to-night--and whoever did this certainly
will not raise an alarm. And besides, there is still the matter of the
rubies--Burton."

"Yes," said Burton, with a quick intake of his breath.

"Yes--the rubies--what are you going to do with them? I--I had forgotten
them. You'll--" He stopped, stared at Jimmie Dale, and burst into a
miserable laugh. "I'm a fool, a blind fool!" he moaned. "It does not
matter what you do with them. I forgot Sagosto. When they find Isaac
here, Sagosto will either tell his story, which will be enough to
convict me of this night's work, the REAL murder, even though I'm
innocent; or else he'll blackmail me just as Isaac did."

Jimmie Dale shook his head.

"You are doing Isaac's cunning an injustice," he said grimly. "Sagosto
was only a tool, one of many that old Isaac had in his power--and, for
that matter, as likely as any one else to have had a hand in Isaac's
murder to-night. Sagosto saw you once when Isaac brought you into his
place--not because Isaac wanted Sagosto to see you, but because he
wanted YOU to see Sagosto. Do you understand? It would make the story
that Sagosto came to him with the tale of the murder the next day ring
true. Sagosto, however, did not go to old Isaac the next day to tell
about any fake murder--naturally. Sagosto would not know you again
from Adam--neither does he know anything about the rubies, nor what old
Isaac's ulterior motives were. He was paid for his share in the game in
old Isaac's usual manner of payment probably--by a threat of exposure
for some old-time offence, that Isaac held over him, if he didn't keep
his mouth shut."

Burton's hand brushed his eyes.

"Yes," he muttered. "Yes--I see it now."

Jimmie Dale stooped down, picked up the paper from the floor in which
the wig and beard had been wrapped, walked back with it, and replaced
it in the cupboard. And then, with his back to Burton again, he took
the case of gems from his pocket, opened it, and laid it on the cupboard
shelf. Also from his pocket came that thin metal case, and from the
case, with a pair of tweezers that obviated the possibility of telltale
finger prints, a gray, diamond-shaped piece of paper, adhesive on
one side that, cursed by the distracted authorities in every police
headquarters on both sides of the Atlantic, and raved at by a virulent
press whose printed reproductions had made it familiar in every
household in the land--was the insignia of the Gray Seal. He moistened
the a