he house--opening on the lawn--get
it TO-NIGHT, Jimmie--TO-MORROW WOULD BE TOO LATE--dispose of it--see
fit--Henry Wilbur, Marshall Building, Broadway--fifth story--"

Through the glass-panelled front of the car, Jimmie Dale could see his
chauffeur's back, and the hand that held the letter dropped now to his
side, and Jimmie Dale stared--at his chauffeur's back. Then, presently,
he read the letter again, as though committing it to memory now; and
then, tearing the paper into tiny shreds, as he did with every one of
her communications, he reached out of the window and allowed the little
pieces to filter gradually from his hand.

The Gray Seal! He smiled in his whimsical way. If it were ever known!
He, Jimmie Dale, with his social standing, his wealth, his position--the
Gray Seal! Not a police official, not a secret-service bureau probably
in the civilised world, but knew the name--not a man, woman, or child
certainly in this great city around him but to whom it was as
familiar as their own! Danger? Yes. A battle of wits? Yes. His against
everybody's--even against Carruthers', his old college chum! For, even
as a reporter, before he had risen to the editorial desk, and even now
that he had, Carruthers had been one of the keenest on the scent of the
Gray Seal.

Danger? Yes. But it was worth it! Worth it a thousand times for the very
lure of the danger itself; but worth it most of all for his association
with her who, by some amazing means, verging indeed on the miraculous,
came into touch with all these things, and supplied him with the data on
which to work--that always some wrong might be righted, or gladness
come where there had been gloom before, or hope where there had been
despair--that into some fellow human's heart should come a gleam
of sunshine. Yes, in spite of the howls of the police, the virulent
diatribes of the press, an angry public screaming for his arrest,
conviction, and punishment, there were those perhaps who even on their
bended knees at night asked God's blessing on--the Gray Seal!

Was it strange, then, after all, that the police, seeking a clew through
motive, should have been driven to frenzy on every occasion in finding
themselves forever confronted with what, from every angle they were able
to view it, was quite a purposeless crime! On one point only they
were right, the old dogma, the old, old cry, old as the institution of
police, older than that, old since time immemorial--CHERCHEZ LA FE