it is a bona-fide theft,
so that they will no longer have any interest or any desire to do old
Luddy harm. . . . And for it to appear real to them, it must appear real
to old Luddy himself--do not take any chances there."

Jimmie Dale's eyes narrowed. Yes, it was simple enough now with that
pack of hell's wolves guarded for the moment by a locked door, forced to
give him warning by breaking the door before they could get out. It was
simple enough now to enter old Luddy's room, steal the stones at the
revolver point, then make enough disturbance--when he was ready--to set
the gang in motion, and, as they rushed in open him, to make his escape
with the stones to the roof through Luddy's room. That was simple
enough--there was an opening to the roof in Luddy's room, she had said,
and there was a ladder kept there in place. On hot nights, it seemed,
the old man used to go up there and sleep on the roof--not now, of
course. It was too late in the year for that--but the opening in the
roof was there, and the ladder remained there, too.

Yes, it was simple enough now. And the next morning the papers would
rave with execrations against the Gray Seal--for the robbery of the
life savings of a poor, defenseless old man, for committing as vile and
pitiful a crime as had ever stirred New York! Even Carruthers, of
the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS, would be moved to bitter attack. Good old
Carruthers--who little thought that the Gray Seal was his old college
pal, his present most intimate friend, Jimmie Dale! And afterward--after
the next morning? Well, that, at least, had never been in doubt. Old
Luddy could be made to leave New York, and, once away, with the Skeeter
and his gang robbed of incentive to pay any further attention to him,
the stones could be secretly returned to the old man. And it would
to the public, to the police, be just another of the Gray Seal's
crimes--that was all!

Jimmie Dale had reached old Luddy's door. The Gray Seal? Oh, yes, they
would know it was the Gray Seal--the insignia was familiar enough;
familiar to the crooks of the underworld, who held it in awe; familiar
to the police, to whom it was an added barb of ridicule. He was placing
it now, that insignia, a diamond-shaped, gray paper seal, on the panel
of the door; and now, a black silk mask adjusted over his face, Jimmie
Dale bent to insert the little steel instrument in the lock--a pitiful,
paltry thing, a cheap lock, to fingers that could play so intimately