Jimmie Dale reached the corner of the street, where it 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 as 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.Jimmie 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 unctuously 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 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 on Riverside Drive, and waited for the connection.After some delay, Jason's voice answered him.
"Jason," said Jimmie Dale, in matter-of-fact tones, "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.
"Thank God that's you, sir!" exclaimed the old butler wildly."I've been near mad, sir, all day!""Don't get excited, Jason!" said Jimmie 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 am on the subject, Jason, let me say now that I shall be glad if you will bear that fact in mind in future.""Yes, sir," stammered Jason."But, sir, it ain't that--good Lord, Master Jim, it ain't that, sir! It's--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 Jimmie Dale, without a quiver in his voice.
"It came this morning, sir--that shuffer with his automobile left it.I had 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 rung up on the telephone, asking if you were back, and if Icould get you, and where you were, and half frantic, sir, 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 Jimmie 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! Jimmie Dale tried to think--prodding, spurring desperately that keen, lightning brain of his that had never failed him yet.How bridge the gulf between Larry the Bat and Jimmie Dale in Jason's eyes--not just for the replenishing of funds now, but with a life at stake!
"No--I think not, Jason," said Jimmie 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 inquiries.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've all come from different pay stations, sir."A mirthless little smile tinged Jimmie Dale's lips.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 Gray 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 hung the 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 had 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 utmost 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! Jimmie Dale's lips 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 Gray Seal had ever committed, and, in some respects, even more perilous!