 Part 1. CHAPTER IV C. THE COUNTERFIT V. Jimmy Dale's eyes fixed through the space between the piles of cases narrowed. There was, indeed, little doubt, but that the shoe store proprietor below was an accomplice. The store served a most convenient purpose in every respect, as a secret means of entry into the room, as a sort of guarantee of innocence for the room itself. Why not, to the superficial observer, to the man who might by some chance blunder into the room, it was but an adjunct of the store itself. The man in the trap doorway paused with his shoulders above the floor, looked around, listened, then drew himself up, walked across the floor, and shot the heavy bolt on the door that led into the hallway of the house. He returned then to the trap door, bent over it, and whistled softly. Two more men, in answer to the summons, came up into the room. The cap will be along in a minute, one of them said. Turn on the light. A switch clicked, flooding the room with sudden brilliancy from half a dozen electric bulbs. Too many grunted the same voice again. We ain't workin' tonight, turn out half of them. The sudden transition from the darkness for a moment dazzled Jimmy Dale's eyes, but the next moment he was searching the faces of the three men. There were a few crooks, few denizens of the crime world, below the now obsolete, but still famous, deadline, that, as Larry the Bat, he did not know at least by sight. Molten, Whitey Burns, and Marty Dean confided Jimmy Dale softly to himself, and I don't know of any worse except the cap, and gunfighters, every one of them, too. Nice odds to say nothing of, here's the cap now, announced one of the three. Hello, cap, where'd you raise the mustache? Jimmy Dale's eyes shifted to the trapdoor, and into them crept a contemptuous and sardonic smile. The man who was coming up now and hoisting himself to the floor, was the man who, half an hour before, had threatened young Sammy Matthews with arrest. The cap, alias Bert Malone, alias a score of other names, closed the trapdoor after him, pulled off his mustache and gray wig, tugged them in his pocket, and faced his companions brusquely. Never mind about the mustache, he said curtly. Get busy, the lot of you. Stir around and get the works out. What for, inquired Whitey Burns? A sharp, ferret-faced little man. We got enough of the old stuff on hand now, and that bum break Gregor made when he pinched the cracked plate to put the finish on that. Say, cap, close your face, Whitey, and get the works out. Malone, cut in shortly. We've only got the whole night ahead of us, but we'll need it all. We're going to run the queer off that cracked plate. One of the others, Marty Dean this time, a certain brutal aggressiveness in both features and physique, edged forward. Say, what's the lay, he demanded? A joke? We printed one fiver off that plate, and then we knew enough to quit. Would that crack along the corner? You couldn't pass them on a blind man, and Gregor, saying he thought we could patch the plate up enough to get by with, gives me a pain. He's got jingles in his dome factory. Run them fivers, eh? Say, are you cracked too? Aw, forget it, observed Malone costically. Who's running this gang? Then, with a malicious grin, I got a customer for those fivers, fifteen thousand dollars, for all we can turn out tonight, see? The others stared at him for a moment, incredulity and greed, mingling in a curious, half-hesitant, half-expectant look on their faces. Then Whitey Burns spoke, circling his lips with the tip of his tongue. Do you mean it, Cap? Honest? What's the lay? How'd you work it? Malone, unbending with the sensation he had created, grinned again. Easy enough, he said offhandedly. It was like falling off a log. Gregor said, didn't he, that the only way he had been able to get his claws on that plate was on account of young Matthews going away sick, eh? Well, the old Matthews woman, his mother, has got money, about fifteen thousand. I guess she ain't got any more than that, or I'd have raised the ante. Aw, I was easy. She threw it at me. I framed one up on them, that's all. I'm Klein, of the Secret Service, see? I don't suppose they'd ever seen him, though they'd known his name fast enough, but I made up something like him. I showed them where I had a case against Sammy for pinching the plate that was strong enough to put a hundred innocent men behind the bars. Of course, he knew well enough he was innocent, but he could see the twenty years I showed him with both eyes. Say, he must all over the place, and went and feign it like a girl. And then the old woman came across with an offer of fifteen thousand for the plate, and corrupted me. Malone's cunning, vicious face, now that the softening effects of the gray hair and mustache were gone, seemed accentuated diabolically by the grin broadening into a laugh as he guffawed. Marty Dean's hang swung with the bang to Malone's shoulder. Say, Cap, say, you're all right, he exclaimed excitedly. You're the boy. But what's the good of running anything off that plate before turning it over to him? The stuff's no good to us. You got a wooden nut with sawdust for brains, said Malone sarcastically. If he'd thought the gang of counterfeiters that was supposed to have bought the plate from him had run off only one fiver, and then stopped because they said it wouldn't get by, and weren't going to run any more, and just destroyed the plate like it was supposed to have been destroyed to begin with, and it all end up with no one the wiser, where do you think we'd have banked that fifteen thousand? I told him I had the whole run confiscated, and that the queer went with the plate, so we'll just make that little run to-night, and that's why I sent word around to you this morning. By the jumping, ejaculated whitey-burns, heavy with admiration, you got a head on, you cap. It's a good thing for some of you that I have, returned to Malone complacently, but don't stand drawing all night, go on now, get busy. There was no surprise in Jimmy Dale's face. He had chosen his position behind a pile of cases that he had been extremely careful, as a man is careful when his life hangs in the balance, to assure himself were empty. None of the four came near or touched the pile behind which he stood, but here and there about the room, they pulled this one and that one out from various stacks. In scarcely more than a moment, the room was completely transformed. It was no longer a storeroom for surplus stock, for the storage of bulky and empty packing cases. From the cases the men had picked out, like a touch of magic appeared a veritable printing plant, an elaborate engraver's outfit, a highly efficient foot-power press, rapidly being assembled by whitey-burns, an electric dryer, inks, a pile of white silk-threaded banknote paper, a cutter, and a score of other appurtenances. Yes, said Jimmy Dale very gently to himself. Yes, quite so, but the plate, ah! Malone was taking it out from the middle of a bundle of old newspapers, loosely tied together, that he had lifted from one of the cases. Jimmy Dale's eyes fastened on it, and from that instant never left it. A minute passed, two, three of them. The four men were silently busy about the room. Malone was carefully cleaning the plate. They will raid tonight. Look out for Klein. He is the sharpest man in the United States' secret service. The warning in her letter was running through Jimmy Dale's mind. Klein, the real Klein, was going to raid the place tonight. When, at what time? It must be nearly eleven o'clock already, and it came sudden, quick as the crack of doom, a terrific crash against the bolted door. But the door undoubtedly, to the surprise of those without, held fast, thanks to the bolt. The four men, white-faced, seemed for an instant turned to statues. Came another crash against the door, and a sharp, imperative order to those within to open it and surrender. "'We're pinched! Beat it!' whispered Whitey Burns wildly, and dashed for the trap-door. Like a rat for its hole, Marty Dean followed. Malone, farther away, dropped the plate on the floor, and rushed with molten beside him after the others. But he never reached the trap-door. Over the crashing blows, raining now in quick succession on the door of the room, over a startled commotion, as lodgers, rumours and tenants on the floor above awoke into frightened activity. Which shouts and cries came the louder crash of a pile of packing-boxes hurled to the floor, and over them, vaulting though scattered in his way, Jimmy Dale sprang at Malone. The man reeled back with a cry. Molten dashed through the trap-door and disappeared. The short, ugly barrel of Jimmy Dale's automatic was between Malone's eyes. "'You make a move,' said Jimmy Dale, in a low, sibilant way. "'And I'll drop you where you stand. Put your hands behind you back. Poms together.' Malone, dazed, cowed, obeyed. A panel of the door split and rent down its length. The hinges were sagging. Jimmy Dale worked like lightning. The cord with the slip-nose from his pocket went around Malone's wrists, jerked tight and nodded. The placard, his lips grim, with no sign of humour, Jimmy Dale dangled around the man's neck. "'An introduction for you to Mr. Klein out there, that you seem so fond of,' gritted Jimmy Dale. "'Then, working as he talked, I've got no time to tell you what I think of you, you pitiful hound.' He snatched up the plate from the floor and put it in his pocket. "'Twenty years, I think you said, didn't you?' His hand shot into Malone's pocket-book and extracted the five-dollar note. "'If you can open this with your toes, maybe you can get away.' He wrenched the trap-door over and slammed it shut. "'Good night, Malone,' and he leaped for the window. The door tottered inward from the top, ripping, tearing, smashing hinges, panels and jam. Jimmy Dale got a blurred vision of brass buttons, blue coats and helmets, and in the forefront of a stocky, grey-mustached, grey-haired man in plain clothes. Jimmy Dale threw up the window, swung out, as with the rush the officers burst through into the room, and a revolver bullet hummed viciously past his ear, and dropped to the ground, into encircling arms. "'Oh, no, you don't, my bucko!' snapped a hoarse voice in his ear. "'Keep quiet now, or I'll crack your bean, understand.' But the officer, too heavy to be muscular, was no match for Jimmy Dale, who, even as he had dropped from the sill, had caught sight of the lurking form below. And now, with the quick, sudden, lith move, he wriggled loose, his fists from a short-armed jab smashed upon the point of the other's jaw, sending the man staggering backward, and Jimmy Dale ran. A crowd was already collecting at the mouth of the alleyway, mostly occupants of the house itself, and into thee, scattering them in all directions, eluding dexterously another officer who made a grab for him, Jimmy Dale charged at top speed, burst through, and headed down the street running like a deer. Yelps went up, a revolver spat venomously behind him, came to shrill, deep, deep, of the police whistle, and heavy boots pounding the pavement in pursuit. Down the block Jimmy Dale raced, the Yelps augmented in his rear another shot, and this time he hurt the bullet buzz, and then he swerved into the next alleyway that flanked the sanctuary. He had perhaps a ten-yard sleet, just a little more than the distance from the street to the side door of the sanctuary that opened on the alleyway, and as he ran now, his fingers tore at his clothing, loosening his tie, unbuttoning coat, vests, collar, shirt, and undershirt. He leaped at the door, swung it open, flung himself inside, and then sacrificing speed to silence, went up the stairs like a cat, cramming his mask now into his pocket. His room was on the first landing. In an instant he had unlocked the door, entered, and locked it again behind him. From outside an excited street urchin's voice shrilled up to him. He went in that door! I seen him! The police whistle chirped again, and then an authoritative voice. Get around and watch the saloon back of this, Heaney. There's a way out through there from this joint. Jimmy Dale, divested of every stitch of clothing that he had worn, pulled a disreputable, collarless flannel shirt over his head, pulled on a dirty and patched pair of trousers, and slipped into a threadbare and filthy coat. Jimmy Dale was working against seconds. They were at the lower door now. He lifted the oilcloth in the corner of the room, lifted up the loose piece of the flooring, shoved his discarded garments inside, and from a little box that was there smeared the hollow of his hand with some black substance, possessed himself of two little articles, replaced the flooring, replaced the oilcloth, and in bare feet, stole across the room to the door. Against the door, without a sound, Jimmy Dale placed a chair, and on the chair-seat he laid the two little articles he had been carrying in his hand. It was intensely black in the room, but Jimmy Dale needed no light here. From under the bed he pulled out a pair of woolen socks and a pair of Congress boots, both as disreputable as the rest of his attire, put them on, and very quietly, softly, cautiously stretched himself out on the bed. The officers were at the top of the stairs, a voice barked out. Stand guard on this landing, Peters. Higgins, you take the one above. We'll start from the top of the house and work down. Allow no one to pass you. Yes, sir, very good, Mr. Cline, was the response. Cline, the sharpest man in the United States Secret Service, she had said. Jimmy Dale's lips set. I'm glad I had no shave this morning, said Jimmy Dale grimly to himself. His fingers were working with the black substance in the hollow of his hand, and the long, slim tapering fingers, the shapely, well-cared forehands, grew unkempt and grimy, black beneath the fingernails, and a little, too, played its part on the day's growth of beard, a little around the throat and the nape of the neck, and a little across the forehead to meet the locks of straggling and disordered hair. Jimmy Dale wiped the residue from the hollow of his hand on the knee of his trousers, and lay still. An officer paced outside. Upstairs doors opened and closed. Gruff harsh tones and commands echoed through the house. The search-party descended to the second floor, and again the same sounds were repeated, and then, thumping down the creaking stairs, they stopped before Jimmy Dale's room. Someone tried the door, and finding it locked, rattled it violently. Open the door! It was Klein's voice. Jimmy Dale's eyes were closed, and he was breathing regularly, though just a little slower than in natural respiration. Break it down! ordered Klein tersely. There was a rush at it, and it gave. It surged inward, knocked against the chair, upset the ladder, something tinkled to the floor, and four officers, with Klein at their head, jumped into the room. Jimmy Dale never moved. A flashlight played around the room, and focused upon him. And then he was shaken roughly, only to fall inertly back on the bed again. I guess this is all right, Mr. Klein, said one of the officers. It's Larry the Bat, and he's doped to the eyes. There's the stuff on the floor we knocked off the chair. Light the gas, directed Klein curtly, and, being a bade, stooped to the floor, and picked up a hypodermic syringe and a small bottle. He held the bottle to the light, and read the label. Liquor morphine. Shake him again, he commanded. None too gently a policeman caught Jimmy Dale by the shoulders, and shook him vigorously. Again Jimmy Dale, once the other let go of his hold, fell back limply on the bed, breathing in that same slightly slowed way. Larry the Bat, eh? Grunted Klein. Then to the officer who had volunteered the information. Who's Larry the Bat? What is he? And how long have you known him? I don't know who he is any more than what you can see there for yourself," replied the officer. He's a dope fiend, and I guess a pretty tough case, though we've never had him up for anything. He's lived here ever since I've been on the beat, and that's three years or— All right! interrupted Klein crisply. He's no good to us. You say there's an exit from this house into that saloon at the back? Yes, sir, but the fellow, whoever he is, couldn't get away from there. He needs been over on guard from the start. Then he's still inside there, said Klein, clipping off his words. We'll search the saloon. Nice night's work this is. One out of the whole gang, and that one with the compliments of the grey seal. The men went out and began to descend the stairs. One, said Jimmy Dale to himself, still motionless, still breathing in that slow way so characteristic of the drug. Two, three, four. The minutes went by. A quarter of an hour. A half hour. Still Jimmy Dale lay there, still motionless, still breathing with slow regularity. His muscles began to cramp, to give him exquisite torture. Around him all was silence. Only distant sounds from the street reached him, muffled, and at intervals. Another quarter of an hour passed. An eternity of torment. It seemed to Jimmy Dale, for all his willpower, that he could not hold himself in check, that he must move, scream out even, in the torture that was passing all endurance. It was silent now, utterly silent. And then out of the silence, just outside his door, a footstep creaked, and a man walked to the stairs, and went down. Five, said Jimmy Dale to himself, the sharpest man in the United States' secret service. And then, for the first time, Jimmy Dale moved, to wipe away the beads of sweat that had sprung out upon his forehead. End of Part 1, Chapter 4, concluded. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Adventures of Jimmy Dale by Frank L. Packard, reading by Lars Rolander. Part 1, The Man in the Case, Chapter 5A, The Affair of the Pushcart Man. Larry the Bat shambled out of the side door of the tenement into the back alleyway, shambled along the black alleyway to the street, and smiled a little grimly as a shadow across the roadway suddenly shifted its position. The game was growing acute, critical, desperate even, and it was his move. Larry the Bat, disreputable Denison of the Underworld, alias Jimmy Dale, millionaire's clubman, alias the Grey Seal, whom Carothers of the Morning News Argus, called the Master Criminal of the Age, shoveled along in the direction of the Bowery. His hands plunged deep in the pocket of his frayed and tattered trousers, where his fingers, in a curious, wistful way, fondled the keys of his own magnificent residence on Riverside Drive. It was his move, and it was an impasse, ironical, sardonic, and it was worse. It was full of peril. True, he had outwitted Klein of the Secret Service two nights before, when Klein had raided the counterfeiters' den. True, he had no reason to believe that Klein suspected him specifically, but the man Klein wanted had entered the tenement that night, and since then the house had been shadowed day and night. The result was both simple and disastrous to Jimmy Dale. Larry the Bat, a known inmate of the house, might come and go as he pleased, but to emerge from the sanctuary in the person of Jimmy Dale would be fatal. Klein had been outwitted, but Klein had not acknowledged final defeat. The tenement had been searched from top to bottom, un-ostentiously. His own room on the first landing had been searched the previous afternoon when he was out, but they had failed to find the cunningly contrived opening in the floor under the oil cloth in the corner, an impromptu wardrobe that would proclaim Larry the Bat and Jimmy Dale to be one and the same person. That would inevitably lead further to the establishment of his identity as the grey seal. In time, of course, the surveillance would cease, but he couldn't wait. That was the monumental irony of it, the factor that all unknown to Klein was forcing the issue hard now. It was his move. Since years ago now, as the grey seal he had begun to work with her, that unknown mysterious accomplice of his and the police stung to madness both by the virulent and constant attacks of the press and by the humiliating prod of their own failures sought daily high and low with every resource at their command for the grey seal. He had never been in quite so strange and perilous applied as he found himself at that moment. To preserve and violate the identity of Larry the Bat was absolutely vital to his safety. It was the one secret that even she, who so strangely appeared to know all else about him, he was sure had not discovered. And it was just that, in a way, that had brought the present impossible situation to pass. In the month previous, in a lull between those letters of hers, he had set himself dodgedly and determinedly to the renewed task of what had become so dominantly now a part of his very existence, the solving of her identity. And for that month, as the best means to the end, means, however, that only resulted as futile as the attempts that had gone before, he had lived mostly as Larry the Bat. Returning to his home in his proper person, only when occasion and necessity demanded it. He had been going home that evening, two nights before, walking along Riverside Drive, when, from the window of the limousine, she had dropped the letter at his feet. That had plunged him into the affair of the counterfeit five, and he had not gone home. Eventually, to save himself, he had, in the sanctuary, performing the transformation in desperate haste, again been forced to assume the role of Larry the Bat. That was really the gist of it, and yesterday morning he had remembered to his dismay that he had had little or no money left the night before. He had intended, of course, to replenish his supply when he got home. Eventually, he hadn't gone home, and now he needed money, needed it badly, desperately, with thousands in the bank, with abundance even in his safe, in his own den at home. A supply kept there always for an emergency, he was facing actual want. He rattled two dimes, a nickel, and a few odd pennies thoughtfully against the keys in his pocket. To a certain extent, old Jason, his butler, could be trusted. Jason even knew that mysterious letters of tremendous secretive importance came to the house, and the old man always meant well, but he dared not trust even Jason with the secret of his dual personality. What was he to do? He needed money, imperatively, at once. Thanks to Klein for the time being, at least, he could not read himself for the personality of Larry the Bat by the simple expedient or slipping into the clothes of Jimmy Dale. He must live, act, and remain Larry the Bat until the secret service officer gave up the hunt. How bridged the gulf between Jimmy Dale and Larry the Bat in old Jason's eyes! Nor was that all. There was still another matter, and one that, in order to counteract it, demanded at once a serious in-road extent of a telephone call upon his slender capital. A two prolonged and unaccounted four absence from home, and old Jason, in his anxious blundering's solicitude, would have the fat in the fire at the end, and the city and the social firmament thereof, would be humming with the startling news of the disappearance of a well-known millionaire. The complications that would then ensue with himself powerless to lift a finger Jimmy Dale did not care to think about. Such a counter-term must, at all hazards, be prevented. Jimmy Dale reached the corner of the street where he intersected the bowery and paused languidly by the curb. No one appeared to be following. He had not expected that there would be, but it was well to be sure. He walked then a few steps along the bowery and slipped suddenly into a doorway from where he could command a view of the street corner that he had just left. At the end of ten minutes, satisfied that no one had any concern in his immediate movements, he shambled on again down the bowery. There was a saloon two blocks away that boasted a private telephone booth. Jimmy Dale made that his destination. Larry the Bat was a very well-known character in that resort, and the bullet-headed dispenser of drinks behind the bar nodded anxiously to him over the heads of those clustered at the rail as he entered. Larry the Bat, as befitted one of the elite of the underworld, was graciously pleased to acknowledge the proletariat's salutation with a curt nod. He walked down to the end of the room, entered the telephone booth, and was carelessly careful to close the door tightly behind him. He gave the number of his residence some riverside drive and waited for the connection. After some delay, Jason's voice answered him. Jason, said Jimmy Dale in a matter of factum, I shall be out of the city for another three or four days, possibly a week, and he stopped abruptly as a sort of gasp came to him over the wire. Oh, thank God! That's you, sir! exclaimed the old butler wildly. I've been dear mad, sir, all day. Don't get excited, Jason, said Jimmy Dale a little sharply. The mere matter of my absence for the last two days is nothing to cause you any concern. And while I'm on the subject, Jason, let me say now that I shall be glad if you will bear the fact in mind in future. Yes, sir, stammered Jason, but, sir, it ain't that... Good Lord, most Jim, it ain't that, sir, it's one of them letters. Something like a galvanic shock seemed to jerk the disreputable loose-jointed frame of Larry the Bat suddenly erect, and a strained whiteness crept over the dirty, unwashed face. Go on, Jason, said Jimmy Dale, without a quiver in his voice. It came this morning, sir, that shuffler with his ultimate be left it. I'd just time to say you weren't at home, sir, and he was gone. And then, sir, there ain't been an hour gone by all through the day that a woman, sir, a lady begging your pardon, Master Jim, hasn't rang up on the telephone, asking if you were back, and if I could get you, and where you were, and half frantic, sirs, half sobbing sometimes, sir, and saying there was a life hanging on it, Master Jim. Larry the Bat staring into the mouthpiece of the instrument subconsciously passed his hand across his forehead, and subconsciously noted that his fingers, as he drew them away, were damp. Where is the letter now, Jason? inquired Jimmy Dale coolly. Here, on your desk, Master Jim. Shall I bring it to you? Bring it to him? How? When? Where? Bring it to him, the ghastly irony of it, Jimmy Dale tried to think, prodding, spurring desperately, that keen lightning-brain of his that had never failed him yet. How bridged the gulf between Larry the Bat and Jimmy Dale in Jason's eyes? Not just for the replenishing of the funds now, but with a life at stake. No, I think not, Jason, said Jimmy Dale calmly. Just leave it where it is, and if she telephones again, say that you have told me that will be sufficient to satisfy any further inquires, and, Jason? Yes, sir. If she telephones again, try and find out where the call comes from. I haven't forgotten what you said once, Master Jim, sir, said the old man eagerly, and I've been trying that, sir, all day. They all come from different paystations, sir. A mirthless little smiled tinge Jimmy Dale slips, of course, he might have known. It was always that way, always the same. He was as near to the solution of her identity at that moment as he had been years ago, when she, in some mysterious way alone of all the world, had identified him as the grey seal. Very good, Jason, he said quietly. Don't bother about it any more. It will be all right. You can expect me when you see me. Good night. He hanged receiver on the hook, walked out of the booth, and mechanically reached the street. All right. It was far from all right. Very far from it. It was no trivial thing that letter. They never have been trivial things, those letters of hers, that involved so often a matter of life and death, as this one now, perhaps as her actions would seem to indicate, involved life and death more urgently than any that had gone before. It was far from all right. At a moment when his own position, his own safety, was at best but a desperate chance, when his every energy, brain, wit, and cunning were taxed to the outmost to save himself. And yet, somehow, some way, at any cost, he must get that letter, and at any cost he must act upon it. To fail her was to fail utterly in everything that failure in its most miserable, its widest sense implied, failure in that which rose paramount to every other consideration in life. Fail her? Jimmy Dale slips, thinned into a hard-drawn line, and then parted slowly in a curiously whimsical smile. It would be a strange burglary that he had decided upon in order that he might not fail her, stranger than any the grey seal had ever committed, and, in some respects, even more perillous. He started along the bowery, walking briskly now toward the nearest suburb station at Astro Place, his mind for the moment electing to face the situation in a humorous whimsical as his smile, supposing that, as Larry the Bat, he were caught and arrested during the next hour, in Jimmy Dale's residence on Riverside Drive. With his arrest as Larry the Bat, Jimmy Dale would automatically disappear, would follow then the suspicion that Jimmy Dale, the millionaire, had met with foul play, and as time went on, and Jimmy Dale, being then imprisoned as Larry the Bat, did not reappear, the assurance of it, then the certainty that suspicion would focus on Larry the Bat as being connected with the millionaire's death, since Larry the Bat had been caught in Jimmy Dale's home, and he would be accused of his own murder. It was quite humorous, of course, quite grotesquely bizarre, but it was equally an exceedingly grim possibility. There were drawbacks to a dual personality. In a word confided Jimmy Dale softly to himself, and a serious light crept into the dark steady eyes, I'm in a bit of a nasty mess. At Astro Place he entered the subway, at 14th Street he changed to an express, and at 96th Street he got out. It was but a short walk west to Riverside Drive, and from there his house was only a few blocks farther on. Jimmy Dale did not slouch now, and for all his disreputable attire, in Congress as it was in that neighborhood, few people that he passed paid any attention to him, none gave him more than a casual glance. Jimmy Dale swung along upright with no attempt to make himself inconspicuous, hurrying a little as one intent upon a definite errand. As he neared his house he slowed his pace a little until a couple who were passing in front of it had gone on. Then he went up the steps but noiselessly as a shadow now to the front door, opened it softly, closed it softly behind him, and crouched for a moment in the vestibule. Through the monogrammed lace of the plate glass of the inner doors he could see a little indistinctly into the reception hall beyond. The hall was empty. Jason, for that matter, would be the only one likely to be about. The other servants would have no business there in any case, and whether in their quarters above or below they had their own stairs at the rear. Jimmy Dale inserted the key in the spring lock and opened the door a cautious fraction of an inch to listen. There was no sound. Yes, a subdued murmured. The servants were downstairs in the basement. He slipped inside, slipped in a flash across the hall, and, treading like a cat, went up the stairs. He scarcely seemed to breathe until, with a little sigh of relief, he stood inside his den on the first floor where the door shut behind him. I must speak to Jason about being a little more watchful, what a dimmed ale, facetiously. Here's all my property at the mercy of Larry the Bat. An instant he stood by the door, looking about him. In the bright moonlight streaming in through the side windows, the room's appointments stood out in soft shadows. The huge Davenport, the great, luxurious, easy chairs, an easel with a half-finished canvas as he had lifted, the big, flat-top rosewood desk, the open fireplace, and then, his steps silent on the thick velvet rug underfoot, he walked quickly to the desk. Yes, there it was, the letter. He placed it hurriedly in his pocket. The moonlight was not strong enough to read by, and he dare not turn on the lights. And now, money funds. In the alcove behind the porch here, Dimmedale dropped on his knees before the squat barrel-shaped safe and opened it. He reached inside, took out a package of banknotes, placed the bills in his pocket, and hesitated a moment. What else would he require? What act did that letter call upon the grey seal to perform in the next few hours? Dimmedale stared thoughtfully into the interior of the safe, whatever it was. It must be performed in the role of Larry the Bat, for though he could get into his dressing room now and become Dimmedale again, there were still those watches outside the sanctuary. They must not become suspicious. And if Larry the Bat disappeared mysteriously, Larry the Bat would be the man that Klein and the Secret Service on the United States would never cease hunting for, and that would mean that he could never reassume a character that was as necessary for his protection as breath was to life, so long as the grey seal worked. True, he could change now to Dimmedale, but he would have to change back again and return to the sanctuary before morning as Larry the Bat and remain there until Klein, beaten, called off his human bloodhounds. No, a change was not to be thought of. What then would he require? That compact little kit of burglar tools rolled in its leather jacket that unrolled slipped about his body like a clothes fitting under west? As well to take it anyway. He removed his coat and vest, took out the leather bundle from the safe, untied the thongs that bound it together, unrolled it, passed around his body, life-belt fashion, secured the thongs over his shoulders and put on his coat and vest again. A revolver, a flashlight, he had both at the sanctuary under the flooring, but there were duplicates here. He slipped them into his pockets. Anything else to forestall and provide for any possible contingency? He hesitated again for a moment, thinking, then slowly closed the inner door of the safe, locked it, swung the outer door shut, and in the actor twirling the knobs sprang suddenly to his feet. Sharp, shrill in the stillness of the room, the telephone bell on the desk rang out clamorously. Dima Dale's face set hard as he leaped out from behind the curtain. Had Jason heard it? It rang again before he could reach the desk, or stringy as he snatched the receiver from the hook. Yes, yes, he called in a low-guarded, hasty way into the mouthpiece. Hello! What is it? And then one hand, resting on the desk, closed around the edge and tightened, until the skin over the knuckles grew ivory white. It was she, she. It was her voice. He had only heard it once in all his life, that night, two nights before, in a silvery laugh from the limousine as it had sped away from him down the road. But he knew. It thrilled him now with a mad rhapsody, robbing him for the moment of every thought, save that she was living real, existent, that it was her voice. It is you, you, he said hoarsely. Oh, Jimmy! You at last! It came in a little gasping cry of relief. The letter! Yes, I've got it. It's all right, it's all right. The words would not seem to come fast enough in his desperate haste. But it is you now. Listen, listen, he pleaded. Tell me, who are you? My God, how I've tried to find you! And that rippling silvery laugh again. But now, too, it seemed to his eager ear with just the faintest note of wistfulness in it. Someday, Jimmy, that letter now it— Jimmy Dale straightened up suddenly. Jason steps running, sounded outside the room along the corridor. There was not an instant to lose. Hang up! Goodbye! Danger! Don't ring again! He whispered hurriedly, and with a miserable smile, replacing the receiver bitterly on the hook, he jumped for the curtain. He reaches none too soon. The door opened, an electric light switch clicked, and the room was flooded with light. Jason, still running, headed for the desk. It'll be her again. Jimmy Dale heard the old man mutter as from the edge of the poacher. He watched the other's actions. Jason picked up the telephone. Hello! Hello! he called, then began to click impatiently with the receiver hook. Hello! Who? Central? I don't want any number. Somebody was calling her. What? Nobody on the wire? He set the telephone back on the desk with a bewildered air. That square, he exclaimed. I could have sworn I heard it ring twice, and he stopped abruptly and, leaning across the desk, hung there, wide-eyed, staring while a sickly pallor began to steal into his face. The letter, he mumbled widely. The letter, Master Tim's letter. The letter is gone. Trembling excited, the old man began to search the desk, then down on his knees on the floor under it, and then, growing more frantic with every instant, rose and began to hunt around the room in an agitated, aimless fashion. Jason's distress was very real. He was almost beside himself now, with fear and anxiety, a whimsical, affectionate smile played over Yimidael's lips at the old man's antics, and changed suddenly into one of consternation. Jason was making directly now for the curtain behind which he stood. Perhaps, though, he would pass it by, and Jason's hand reached out and grasped the poacher. Jason, said Yimidael sharply. The old man staggered back as though he'd been struck, tried to speak, choked and gazed at the curtain with distended eyes. Is that you, sir, Master Jim, behind the curtain there? He finally blurted out, Aye, sir, you gave me start, and the letter, Master Jim. Don't lose your head, Jason, said Yimidael coolly. I've got the letter. Now do as I bid you. Yes, Master Jim faltered the old man, pulled down the window shades and draw the poacher together, directed Yimidael. Jason still overwrote and excited, obeyed a little awkwardly. Now the lights, Jason instructed Yimidael, turned them off and go and sit down in that chair at the desk. Again, Jason obeyed, stumbling in the darkness as he'd returned from the electric light switch at the farther end of the room. He sat down in the chair. Larry the bat stepped out from behind the curtain. I came for that letter, Jason, he explained quietly. I'm going out again now. I may be back tomorrow. I may not be back for a week. You will say nothing, not a word of my having been here tonight. Do you understand, Jason? Yes, sir, said Jason, then hesitantly. Would you mind saying, sir, when you came in? It is of no consequence, Jason, is it? No, sir, said Jason. Yimidael smiled in the darkness. Jason? Yes, sir. I wish you to remain where you are without leaving that chair for the next ten minutes. He moved across the room to the door. Good night, Jason, he said. Good night, Master Jim. Good night, sir. Oh, Lord! Yimidael did not require that ten minutes. It was a very wide margin of safety to obviate the possibility of Jason from a window detecting the exit of a disreputable character from the house. In three minutes he was turning the corner of the first cross street and walking rapidly away from Riverside Drive. End of Part 1, Chapter 5A of The Adventures of Yimidael by Frank L. Packard, read by Lars Rolander. Part 1, Chapter 5B of The Adventures of Yimidael. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Adventures of Yimidael by Frank L. Packard, reading by Lars Rolander. Part 1, The Man in the Case, Chapter 5B, the Affair of the Pushkart Man, concluded. In the subway station, Yimidael read the letter, read it twice over, as he always read those strange episodes of her that opened the door to new peril, new danger to the grey seal, but two that seemed somehow to draw tighter, in a glad big way, the unseen bond between them. Read it as he always read those letters, almost subconsciously committing the very words to memory with that keen faculty of brain of his. But now, as he began to tear the sheet and envelope into minute particles, a strained hard look was on his face and in his eyes, and his lips half-parted, moved a little. It's a death warrant, muttered Yimidael. I guess tonight we'll see the end of the grey seal. She says, I needn't do it, but I guess it's worth the risk, a human life. A downtown express roared into the station. What time is it? Yimidael asked the guard as he stepped forward. About midnight, the man answered tersely. The forward car was almost empty, and Yimidael chose a seat by himself. How did she know? How did she know not only this, but the hundred other affairs that she had outlined in those letters of hers? By what means, superhuman indeed, it seemed, did she? Yimidael jerked himself erect suddenly. What good did it do to speculate on that now, when every minute was priceless? What was he to do? How was he to act? What plan could he formulate and carry out and win against odds that, at the outset, were desperate enough even to forecast almost certain failure and death? Who would ever have suspected Old Tom Ludgate, known for years throughout the squalor of the east side as Old Luddy, the push-cart man, of having a bag of unset diamonds under his pillow, or under the sack, rather, that he probably used for a pillow? What a queer thing to do! But then, Old Luddy was a character, apparently always in the most poverty-stricken condition, apparently hardly more than keeping body and soul together, trusting no one, and obsessed by the dreed that, by depositing in a bank, someone would discover that he had money and attempt to force it from him. He put his savings, year after year, for twenty years, twenty-five years, perhaps, into unset stone diamonds. How had she found that out? Dimidale sank into a deeper reverie. He could steal them all right, and they would be well worth the stealing. Old Luddy had done well and lived and existed on next to nothing. The stones, she said, were worth about fifteen thousand dollars, not so bad even for twenty-five years of vegetable selling from a push cart. He could steal them all right. It would tax the gray seals ingenuity little to do so simple a thing as that, but that was not all, nor, indeed, hardly a factor in it. It was vital that if he were to succeed at all, he must steal them publicly, as it were. And after that, what? His own chances were pretty slim at best. Dimidale, staring at the grayness of the subway wall through the window, shook his head slowly. Then, with a queer little philosophical shrug of his shoulders, he smiled gravely, seriously. It was all a part of the game, all a part of the life of the gray seal. It was half past twelve or a little later, as nearly as he could judge, for Larry the Bat carried no such honour thing in evidence as a watch, as he halted at the corner of a dark squalid street in the Lower East Side. It was a miserable locality, in daylight humming with a cosmopolitan hive of pitiful humans dragging out as best they could, an intolerable existence. A locality peopled with every nationality on earth, their community of interest, the struggle to maintain life at the lowest possible expenditure, where necessity even was part and shaved down to a minimum, but now at night time, or rather in the early morning hours, the darkness, in very mercy it seemed, covered it with a veil, as it were, and in the quiet that hung over it now, hid the bald, the hijous eye, and the pictures due from view. It was a narrow street, and the row of tenement houses, each house almost identical with its neighbour, that flanked the pavement on either side, seemed from where Jimmy Dale stood, looking down its length from the corner, to converge together at a point a little way beyond, giving it an unreal, ominous, cave-like effect, and, too, there seemed something ominous, even in its quiet. It was as though one sensed acutely the crouching of something in its lair, waiting silently, viciously, with sullen patience. A footstep sounded, another. Jimmy Dale drew quickly back around the corner into an area way. Two men passed in helmets swinging their nightsticks. That beat was always policed in pairs. They passed on, turned the corner, and went down the narrow cross-street that Jimmy Dale had just been inspecting. He started to follow, and drew back again abruptly. A form flitted suddenly across the road and disappeared in the darkness in the officer's wake. Ten yards behind the first another followed, at the same interval of distance still another, and yet still one more, four in all. The darkness hid all six, the two policemen, the four men behind them. The only sounds were the officer's footsteps dying away in the distance. Jimmy Dale's fingers were mechanically testing the mechanism of the automatic in his pocket. And the Skeeter's gang, he muttered to himself, Redmose, the midget, Harvthoms, and the Skeeter. The worst apaches in the city of New York. Death contractors, the lowest bidders, professional assassins, and a man's life any time for $25. I wonder... I've never done it yet, but I wonder if it would be a crime in God's sight if one shot took kill. Jimmy Dale was at the corner again, again the street before him was black, deserted, empty. He choose the right-hand side and, well in the shadow of the houses, as an extra precaution, stole along silently. He stopped finally before one well in the doorway hang a little sign. Jimmy Dale mounted the porch and with his eyes close to the sign could just make out the larger words in the big printed type. Room to rent, top floor. Jimmy Dale nodded. That was right. The first house on the right-hand side with a room to rent sign. Her letter had said his fingers were testing the door knob, the door was not locked. Naturally it wouldn't be locked. Jimmy Dale told himself grimly and stepped inside. He stood for an instant without movement, every faculty on the alert. Far up above him, a step, guarded those train-iron made it out to be creaked faintly upon the stairs. There was no other sound. The creaking almost inaudible as its loudest receded farther up and silence fell. In the darkness, noiselessly, Jimmy Dale grouped for the stairway, found it and began to ascend. The minutes passed. It seemed a minute even from step to step and there were three flights to the top. There must be no creaking this time. The slightest sound he knew well enough would be not only fatal to the work he had to do but probably fatal to himself as well. He had been near death many times. The consciousness that he was nearer to it now possibly than he had ever been before seemed to stimulate his senses into acute and abnormal energy. And to the physical effort as step by step the flexed muscles relaxing so slowly little by little, gradually each time as he found foothold on the step higher up was a terrific strain. At the top his face was bathed in perspiration and he wiped it off with his coat sleeve. It was still dark here, intensely dark and his eyes though grown accustomed to it could make out nothing but the deeper shadow of the walls. But thanks to her always a mistress of an accurate and minute detail he possessed a mental plan of his surroundings. The head of the stairs gave on the middle of the hallway. The hallway ran to his right and left. To his right on the opposite side of the hall was the door of old Luddys' squalid two-room apartment. For a moment he medaled stood hesitant. A sudden perplexity and anxiety growing upon him. It was strange. What did it mean? He had nerved himself to a quick desperate attempt trusting to surprise and his own wit and agility for victory. There had seemed no other way than that since he had seen those four men at the corner since they were ahead of him. True, they were not much ahead of him not enough to have accomplished their purpose and furthermore they were not in that room. He knew that absolutely beyond question of doubt he had listened for just that all the nerve-wracking way up the stairs. But where were they? There was no sound. Not a sound. Just blackness. Black, impenetrable, utter that began to palpitate now. It came in a whisper, wavering, sibilant from his left. A sort of relief, fierce in the breaking of the tense expectancy, premonitory in the possibilities that it held swept him a dale. He crept along the hall. The whisper had come from that room presumably empty that was for rent. By the door he crouched his sensitive fingers, eyes to Jimmy Dale so often feeling of a jamb and panels with a delicate, soundless touch. The door was just ajar. The fingers crept inside and touched the knob and lock. There was no key within. The whispering still went on but it seemed like a screaming of vultures now in Jimmy Dale's ears as the words came to him. Ah, say, Skeeter, this high-brow stunt gives me the pip. Me fear going in there and croaking the geezer regular without the drills. Who's to know? Say, just about two minutes and we're beating it with the sparklers. An inch, a half inch at a time. The knob slowly, very, very slowly turning. The door was being closed by the crouched form of the threshold. Close your trap, Moes, came a fierce response. We ain't fixed the lay all day for nothing. The rain to soul on earth knows he's got any sparklers except us. If there was it would be different. Then they'd know that was what whoever did it was after sea. The door was closed. The knob slowly, very, very slowly being released again. From one of the leather pockets under Jimmy Dale's vest came a tiny steel instrument that he inserted in the keyhole. The same voice spoke on. That's what we're croaking in for. Of course, nobody knows about them diamonds and so's he can't tell anybody afterwards that any were pinched. And that's why it's got to look like he's just got tired of living and did it himself. I guess that whole hole the police when they find the poor old duck hanging from the ceiling with a bit of cord around his neck and a chair kicked out from under his feet on the floor. Ain't you got the brains of a louse to see that? Sure, the whisper came dally in grudging intonation through the panels. The door was locked. Sure, but it's still hanging round waiting to get busy that's getting me goat and Jimmy Dale straightened up and began to retreat along the corridor. A merciless rage was upon him now. Every fiber of his being seemed to tingle and quiver with it. The damnable, hellish ingenuity of it all seemed to choke and suffocate him. Luck, muttered Jimmy Dale between his clenched teeth. Oh, the blessed luck to get that door locked. I've got time now to set the stage for my own getaway before the showdown. He stole along the corridor, excerpts from her letter were running through his brain. It would do no good to warn him, Jimmy. The skater and his gang would never let up on him until they got the stones. It would do no good for you to steal them first. For they would only take that as a ruse of old Luddys and murder the man first and hunt afterward. In some way you must let skaters see you steal them. Make them think. Make them certain that it is a bona fide theft so that they will no longer have any interest or any desire to do old Luddys harm and for it to appear real to them, it must appear real to old Luddys himself. Do not take any chances there. Jimmy Dale's eyes narrowed. Yes, it was simple enough now with that pack of hells wolves guarded for the moment by the locked door forced to give him warning by breaking the door before they could get out. It was simple enough now to enter old Luddys room steal the stones at the revolver point, then make enough disturbance when he was ready to set the gang in motion and as they rushed in open him to make his escape with the stones to the roof through Luddys room. That was simple enough. There was an opening to the roof in Luddys room, she had said and there was a ladder kept there in place. On hot nights it seemed the old man used to go up there and sleep on the roof not now of course it was too late in the year for that but the opening in the roof was there and the ladder remained there too. Yes it was simple enough now and the next morning the papers would rave with excretions against the grey seal for the robbery of the life savings of a poor defenceless old man for committing as vile and pitiful crime as had ever stirred New York. Even Carothers of the morning news augers would be moved to bitter attack good old Carothers who little thought that the grey seal was his old college pal his present most intimate friend Jimmy Dale and afterward after the next morning well that at least had never been in doubt old Luddys could be made to leave and once away with the Skeeter and his gang robbed of incentive to pay any further attention to him the stones could be secretly returned to the old man and it would to the public to the police be just another of the grey seal's crimes that was all Jimmy Dale had reached old Luddys door the grey seal oh yes they would know it was the grey seal the insignia was familiar enough familiar to the crooks of the underworld who held it in familiar to the police to whom it was an added barb of ridicule he was placing it now that insignia a diamond shaped grey paper seal on the panel of the tour and now a black silk mask adjusted over his face Jimmy Dale bent to insert the little steel instrument in the lock beautiful poultry thing a cheap lock to fingers that could play so intimately with twirling knobs and dials masters of the intricate mechanism of waltz and safes and then about to open the door a sort of sudden dismay fell upon him he had not thought of that somehow it had not occurred to him what was it they were waiting for why had they not struck at once as when he had first entered the house he had supposed they would do what was it why was it was old Luddys out were they waiting for his return or what the door without sound moved gradually under his hand a faint odor assailed his nostrils dark very dark across the room in a direct line was the doorway to the inner room she had explained that in her letter it was slow progress to cross that room without sound in silence it was a snail's movement for fear that even a muscle might crack and now he stood in the inner doorway it was dark here too but how bizarre a star seemed to twinkle through the very roof of the room itself the odor was pungent now there was a long drawn sigh then a low indescribable sound of movement somebody apart from old Luddys was in the room it swept the full consciousness of it upon Jimi Dale in an instantaneous flash chloroform the open scuttle in the roof the waiting of those others all fused into a compact logical hole they had loosened the scuttle during the day probably when old Luddys was away one of them had crept down there now to chloroform the old man into insensibility the others would complete the ghastly work presently by stringing their victim up to the ceiling it would be suicide for long before morning came long before the old man would be discovered the fumes of the chloroform would be gone it seemed like a cold hand deathlike clutching at his heart was he too late after all chloroform alone could kill to the right just a little to the right he must make no mistake his ear placed the sound he whipped his hands from his side pockets of his coat the ray of his flashlight cut across the room and fell upon an age face upon a bed, upon a hand clutching a wad of cloth the cloth pressed horribly against the nose and mouth of the upturned face and then roaring in the stillness splitting a vicious lane of fire that paralleled the flashlight's ray came the tongue flame of his automatic there was a gel a scream that echoed out reverberated and went racketing through the house and yimmy dale leaped forward over a table sending it crashing to the floor the man had reeled back against the wall clutching at the shattered wrist staring into the flashlight's eye white faced, jaw dropped lips working in mingled pain and fear comes you a gritted yimmy dale a cunning look swept the distorted face here apparently was only one man there were pals three of them only a few yards away you ain't got nothing on me his snarls barring for time you police are too damn fresh with your guns I'll take yours snap yimmy dale and snatched it deftly the others pocket this ain't any police job my bucko and you make a move and I'll drop you for keeps if what you've got already ain't enough to teach you to keep your hands of jobs that belong to your betters he was working with mad haste as he spoke one minute at the outside was perhaps all he could count upon already he had caught the rattle of the locked door down the hall he lit a match and turned on the gas and said it was the most dangerous thing he could do he knew that well enough no one knew it better it was offering himself as a fair mark when the others rushed in as they would in a moment now but the sketer and his gang and this man here must have no misconception of his purpose his reason for being there the same as their own the theft of the stones and no misconception as to his yes, he ain't the police it came in a shocked gasp from the other as he blinked in the sudden light say then, shut up or dimidale curtly and mind what I told you about moving he leaned over the bed old luddy though under the influence of the chloroform was moving restlessly toms had evidently only begun to apply the chloroform old luddy was safe with his hand in under the pillow if your ants wiped them already they ought to be here he growled and if your hair a little chamois bag was in his hand he laughed steeringly at toms opened the bag allowed a few stones to trickle into his hand and then without stopping to replace them dashed stones and bag into his pocket the door along the corridor crashed open what's that he gasped out in well simulated fright and sprang for the ladder that led up to the roof it had all taken perhaps the minute that he had counted on, no more noises came from the floors below now a confusion of them the shot, the scream, had been heard by others, save those who had been in the locked room and the ladder were outside now in the corridor running to their accomplices aid there was a pause at the outdoor then an oath and coupled with the oath an exclamation the grey seal they had swept a flashlight over the door panel Jimmy Dale halfway up the ladder smiled grimly the door opened there was a rush of feet the man with the shattered wrist gelled cursing wildly here he is on the ladder let him have it, fill him full of holes Jimmy Dale was in the light they were in the dark of the outer room he fired at the threshold checking the rush as a hail of bullets dipped and tore at the ladder and spat wickedly against the wall he swung through to the roof trying as he did so to kick the ladder loose behind him it was fastened the three gunmen jumped into the room from the roof Jimmy Dale got a glimpse of them below as he flung himself clear of the opening bullets whistled through the aperture a voice roared up as he gained his feet come on after him the whole place is alive but this lets us out we can frame up how we came to be here easy enough never mind the old geezer there anymore get the grey seal the reward that's out for him is worth twice the sparklers and Jimmy Dale hurled the cover of the scuttle he could have stood them off from above and kept the ladder clear with his revolver but the alarm seemed general now windows were opening voices were calling to one another from the windows across the street he must stand out in sharp outline against the sky yes he was seen now a woman's voice from a top story window across the street screamed out high pitched in excitement oh there he is there he is on the roof there Jimmy Dale started on the run along the roof the houses built wall to wall flat roofed seemed to offer an open course ahead of him until a lane or an intersecting street should bar his way but they were not quite all on the same level though the wall of the next house rose suddenly breast high in front of him he flung himself up gained his feet and ducked instantly behind the chimney the crack of a revolver echoed through the night a bullet drawn through the air the Skeeter and his gang were on the roof now dashing forward firing as they ran two shots from Jimmy Dale's automatic in quick succession cooled their ardour of their rush and they broke black flitting forms for the shelter of chimneys too now the whole neighborhood seemed awakened a dull tone roar as from some great gulf below rolled up from the street a medley of slamming windows the rash of feet as people poured from the houses cries, shouts and gels and high over all the shrill call of the police patrol whistle and the crack crack crack of the Skeeter's revolver shots the Skeeter and his hell hounds for one self appointed allies of the law twice again Jimmy Dale fired then crouching running low his six hacked his way across the next room the bullets followed him once more his pursuers dashed forward and again Jimmy Dale his face set like stone now his breath coming in hard gasps dodged behind a chimney and with his gun checked the rush for the third time he glanced about him the sense of disaster saw that two houses farther on the stretch of roof appeared to end there would be a lane or a street there and in another minute or two if it were not already the case others would be following the gunman to the roof and then he would be he caught his breath suddenly in a queer little strangled cry of relief just back of him a few yards away his eyes made out what in the darkness seemed to be a glass skylight a dark form spread like a deeper shadow across the black in front of him making for a chimney nearby closing in the rain Jimmy Dale fired wide tight as was the corner he was in little as was the mercy dessert at his hands he could not after all bring himself to shoot to kill a voice the Skeeters bawled out recklessly rushing all together from different sides at once a backward leap Jimmy Dale's boot was crashing glass and frame stamping at it desperately making a hole for his body through the skylight a yell a chorus of them answered this then the crunch of racing feet on the gravel roof he emptied his revolver sweeping the darkness with a semicircle of vicious flashes it seemed an hour it was barely the fraction of a second as he hung by his hands from the side of the skylight frame his body swing back and forth in the unknown blackness below the skylight might be probably was directly over the stairwell and open clear to the basement of the house but it was his only chance he swung his body well out let go and dropped with the impetus he smashed against a wall was flung back from it in a sort of rebound and his hands closed gripping fiercely on banisters it had been the stairwell beyond any question of doubt but his swinging had sent him clear of it above they had not yet reached the skylight Jimmy Dale snatched a precious moment to listen as he rose and found himself apart from bruises perhaps there was commotion too in this house below the alarm had extended and spread along the block but the commotion was all in the front of the house and the street was the lure Jimmy Dale started down the stairs and in an instant he had gained the landing in another he'd slipped to the rear of the hall somewhere there from the hall itself from one of the rear rooms there must be an exit to the fire escape surely by the front way was certain capture they were yelling shouting down now through the skylight above as Jimmy Dale softly raised the window sash at the rear of the hall the fire escape was there shouts from along the corridor from the tenement dwellers who had been crowding their neighbors rooms crashing their necks probably from the front windows answered the shouts now from the roof and the skylight doors opened forms rushed out but it was dark in the corridor only murky yellow at the up end from the open doors Jimmy Dale slipped through the window to the fire escape and working cautiously silently but with the speed of a trained athlete made his way down at the bottom he dropped from the iron platform into the backyard ran for the fence and climbed over it into a lane on the left side and then as he ran Jimmy Dale snatched the mask from his face and put it in his pocket he was safe now he swept the sweet drops from his forehead with the back of his hand noticing them for the first time it had been close almost as close for him as it had been for old Luddy and tomorrow the papers would execrate the grey seal he smiled a little vanly his breath was still coming hard presently they would score the lane when they found that their quarry was not in the house what a racket they were making the whole district seemed roused like a swarm of angry bees he kept on along the lane and dodged suddenly into a cross street where the two intersected the clang of a bell dined discordantly in his ears a patrol wagon swept by him racing for the scene of the disturbance the riot call was out again Jimmy Dale smiled warily passing his hand across his eyes I guess said Jimmy Dale I'm pretty near all in and I guess it's time that Larry the bat went home and a little later a figure turned from the bowery and shambled down the cross street a disreputable figure with hands plunged deep in his pockets and a shadow across the roadway suddenly shifted in its position as the shambling figure slouched into the black alleyway and entered the tenement side door and Larry the bat smiled softly to himself Klein's men were still on guard end of part 1 chapter 5b of the adventures of Jimmy Dale by Frank L. Packard read by Lorsch Rolander part 1 chapter 6a of the adventures of Jimmy Dale this is a LibriVox recording or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please go to LibriVox.org the adventures of Jimmy Dale by Frank L. Packard reading by Julia Albad part 1 the man in the case chapter 6a devil's work a white gloved arm a voice in a silvery laugh just that no more Jimmy Dale in his favorite seat and I'll seek some seven or eight rows back from the orchestra stared at the stage to all outward appearances absorbed in the last act of the play inwardly quite oblivious to the fact that even a play was going on a white gloved arm a voice in a silvery laugh the words had formed themselves into a sort of sing-song refrained act for the last few days had been running through his head a strange enough guiding star to mold and dictate every action in his life and that was all he had ever seen of her all that he had ever heard of her except those letters of course each of which had outlined the details of some affair for the gray seal to execute indeed it seemed a great length of time now since he had heard from her even in that way though it was not so many days ago after all perhaps it was the calm as it were that, by contrast had given place to the strenuous months and weeks just past the storm raised by the newspapers at the theft of old Ludi's diamonds had subsided into sporadic diatribes aimed at the police Klein, of the secret service had finally admitted defeat and a shadow no longer scoked day and night at the entrance to the sanctuary and Larry the bat bore the government endorsement so to speak of being no more suspicious a character than that of a disreputable but harmless dope fend of the underworld Larry the bat the gray seal Jimmy Dale the millionaire what if it were ever known that that strange three were one what if Jimmy Dale smiled whimsically a burst of applause echoed through the house the orchestra was playing the lights were on seats banked there was the bustle of the rising audience the play was at an end and for the life of him he could not have remembered a single line of the last act the eye like his elbow was already crowded with people on their way out Jimmy Dale stooped down mechanically to reach for his hat beneath his seat and the next instant he was standing up staying wildly into the faces around him it had fallen at his feet a wide envelope hers it was in his hand now those slim tapering wonderfully sensitive fingers of Jimmy Dale that were an open sesame to locks and save subconsciously telegraphing to his mind the fact that the texture of the paper was hers hers and she must be one of those around him one of those crowding either the row of seats in front or behind or one of those just passing in the aisle it had fallen at his feet as he had stooped over for his hat but from just exactly what direction he could not tell his eyes eagerly hungrily critically face after face which one was hers what irony she whom he would have given his life to know for whom indeed he risked his life every hour of the twenty-four was close to him now within reach and as far removed as though a thousand miles separated them she was there but he could not recognize a face that he had never seen with an effort he choked back the bitter, impotent laugh that rose to his lips they were talking, laughing around him her voice yes, he had once heard that and that he would recognize again he strained to catch to individualize the tone sounds that floated in a medley about him it was useless, of course every effort that he had ever made to find her had been useless she was too clever far too clever for that she too would know that he could and would recognize her voice for he could recognize nothing else and then suddenly he realized that he was attracting attention level stares from the woman returned his gaze and they edged away a little from his vicinity as they passed the escorts crowding somewhat belligerently into their places others in the same row of seats as his own were impatiently waiting to get by him with a muttered apology Jimmy Dale raised the seat of his chair allowing his ladder to pass him and then slipping the ladder into his pocket-book he snatched up his hat from the seat-rack there was still a chance knowing he was there she would be on her guard but then the lobby among the crowd and unaware of his presence there was the possibility that if he could reach the entrance ahead of her she too might be talking and laughing as she left the theater just a single word just a tone that was all he asked the row of seats at whose end he stood was empty now and instead of stepping into the thronged aisle he made his way across to the opposite side of the theater here the far aisle was less crowded and in a minute he had gained a foyer confident that he was now in advance of her the next moment he was lost in a jam of people in the lobby he moved slowly now very slowly along those behind to press by him on the way to the entrance a babble of voices rose about him as tight-packed the mass of people jostled elbow and pushed good-naturedly it was a voice now a voice that he was listening for but though it seemed that every faculty was strained in intent upon that one effort his eyes too had in no degree relaxed their vigilance and once half grimly half sardownly clay he smiled to himself there would be an unexpected aftermath to this exodus of gowned and bejeweled women with their prosperous well-grimmed escorts there was the vowser over there sleek dapper squirming in and out of the throng with the agility and stealth of a cat as Larry the bad he had met the vowser many times as indeed he had met and was acquainted with most of the elite of the underworld the vowser beyond a shadow of doubt in his own profession stood upon a plane entirely by himself among those qualified to speak no one yet had ever questioned the vowser's claim through the distinction of being the most dexterous and finished poke-getter in the united states the crowd thinned in the lobby thinned down to the last few belated stragglers who passed him as he still loitered in the entrance and then Jimmy Dale with a shrug of his shoulders that was a great deal more philosophical than the maddening sense of charring and disappointment that burned within him stepped out to the pavement and headed down broadway after all he had known it in his heart of hearts all the time it had always been the same it was only one more occasion added to the innumerable ones that had gone before in which she had eluded him and now there was the leather automatically he quickened his step a little it was useless futile profitless for the moment to disturb himself over his failure there was the leather his lips parted in a strange half serious half speculative smile the leather that was paramount now what new venture did the knight hold and store for him what sudden emergency was the grey seal called upon to face this time what role unrehearsed without warning must he play what story of grim desperate rascality with the paper shredded him with when daylight came or would they carry in screaming headlines the announcements that the grey seal was caged and caught at last and in three inch type tell the world that the grey seal was Jimmy Dale a block down he turned from broadway out of the theater crowds that streamed in both directions past him the leather almost feverishly now he was seeking an opportunity to open and read it unobserved an eagerness upon him that mingled acceleration at the lure of danger with a sense of premonition that irritably inevitably was with him at moments such as these it seemed it always seemed that with an unopened letter of hers in his possession it was as though he were about to open a page in the book of fate and read as it were a pronouncement upon himself that might mean life or death he hurried on people still passed by him too many and in a cafe just ahead making a corner gave him the opportunity that he thought away from the entrance on the side street the brilliant lights from the windows shown out on a comparatively there was ample light to read by even as far away from the window as the curb and Jimmy Dale with an approving knot turned the corner and walked along a few steps until opposite the farthest window but as he halted here at the edge of the street he glanced quickly behind him at a man whom he had just passed the other had paused at the corner and was staring down the street Jimmy Dale instantly and nonchalantly produced a cigarette case selected a cigarette and fasticiously tapped its end on his thumbnail inspect the burden and plain close he observed musingly to himself I wonder if it's just a fluke or something else we'll see Jimmy Dale took a box of matches from his pocket the first would not light the second broke and with an exclamation of annoyance he flung it away the third was making a fitful effort at life as another man emerged hastily from the cafe's side door hurried to the corner joined a man who was still loitering there and both together disappeared at a rapid pace down the street Jimmy Dale whistled softly to himself the second man was even better known than the first there was not a crook in New York but would sidestep landing enough headquarters and do it with amazing celebrity if he could some things up but it's not my hunt muttered Jimmy Dale then with a shrug of his shoulders queered away those headquarters chapped fascinate and give me a thrill every time I see them even if I haven't a ghost of a reason for imagining that the sentence was never finished Jimmy Dale's face was gray the street seemed to rock about him and he stared like a man stricken wide to the lips ahead of him the letter was gone his hand wrinkling from his empty pocket swept away the sweat beads that were bursting from his forehead it had come at last the picture had gone once too often to the well none for an instance his brain cleared now working with lightning speed leaping from premise to conclusion the crush in the theater lobby the pushing, the jostling the close contact, the bowser the slickest, cleverest pickpocket in the United States for a moment he could have laughed aloud in a sort of ghastly defying mockery he himself had predicted an unexpected aftermath had he not aftermath it was the end an hour, two hours and New York would be metamorphosed into a seizing caldron of humanity bubbling with the news it seemed that he could hear the screams of the news boy now shouting their extras it seemed that he could see the people roused to frenzy swarming in excited crowds snatching at the papers mob's shouts swelled in execration and exaltation it seemed as though all around them had gone mad the mystery of the gray seal was solved it was jimmy dale jimmy dale the millionaire the line of society and there was ignominy for an honored name and shame and disaster and convict stripes and sullen penitentiary walls a felon's death the chair he was running now his hands clenched at his sights his mind working subconsciously urging him onward in a blind as yet unrealized objectless way and then gradually impulse gave way to calm a reason and he slowed his pace to a quick less noticeable walk the rouser that was it there was yet a chance the rouser a merciless rage cold, deadly settled upon him it was the rouser who had stolen his pocketbook and with it the letter there could be no doubt of that well, there would be a reckoning at least before the end he was in a downtown subway train now the roar in his ears and consonance seemed with the tourmile in his brain but now too he was Jimmy Dale again and apart from the slightly out thrust jaw the tight closed lips impassive debonair composed there was yet a chance as Larry the bad he knew every den and lair below the deadline and he knew to the rouser's favorite hounds there was yet a chance only one in a thousand it was true almost too pitiful to be depended upon but yet a chance the rouser had probably not worked alone and he and his pal or pals would certainly not remain uptown either to examine or divide their spoils they would wait until they were safe somewhere in one of their hell holes on the east side if he could find the rouser reached the man before the letter was opened Jimmy Dale's lips grew tighter that was the chance if he failed in that Jimmy Dale's lips drooped downward in grim curves at the corners a chance already the rouser had at least a half hour's lead and were still there was no telling which one of a dozen places the man might have chosen to retreat time passed his mind obsessed Jimmy Dale's physical acts were almost wholly mechanical it was perhaps fifteen minutes since he had discovered the loss of the letter and he was walking now through the heart of the Bowery exactly how he had gotten there he could not have told he had only a vague realization that following an intuitive sense of direction he had lost not a second of time in making his way downtown and now he found himself hesitating at the corner of a cross-strait two blocks east was that dark narrow alleyway that side door that made the entrance to the sanctuary it would be safer a hundred times safer to go there change his clothes and his personality and emerge again as Larry the Bad infinitely safer and that role to explore the dens of the underworld many of them indeed unknown and undreamed of by the police themselves then to trust himself there in well-cut fashionable tweets but that would take time time when with every second the one chance he had desperate as that already was was slipping away from him no what was apparently the greater risk at least held out the only hope he went on again his brain incessantly at work at the worst there was one mitigating factor in it all he had no need to think of her whatever the ruin and disaster that faced him in the next few hours she in any case was safe there was no clue to her identity in the letter and where he for months on end with even more to work upon had failed at every turn to trace her there was little fear that anyone else would have any better success she was safe as for himself that was different the gray seal would be referred to in the letter they would be the outline the data for the crime she had planned for that night and the letter though unaddressed being found in his pocketbook where cards and notes and a dozen different things among its content proclaimed him Jimmy Dale needed no further evidence as to its ownership nor the identity of the gray seal Jimmy Dale's fingers crept inside his wrist and fumbled there for a moment in a diamond stud extracted from his shirt front glistened sportively in the necktie that was now tucked gently in at one side of his shirt bosom he had reached a blue dragon one of vows as usual hangouts and serving from the sidewalk entered to place there was wild tumult within a constant storm of applause there is an an hilarity that was hurled from the tables around the room at a turkey trotting Tanger writhing couples on the somewhat restricted space of the polished hardwood flooring in the center Jimmy Dale swaggered down the room a cigar tilted up at an angle between his teeth his soft felt had a little rakishly on one side of his head and well over his nose at the end of the room at the bar Jimmy Dale leaned toward the bar keeper and talked out of the corner of his mouth there were private rooms upstairs and he jerked his head surreptitiously ceilingward say is the vowser up there he inquired in a cautious whisper the man behind the bar well known to Jimmy Dale as one of the vows as particular piles favored him with a blank stare never heard of the guy he announced brusquely what's yours gimme a mug of such said Jimmy Dale writhing for a match he puffed at his cigar blew out the match and after a moment flung the char and away but on his hand as palm outward he raced it to take his glass the match had traced a small black cross the bar keeper put down the beer he had just drawn wiped his hands hurriedly and with sudden enthusiasm trusted across the bar glad to know you's coal he exclaimed what's delay Jimmy Dale smiled Nick said Jimmy Dale I just blew in from Chicago used to know the vowser there he said this place was on the level and I could always find him here that's all sure you can return the bar keeper heartily only hand here now he beat it about fifteen minutes ago him and Dago Jim I guess we'll find him at Chang's I heard him and Dago say they will go in there know the place Jimmy Dale shook his head I ain't much vice to New York he exclaimed ah that's easy whispered the bar keeper go down to Shasm Square and then any guy'll show use Chang Fu's he winked confidentially I guess you won't bump your head none getting around inside Jimmy Dale nodded grinned back emptied his glass and dug for a coin forget it observed the bar keeper courgettly this is on me any friend of the vowsers get the glad hand here any time thanks said Jimmy Dale gratefully as he turned away so long then see you's later Chang Fu's Jimmy Dale's face said even a little harder than it had before as he swung on again down the way yes he knew Chang Fu's too well underground Chang'a town where a man's life was worth the price of an opium pill or less mechanically his hand slipped into his pocket and closed over the automatic that nestled there once in we had to go and the chances were even just even that was all you ever get out again he was tempted to return to the sanctuary and make the attempt as Larry the bad Larry the bad was well enough known to entertain Fu's and questioned and but again he shook his head and went on there was not time the vowser in his pal it was Diego Jimmy had evidently been drinking and loitering their way downtown from the theater and he had gained that much on them but by now they would be smugly tucked away somewhere in that maze of dens below the ground and at that moment probably were gloating over the biggest nights howl they had ever made in their lives and if they were what then once they knew the contents of that letter what then by them off for a larger amount than the many thousands offered for the capture of the gray seal Jimmy Dale gritted his teeth that meant black men from them all his life an intolerable existence impossible a hell on earth the slave at the beck and call of two of the worst criminals in New York the moisture oozed again to Jimmy Dale's forehead God if he could get that letter before it was opened before they knew if he could only get the chance to fight for it against any odds life life was a pitiful consideration against the alternative that faced him now end of part one chapter six a