car made that stop? It was rather curious. It
was certainly a prearranged meeting place. Why? And these clothes that
he now wore--why had they made him change? His own had not been very
badly torn. The reason given him was, on the face of it now, in view
of what he now knew, mere pretence. What was the ulterior motive behind
that pretence? What did this package, that had already cost a man his
life to-night, contain? Who was the chauffeur? What was this death feud
between the Tocsin and these men? Did she know where the Crime Club was?
Who and where was John Johansson? What was this box that was numbered
428? Could she supply the links that would forge the chain into an
unbroken whole?

And then for the second time the car slowed down--and this time the man
on the seat beside Jimmie Dale reached up and untied the scarf.

"You get out here," said the man tersely.

CHAPTER VI

THE TRAP

Had it not been for the stop the car had previously made, for the
possibility that he might have obtained a glimpse outside when the door
had been opened, the scarf over his eyes would have been superfluous;
for now, with it removed, he could scarcely distinguish the forms of the
three men around him, since the window curtains of the car were tightly
drawn. Nor was he given the opportunity to do more, even had it been
possible. The car stopped, the door was opened, he was pushed toward
it--and even as he reached the ground, the door was closed behind him,
and the car was speeding on again. But where he could not see before,
it took now but a glance to obtain his bearings--he was standing on a
corner on Riverside Drive, within a few doors of his own house.

Jimmie Dale stood still for a moment, watching the car as it disappeared
rapidly up the Drive. And with a sort of grim facetiousness his brain
began to correlate time and distance. Where had he come from? Where
was this Crime Club? They had been, as nearly as he could estimate, two
hours in making the journey; and, as nearly as he could estimate, in
their turnings and twistings had covered at least twice the distance
that would be represented by a direct route. Granting, then, an average
speed of forty miles an hour, which was overgenerous to be on the safe
side, and the fact that they certainly had not crossed the Hudson, which
now lay before him, flanking the Drive, the Crime Club was somewhere
within the area of a semicircle, whose centre was the corner on which he
now s