y
before him. "We do not hold many trumps, Jimmie--we do not hold many
trumps"--her words were repeating themselves over and over in his mind.
They seemed to challenge him mockingly to deny what was so obviously a
fact, and because he could not deny it to taunt and jeer at him--to jeer
at him, when all that was held at stake hung literally upon his next
move!

He looked up mechanically as the Tocsin walked to a broken mirror at the
rear of the miserable room; nodded mechanically in approval as she began
deftly to retouch the make-up on her face where the tears had left their
traces--and resumed his abstracted gaze before him.

Box number four-two-eight--John Johansson--the Crime Club--the identity
of the man who was posing as Henry LaSalle! If only he could hit upon a
clew to the solution of a single one of those things, or a single phase
of one of them--if only he could glimpse a ray of light that would at
least prompt action, when every moment of inaction was multiplying the
odds against them!

There were the men who were watching his house at that moment on
Riverside Drive--he, as Larry the Bat, might in turn keep watch on them.
He had though of that. In time, perhaps, he might, by so doing, discover
the whereabouts of the Crime Club. In time! It was just that--he had no
time! Forty-eight hours, the Tocsin insisted, was all the time that he
could count upon before they would become suspicious of Jimmie Dale's
"illness," before they would discover that they were watching an empty
house!

He might--though this was even more hazardous--make an attempt to trace
the wires that tapped those of his telephone through the basement window
that gave on the garage driveway. And what then? True, they could not
lead very far away; but, even if successful, what then? They would not
lead him to the Crime Club, but simply to some confederate, to some man
or woman playing the part of a servant, perhaps, in the house next door,
who, in turn, would have to be shadowed and watched.

Jimmie Dale shook his head. Better, of the two, to start in at once and
shadow those who were shadowing his house. But that was not the way! He
knew that intuitively. He hated to eliminate it from consideration,
for he had no other move to take its place--but such a move was almost
suicide in itself. Time, and time alone, was the vital factor. They, the
Tocsin and he, must act quickly--and STRIKE that night if they were to
win. His fingers, the grimy fi