, confused.

"Then why--what was it that--"

"A paper," said Jimmie Dale, with a little chuckle--and produced it from
the cash box. "It reads like this: 'On demand, I promise to pay--'"

"My note!" It came in a great, surging cry from Wilbur; and he strained
forward to read it.

"Of course," said Jimmie Dale. "Of course--your note. Did you think that
I had just happened to drop in on you? Now, then, see here, you just
buck up, and--er--smile. There isn't even a possibility of you being
accused of the theft. In the first place, Markel saw quite enough of me
to know that it wasn't you. Secondly, neither Markel nor any one else
would ever dream that the break was made for anything else but the
necklace, with which you have no connection--the papers were in the cash
box and were just taken along with it. Don't you see? And, besides, the
police, with my very good friend, Carruthers at their elbows, will see
very thoroughly to it that the Gray Seal gets full and ample credit for
the crime. But"--Jimmie Dale pulled out his watch, and yawned under his
mask--"it's getting to be an unconscionable hour--and you've still a
letter to write."

"A letter?" Wilbur's voice was broken, his lips quivering.

"To Markel," said Jimmie Dale pleasantly. "Write him in reply to his
letter of the afternoon, and post it before you leave here--just as
though you had written it at once, promptly, on receipt of his. He will
still get it on the morning delivery. State that you will take up the
note immediately on presentation at whatever bank he chooses to name.
That's all. Seeing that he hasn't got it, he can't very well present
it--can he? Eventually, having--er--no use for fake diamonds, I
shall return the necklace, together with the papers in his cash box
here--including your note."

"Eventually?" Uncomprehendingly, stumblingly, Wilbur repeated the word.

"In a month or two or three, as the case may be," explained Jimmie
Dale brightly. "Whenever you insert a personal in the NEWS-ARGUS to
the effect that the mother lode has given you the cash to meet it." He
replaced the note in the cash box, slipped down to his feet from the
desk--and then he choked a little. Wilbur, the tears streaming down
his face, unable to speak, was holding out his hands to Jimmie Dale.
"I--er--good-night!" said Jimmie Dale hurriedly--and stepped quickly
from the room.

Halfway down the first flight of stairs he paused. Steps, running after
him, sounded along the