The man was dead! The words began to run through his mind in a queer reiteration.The man was dead--the man was dead! He checked himself sharply.He must think now--think fast, and think RIGHT.
The Magpie knew that Larry the Bat was the Gray Seal--and as fast as the Magpie could get there, the news would spread like wildfire through the underworld."Death to the Gray Seal! Death to the Gray Seal!" He could hear that slogan ringing again in his ears, but as he had never heard it before--with a snarl of triumph now as of wolves who at last had pulled their quarry down.He had not a second to spare--and yet--that man wounded there on the floor! What of him--guilty of murder, the brains of this inhuman, monstrous organisation, the one to whom, more even than to that dead man, the Tocsin owed the horror and the misery and the grief and despair that had come into her life! What of him? What of the Crime Club here?
What of this nest of vipers? Were they to escape? Were they to--With a sudden, low exclamation, Jimmie Dale jumped for the table, and, snatching up the telephone, rattled the hook violently.
"Give me"--his voice came in well-simulated gasps, each like a man fighting for every word--"give me--police--headquarters! Quick!
QUICK! I've--been--shot!"
The wounded man on the floor raised himself on his elbow.
"What are you doing?" he demanded in a startled way."Are you mad!
Thank your stars you were lucky enough to get out of this alive--and get out now, while you have the chance!"Jimmie Dale pressed his hand firmly over the mouthpiece of the telephone.
"I'll go," he said, with a cold smile, "when I've settled with you--for the murder of Henry LaSalle."
"That man!" ejaculated the man scornfully, pointing to the form on the floor."So that's your game! Going to try and cover your tracks! Why, you fool, I LIVE here! Do you think the police would imagine for an instant that I killed him?""I said--HENRY LASALLE," said Jimmie Dale evenly.
The man came farther up on his elbow, a sudden look of fear in his face.
"What--what do you mean?" he cried hoarsely.
But Jimmie Dale was talking again into the telephone--gasping, choking out his words as before:
"Police headquarters? I'm Henry LaSalle.Fifth Avenue.I--I've been shot.Take down this statement.I'll--I'll be dead before you get here--I'm not the real Henry LaSalle at all.We murdered Henry LaSalle--in Australia, and murdered Peter LaSalle here.We--we tried to kill the daughter, but she ran away.This house has been our headquarters for the last five years.The man who shot me to-night is the leader of the gang.We quarrelled over the division of a haul.He's here on the floor now, wounded.Get them all, get them all, damn them!--do you hear?--get them all! They're out of the house now, but lay a trap for them.They always come in through the garage on the side street.Oh, God, I'm done for! Break down the west walls of the rooms upstairs--if--you--want proof of what--the gang's been doing.Hurry! Hurry! I'm--I'm--done for--I--"Jimmie Dale permitted the telephone to drop with a clash from his hand to the table.
The face of the man on the floor was livid.
"Who are you? In God's name, who are you?" he cried out wildly.
"Does it matter?" inquired Jimmie Dale grimly."Your game is up.
You'll go to the chair for the murder of 'Henry LaSalle'--if it is by proxy! Those rooms upstairs alone are enough to damn you, to prove every word of that dying "confession"--but to-morrow, added to it, will come the story of Marie LaSalle herself."For a moment the man hung there swaying on his elbow, his face working in ghastly fashion--and then suddenly, with a strange laugh, he carried one hand swiftly to his mouth--and laughed again--and before Jimmie Dale could reach him was lifeless on the floor.
A tiny vial rolled away upon the carpet.Jimmie Dale picked it up.
A drop or two of liquid still remained in it--colourless, clear, like that liquid this same man had dropped into the rabbit's mouth the night before, like the liquid in the glasses they had carried into that third room, like the liquid that his man had said was from a formula of their own, that was instantaneous in its action, that defied detection by autopsy!
The set, stern features of Jimmie Dale relaxed.It was justice--but it was also death.In a surge of emotion, the events of scarcely more than twenty-four hours, began to crowd upon him--and then, ominously dominant, above all else, that slogan of the underworld, "Death to the Gray Seal!" came ringing once more in his ears.It brought him, with a startled movement of his hand across his eyes, to a realisation of his own desperate position.Yes, yes, he must go! The way was clear now for the Tocsin--clear now for her!
He dropped the vial into his pocket, and, running to the safe, quickly scraped the gray seal from the dial's knob; then he drew the packages of money from his shirt and pockets and tossed them on the floor among the litter of papers already there--she would get it back again when it had served its purpose, it would be self-evident that it was the proceeds of that day's sale of the estate's securities over which the "quarrel" had occurred!
And now the window! He ran to it, closed it, and LOCKED it; then, laying the revolver he had taken from the leader down beside the man, he stepped across the room again and drew the body of "Henry LaSalle" closer to the table--as though the man had fallen there when the telephone had dropped from his hand.
It was done now! On the floor beside him lay each man's weapon--and both of the revolvers had been discharged several times.Jimmie Dale paused on the library threshold for a final survey of the room.
It was done! The way was clear--for her.And now if he could only save himself! There was no chance for Larry the Bat! Could he save--JIMMIE DALE!
He crossed the hall, a queer, half-grim, half-wistful smile on his lips, unlocked the front door, stepped out, locked it behind him--and in another moment, doubling around the corner, was running along like a hare along the side street.
