never committed a crime! But the crimes attributed to the
Gray Seal he could not disprove, not one of them! He had meant them
to appear as crimes--and he had succeeded so well that the Gray Seal's
name, execrated, was a synonym for the most callous, dangerous, and
unscrupulous criminal of the age!

He was gasping for breath as finally, making for the side door, he
darted into the alleyway that flanked the Sanctuary. What story would
the Magpie tell? Not the truth, of course--that would let the Magpie in
for what had happened that night, for the Magpie must be well aware
that he had shot at least one of the two men in that room. But the
truth wasn't necessary; it was foreign, and had no bearing on the one
outstanding fact--the Gray Seal was Larry the Bat. At the present moment
the Magpie had a double incentive for "getting" the Gray Seal--the Gray
Seal was the only one who could prove murder against him that night
in the LaSalle mansion. And afterwards, when the police version of the
affair was made public, the Magpie, to save himself, would be careful
enough to do or say nothing to contradict "Henry LaSalle's" confession!

Larry the Bat slipped in through the door, halted there, listened; and
then began to mount the rickety stairs, with his silent tread. At the
top he paused again. Nothing--no sound! They were not here yet--so far
he was in time! He stepped to the Sanctuary door, unlocked it, passed
into the squalid, miserable room that had harboured him for so long as
Larry the Bat, locked the door behind him, crossed quickly to the window
to make sure that the shutters were closed--and then, for the first
time, as the gray light streaked in through the interstices, he was
conscious that it was already dawn. So much the more need for haste
then!

He whipped out his revolver and laid it at his hand on the dilapidated
table; then the flooring in the corner was up in an instant, and he
began to strip off the rags of Larry the Bat. Boots, mismated socks, the
torn, patched trousers, the greasy flannel shirt, the threadbare coat,
the nondescript slouch hat were thrown in a pile on the floor; and
with them, from their hiding-place, the grease paints and heterogeneous
collection of make-up accessories. This done, he began to slip on the
clothes of Jimmie Dale; and, when half dressed, turned to the table
again to remove the characteristic grime, stain, and paint of Larry the
Bat from face, hands, wrists, throat, and neck. Th