CHAPTER VII
THE THIEF
Choosing between the snowy napery, the sparkling glass and silver, thecozy, shaded table-lamps, the famous French chef of the ultra-exclusiveSt. James Club, his own home on Riverside Drive where a dinner fit foran epicure and served by Jason, that most perfect of butlers, awaitedhim, and Marlianne's, Jimmie Dale, driving in alone in his touring carfrom an afternoon's golf, had chosen--Marlianne's.
Marlianne's, if such a thing as Bohemianism, or, rather, a concreteexpression of it exists, was Bohemian. A two-piece string orchestraplayed valiantly to the accompaniment of a hoarse-throated piano; andbetween courses the diners took up the refrain--and, as it was alwaysbetween courses with some one, the place was a bedlam of noisy riot.Nevertheless, it was Marlianne's--and Jimmie Dale liked Marlianne's. Hehad dined there many times before, as he had just dined in the person ofJimmie Dale, the millionaire, his high-priced imported car at the curbof the shabby street outside--and he had dined there, disreputable inattire, seedy in appearance, with the police yelping at his heels, asLarry the Bat. In either character Marlianne's had welcomed him withequal courtesy to its spotted linen and most excellent table-d'hote withVIN ORDINAIRE--for fifty cents.
And now, in the act of reaching into his pocket for the change to payhis bill, Jimmie Dale seemed suddenly to experience some difficulty infinding what he sought, and his fingers went fumbling from one pocketto another. Two men at the table in front of him were talking--theirvoices, over a momentary lull in violin squeaks, talk, laughter,singing, and the clatter of dishes, reached him:
"Carling commit suicide! Not on your life! No; of course he didn't! Itwas that cursed Gray Seal croaked him, just as sure as you sit in thatchair!"
The other grunted. "Yes; but what'd the Gray Seal want to pinch ahundred thousand out of the bank for, and then give it back again thenext morning?"
"What's he done a hundred other things for to cover up the real objectof what he's after?" retorted the first speaker, with a short, viciouslaugh; 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 sentto the chair where he belongs long ago, and--"
A burst of ragtime drowned out the man's words. Jimmie Dale placed afifty-cent piece and a tip beside it on his dinner check, pushedback his chair, and rose from the table. There was a half-tolerantlysatirical, half-angry glint in his dark, steady eyes. It was not onlythe police who yelped at his heels, but every man, woman, and child inthe city. The man had not voiced his own sentiments--he had voiced thesentiments of New York! And it was quite on the cards that if he, JimmieDale, were ever caught his destination would not even be the death celland the chair at Sing Sing--his fellow citizens had reached a pitchwhere they would be quite capable of literally tearing him to pieces ifthey 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 Seallived--that was his reward. That--and SHE, whose mysterious lettersprompted and impelled his, the Gray Seal's, acts! She--nameless,fascinating in her brilliant resourcefulness, amazing in her power, awoman whose life was bound up with his and yet held apart from him inthe most inexplicable, absorbing way; a woman he had never seen, savefor her gloved arm in the limousine that night, who at one unexpectedmoment projected a dazzling, impersonal existence across his path, andthe next, leaving him battling for his life where greed and passion andcrime swirled about him, was gone!
Jimmie Dale threaded the small, crowded rooms--the interior ofMarlianne's had never been altered from the days when the place had beena family residence of some pretension--and, reaching the hall, receivedhis hat from the frowsy-looking boy in attendance. He passed outside,and, at the top of the steps, paused as he took his cigarette casefrom his pocket. It was nearly a week since Carling, the cashier ofthe Hudson-Mercantile National Bank, had been found dead in his home,a bottle that had contained hydrocyanic acid on the floor beside him;nearly a week since Bookkeeper Bob, unaware that he had ever been undertemporary suspicion for the robbery of the bank, had, equally unknownto himself, been cleared of any complicity in that affair--and yet, aswitness the conversation of a moment ago, it was still the topic of NewYork, still the vital issue that filled the maw of the newspaperswith ravings, threats, and execrations against the Gray Seal, snarlingvirulently 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 humanin its irony, dropped it back into his pocket, and lighted a match--butthe flame was arrested halfway to the tip of his cigarette, as his eyesfixed 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 thematch between his fingers had gone out. Not that there was anything verystrange in a woman walking, or even half running, along the street; northat there was anything particularly attractive or unusual abouther, and if there had been the street was too dark for him to havedistinguished it. It was not that--it was the fact that she had neitherpassed by the house on whose steps he stood, nor come out of any of theadjoining houses. It was as though she had suddenly and miraculouslyappeared out of thin air, and taken form on a sidewalk a little way downfrom Marlianne's.
"That's queer!" commented Jimmie Dale to himself. "However--" He tookout another match, lighted his cigarette, jerked the match stub awayfrom him, and, with a lift of his shoulders, went down the steps.
He crossed the pavement, walked around the front of his machine, sincethe steering wheel was on the side next to the curb, and, with his handout to open the car door--stopped. Some one had been tampering withit--it was not quite closed. There was no mistake. Jimmie Dale madeno mistakes of that kind, a man whose life hung a dozen times a day onlittle things could not afford to make them. He had closed it firmly,even with a bang, when he had got out.
Instantly suspicious, he wrenched the door wide open, switched onthe light under the hood, and, with a sharp exclamation, bent quicklyforward. A glove, a woman's glove, a white glove lay on the floor of thecar. Jimmie Dale's pulse leaped suddenly into fierce, pounding beats. Itwas HERS! He KNEW that intuitively--knew it as he knew that he breathed.And that woman he had so leisurely watched as she had disappeared fromsight was, must have been--she!
He sprang from the car with a jump, his first impulse to dash afterher--and checked himself, laughing a little bitterly. It was too latefor that now--he had already let his chance slip through his fingers.Around the corner was Sixth Avenue, surface cars, the elevated,taxicabs, a multitude of people, any one of a hundred ways in whichshe could, and would, already have discounted pursuit from him--and,besides, he would not even have been able to recognise her if he sawher!
Jimmie Dale's smile was mirthless as he turned back to the car, andpicked up the glove. Why had she dropped it there? It could not havebeen intentional. Why had--he began to tear suddenly at the glove'slittle finger, and in another second, kneeling on the car's step, hisshoulders inside, he was holding a ring close under the little electricbulb.
It was a gold seal ring, a small, dainty thing that bore a crest:a bell, surmounted by a bishop's mitre--the bell, quaint in design,harking the imagination back to some old-time belfry tower. Andunderneath, in the scroll--a motto. It was a full minute before JimmieDale could decipher it, for the lettering was minute and the words, ofcourse, reversed. It was in French: SONNEZ LE TOCSIN.
He straightened up, the glove and ring in his hand, a puzzled expressionon his face. It was strange! Had she, after all, dropped the glovethere intentionally; had she at last let down the barriers just a littlebetween them, and given him this little intimate sign that she--
And then Jimmie Dale laughed abruptly, self-mockingly. He was onlytrying to deceive himself, to argue himself into believing what, withheart and soul, he wanted to believe. It was not like her--and neitherwas it so! His eyes had fixed on the seat beside the wheel. He had notused the lap rug all that day,
he couldn't use a rug and drive, he hadleft it folded and hanging on the rack in the tonneau--it was now neatlyfolded and reposing on the front seat!
"Yes," said Jimmie Dale, a sort of self-pity in his tones, "I might haveknown."
He lifted the rug. Beneath it on the leather seat lay a white envelope.Her letter! The letter that never came save with the plan of some grim,desperate work outlined ahead--the call to arms for the Gray Seal.SONNEZ LE TOCSIN! Ring the Tocsin! Sound the alarm! The Tocsin!The words were running through his brain. A strange motto on thatcrest--that seemed so strangely apt! The Tocsin! Never once in all thetimes that he had heard from her, never once in the years that had gonesince that initial letter of hers had struck its first warning note,had any communication from her been but to sound again a new alarm--theToscin! The Tocsin--the word seemed to visualise her, to give her aconcrete form and being, to breathe her very personality.
"The Tocsin!"--Jimmie Dale whispered the word softly, a littlewistfully. "Yes; I shall call you that--the Tocsin!"
He folded the glove very carefully, placed it with the ring in hispocketbook, picked up the letter--and, with a sharp exclamation, turnedit quickly over in his fingers, then bent hurriedly with it to thelight.
Strange things were happening that night! For the first time, the letterwas not even SEALED! That was not like her, either! What did it mean?Quick, alert now, anxious even, he pulled the double, folded sheetsfrom the envelope, glanced rapidly through them--and, after a moment, asmile, whimsical, came slowly to his lips.
It was quite plain now--all of it. The glove, the ring, and the unsealedletter--and the postscript held the secret; or, rather, what had beenintended for a postscript did, for it comprised only a few words, endingabruptly, unfinished: "Look in the cupboard at the rear of the room. Theman 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 beforethe ink was dry.
It was quite plain; and, in view of the real explanation of it all,eminently characteristic of her. With the letter already written, shehad come there, meaning to place it on the seat and cover it with therug, as, indeed, she had done; then, deciding to add the postscript, andbecause she would attract less attention that way than in any other, shehad climbed into the car as though it belonged to her, and had seatedherself 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 ringhad come with it. The rest was obvious. She had but just begun to writewhen he had appeared on the steps. She had slipped instantly down tothe floor of the car, probably dropping the glove from her lap, hastilyinclosed the letter in the envelope which she had no time to seal,thrust the envelope under the rug, and, forgetting her glove and fearfulof risking his attention by attempting to close the door firmly,had stolen along the body of the car, only to be noticed by him toolate--when she was well down the street!
And at that latter thought, once more chagrin seized Jimmie Dale--thenhe turned impulsively to the letter. All this was extraneous, apart--foranother time, when every moment was not a priceless asset as it veryprobably was now.
"Dear Philanthropic Crook"--it always began that way, never any otherway. He read on more and more intently, crouched there close to thelight on the floor of his car, lips thinning as he proceeded--read it tothe end, absorbing, memorising it--and then the abortive postscript:
"Look in the cupboard at the rear of the room. The man with the red wigis--"
For an instant, as mechanically he tore the letter into little shreds,he held there hesitant--and the next, slamming the door tight, he flunghimself into the seat behind the wheel, and the big, sixty-horse-power,self-starting machine was roaring down the street.
The Tocsin! There was a grim smile on Jimmie Dale's lips now. The alarm!Yes, it was always an alarm, quick, sudden, an emergency to face on theinstant--plans, decisions to be made with no time to ponder them, withonly that one fact to consider, staggering enough in itself, that amistake meant disaster and ruin to some one else, and to himself, ifthe courts were merciful where he had little hope for mercy, thepenitentiary for life!
And now to-night again, as it almost always was when these mysteriousletters came, every moment of inaction was piling up the odds againsthim. And, too, the same problem confronted him. How, in what way, inwhat role, must he play the night's game to its end? As Larry the Bat?
The car was speeding forward. He was heading down Broadway now, lowerBroadway, that stretched before him, deserted like some dark, narrowcanyon where, far below, like towering walls, the buildings closedtogether and seemed to converge into some black, impassable barrier. Thestreet lights flashed by him; a patrolman stopped the swinging of hisnight-stick, and turned to gaze at the car that rushed by at a rateperilously near to contempt of speed laws; street cars passed atindifferent intervals; pedestrians were few and far between--it was thelower Broadway of night.
Larry the Bat? Jimmie Dale shook his head impatiently over the steeringwheel. No; that would not do. It would be well enough for this youngBurton, perhaps, but not for old Isaac, the East Side fence--for Isaacknew him in the character of Larry the Bat. His quick, keen brain,weaving, eliminating, devising, scheming, discarded that idea. The finalcoup of the night, as yet but sensed in an indefinite, unshaped way, ifenacted in the person of Larry the Bat would therefore stamp Larry theBat and the Gray Seal as one--a contretemps but little less fatal, inview of old Issac, than to bracket the Gray Seal and Jimmie Dale! Larrythe Bat was not a character to be assumed with impunity, nor one tojeopardize--it was a bulwark of safety, at it were, to which more thanonce he owed escape from capture and discovery.
He lifted his shoulders with a sudden jerk of decision as the carswerved to the left and headed for the East Side. There was onlyone alternative then--the black silk mask that folded into such tinycompass, and that, together with an automatic and the curious, thinmetal case that looked so like a cigarette case, was always in hispocket for an emergency!
The car turned again, and, approaching its destination, Jimmie Daleslowed down the speed perceptibly. It was a strange case, not a pleasantone--and the raw edges where they showed were ugly in their nakedness.Old Isaac Pelina, young Burton, and Maddon--K. Wilmington Maddon, thewall-paper magnate! Curious, that of the three he should already knowtwo--old Isaac and Maddon! Everybody in the East Side, every denizenof the underworld, and many who posed on a far higher plane knew oldIsaac--fence to the most select clientele of thieves in New York,unscrupulous, hand in glove with any rascality or crime that promisedprofit, a money lender, a Shylock without even a Shylock's humanity asa saving grace! Yes; as Larry the Bat he knew old Isaac, and he knew himnot only personally but by firsthand reputation--he had heard the mancursed in blasphemous, whole-souled abandon by more than one crook whowas in the old fence's toils. They dealt with him, the crooks, whilethey swore to "get" him because he was "safe," but--Jimmie Dale's lipsparted in a mirthless smile--some day old Isaac would be found in thatspiders' den of his back of the dingy loan office with a knife in hisheart or a bullet through his head! And K. Wilmington Maddon--JimmieDale's smile grew whimsical--he had known Maddon quite intimately foryears, had even dined with him at the St. James Club only a few nightsbefore. Maddon was a man in his own "set"--and Maddon, interfered with,was likely to prove none too tractable a customer to handle. And youngBurton, the letter had said, was Maddon's private and confidentialsecretary. Jimmie Dale's lips thinned again. Well, Burton's acquaintancewas still to be made! It was a curious trio--and it was dirty work, moreraw than cunning, more devilish than ingenious; blackmail in its mosthellish form; the stake, at the least calculation, a cool half million.A heavy price for a single slip in a man's life!
He brought the car abruptly to a halt at the edge of the curb, andsprang out to the ground. He was in front of "The Budapest" restaurant,a garish establishment, most popular of all resorts for the moment onthe East Side, where Fifth Avenue, in the fond belief that it was seeingthe real thing in
"seamy" life, engaged its table a week in advance.Jimmie Dale pushed a bill into the door attendant's hand, accompanied byan injunction to keep an eye on the machine, and entered the cafe.
But for a sort of tinselled ostentation the place might well have beenthe Marlianne's that he had just left--it was crowded and riot wasat its height; a stringed orchestra in Hungarian costume played whatpurported to be Hungarian airs; shouts, laughter, clatter of dishes,and thump of steins added to the din. He made his way between theclose-packed tables to the stairs, and descended to the lower floor.Here, if anything, the confusion was greater than above; but here,too, was an exit through to the rear street--and a moment later he wassauntering past the front of an unkempt little pawnshop, closed forthe night, over whose door, in the murk of a distant street lamp, threeballs hung in sagging disarray, tawny with age, and across whose dirty,unwashed windows, letters missing, ran the legend:
IS AC PELINA Pawn brok r
The pawnshop made the corner of a very dark and narrow lane--and, with aquick glance around him to assure himself that he was unobserved, JimmieDale stepped into the alleyway, and, lost instantly in the blackershadows, stole along by the wall of the pawnshop. Old Isaac's businesswas not all done through the front door.
And then suddenly Jimmie Dale shrank still closer against the wall. Wasit intuition, premonition--or reality? There seemed an uncanny feelingof PRESENCE around him, as though perhaps he were watched, as thoughothers beside himself were in the lane. Yes; ahead of him a shadowmoved--he could just barely distinguish it now that his eyes had grownaccustomed to the darkness. It, like himself, was close against thewall, and now it slunk noiselessly down the length of the lane until helost sight of it. AND WHAT WAS THAT? He strained his ears to listen. Itseemed like a window being opened or closed, cautiously, stealthily, thefraction of an inch at a time. And then he located the sound--it camefrom the other side of the lane and very nearly opposite to where, onthe second floor, a dull, yellow glow shone out from old Isaac's privateden in the rear of the pawnshop's office.
Jimmie Dale's brows were gathered in sharp furrows. There was evidentlysomething afoot to-night of which the Tocsin had NOT sounded the alarm.And then the frown relaxed, and he smiled a little. Miraculous as wasthe means through which she obtained the knowledge that was the basis oftheir strange partnership, it was no more miraculous than her unerringaccuracy 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 heartof gangland; but whatever it might be, it was certainly extraneous tohis mission or she would have mentioned it.
The lane was empty now, he was quite sure of that--and there wasno further sound from the window opposite. He started forward oncemore--only to halt again for the second time as abruptly as before,squeezing if possible even more closely against the wall. Some one hadturned into the lane from the sidewalk, and, walking hurriedly, choosingwith evident precaution the exact centre of the alleyway, came towardhim.
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 buildingJimmie Dale's ears caught the faint ringing of an electric bell; along ring, followed in quick succession by three short ones--then therepeated clicking of a latch, as though pulled by a cord from above, andthe man passed in through the door, closing it behind him.
Jimmie Dale nodded to himself in the darkness. It was a spring lock; thesignal was one long ring and three short ones--the Tocsin had not missedeven those small details. Also, Burton was late for his appointment, forthat must have been Burton--business such as old Isaac had in handthat night would have permitted the entrance of no other visitor but K.Wilmington Maddon's private secretary.
He moved down the lane to the door, and tried it softly. It was locked,of course. The slim, tapering, sensitive fingers, whose tips were eyesand ears to Jimmie Dale, felt over the lock--and a slender little steelinstrument slipped into the keyhole. A moment more and the catch wasreleased, and the door, under his hand, began to open. With it ajar,he paused, his eyes searching intently up and down the lane. There wasnothing, no sign of any one, no moving shadows now. His gaze shifted tothe window opposite. Directly facing it now, with the dull reflectionupon it from the lighted window of old Isaac's den above his head, hecould make out that it was open--but that was all.
Once more he smiled--a little tolerantly at himself this time. Some onehad been in the lane; some one had opened the window of his or herroom in that tenement house across from him--surely there was nothingsurprising, unnatural, or even out of the commonplace in that. He hadbeen a little bit on edge himself, perhaps, and the sudden movement ofthat shadow, unexpected, had startled him for the moment, as, in allprobability, the opening of the window had startled the skulking figureitself into action.
The door was open now. He stepped noiselessly inside, and closed itnoiselessly 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 shortflight of stairs leading directly to doorway of Isaac's den above.Ramshackle old place, low ceilings. Isaac, when sitting in his den, canlook 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 aneye on his assistant. Latter always locks up and leaves promptly at sixo'clock--" Jimmie Dale was subconsciously repeating to himself snatchesfrom the Tocsin's letter, which, as subconsciously in reading, he hadmemorised almost word for word.
And now voices reached him--one, excited, nervous, as though thespeaker were labouring under mental strain that bordered closely onthe hysterical; the other, curiously mingling a querulousness with anattempt to pacify, but dominantly contemptuous, sneering, cold.
Jimmie Dale moved along the hall--very slowly--without a sound--testingeach step before he threw his body weight from one leg to the other. Hereached the foot of the stairs. The Tocsin had been right; it was a veryshort flight. He counted the steps--there were eight. Above, facing him,a door was open. The voices were louder now. It was a sordid-lookingroom, what he could see of it, poverty-stricken in its appearance,intentionally so probably for effect, with no attempt whatever atfurnishing. He could see through the doorway to the window that openedon the alleyway, or, rather, just glimpse the top of the window at anangle across the room--that and a bare stretch of floor. The two menwere not in the line of vision.
Burton's voice--it was unquestionably Burton speaking--came to JimmieDale now distinctly.
"No, I didn't! I tell you, I didn't! I--I hadn't the nerve."
Jimmie Dale slipped his black silk mask over his face; and with extremecaution, on hands and knees, began to climb the stairs.
"So!" It was old Isaac now, in a half purr, half sneer. "And I was sosure, my young friend, that you had. I was so sure that you were notsuch a fool. Yes; I could even have sworn that they were in your pocketnow--what? It is too bad--too bad! It is not a pleasant thing to thinkof, that little chair up the river in its horrible little room where--"
"For God's sake, Isaac--not that! Do you hear--not that! My God, Ididn't mean to--I didn't know what I was doing!"
Jimmie Dale crept up another step, another, and another. There wassilence for a moment in the room; then Burton again, hoarse-voiced:
"Isaac, I'll make good to you some other way. I swear I will--I swearit! If I'm caught at this I'll--I'll get fifteen years for it."
"And which would you rather have?" Jimmie Dale could picture the oilysmirk, the shrug of his shoulders, the outthrust hands, palms upward,elbows in at the hips, the fingers curved and wide apart--"fifteenyears, or what you get--for murder? Eh, my friend, you have thought ofthat--eh? It is a very little price I ask--yes?"
"Damn you!" Burton's voice was shrill, then dropped to a half sob. "No,no, Isaac, I didn't mean that. Only, for God's sake be merciful! It isnot only the risk of t
he penitentiary; it's more than that. I--I triedto play white all my life, and until that cursed night there's no manliving could say I haven't. You know that--you know that, Isaac. I tellyou I couldn't do it this afternoon--I tell you I couldn't. I tried toand--and I couldn't."
Jimmie Dale was lying flat on the little landing now, peering into theroom. Back a short distance from the doorway, a repulsive-lookinglittle man in unkempt clothes and soiled linen, with yellowish-skinned,parchment face, out of which small black eyes shone cunningly andshrewdly, sat at a bare deal table in a rickety chair; facing him acrossthe table stood a young man of not more than twenty-five, clean cut,well dressed, but whose face was unnaturally white now, and whose hand,as he extended it in a pleading gesture toward the other, trembledvisibly. Jimmie Dale's hand made its way quietly to his side pocket andextracted his automatic.
Old Isaac humped his shoulders, and leered at his visitor.
"We talk a great deal, my young friend. What is the use? A bargain isa bargain. A few rubies in exchange for your life. A few rubies and mymouth is shut. Otherwise"--he humped his shoulders again. "Well?"
Burton drew back, swept his hand in a dazed way across his eyes--andlaughed out suddenly in bitter mirth.
"A few rubies!" he cried. "The most magnificent stones on this side ofthe water--a FEW rubies! It's been Maddon's life hobby. Every child inNew York knows that! A few--yes, there's only a few--but those few areworth a fortune. He trusts me, the man has been like a father to me,and--"
"So you are the very last to be suspected," observed old Isaac suavely."Have I not told you that? There is nothing to fear. Did we not arrangeeverything so nicely--eh, my young friend? See, it was to-night thatMaddon gives a little reception to his friends, and did you not say thatthe rubies would be taken from the safe-deposit vault this afternoonsince his friends always clamoured to see them as a very fittingconclusion to an evening's entertainment? And did you not say that youvery 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 lookfor them some time this evening? I think you said all that. And whatsuspicion let alone proof, would attach itself to you? You were out ofthe room once when he, too, was absent for perhaps half an hour. Itis very simple. In that half hour, some one, somehow, abstracted them.Certainly it was not you. You see how little I ask--and I pay well, do Inot? And so I gave you until to-night. Three days have gone, and I havesaid nothing, and the body has not been found--eh? But to-night--eh--itwas understood! The rubies--or the chair."
Burton's lips moved, but it was a moment before he could speak.
"You wouldn't dare!" he whispered thickly. "You wouldn't dare! I'd tellthe story of--of what you tried to make me do, and they'd send you upfor it."
Old Isaac shrugged with pitying contempt.
"Is it, after all, a fool I am dealing with!" he sneered. "And I--whatshould I say? That you had stolen the stones from your employer andoffered them as a bribe to silence me, and that I had refused. The veryact of handing you over to the police would prove the truth of what Isaid and rob you of even a chance of leniency--FOR THAT OTHER THING. Isit not so--eh? And why did I not hand you over at once three nights ago?Believe me, my young friend, I should have a very good reason ready, adozen, if necessary, if it came to that. But we are borrowing trouble,are we not? We shall not come to that--eh?"
For a moment it seemed to Jimmie Dale, as he watched, that Burton wouldhurl himself upon the other. White to the lips, the muscles of his facetwitching, Burton clenched his fists and leaned over the table--andthen, with sudden revulsion of emotion, he drew back once more, and oncemore came that choked sob:
"You'll pay for this, Isaac--your turn will come for this!
"I have been threatened very often," snapped the other contemptuously."Bah, what are threats! I laugh at them--as I always will." Then, witha quick change of front, his voice a sudden snarl: "Well, we havetalked enough. You have your choice. The stones or--eh? And it isto-night--NOW!"
The old pawnbroker sprawled back in his chair, a cunning leer on hisvicious face, a gleam of triumph, greed, in the beady, ratlike eyes thatnever wavered from the other. Burton, moisture oozing from his forehead,stood there, hesitant, staring back at old Isaac, half in a fascinatedgaze, half as though trying to read some sign of weakness in the bestialcountenance that confronted him. And then, very slowly, in an automatic,machine-like way, his hand groped into the inside pocket of hisvest--and old Isaac cackled out in derision.
"So! You thought you could bluff me, eh--you thought you could fool oldIsaac! Bah! I read you like a book! Did I not tell you a while back thatyou had them in your pocket? I know your kind, my young friend; I knowyour kind very well indeed--it is my business. You would not havedared to come here to-night without the price. So! You took them thisafternoon as we agreed. Yes, yes; you did well. You will not regret it.And now let me see them"--his voice rose eagerly--"let me see them now,my young friend."
"Yes, I took them." Burton spoke listlessly. "God help me!"
Old Isaac, quivering, excited, like a different creature now, sprangfrom his chair, and, as Burton drew a long, flat, leather case fromhis pocket, snatched it from the other's hand. His fingers in theirrapacious haste could not at first manipulate the catch, and thenfinally, with the case open, he bent over the table feverishly. Thelight reflected back as from some living mass of crimson fire, nowshading darkly, now glowing into wondrous, colourful transparency as hemoved the case to and fro with jerky motions of his hands--and he wasbabbling, crooning to himself like one possessed.
"Ah, the little beauties! Ah, the pretty little things! Yes, yes; theseare the ones! This is the great Aracon--see, see, the six-sided prismterminated by the six-sided pyramid. But it must be cut--it must be cutto sell it, eh? Ah, it is too bad--too bad! And this, this one here, Iknow them all, this is--"
But his sentence was never finished--it was Jimmie Dale, on his feetnow, leaning against the jamb of the door, his automatic covering thetwo men at the table, who spoke.
"Quite so, Isaac," he said coolly; "you know them all! Quite so,Isaac--but be good enough to DROP them!"
The case fell from Isaac's hand, the flush on his cheeks died to asickly pallor, and, his mouth half open, he stood like a man turned tostone, his hands with curved fingers still outstretched over the table,over the crimson gems that, spilled from the case, lay scattered nowon the tabletop. Burton neither spoke nor moved--a little whiter, themisery in his face almost apathetic, he moistened his lips with the tipof his tongue.
Jimmie Dale walked across the room, halted at the end of the table,and surveyed the two men grimly. And then, while one hand with revolverextended 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 lipsparted in an uninviting smile.
"I guess I'm in luck to-night, eh, Isaac?" he drawled. "Between you andyour young friend, as I believe you call him, it would appear as thoughI had fallen on my feet. That Aracon's worth--what would you say?--ahundred, two hundred thousand alone, eh? A very famous stone, that--hadyour eye on it for quite a time, Isaac, you miserable blood leech, eh?"
Isaac did not answer; but, while he still held back from the table, heseemed to be regaining a little of his composure--burglars of whateversort were no novelty to him--and was staring fixedly at Jimmie Dale.
"Can't place me--though there's not many in the profession you don'tknow? 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, hiswords coming in a quick, nervous rush. "Listen! You don't--"
"Hold your tongue!" cried old Isaac, with sudden fierceness. "You are afool!" He leaned toward Jimmie Dale, a crafty smile on his face, quitein 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"--hetook a step forward--"but--"
"Not too
close, Isaac!" snapped Jimmie Dale sharply. "I know YOU!"
"So!" ejaculated old Isaac, rubbing his hands together. "So! That isgood! That is what I want. Listen, we will make a bargain. We are birdsof a feather, eh? All thieves, eh? You've got the drop on us who did allthe work, but you'll give us our share--eh? Listen! You couldn't get ridof 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, yousay. Well, then, you know there isn't another man in New York coulddispose of those rubies and play SAFE doing it except me. I'll make agood bargain with you."
"Isaac," said Jimmie Dale pensively, "you've made a good many 'good'bargains. I wonder when you'll make your last! There's more than onelooking 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. Iam afraid of none of them. I hold them all like--THAT!" His hand openedand closed like a taloned claw.
"And you'd add me to the lot, eh?" said Jimmie Dale. He lifted therevolver, its muzzle on old Isaac, examined the mechanism thoughtfully,and lowered it again. "Very well, I'll make a bargain withyou--providing it is agreeable to your young friend here."
"Ah!" exclaimed old Isaac shrilly. "So! That is good! It is done then."He chuckled hoarsely. "Any bargain I make he will agree to. Is it notso?" He fixed his eyes on Burton. "Well, is it not so? Speak up! Say--"
He stopped--the words cut short off on his lips. It came withoutwarning--a crash, a pound on the door below--another.
Burton shrank back against the wall.
"My God! The police!" he gasped. "Maddon's found out! We're--we'recaught!"
Jimmie Dale's eyes, on old Isaac, narrowed. The pounding in the alleywaygrew louder, more insistent. And then his first suspicion passed--itwas no "game" of Isaac's. Crafty though the old fox was, the other'ssurprise and agitation was too genuine to be questioned.
Still the pounding continued--some one was kicking viciously at thedoor, and banging a tattoo on the panels with his fists.
Old Isaac's clawlike hands doubled suddenly.
"It is some drunken sot," he snarled out, "that knows no better than tocome here and rouse the whole neighbourhood! It is true, in a moment wewill have the police running in from the street. But wait--wait--I'llteach the fool a lesson!" He dashed around the table, ran for thewindow, wrenched the catch up, flung the window open, and, snarlingagain, leaned out--and instantly the knocking ceased.
And instantly then, with a sharp cry, as the whole ghastly meaning of itswept upon him, Jimmie sprang after the other--too late! Came theroar of a revolver shot, a stream of flame cutting the darkness of thealleyway from the window in the house opposite--and, without a sound,old Isaac crumpled up, hung limply for a moment over the sill, and slidin a heap to the floor.
On his hands and knees, protected from the possibility of another bulletby the height of the sill, Jimmie Dale, quick in every movement now,dragged the inert form toward the table away from the window, and benthurriedly over the other. A minute perhaps he stayed there--and thenrose slowly.
Burton, horror-stricken, unmanned, beside himself, was hanging,clutching with both hands at the table edge.
"He's dead," said Jimmie Dale laconically.
Burton flung out his hands.
"Dead!" he whispered hoarsely. "I--I think I'm going mad. Three days ofhell--and now this. We'd--we'd better get out of here quick--they'll getus if--"
Jimmie Dale's hand fell with a tight grip on Burton's shoulder.
"There won't be any more shots fired--pull yourself together!"
Burton stared at him in a demented way.
"What's--what's it mean?" he stammered.
"It means that I didn't put two and two together," said Jimmie Dale alittle bitterly. "It means that there's a dozen crooks been dancingold Isaac's tune for a long time--and that some of them have got him atlast."
Burton reached out suddenly and clutched Jimmie Dale's arm.
"Then I'm safe!" He mumbled the words, but there was dawning hope,relief in his white face. "Safe! I'm safe--if you'll only give me backthose stones. Give them back to me, for God's sake give them back to me!You don't know--you don't understand. I stole them because--because hemade me--because I--it was the only chance I had. Oh, my God, you don'tknow what the last three days have been! Give them back to me, won'tyou--won't you? You--you don't know!"
"Don't lose your nerve!" said Jimmie Dale sharply. "Sit down!" He pushedthe other into the chair. "There's no one will disturb us here for sometime at least. What is it that I don't know? That three nights agoyou were in a gambling hell, Sagosto's, to be exact, one of the mostdisreputable in New York--and you went there on the invitation of astray acquaintance, a man named Perley--shall I describe him for you? Ashort, slim-built man, black eyes, red hair, beard, and--"
"YOU know that!" The misery, the hopelessness was back in Burton's faceagain--and suddenly he bent over the table and buried his head in hisoutflung arms.
There was silence for a moment. Tight-lipped, Jimmie Dale's eyestravelled from Burton's shaking shoulders to the motionless form on thefloor. Then he spoke again:
"You're a bit of a rounder, Burton, but I think you've had a lesson thatwill last you all your life. You were half-drunk when you and Perleybegan to hobnob over a downtown bar. He said he'd show you some reallife, and you went with him to Sagosto's. He gave you a revolver beforeyou went in, and told you the place wasn't safe for an unarmed man. Heintroduced you to Sagosto, the proprietor, and you were shown to aback room. You drank quite a little there. You and Perley were alone,throwing dice. You got into a quarrel. Perley tried to draw hisrevolver. You were quicker. You drew the one he had given you--andfired. He fell to the floor--you saw the blood gush from his breast justabove the heart--he was dead. In a panic you rushed from the place andout into the street. I don't think you went home that night."
Burton raised his head, showing his haggard face.
"I guess it's no use," he said dully. "If you know, others must. Ithought only Isaac and Sagosto knew. Why haven't I been arrested? I wishto God I had--I wouldn't have had to-day to answer for."
"I am not through yet," said Jimmie Dale gravely. "The next day oldIsaac here sent for you. He said Sagosto had told him of the murder, andhad offered to dispose of the corpse and keep his mouth shut for fiftythousand dollars--that no one in his place knew of it except himself.Isaac, for his share, wanted considerably more. You told him you had nosuch sums, that you had no money. He told you how you could get it--youhad access to Maddon's safe, you were Maddon's confidentialsecretary, fully in your employer's trust, the last man on earth to besuspected--and there were Maddon's famous, priceless rubies."
Jimmie Dale paused. Burton made no answer.
"And so," said Jimmie Dale presently, "to save yourself from the deathpenalty you took them."
"Yes," said Burton, scarcely above his breath. "Are you an officer? Ifyou are, take me, have done with it! Only for Heaven's sake end it! Ifyou're not--"
Jimmie Dale was not listening. "The cupboard at the rear of the room,"she had said. He walked across to it now, opened it, and, after a littlesearch, found a small bundle. He returned with it in his hand, and,kneeling beside the dead man on the floor, his back to Burton, untiedit, took out a red wig and beard, and slipped them on to old Isaac'shead and face.
"I wonder," he said grimly, as he stood up, "if you ever saw this manbefore?"
"My God--PERLEY!" With a wild cry, Burton was on his feet, strainingforward like a man crazed.
"Yes," said Jimmie Dale, "Perley! Sort of an ironic justice in his endas far as you are concerned, isn't there? I think we'll leave him likethat--as Perley. It will provide the police with an interesting littleproblem--which they will never solve, and--STEADY!"
Burton was rocking on his feet, the tears were streaming down his face.He lurched heavily--and Jimmie Dale caught him, and pushed him back intothe chair again.
"I thought--I thought there w
as blood on my hands," said Burton brokenly;"that--that I had taken a man's life. It was horrible, horrible! I'velived through three days that I thought would drive me mad, while I--Itried to do my work, and--and talk to people, just as if nothing hadhappened. 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." Hestared at the form on the floor, and shivered suddenly. "It--it was likethat I saw him last!" he whispered. "But--but I do not understand."
Jimmie Dale smiled a little wearily.
"It was simple enough," he said. "Old Isaac had had his eyes on thoserubies 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 withblank cartridges, the blood you saw was the old, old trick--a puncturedbladder of red pigment concealed under the vest."
"Let us get out of here!" Burton shuddered again. "Let us get out ofhere--at once--now. If we're found here, we'll be accused of--THAT!"
"There is no hurry," Jimmie Dale answered quietly. "I have told you thatno one is liable to come here to-night--and whoever did this certainlywill not raise an alarm. And besides, there is still the matter of therubies--Burton."
"Yes," said Burton, with a quick intake of his breath.
"Yes--the rubies--what are you going to do with them? I--I had forgottenthem. You'll--" He stopped, stared at Jimmie Dale, and burst into amiserable laugh. "I'm a fool, a blind fool!" he moaned. "It does notmatter what you do with them. I forgot Sagosto. When they find Isaachere, Sagosto will either tell his story, which will be enough toconvict me of this night's work, the REAL murder, even though I'minnocent; or else he'll blackmail me just as Isaac did."
Jimmie Dale shook his head.
"You are doing Isaac's cunning an injustice," he said grimly. "Sagostowas only a tool, one of many that old Isaac had in his power--and, forthat matter, as likely as any one else to have had a hand in Isaac'smurder to-night. Sagosto saw you once when Isaac brought you into hisplace--not because Isaac wanted Sagosto to see you, but because hewanted YOU to see Sagosto. Do you understand? It would make the storythat Sagosto came to him with the tale of the murder the next day ringtrue. Sagosto, however, did not go to old Isaac the next day to tellabout any fake murder--naturally. Sagosto would not know you againfrom Adam--neither does he know anything about the rubies, nor what oldIsaac's ulterior motives were. He was paid for his share in the game inold Isaac's usual manner of payment probably--by a threat of exposurefor some old-time offence, that Isaac held over him, if he didn't keephis mouth shut."
Burton's hand brushed his eyes.
"Yes," he muttered. "Yes--I see it now."
Jimmie Dale stooped down, picked up the paper from the floor in whichthe wig and beard had been wrapped, walked back with it, and replacedit in the cupboard. And then, with his back to Burton again, he tookthe case of gems from his pocket, opened it, and laid it on the cupboardshelf. Also from his pocket came that thin metal case, and from thecase, with a pair of tweezers that obviated the possibility of telltalefinger prints, a gray, diamond-shaped piece of paper, adhesive onone side that, cursed by the distracted authorities in every policeheadquarters on both sides of the Atlantic, and raved at by a virulentpress whose printed reproductions had made it familiar in everyhousehold in the land--was the insignia of the Gray Seal. He moistenedthe adhesive side, dropped it from the tweezers to his handkerchief, andpressed it down firmly on the inside of the cover of the jewel case. Heput both cases back in his pockets, and returned to Burton.
"Burton," he said a little sharply, "while I was outside that doorwaythere, I heard you beg old Isaac to let you keep the rubies, and threetimes already you have asked the same of me. What would you do with themif I gave them back to you?"
Burton did not reply for a moment--he was gazing at the masked face in ahalf-eager, half-doubtful way.
"You--you mean you will give them back!" he burst out finally.
"Answer my question," prompted Jimmie Dale.
"Do with them?" Burton repeated slowly. "Why, I've told you. They'd goback to Mr. Maddon--I'd take them back."
"Would you?" Jimmie Dale's voice was quizzical.
A puzzled expression came to Burton's face.
"I don't know what you mean by that," he said. "Of course, I would!"
"How?" asked Jimmie Dale. "Do you know the combination of Mr. Maddon'ssafe?"
"No," said Burton
"And the safe would be locked, wouldn't it?"
"Yes."
"Quite so," said Jimmie Dale musingly. "Then, granted that Mr. Maddonhas not already discovered the theft, how would you replace the stonesbefore he does discover it? And if he already knows that they are gone,how would you get them back into his hands?"
"Yes, I know," Burton answered a little listlessly. "I've thought ofthat. There's only one way--to take them back to him myself, and make aclean breast of it, and--" He hesitated.
"And tell him you stole them," supplied Jimmie Dale.
Burton nodded his head. "Yes," he said.
"And then?" prodded Jimmie Dale. "What will Maddon do? From what I'veheard of him, he's not a man to trifle with, nor a man to take an overlycomplacent view of things--not the man whose philosophy is 'all's wellthat ends well.'"
"What does it matter?" Burton's voice was low. "It isn't that so much.I'm ready for that. It's the fact that he trusted me implicitly, andI--well, I played the fool, or I'd never have got into a mess likethis."
For an instant Jimmie Dale looked at the other searchingly, and then,smiling strangely, he shook his head.
"There's a better way than that, Burton," he said quietly.
"I think, as I said before, you've had a lesson to-night that will lastyou all your life. I'm going to give you another chance--with Maddon.Here are the stones." He reached into his pocket and laid the case onthe table.
But now Burton made no effort to take the case--his eyes, in thatpuzzled way again, were on Jimmie Dale.
"A better way?" he repeated tensely. "What do you mean? What way?"
"Well, say at the expense of another man's reputation--of mine,"suggested Jimmie Dale, with his whimsical smile. "You need only say thata man came to you this evening, told you that he stole these rubies fromMr. Maddon during the afternoon, and asked you, as Mr. Maddon's privatesecretary, to restore them with his compliments to their owner."
A slow flush of disappointment, deepening to one of anger dyed Burton'scheeks.
"Are you trying to make a fool of me?" he cried out. "Go to Maddon witha childish tale like that! There's no man living would believe such acock-and-bull story!"
"No?" inquired Jimmie Dale softly. "And yet I am inclined to think thereare a good many--that even Maddon would, hard-headed as he is. Youmight say that when the man handed you the case you thought it was somepractical joke being foisted on you, until you opened the case"--JimmieDale pushed it a little farther across the table, and Burton,mechanically, his eyes still on Jimme Dale, loosened the catch with histhumb nail--"until you opened the case, saw the rubies, and--"
"The Gray Seal!" Burton had snatched the case toward him, and wasstraining his eyes at the inside cover. "You--the Gray Seal!"
"Well?" said Jimmie Dale whimsically.
Motionless, the case held open in his hands, Burton stood there.
"The Gray Seal!" he whispered. Then, with a catch in his voice: "Youmean this? You mean to let me have these back--you mean--you mean allyou've said? For God's sake, don't play with me--the Gray Seal, the mostnotorious criminal in the country, to give back a fortune like this!You--you--"
"Dog with a bad name," said Jimmie Dale, with a wry smile; then, alittle gruffly: "Put it in your pocket!"
Slowly, almost as though he expected the case to be snatched back fromhim the next instant, Burton obeyed.
"I don't understand--I CAN'T understand!" he murmured. "They say thatyou--and yet I believe you now--you've saved me from a ruined lifeto-night. The Gray Seal! If--if every one knew what you had done,they--" r />
"But every one won't," Jimmie Dale broke in bluntly, "Who is to tellthem? You? You couldn't very well, when you come to think of it--couldyou? Well, who knows, perhaps there have been others like you!"
"You mean," said Burton excitedly, "you mean that all these crimes ofyours that have seemed without motive, that have been so inexplicable,have really been like to-night to--"
"I don't mean anything at all," interposed Jimmie Dale a littlehurriedly. "Nothing, Burton--except that there is still one little thingmore to do to bolster up that 'childish' story of mine--and then getout of here." He glanced sharply, critically around the room, his eyesresting for a moment at the last on the form on the floor. Then tersely:"I am going to turn out the light--we will have to pass the window toget to the door, and we will invite no chances. Are you ready?"
"No; not yet," said Burton eagerly. "I haven't said what I'd like to sayto you, what I--"
"Walk straight to the door," said Jimmie Dale curtly. There was theclick of an electric-light switch, and the room was in darkness. "Now,no noise!" he instructed.
And Burton, perforce, made his way across the room--and at the doorJimmie Dale joined him and led him down the short flight of stairs. Atthe bottom, he opened the door leading into the rear of the pawnshopitself, and, bidding Burton follow, entered.
"We can't risk even a match; it could be seen from the street," he saidbrusquely, as he fumbled around for a moment in the darkness. "Ah--hereit is!" He lifted a telephone receiver from its hook, and gave a number.
Burton caught him quickly by the arm.
"Good Lord, man, what are you doing?" he protested anxiously. "That'sMr. Maddon's house!"
"So I believe," said Jimmie Dale complacently. "Hello! Is Mr. Maddonthere? . . . I beg pardon? . . . Personally, yes, if you please."
There was a moment's wait. Burton's hand was still nervously clutchingat Jimmie Dale's sleeve. Then:
"Mr. Maddon?" asked Jimmie Dale pleasantly. "Yes? . . . I am very sorryto trouble you, but I called you up to inquire if you were aware thatyour rubies, and among them your Aracon, had been stolen? . . . I begpardon! . . . Rubies--yes. . . . You weren't. . . . Oh, no, I am quitein my right mind; if you will take the trouble to open your safe youwill find they are gone--shall I hold the line while you investigate?. . . What? . . . Don't shout, please--and stand a little farther awayfrom the mouthpiece." Jimmie Dale's tone was one of insolent composurenow. "There is really no use in getting excited. . . . I beg pardon? . . .Certainly, this is the Gray Seal speaking. . . . What?" Jimmie Dale'svoice grew plaintive, "I really can't make out a word when you yell likethat. . . . Yes. . . . I had occasion to use them this afternoon, and Itook the liberty of borrowing them temporarily--are you still there, Mr.Maddon? . . . Oh, quite so! Yes, I hear you NOW. . . . No, that isall, only I am returning them through your private secretary, a veryestimable young man, though I fear somewhat excitable and shaky, who ison his way to you with them now. . . . WHAT'S THAT YOU SAY? You repeatthat," snapped Jimmie Dale suddenly, icily, "and I'll take themfrom under your nose again before morning! . . . Ah! That is better!Good-night--Mr. Maddon."
Jimmie Dale hung up the receiver and shoved Burton toward the door.
"Now then, Burton, we'll get out of her--and the sooner you reach FifthAvenue and Mr. Maddon's house the better. No; not that way!" They hadreached the hall, and Burton had turned toward the side door that openedon the alleyway. "Whoever they were who settled their last account withIsaac 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 policeare clever enough ever to get on their track, they might find itvery convenient to be able to say WHO was in the room when Isaac wasmurdered--there's nothing to show, since Isaac so obligingly opened thewindow for them, that the shot was fired THROUGH the window and not fromthe inside of the room. And even if they have already taken to theirheels"--Jimmie Dale was leading Burton up the stairs again as hetalked--"it might prove exceedingly inconvenient for us if somepasser-by should happen to recollect that he saw two men of our generalappearance leaving the premises. Now keep close--and follow me."
They passed the door of Isaac's den, turned down a narrow corridor thatled to the rear of the house--Jimmie Dale guiding unerringly, workingfrom the mental map of the house that the Tocsin had drawn forhim--descended another short flight of stairs that gave on the kitchen,crossed the kitchen, and Jimmie Dale opened a back door. He paused herefor a moment to listen; then, cautioning Burton to be silent, moved onagain across a small back yard and through a gate into a lane thatran at right angles to the alleyway by which both had entered thehouse--and, a minute later, they were crouched against a building, ahalf block away, where the lane intersected the cross street.
Here Jimmie Dale peered out cautiously. There was no one in sight. Hetouched Burton's shoulder, and pointed down the street.
"That's your way, Burton--mine's the other. Hurry while you've got thechance. Good-night."
Burton's hand reached out, caught Jimmie Dale's, and wrung it.
"God bless you!" he said huskily. "I--"
And Jimmie Dale pushed him out on to the street.
Burton's steps receded down the sidewalk. Jimmie Dale still crouchedagainst the wall. The steps grew fainter in the distance and diedfinally away. Jimmie Dale straightened up, slipped the mask from hisface to his pocket, stepped out on the street--and five minutes laterwas passing through the noisy bedlam of the Hungarian restaurant on hisway to the front door and his car.
"SONNEZ LE TOCSIN," Jimmie Dale was saying softly to himself. "I wonderwhat she'll do when she finds I've got the ring?"