with sudden fierceness. "You are a
fool!" He leaned toward Jimmie Dale, a crafty smile on his face, quite
in control of himself once more. "Don't listen to him--listen to me.
You're right. I can't place you, and it doesn't make any difference"--he
took a step forward--"but--"

"Not too close, Isaac!" snapped Jimmie Dale sharply. "I know YOU!"

"So!" ejaculated old Isaac, rubbing his hands together. "So! That is
good! That is what I want. Listen, we will make a bargain. We are birds
of a feather, eh? All thieves, eh? You've got the drop on us who did all
the work, but you'll give us our share--eh? Listen! You couldn't get rid
of those stones alone. You know that; you're not so green at the game,
eh? You'd have to go to some one. You know me; you know old Isaac, you
say. Well, then, you know there isn't another man in New York could
dispose of those rubies and play SAFE doing it except me. I'll make a
good bargain with you."

"Isaac," said Jimmie Dale pensively, "you've made a good many 'good'
bargains. I wonder when you'll make your last! There's more than one
looking for 'interest' on those bargains in a pretty grim sort of way."

"Bah!" ejaculated old Isaac. "It is an old story. They are all alike. I
am afraid of none of them. I hold them all like--THAT!" His hand opened
and closed like a taloned claw.

"And you'd add me to the lot, eh?" said Jimmie Dale. He lifted the
revolver, its muzzle on old Isaac, examined the mechanism thoughtfully,
and lowered it again. "Very well, I'll make a bargain with
you--providing it is agreeable to your young friend here."

"Ah!" exclaimed old Isaac shrilly. "So! That is good! It is done then."
He chuckled hoarsely. "Any bargain I make he will agree to. Is it not
so?" He fixed his eyes on Burton. "Well, is it not so? Speak up! Say--"

He stopped--the words cut short off on his lips. It came without
warning--a crash, a pound on the door below--another.

Burton shrank back against the wall.

"My God! The police!" he gasped. "Maddon's found out! We're--we're
caught!"

Jimmie Dale's eyes, on old Isaac, narrowed. The pounding in the alleyway
grew louder, more insistent. And then his first suspicion passed--it
was no "game" of Isaac's. Crafty though the old fox was, the other's
surprise and agitation was too genuine to be questioned.

Still the pounding continued--some one was kicking viciously at the
door, and banging a tattoo on the panels with his fists.

Old Isaac's clawlik