ded long before they overtook her, and, thinking naturally
enough, that he had leaped ashore from her, they would go thrashing
through the woods and fields searching for him!

It was a longer way back by the shore, a good deal longer; now over
rough, rocky stretches where he stumbled in the darkness, now through
marshy, sodden ground where he sank as in a quagmire time and again over
his ankles. It was even longer than he had counted on, and time, with
the Weasel on one hand and the return of the police on the other, was
a factor to be reckoned with again, as, a half hour later, Jimmie Dale
stole across the lawn of Mittel's house for the second time that night,
and for the second time crouched beneath the open French windows.

Masked again, the water still dripping from what were once immaculate
evening clothes but which now sagged limply about him, his collar a
pasty string around his neck, the mud and dirt splashed to his knees,
Jimmie Dale was a disreputable and incongruous-looking object as he
crouched there, shivering uncomfortably from his immersion in spite of
his exertions. Inside the room, Mittel passed the windows, pacing the
floor, one side of his face badly cut and bruised from the blow with the
boat hook--and as he passed, his back turned for an instant, Jimmie Dale
stepped into the room.

Mittel whirled at the sound, and, with a suppressed cry, instinctively
drew back--Jimmie Dale's automatic was dangling carelessly in his right
hand.

"I am afraid I am a trifle melodramatic," observed Jimmie Dale
apologetically, surveying his own bedraggled person; "but I assure you
it is neither intentional nor for effect. As it is, I was afraid I would
be late. Pardon me if I take the liberty of helping myself; one gets a
chill in wet clothes so easily"--he passed to the liqueur stand, poured
out a generous portion from one of the decanters, and tossed it off.

Mittel neither spoke nor moved. Stupefaction, surprise, and a very
obvious regard for Jimmie Dale's revolver mingled themselves in a
helpless expression on his face.

Jimmie Dale set down his glass and pointed to a chair in front of the
desk.

"Sit down, Mr. Mittel," he invited pleasantly. "It will be quite
apparent to you that I have not time to prolong our interview
unnecessarily, in view of the possible return of the police at any
moment, but you might as well be comfortable. You will pardon me again
if I take another liberty"--he crossed the room, tur