"D'ye get me!" sneered Connie Myers."Tell your story--who'd believe it! I got you cinched.Twice I tried to get this old dub's coin out here, and couldn't find it.But the second time I found something else--a piece of paper with a drawing of the fireplace on it, and a place in the drawing marked with an X.That was good enough, wasn't it? That's the paper I stuck under your table this afternoon when your wife was out--see? Somebody's got to stand for the job, and if it's somebody else it won't be me--get me! When Ihad a look at that fireplace I knew I couldn't do the job alone in a week, and I didn't dare blast it with 'soup' for fear of spoiling what was inside.And since I had to have somebody to help me, Ithought I might as well let him help me all the way through--and stand for it.I picked you, Mike--that's why I croaked old Doyle in your tenement to-night.I wrote this letter while I was waiting for you to show up at the station to come out here with me, and I'm going to see that the police get it in the next hour.When they find Doyle in the room below yours, and that paper in your room, and the busted fireplace here--I guess they won't look any farther for who did it.And say"--he leaned forward with an ugly grin--"mabbe you think I'm soft to be telling you all this? But don't you fool yourself.You don't know me--you don't know who I am.So tell 'em the TRUTH! They won't believe you anyway with evidence like that against you--and the neater the story the more they'll think it shows brains enough on your part to have pulled a job like this!""My God!" Hagan was rocking on his knees, beads of sweat were starting out on his forehead."You wouldn't plant a man like that!"he cried brokenly."You wouldn't do it, would you? My God--you wouldn't do that!"Jimmie Dale's face under his mask was white and rigid.There was something primal, elemental in the savagery that was sweeping upon him.He had it all now--ALL! She had been right--there was need to-night for the Gray Seal.So that was the game, inhuman, hellish, the whole of it, to the last filthy dregs--Connie Myers, to protect himself, was railroading an innocent man to death for the crime that he himself had committed! There was a cold smile on Jimmie Dale's lips now, as he took his automatic from his pocket.No, it wasn't quite all the game--there was still HIS hand to play! He edged forward a little nearer to the door--and halted abruptly, listening.
An automobile had stopped outside on the road.Hagan was still pleading in a frenzied way; Connie Myers was callously folding his letter, while he watched the other warily--neither of the men had heard the sound.
And then, quick, almost on the instant, came a rush of feet, a crash upon the front door--an imperative command to open in the name of the law.THE POLICE! Jimmie Dale's brain was working now with lightning speed.Somehow the police had stumbled upon the crime in that tenement; and, as he had foreseen in such an event, had identified Doyle.But they could not be sure that any one was present here in the house now--they could not see a light any more than he had.He must get Mike Hagan away--must see that Connie Myers did NOT get away.Myers was on his feet now, fear struck in his turn, the letter clutched in a tight-closed fist, his revolver swung out, poised, in the other hand.Hagan, too, was on his feet, and, unheeded now by Connie Myers, was wrenching his wrists apart.
Another crash upon the door--another.Another demand in a harsh voice to open it.Then some one running around to the window at the side of the house--and Jimmie Dale sprang forward.
There was the roar of a report, a blinding flash almost in Jimmie Dale's eyes, as Connie Myers, whirling instantly at his entrance, fired--and missed.It happened quick then, in the space of the ticking of a watch--before Jimmie Dale, flinging himself forward, had reached the man.Like a defiant challenge to their demand it must have seemed to the officers outside, that shot of Connie Myers at Jimmie Dale, for it was answered on the instant by another through the side window.And the shot, fired at random, the interior of the room hidden from the officers outside by the drawn shades, found its mark--and Connie Myers, a bullet in his brain, pitched forward, dead, upon the floor.
"QUICK!" Jimmie Dale flung at Hagan."Get that letter out of his hand!" He jumped for the lamp on the floor, extinguished it, and turned again toward Hagan."Have you got it?" he whispered tensely.
"Yes," said Hagan, in a numbed way.
"This way, then!" Jimmie Dale caught Hagan's arm, and pulled the other across the room and into the kitchen to the trapdoor.
"Quick!" he breathed again."Get down there--quick! And no noise!
They don't know how many are in the house.When they find HIMthey'll probably be satisfied."
Hagan, stupefied, dazed, obeyed mechanically--and, in an instant, the trapdoor closed behind them, Jimmie Dale was standing beside the other in the cellar.
"Not a sound now!" he cautioned once more.
His flashlight winked, went out, winked again; then held steadily, in curious fascination it seemed, as, in its circuit, the ray fell upon Hagan--FELL UPON THE TORN, RAGGED EDGE OF A PAPER IN HAGAN'SHAND! With a suppressed cry, Jimmie Dale snatched it away from the other.It was but a torn HALF of the letter! "The other half! The other half, Hagan--where is it?" he demanded hoarsely.
Hagan, almost in a state of collapse, muttered inaudibly.The crash of a toppling door sounded from above.Jimmie Dale shook the man desperately.
"Where is it?" he repeated fiercely.
"He--he was holding it tight, it--it tore in his hand," Hagan stammered."Does it make any difference? Oh, let's get out of here, whoever you are--for God's sake let's get out of here!"Any difference! Jimmie Dale's jaws were clamped like a steel vise.
Any difference! The difference between life and death for the man beside him--that was all! He was reading the portion in his hand.