Jimmie Dale's smile became plaintive.
“That's rather foolish of you, Goldie,” he said. “You are making quite a little noise, and from your standpoint I should say that was the one thing to avoid.”
The Weasel squirmed in his chair.
“Who are youse?” he demanded hoarsely again. “Wot's de lay? Youse're no dick wid dat mask on yer map.”
“You are quite right,” said Jimmie Dale calmly. “As a matter of fact, I am afraid I am in the same category as yourselves to-night. Shall we say—fellow thieves? The only difference being that I have got what I came for, and you haven't.”
The Weasel's rat-like little eyes narrowed. He leaned forward.
“Wot do youse mean?” he snarled.
Jimmie Dale took the morocco-leather jewel case from his pocket, opened it, and laid it down on the table in front of the two men.
“This!” he said tersely.
The men bent forward, staring. It was a minute before either spoke. Goldie Kline raised his eyes and cast a furtive, fear-startled glance at Jimmie Dale. The Weasel licked his lips again.
“My Gawd!” whispered the Weasel thickly. “It's de Gray Seal!”
Jimmie Dale made no answer.
It was Goldie Kline who spoke now. The man seemed to have pulled himself together, and in his tones was a sort of blustering bravado.
“So youse're de Gray Seal, are youse? Well, den, I don't get youse! Youse've beat us to it an' pinched de goods, damn youse! I can see dat! But wot's de big idea in hangin' around after youse've got de swag, an' stickin' up de Weasel an' me?”
Jimmie Dale closed the jewel case, and returned it to his pocket.
“That's a fair question, Goldie,” he said pleasantly; “and I'll answer it. It's no cinch to shove that necklace. There's only one man who would have much chance—and that's old Isaac Shiftel.” He smiled at them engagingly. “I'm sure you'll agree with me, because—the source of my information is really of no consequence at the moment—I happen to know that it was mainly, if not wholly, because Shiftel agreed to dispose of the stones that you figured the job of getting them would pay. Well, I am in exactly the same position.” Jimmie Dale's smile broadened a little. “Without Shiftel the stones wouldn't pay me. I think this answers your question. I have the necklace, and you haven't; but you know where Shiftel, who seems to be extremely difficult of late to locate, can be found to-night, and I don't. And so I waited for you, because I was sure you would be kind enough to give me his address.”
Goldie Kline's jaw had dropped. He shut it now with a snap.
“Well, by Gawd!” he burst out furiously. “Can youse beat dat! Say, youse've got yer nerve! Youse grabs de stuff from under our noses, an' den youse has de gall to ask us to wise youse up so's youse can get rid of it! Say, we'll see youse in hell first, won't we, Weasel?”
“Youse have said somethin', Goldie!” agreed the Weasel earnestly. “We sure will!”
“I'm so sorry,” said Jimmie Dale patiently. “I really thought you would help me out. In fact, I actually counted on it.”
“Youse don't say!” The Weasel was quite at his ease now, sneering broadly.
And then Jimmie Dale leaned suddenly across the table. All trace of facetiousness was gone from both voice and manner now. He drew his watch from his pocket.
“Listen, you two—and listen hard!” he said evenly. “I'm going to give you two minutes to come across. It might be compounding a felony to let you get away from here, but you didn't steal anything—though that's not your fault—and I'm thinking of the long terms you would get, even for 'breaking and entering,' with your records behind you. Am I making myself clear? A little noise down here will bring the family and servants about your ears in short order—while I go out the way you came in. If they find you here, even trussed up as you are, I imagine you will find it rather difficult to explain to the police how you came to visit Mr. Melville-Dane at half past two o'clock in the morning. On the other hand, an earnest half-hour's work—the time I should like to feel I was guaranteed against any interference on your part—will free you from that cord, and once free you can walk out of here. I still hope I am making myself clear.” He glanced at his watch. “One minute has already gone. Where were you to meet Shiftel?”
A whitish tinge had crept into Goldie Kline's face.
“Damn youse!” he whispered fervently.
The Weasel squirmed again in his chair. He looked at Goldie Kline.
“I ain't for goin' up for nothin'!” There was a sudden nerveless whine in his voice. “He's got de goods anyhow. We ain't goin' to lose nothin' by tellin'. Wot—wot d'youse say, Goldie?”
Goldie Kline gnawed at his lips.
“All right,” he muttered after a moment. “Spill it. I guess dere ain't nothing else to do.”
“Just a minute,” said Jimmie Dale coolly. He replaced his watch in his pocket. “It would be unfortunate if there were a mistake in the address. I am sure your memories are good enough to recall certain instances in the underworld that will reassure on the point that the Gray Seal always pays his debts. I mention this simply in passing. And now—where is Shiftel waiting for you?”
It was the Weasel who answered.
“He's in de room off de back yard, down at Morley's dope joint,” he said sullenly.
“Thank you!” said Jimmie Dale grimly. “I know where that is.” He moved away from the table and toward the door. Here he paused for a moment. The two men were already tugging and struggling with their bonds. “I forgot to say,” he said quietly, “that there is nothing of any value left in the safe! Good-night!”
And then Jimmie Dale was gone.
XIV.
The Cat's-paw
Five minutes later, Jimmie Dale climbed into the light runabout that, prior to the reception, he had unobtrusively parked in an alleyway a block from the Melville-Dane residence. He replaced his silk hat with a peaked cap which he drew out from under the seat—and the car shot forward into the street.
He drove fast now. He had no thought of speed laws. Shiftel—the Phantom—the end in sight! He had no thought for anything but that; he asked for nothing more than just this, which was at last to be granted him, of playing out the final hand with this inhuman fiend to whom murder was a trade, and crime of the basest sort a pastime. There was room now for only one of them—the Phantom or himself—in this world. The debt that lay between them was too abysmal to be plumbed or spanned in any other way.
And yet the man should have his chance; a chance to fight for his life. He was not entitled to it; he, the Phantom, under the same conditions would have struck as quickly and murderously as he could. In fact, if the Tocsin was right, as no doubt she was, the Phantom even now was preparing a trap which, to-morrow, the next day, or the day after, was intended to be sprung in the hope of snaring him, Jimmie Dale, the Gray Seal; and that trap once sprung successfully he, Jimmie Dale, would go out with no more chance for life than the flame of a candle flung to the storm! But there would be no to-morrow, or the next day, or the day after, for the Phantom and his trap; to-night, now, within the next few minutes, there would be no longer need for the Phantom to cudgel his brain for tricks and devices to lure the Gray Seal into his web!
The streets were deserted. A strange, queer silence seemed to reign over the city. Somehow it seemed sinister, premonitive—aptly so. Still Jimmie Dale drove fast. And then finally, far over on