rom the lighted window of old Isaac's den above his head, he
could make out that it was open--but that was all.

Once more he smiled--a little tolerantly at himself this time. Some one
had been in the lane; some one had opened the window of his or her
room in that tenement house across from him--surely there was nothing
surprising, unnatural, or even out of the commonplace in that. He had
been a little bit on edge himself, perhaps, and the sudden movement of
that shadow, unexpected, had startled him for the moment, as, in all
probability, the opening of the window had startled the skulking figure
itself into action.

The door was open now. He stepped noiselessly inside, and closed it
noiselessly behind him. He was in a narrow hall, where a few yards away,
a light shone down a stairway at right angles to the hall itself.

"Rear door of pawnshop opens into hall, and exactly opposite very short
flight of stairs leading directly to doorway of Isaac's den above.
Ramshackle old place, low ceilings. Isaac, when sitting in his den, can
look down, and, by means of a transom over the rear door of the shop,
see the customers as they enter from the street, while he also keeps an
eye on his assistant. Latter always locks up and leaves promptly at six
o'clock--" Jimmie Dale was subconsciously repeating to himself snatches
from the Tocsin's letter, which, as subconsciously in reading, he had
memorised almost word for word.

And now voices reached him--one, excited, nervous, as though the
speaker were labouring under mental strain that bordered closely on
the hysterical; the other, curiously mingling a querulousness with an
attempt to pacify, but dominantly contemptuous, sneering, cold.

Jimmie Dale moved along the hall--very slowly--without a sound--testing
each step before he threw his body weight from one leg to the other. He
reached the foot of the stairs. The Tocsin had been right; it was a very
short flight. He counted the steps--there were eight. Above, facing him,
a door was open. The voices were louder now. It was a sordid-looking
room, what he could see of it, poverty-stricken in its appearance,
intentionally so probably for effect, with no attempt whatever at
furnishing. He could see through the doorway to the window that opened
on the alleyway, or, rather, just glimpse the top of the window at an
angle across the room--that and a bare stretch of floor. The two men
were not in the line of vision.

Burton's voice--it wa