end was not far
off now; and then--WHAT?

Stangeist had the outer door of the safe open now--and now the inner
door swung back. He reached in his hand to the pigeonhole, drew out the
envelope--and with a sudden, wild cry, reeled to his feet.

"My God!" he screamed out. "What's--what's this!"

Clarie Deane snatched the envelope from him.

"THE GRAY SEAL!"--the words came with a jerk from his lips. He ripped
the envelope open frantically--and like a man stunned gazed at the four
blank sheets, while the colour left his face. "IT'S GONE!" he cried out
hoarsely.

"Gone!" There was a burst of oaths from Australian Ike. "Gone! Den we're
nipped--de lot of us!"

The Mope's face was like a maniac's as he whirled on Stangeist.

"Sure!" he croaked. "But youse gets yers first, youse--"

With a cry, Stangeist, to elude the blow, ducked blindly backward--into
the portieres--and with a rip and tear the hangings were wrenched apart.

It came instantaneously--a yell of mingled surprise and fury from the
three--the crash and spit of Jimmie Dale's revolver as he fired one shot
at the floor to stop their rush--then he flung himself at the window,
through it, and dropped sprawling to the ground.

A stream of flame cut the darkness above him, a bullet whistled by his
head--another--and another. He was on his feet, quick as a cat, and
running close alongside of the wall of the house. He heard a thud behind
him, still another, and yet a third--they were dropping through the
window after him. Came another shot, an angry hum of the bullet closer
than before--then the pound of racing feet.

Jimmie Dale swung around the corner of the house, running at top speed.
Something that was like a hot iron suddenly burned and seared along the
side of his head just above the ear. He reeled, staggered, recovered
himself, and dashed on. It nauseated him, that stinging in his head,
and all at once seemed to be draining his strength away. The shouts, the
shots, the running feet became like a curious buzzing in his ears. It
seemed strange that they should have hit him, that he should be wounded!
If he could only reach the low stone wall by the road, he could at least
make a fight for his life on the other side!

Red streaks swam before Jimmie Dale's eyes. The wall was such a long way
off--a yard or two was a very long way more to go--the weakness
seemed to be creeping up now even to numb his brain. No, here was the
wall--they hadn't hit him again--h