swung the car into across street off lower Broadway, and drew up at the curb beside a largeoffice building. He got out, snuggled the cash box under his ulster,went around to the Broadway entrance, glanced up to note that a lightburned in a fifth-story window, and entered the building.
The hallway was practically in darkness, one or two incandescents onlythrew a dim light about. Jimmie Dale stopped for a moment at the footof the stairs, beside the elevator well, to listen--if the watchman wasmaking rounds, it was in another part of the building Jimmie Dale beganto climb.
He reached the fifth floor, turned down the corridor, and halted infront of a door, through the ground-glass panel of which a light glowedfaintly--as though coming from an inner office beyond. Jimmie Dale drewthe black silk mask from his pocket, adjusted it, tried the door, foundit unlocked, opened it noiselessly, and stepped inside. Across theroom, through another door, half open, the light streamed into the outeroffice, where Jimmie Dale stood.
Jimmie Dale stole across the room, crouched by the door to look into theinner office--and his face went suddenly rigid.
"Good God!" he whispered. "As bad as that!"--but it was a nonchalantJimmie Dale to all outward appearances that, on the instant, steppedunconcernedly over the threshold.
An elderly man, white-haired, kindly-faced, kindly-eyed, save now thatthe face was drawn and haggard, the eyes full of weariness, was standingbehind a flat-topped desk, his fingers twitching nervously on a revolverin his hand. He whirled, with a startled cry, at Jimmie Dale's entrance,and the revolver clattered from his fingers to the floor.
"I am afraid," said Jimmie Dale, smiling pleasantly, "that you weregoing to shoot yourself. Your name is Wilbur, Henry Wilbur, isn't it?"
Unmanned, trembling, the other stood--and nodded mechanically.
"It's really not a nice thing to do," said Jimmie Dale confidentially."Makes a mess, you see, too"--he was pulling off his motor gauntlet,his ulster, his jacket, and, having set the cash box on the desk, wasrolling back his sleeve as he spoke. "Had a little experience myselfthis evening." He held out his hand that, with the forearm, was coveredwith blood. "A little above the wrist--fortunately only a flesh wound--alittle memento from a chap named Markel, and--"
"MARKEL!" The word burst, quivering, from the other's lips.
"Yes," said Jimmie Dale imperturbably. "Do you mind if I wash a bit--andcould you oblige me with a towel, or something that would do for abandage?"
The man seemed dazed. In a subconscious way, he walked from the desk toa little cupboard, and took out two towels.
Jimmie Dale stooped, while the other's back was turned, picked up therevolver from the floor, and slipped it into his trousers pocket.
"Markel?" said Wilbur again, the same trembling anxiety in his voice, ashe handed Jimmie Dale the towels and motioned toward a washstand in thecorner of the room. "Did you say Markel--Theodore Markel?"
"Yes," said Jimmie Dale, examining his wound critically.
"You had trouble--a fight with him? Is he--he--dead?"
"No," said Jimmie Dale, smiling a little grimly. "He's pretty badlyhurt, though, I imagine--but not in a physical way."
"Strange!" whispered Wilbur, in a numbed tone to himself; and he wentback and sank down in his desk chair. "Strange that you should speak ofMarkel--strange that you should have come here to-night!"
Jimmie Dale did not answer. He glanced now and then at the other, as hedeftly dressed his wrist--the man seemed on the verge of collapse, onthe 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 troubleand anxiety that was mirrored in the misery in his face, that hadbrought him to the point of taking his own life.
Jimmie Dale put on his coat again, walked over to the desk, and pickedup the 'phone.
"If I may?" he inquired courteously--and confided a number to themouthpiece of the instrument.
There was a moment's wait, during which Wilbur, in a desperate sort ofway, 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 personalinterest in the masked figure that leaned against his desk. He keptpassing his hands across his eyes, staring at Jimmie Dale.
Then Jimmie Dale spoke--into the 'phone.
"MORNING NEWS-ARGUS office? Mr. Carruthers, please. Thank you."
Another wait--then Jimmie Dale's voice changed its pitch and register toa pleasant and natural, though quite unrecognisable bass.
"Mr. Carruthers? Yes. I thought it might interest you to know thatMr. Theodore Markel purchased a very valuable diamond necklace thisafternoon. . . . 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 inhis possession. . . . I beg pardon? Oh, yes, I quite forgot--this is theGray Seal speaking. . . . Yes. . . . The Gray Seal. . . . I have justcome from Mr. Markel's country house, and if you hurry a man out thereyou ought to be able to give the public an exclus
ive bit of news,a scoop, I believe you call it--you see, Mr. Carruthers, I am notungrateful for, I might say, the eulogistic manner in which the MORNINGNEWS-ARGUS treated me in that last affair, and I trust I shall be ableto do you many more favours--I am deeply in your debt. And, oh, yes,tell your reporter not to overlook the detail of Mr. Markel in hispajamas and dressing gown tied to a tree in his park--Mr. Markel mightbe inclined to be reticent on that point, and it would be a pity todeprive the public of any--er--'atmosphere' in the story, you know. . . .What? . . . No; I am afraid Mr. Markel's 'phone is--er--out of order.. . . Yes. . . . And, by the way, speaking of 'phones, Mr. Carruthers,between gentlemen, I know you will make no effort under thecircumstances to discover the number I am calling from. Good-night, Mr.Carruthers." Jimmie Dale hung the receiver abruptly on the hook.
"You see," said Jimmie Dale, turning to Wilbur--and then he stopped. Theman was on his feet, swaying there, his face positively gray.
"My God!" Wilbur burst out. "What have you done? A thousand times betterif I had shot myself, as I would have done in another moment if you hadnot come in. I was only ruined then--I am disgraced now. You have robbedMarkel's safe--I am the one man in the world who would have a reasonabove all others for doing that--and Markel knows it. He will accuseme of it. He can prove I had a motive. I have not been home to-night.Nobody knows I am here. I cannot prove an alibi. What have you done!"
"Really," said Jimmie Dale, almost plaintively, swinging himself up onthe corner of the desk and taking the cash box on his knee, "really, youare alarming yourself unnecessarily. I--"
But Wilbur stopped him. "You don't know what you are talking about!"Wilbur cried out, in a choked way; then, his voice steadying, he rushedon: "Listen! I am a ruined man, absolutely ruined. And Markel has ruinedme--I did not see through his trick until too late. Listen! For years,as a mining engineer, I made a good salary--and I saved it. Two yearsago I had nearly seventy thousand dollars--it represented my life work.I bought an abandoned mine in Alaska for next to nothing--I was certainit was rich. A man by the name of Thurl, Jason T. Thurl, another miningengineer, a steamer acquaintance, was out there at the time--he was apartner of Markel's, though I didn't know it then. I started to work themine. It didn't pan out. I dropped nearly every cent. Then I strucka small vein that temporarily recouped me, and supplied the necessaryfunds with which to go ahead for a while. Thurl, who had tried to buythe mine out from under my option in the first place, repeatedly thentried to buy it from me at a ridiculous figure. I refused. He persisted.I refused--I was confident, I KNEW I had one of the richest propertiesin Alaska."
Wilbur paused. A little row of glistening drops had gathered on hisforehead. Jimmie Dale, balancing Markel's cash box on one knee, drummedsoftly with his finger tips on the cover.
"The vein petered out," Wilbur went on. "But I was still confident.I sank all the proceeds of the first strike--and sank them fast, forunaccountable accidents that crippled me both financially and in theprogress of the work began to happen." Wilbur flung out his handsimpotently. "Oh, it's a long story--too long to tell. Thurl was at thebottom of those accidents. He knew as well as I did that the mine wasrich--better than I did, for that matter, for we discovered before weran 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 actuallyuncovered what we uncovered only yesterday--the mother lode. He wasdriving me as fast as he could into the last ditch--for Markel. Ididn't know until yesterday that Markel had any thing to do with it. Istruggled on out there, hoping every day to open a new vein. I raisedmoney on everything I had, except my insurance and the mine--and sankit in the mine. No one out there would advance me anything on a propertythat looked like a failure, that had once already been abandoned. Ihave always kept an office here, and I came back East with the idea ofraising something on my insurance. Markel, quite by haphazard as I thenthought, was introduced to me just before we left San Francisco onour way to New York. On the run across the continent we became veryfriendly. Naturally, I told him my story. He played sympathetic goodfellow, 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 refusedto take more than ten thousand. I remember now that he seemed strangelydisappointed."
Again Wilbur stopped. He swept the moisture from his forehead--and hisfist, clenched, came down upon the desk.
"You see the game!"--there was bitter anger in his voice now. "You seethe game! He wanted to get me in deep enough so that I couldn't wriggleout, deeper than ten thousand that I could get at any time on myinsurance, he wanted me where I couldn't get away--and he got me. Thefirst ten thousand wasn't enough. I went to him for a second, a third, afourth, a fifth--hoping always that each would be the last. Each time anew note, a demand note for the total amount, was made, cancelling theformer one. I didn't know his game, didn't suspect it--I blessed God forgiving me such a friend--until this, or, rather, yesterday afternoon,when I received a telegram from my manager at the mine saying thathe had struck what looked like a very rich vein--the mother lode.And"--Wilbur's fist curled until the knuckles were like ivory in theirwhiteness--"he added in the telegram that Thurl had wired the news ofthe strike to a man in New York by the name of Markel. Do you see? Ihadn't had the telegram five minutes, when a messenger brought me aletter from Markel curtly informing me that I would have to meet my noteto-morrow morning. I can't meet it. He knew I couldn't. With wealth insight--I'm wiped out. A DEMAND note, a call loan, do you understand--andwith a few months in which to develop the new vein I could pay itreadily. As it is--I default the note--Markel attaches all I have left,which is the mine. The mine is sold to satisfy my indebtedness. Markelbuys it in legally, upheld by the law--and acquires, ROBS me of it,and--"
"And so," said Jimmie Dale musingly, "you were going to shoot yourself?"
Wilbur straightened up, and there was something akin to patheticgrandeur in the set of the old shoulders as they squared back.
"Yes!" he said, in a low voice. "And shall I tell you why? Even if,which is not likely, there was something reverting to me over thepurchase price, it would be a paltry thing compared with the mine. Ihave a wife and children. If I have worked for them all my life, could Istand back now at the last and see them robbed of their inheritance by ablack-hearted scoundrel when I could still lift a hand to prevent it!I had one way left. What is my life? I am too old a man to cling to itwhere 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 overthe desk, indicating the papers scattered there. "I have worked lateto-night getting my affairs in order. My total insurance is fifty-twothousand dollars, though I couldn't BORROW anywhere near the full amounton it--but at my death, paid in full, it would satisfy the note. Myexecutors, by instruction would pay the note--and no dollar from themine, no single grain of gold, not an ounce of quartz, would Markel everget his hands on, and my wife and children would be saved. That is--"
His words ended abruptly--with a little gasp. Jimmie Dale had openedthe cash box and was dangling the necklace under the light--a stream offiery, flashing, sparkling gems.
Then Wilbur spoke again, a hard, bitter note in his voice, pointing hishand at the necklace.
"But now, on top of everything, you have brought me disgrace--becauseyou broke into his safe to-night for THAT? He would and will accuse me.I have heard of you--the Gray Seal--you have done a pitiful night's workin your greed for that thing there."
"For this?" Jimmie Dale smiled ironically, holding the necklace up.Then he shook his head. "I didn't break into Markel's safe for this--itwouldn't have been worth while. It's only paste."
"PASTE!" exclaimed Wilbur, in a slow way.
"Paste," said Jimmie Dale placidly, dropping the necklace back into itscase. "Quite in keeping with Markel, isn't it--to make a sensation onthe cheap?"
&n
bsp; "But that doesn't change matters!" Wilbur cried out sharply, after anumbed instant's pause. "You still broke into the safe, even if youdidn't know then that the necklace was paste."
"Ah, but, you see--I did know then," said Jimmie Dale softly. "I amreally--you must take my word for it--a very good judge of stones, and Ihad--er--seen these before."
Wilbur stared--bewildered, confused.
"Then why--what was it that--"
"A paper," said Jimmie Dale, with a little chuckle--and produced it fromthe cash box. "It reads like this: 'On demand, I promise to pay--'"
"My note!" It came in a great, surging cry from Wilbur; and he strainedforward to read it.
"Of course," said Jimmie Dale. "Of course--your note. Did you think thatI had just happened to drop in on you? Now, then, see here, you justbuck up, and--er--smile. There isn't even a possibility of you beingaccused of the theft. In the first place, Markel saw quite enough of meto know that it wasn't you. Secondly, neither Markel nor any one elsewould ever dream that the break was made for anything else but thenecklace, with which you have no connection--the papers were in the cashbox and were just taken along with it. Don't you see? And, besides, thepolice, with my very good friend, Carruthers at their elbows, will seevery thoroughly to it that the Gray Seal gets full and ample credit forthe crime. But"--Jimmie Dale pulled out his watch, and yawned under hismask--"it's getting to be an unconscionable hour--and you've still aletter to write."
"A letter?" Wilbur's voice was broken, his lips quivering.
"To Markel," said Jimmie Dale pleasantly. "Write him in reply to hisletter of the afternoon, and post it before you leave here--just asthough you had written it at once, promptly, on receipt of his. He willstill get it on the morning delivery. State that you will take up thenote 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 presentit--can he? Eventually, having--er--no use for fake diamonds, Ishall return the necklace, together with the papers in his cash boxhere--including your note."
"Eventually?" Uncomprehendingly, stumblingly, Wilbur repeated the word.
"In a month or two or three, as the case may be," explained JimmieDale brightly. "Whenever you insert a personal in the NEWS-ARGUS tothe effect that the mother lode has given you the cash to meet it." Hereplaced the note in the cash box, slipped down to his feet from thedesk--and then he choked a little. Wilbur, the tears streaming downhis face, unable to speak, was holding out his hands to Jimmie Dale."I--er--good-night!" said Jimmie Dale hurriedly--and stepped quicklyfrom the room.
Halfway down the first flight of stairs he paused. Steps, running afterhim, sounded along the corridor above; and then Wilbur's voice.
"Don't go--not yet," cried the old man. "I don't understand. How did youknow--who told you about the note?"
Jimmie Dale did not answer--he went on noiselessly down the stairs. Hismask was off now, and his lips curved into a strange little smile.
"I wish I knew," said Jimmie Dale wistfully to himself.