ned the key in the
lock of the door leading into the hall, and returned to the desk. "Sit
down, Mr. Mittel!" he repeated, a sudden rasp in his voice.

Mittel, none too graciously, now seated himself.

"Look here, my fine fellow," he burst out, "you're carrying things with
a pretty high hand, aren't you? You seem to have eluded the police for
the moment, somehow, but let me tell you I--"

"No," interrupted Jimmie Dale softly, "let ME tell you--all there is
to be told." He leaned over the desk and stared rudely at the bruise on
Mittel's face. "Rather a nasty crack, that," he remarked.

Mittel's fists clenched, and an angry flush swept his cheeks.

"I'd have made it a good deal harder," said Jimmie Dale, with sudden
insolence, "if I hadn't been afraid of putting you out of business and
so precluding the possibility of this little meeting. Now then"--the
revolver swung upward and held steadily on a line with Mittel's eyes--
"I'll trouble you for the diagram of that Alaskan claim that belongs to
Mrs. Michael Breen!"

Mittel, staring fascinated into the little, round, black muzzle of the
automatic, edged back in his chair.

"So--so that's what you're after, is it?" he jerked out. "Well"--he
laughed unnaturally and waved his hand at the disarray of the
room--"it's been stolen already."

"I know that," said Jimmie Dale grimly. "By--YOU!"

"Me!" Mittel started up in his chair, a whiteness creeping into his
face. "Me! I--I--"

"Sit down!" Jimmie Dale's voice rang out ominously cold. "I haven't any
time to spare. You can appreciate that. But even if the police return
before that map is in my possession, they will still be TOO LATE as
far as you are concerned. Do you understand? Furthermore, if I am
caught--you are ruined. Let me make it quite plain that I know
the details of your little game. You are a curb broker, Mr.
Mittel--ostensibly. In reality, you run what is nothing better than an
exceedingly profitable bucket shop. The Weasel has been a customer
and also a stool for you for years. How Hamvert met the Weasel is
unimportant--he came East with the intention of getting in touch with a
slick crook to help him--the Weasel is the coincidence, that is all. I
quite understand that you have never met Hamvert, nor Hamvert you, nor
that Hamvert was aware that you and the Weasel had anything to do
with one another and were playing in together--but that equally is
unimportant. When Hamvert engaged the Weasel for ten thousan