MME!
Quite right--but also quite purposeless! Jimmie Dale's eyes grew
wistful. He had been "hunting for the woman in the case" himself,
now, for months and years indefatigably, using every resource at his
command--quite purposelessly.

Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders. Why go over all this to-night--there
were other things to do. She had come to him again--and this time with
a matter that entailed more than ordinary difficulty, more than usual
danger, that would tax his wits and his skill to the utmost, not only
to succeed, but to get out of it himself with a whole skin. Markel--eh?
Jimmie Dale leaned back in his seat, clasped his hands behind his
head--and his eyes, half closed now, were studying Benson's back again
through the plate-glass front.

He was still sitting in that position as the car approached his
residence on Riverside Drive--but, as it came to a stop, and Benson
opened the door, it was a very alert Jimmie Dale that stepped to the
sidewalk.

"Benson," he said crisply, "I am going downtown again later on, but I
shall drive myself. Bring the touring car around and leave it in front
of the house. I'll run it into the garage when I get back--you need not
wait up."

"Very good, sir," said Benson.

In the hallway, Jason, the butler, who had been butler to Jimmie Dale's
father before him, took Jimmie Dale's hat and coat.

"It's a fine evening, Master Jim," said the privileged old man
affectionately.

Jimmie Dale took out his silver cigarette case, selected a cigarette,
tapped it daintily on the cover of the case--and accepted the match the
old man hastily produced.

"Yes, Jason." said Jimmie Dale, pleasantly facetious, "it a fine night,
a glorious night, moon and stars and a balmy breeze--quite too fine,
indeed, to remain indoors. In fact, you might lay out my gray ulster; I
think I will go for a spin presently, when I have changed."

"Yes, sir," said Jason. "Anything else, Master Jim?"

"No; that's all, Jason. Don't sit up for me--you may go to bed now."

"Thank you, sir," said the old man.

Jimmie Dale went upstairs, opened the door of his own particular den on
the right of the landing, stepped inside, closed the door, switched on
the light--and Jimmie Dale's debonair nonchalance dropped from him as a
mask instantly--and it was another Jimmie Dale--the professional Jimmie
Dale.

Quick now in every action, he swung aside the portiere that curtained
off the squat, barrel-shaped safe in the li