ned intently,
then, unlocking the door that gave on the hall, he switched off the
lights and went to his dressing room, that was on the same floor. Here,
divesting himself quickly of his dinner clothes, he selected a dark
tweed suit with loose-fitting, sack coat from his wardrobe, and began to
put it on.

Dressed, all but his coat and vest, he turned to the leather bundle that
he had placed on a table, untied the thongs, and carefully opened it
out to its full length--and again that curious, cryptic smile tinged his
lips. Rolled the opposite away from that in which it had been tied
up, the leather strip made a wide belt that went on somewhat after
the fashion of a life preserver, the thongs being used for shoulder
straps--a belt that, once on, the vest would hide completely, and,
fitting close, left no telltale bulge in the outer garments. It was not
an ordinary belt; it was full of stout-sewn, up-right little pockets
all the way around, and in the pockets grimly lay an array of fine,
blued-steel, highly tempered instruments--a compact, powerful burglar's
kit.

The slim, sensitive fingers passed with almost a caressing touch over
the vicious little implements, and from one of the pockets extracted
a thin, flat metal case. This Jimmie Dale opened, and glanced
inside--between sheets of oil paper lay little rows of GRAY, ADHESIVE,
DIAMOND-SHAPED SEALS.

Jimmie Dale snapped the case shut, returned it to its recess, and from
another took out a black silk mask. He held it up to the light for
examination.

"Pretty good shape after a year," muttered Jimmie Dale, replacing it.

He put on the belt, then his vest and coat. From the drawer of his
dresser he took an automatic revolver and an electric flashlight,
slipped them into his pocket, and went softly downstairs. From the hat
stand he chose a black slouch hat, pulled it well over his eyes--and
left the house.

Jimmie Dale walked down a block, then hailed a bus and mounted to the
top. It was late, and he found himself the only passenger. He inserted
his dime in the conductor's little resonant-belled cash receiver, and
then settled back on the uncomfortable, bumping, cushionless seat.

On rattled the bus; it turned across town, passed the Circle, and
headed for Fifth Avenue--but Jimmie Dale, to all appearances, was quite
oblivious of its movements.

It was a year since she had written him. SHE! Jimmie Dale did not smile,
his lips were pressed hard together. Not a very