,
the scream had been heard by others, save those who had been in the
locked room. And the latter were outside now in the corridor, running to
their accomplice's aid.

There was a pause at the outer door--then an oath--and coupled with the
oath an exclamation:

"The Gray Seal!"

They had swept a flashlight over the door panel--Jimmie Dale, halfway up
the ladder, smiled grimly.

The door opened--there was a rush of feet. The man with the shattered
wrist yelled, cursing wildly:

"Here he is--on the ladder! Let him have it! Fill him full of holes!"

Jimmie Dale was in the light--they were in the dark of the outer room.
He fired at the threshold, checking their rush--as a hail of bullets
chipped and tore at the ladder and spat wickedly against the wall. He
swung through to the roof, trying, as he did so, to kick the ladder
loose behind him. It was fastened!

The three gunmen jumped into the room--from the roof Jimmie Dale got a
glimpse of them below, as he flung himself clear of the opening. Bullets
whistled through the aperture--a voice roared up as he gained his feet:

"Come on! After him! The whole place is alive, but this lets us out.
We can frame up how we came to be here easy enough. Never mind the old
geezer there any more! Get the Gray Seal--the reward that's out for him
is worth twice the sparklers, and--"

Jimmie Dale hurled the cover over the scuttle. He could have stood them
off from above and kept the ladder clear with his revolver, but the
alarm seemed general now--windows were opening, voices were calling to
one another--from the windows across the street he must stand out in
sharp outline against the sky. Yes--he was seen now.

A woman's voice, from a top-story window across the street, screamed
out, high-pitched in excitement:

"There he is! There he is! On the roof there!"

Jimmie Dale started on the run along the roof. The houses, built wall to
wall, flat-roofed, seemed to offer an open course ahead of him--until
a lane or an intersecting street should bar his way! But they were not
quite all on the same level, though--the wall of the next house rose
suddenly breast high in front of him. He flung himself up, regained his
feet--and ducked instantly behind a chimney.

The crack of a revolver echoed through the night--a bullet drummed
through the air--the Skeeter and his gang were on the roof now, dashing
forward, firing as they ran. Two shots from Jimmie Dale's automatic, in
quick successio