aming of vultures
now in Jimmie Dale's ears, as the words came to him.

"Aw, say, Skeeter, dis high-brow stunt gives me de pip! Me fer goin' in
dere an' croakin' de geezer reg'lar, widout de frills. Who's to know?
Say, just about two minutes, an' we're beatin' it wid de sparklers."

An inch, a half inch at a time, the knob slowly, very, very slowly
turning, the door was being closed by the crouched form on the
threshold.

"Close yer trap, Mose!" came a fierce response. "We ain't fixed the
lay all day for nothin'. There ain't a soul on earth knows he's got any
sparklers, 'cept us. If there was, it would be different--then they'd
know that was what whoever did it was after, see?"

The door was closed--the knob slowly, very, very slowly being released
again. From one of the leather pockets under Jimmie Dale's vest came a
tiny steel instrument that he inserted in the key-hole.

The same voice spoke on:

"That's what we're croaking him for, 'cause nobody knows about them
diamonds, and so's he can't TELL anybody afterward that any were
pinched. An' that's why it's got to look like he just got tired of
living and did it himself. I guess that'll hold the police when they
find the poor old duck hanging from the ceiling, with a bit of cord
around his neck, and a chair kicked out from under his feet on the
floor. Ain't you got the brains of a louse to see that?"

"Sure"--the whisper came dully, in grudging intonation through the
panels--the door was locked. "Sure, but it's de hangin' 'round waitin'
to get busy that's gettin' me goat, an'--"

Jimmie Dale straightened up and began to retreat along the corridor.
A merciless rage was upon him now, every fiber of his being seemed to
tingle and quiver with it--the damnable, hellish ingenuity of it all
seemed to choke and suffocate him.

"Luck!" muttered Jimmie Dale between his clenched teeth. "Oh, the
blessed luck to get that door locked! I've got time now to set the stage
for my own get-away before the showdown!"

He stole on along the corridor. Excerpts from her letter were running
through his brain: "It would do no good to warn him, Jimmie--the Skeeter
and his gang would never let up on him until they got the stones. . . .
It would do no good for you to steal them first, for they would only
take that as a ruse of old Luddy's, and murder the man first and hunt
afterward. . . . In some way you must let the Skeeter SEE you steal
them, make them think, make them certain that