this might well be the
last letter. Who knew? There would be need of all the wit and luck and
nerve to-night that the Gray Seal had ever had before.

With a jerk, Jimmie Dale roused himself from the momentary reverie into
which he had fallen; and, all action now, stuffed the torn pieces of the
letter into his trousers pocket to be disposed of later in the street;
took off the old coat and slouch hat again, and resumed the disposal of
Larry the Bat's effects under the flooring.

This accomplished, he replaced the planking and oilcloth, stood up, put
on his dress coat and light overcoat, and, from the table, stowed the
black silk mask, the automatic, the little kit of tools, the flashlight,
and the thin metal case away in his pockets.

Jimmie Dale raised his hand to the gas fixture, circled the room with a
glance that missed no single detail--then the light went out, the door
closed behind him, locked, a dark shadow crept silently down the stairs,
out through the side door into the alleyway, along the alleyway close to
the wall of the tenement where it was blackest, and, satisfied that
for the moment there were no passers-by, emerged on the street, walking
leisurely toward the Bowery.

Once well away from the Sanctuary, however, Jimmie Dale quickened his
steps; and twenty minutes later, having stopped but once to telephone to
his home on Riverside Drive for his touring car, he was briskly mounting
the steps of the St. James Club on Fifth Avenue. Another twenty minutes
after that, and he had dismissed Benson, his chauffeur, and, at
the wheel of his big, powerful machine, was speeding uptown for the
Palais-Metropole Hotel.

It was twelve minutes after nine when he drew up at the curb in front of
the side entrance of the hotel--his watch, set by guesswork, had been a
little slow, and he had corrected it at the club. He was replacing the
watch in his pocket as he sauntered around the corner, and passed in
through the main entrance to the big lobby.

Jimmie Dale avoided the elevators--it was only one flight up, and
elevator boys on occasions had been known to be observant. At the top
of the first landing, a long, wide, heavily carpeted corridor was before
him. "Number one hundred and forty-eight, the corner room on the right,"
the Tocsin had said. Jimmie Dale walked nonchalantly along--past No.
148. At the lower end of the hall a group of people were gathered around
the elevator doors; halfway down the corridor a bell b