"You ain't got nothing on me!" he snarled, sparring for time."You police are too damned fresh with your guns!""I'll take yours!" snapped Jimmie Dale, and snatched it deftly from the other's 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 off 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 over the bed--it was the most dangerous thing he could do--he knew that well enough, none 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 Skeeter 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 SUCCESS.
"Y'ain't the police!"--it came in a choked gasp from the other, as he blinked in the sudden light "Say then--""Shut up!" ordered Jimmie Dale 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.Thoms had evidently only begun to apply the chloroform--old Luddy was safe!
Jimmie Dale ran his hand in under the pillow."If you ain't swiped them already they ought to be here!" he growled; "and if you have I'll--ah!" A little chamois bag was in his hand.He laughed sneeringly at Thoms, 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 latter were outside now in the corridor, running to their accomplice's aid.
There was a pause at the outer door--then an oath--and coupled with the oath an exclamation:
"The Gray Seal!"
They had swept a flashlight over the door panel--Jimmie Dale, halfway up the ladder, smiled grimly.
The door opened--there was a rush of feet.The man with the shattered wrist yelled, cursing wildly:
"Here he is--on the ladder! Let him have it! Fill him full of holes!"Jimmie Dale was in the light--they were in the dark of the outer room.He fired at the threshold, checking their rush--as a hail of bullets chipped 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 Jimmie 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 any more! Get the Gray Seal--the reward that's out for him is worth twice the sparklers, and--"Jimmie Dale hurled the cover over 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:
"There he is! There he is! On the roof there!"Jimmie 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, regained his feet--and ducked instantly behind a chimney.
The crack of a revolver echoed through the night--a bullet drummed through the air--the Skeeter and his gang were on the roof now, dashing forward, firing as they ran.Two shots from Jimmie Dale's automatic, in quick succession cooled the ardour of their rush--and they broke, black, flitting forms, for the shelter of chimneys, too.