It was dark here, and the atmosphere was musty and fetid; a murmur pervaded the place as of voices behind many closed doors, but apart from that the tenement might have been empty and deserted for all the signs of life it evidenced. And then the spot where Jimmie Dale had stood was vacant, and he was along the narrow hallway without a sound, and, opening a door at the rear, stood peering out. After a moment, he closed the door again without fastening it; and, back once more toward the front of the hallway, began to creep silently up the stairs.
He reached the top landing. Old Attic had two miserable rooms here, where he conducted his even more miserable business! Jimmie Dale dropped on his knees before the door that faced the head of the stairs, and placed his ear to the panel. Noiselessly he tried the door. It was locked. He was smiling that merciless smile again in the darkness, as his deft, slim fingers worked at the keyhole. He was not too late this time! Old Jake was there, and—yes, Thorold, too. They were even now haggling over the pendant—he could hear them quite distinctly now with the door open a crack.
He pushed the door open a little wider, but very slowly, scarcely an inch at a time. He was in luck again! They were in the inner room. He opened the door still a little wider, stepped softly over the threshold, and closed the door behind him.
Save for a dim light that filtered out through the half open door of the inner room, it was dark here. Slowly, with that almost uncanny, silent tread that he had acquired on the creaky, rickety stairs of the old Sanctuary, Jimmie Dale began to move forward, the weight of his body wholly and firmly on one foot before the other was lifted from the floor; and, as he advanced, the black silk mask, from a pocket in the leather girdle, was drawn over his face.
He could see them now quite plainly—the twisted, crunched-up form of old Jake, with his tawny-bearded face, and narrow, shifting little black eyes; the smooth-shaven, suave, oily, cunning countenance of Thorold, the super-crook. Both were sitting at a table in the miserly appointed room, whose only other articles of furniture were a cheap iron bed and a few chairs. Old Jake was whining; Thorold’s voice held an angry rasp.
“Four thousand, you cursed miser, and not a cent less,” Thorold was saying.
“Three,” whined the other. “You ain’t splitting fair. I got to take the stones out of their setting, and sell ‘em for what I can get. Stolen stuff’s got to go cheap. You know that.”
“It’s worth ten or twelve, and you’ll get at least eight for it,” growled Thorold. “That’s four apiece—and I’ve got to split mine again with the guy that pinched it. Hurry up, d’yer hear—I’ve got a date with him in half an hour over in my office.”
“Ha, ha!” cackled old Jake. “Are you trying to be funny? All the thief gets out of it from you won’t make much of a hole in your share!”
“That’s my business!” snapped Thorold. “You come across!”
“Three!” whined old Jake again.
“Four!” Thorold flung back angrily.
“Well, let’s have a look at it then; I ain’t seen it for years,” grumbled old Jake. “I ain’t trying to do you. We went into this thing so’s we’d each get the same out of it; but I tell you it ain’t easy to shove big stones when there’ll be a police description out against them, and there ain’t no big prices for ‘em, either.”
Thorold reached into his pocket—and even in the dull light of the single gas-jet that alone illuminated the room, Jimmie Dale caught the fire and flash of the magnificent stones in the pendant that swung to and fro now, as the man held it up.
Old Jake, his hand trembling with eagerness, snatched at it, and, as Thorold laughed shortly, dove his fingers into a greasy vest pocket, and produced a jeweller’s magnifying glass, which he screwed into his eye.
“One of these has got a flaw, and it’s cloudy,” he mumbled.
“Never mind about the flaw! Flash your wad!” invited Thorold, with a thin smile.
Jimmie Dale’s hand slipped under his vest to a pocket in the leather girdle, and from the thin metal case, with the aid of the tiny tweezers, lifted out a gray seal, and laid it lightly on the inside edge of his left-hand sleeve. He replaced the metal case with his right hand, and with his right hand drew his automatic from his pocket. He crept forward again, inch by inch toward the door of the inner room.
Old Jake laid the pendant on the table, and from some mysterious recess in his clothing pulled out a huge roll of banknotes.
“I’ll make it three and a half until I see what I can get for it. That’s all I’ve got here, anyway.” He began to count the money, laying it bill by bill on the table. “If I get more than seven, I’ll split the difference even. That’s fair. That’s the way it’s been ever since we started this. I don’t know exactly what I can get for this, and—”
And then Jimmie Dale was in the room, his automatic covering the two men.
“Don’t move please, gentlemen!” he said quietly, as he stepped to the table. His eyes behind the mask travelled from the diamond pendant to the pile of banknotes, and from the banknotes to the two men, whose faces had gone suddenly white, and who now sat rigidly in their chairs, as though turned to stone. “I appear to be in luck to-night!” His lips, just showing beneath the mask, parted in a hard smile. “I was passing by, and—” His left hand reached out, swept up the money and the diamond pendant—and in their place, fluttering from his sleeve, a gray seal fell upon the table.
There was a sharp, quick cry from Thorold—and the muzzle of Jimmie Dale’s automatic swung like a flash to a level with the man’s eyes. Old Jake had crumpled up now in his chair, and was glaring wildly at the little diamond-shaped piece of paper; he licked his lips with his tongue, there was fear in his eyes.
“The Gray Seal! The Gray Seal!” he muttered hoarsely.
“I appear to be in luck to-night!” said Jimmie Dale again. “And”—he put the money and the diamond pendant coolly in his pocket—“it would be too bad if I didn’t play it up, wouldn’t it? It doesn’t often come as easy as this. Amazing carelessness to leave that outside door unlocked! But, as I was saying, with such a lavish display of opulence on the table, one is almost led to hope that there might be more where that came from. Now—”
“I haven’t got any more—not another cent! Honest, I haven’t!” old Jake cried hysterically. “I swear to God, I haven’t, and—”
“You hold your tongue!” There was a sudden snarl in Jimmie Dale’s low tones. The man’s voice was rising dangerously loud. “I’ll attend to you in a moment!” He swung on Thorold again; and, with his pistol pressed close against the man, felt deftly and swiftly over the other in search of weapons. He laughed tersely, finding none. “Empty your pockets out on the table!” he ordered curtly.
The man hesitated.
Jimmie Dale smiled—unpleasantly.
Thorold swept a bead of sweat from his forehead. His lips were working nervously. All suavity and polish were gone now; there were only viciousness and fear, each struggling with the other for the mastery in the man’s smug face.
“Damn you, you blasted snitch!” he burst out furiously. “We’ll get you down here some day, and—”
“Some day, perhaps,” said Jimmie Dale softly. “But to-night—did I explain that I was in a hurry—Thorold! Every pocket inside out, please!”
Thorold’s hand went reluctantly to his pockets. He began with the inside pocket of his coat, laying a pile of letters and papers on the table.
“Anything there you want?” he sneered.
“Go on!” prompted Jimmie Dale.
From vest pockets came a varied assortment of articles—watch,