DEVIL'S WORK
A white-gloved arm, a voice, and a silvery laugh! "Just that--no more! Jimmie Dale, in his favourite seat, an aisle seat some seven or eight rows back from the orchestra, stared at the stage, to all outward appearances absorbed in the last act of the play; inwardly, quite oblivious to the fact that even a play was going on.
A white-gloved arm, a voice, and a silvery laugh! The words had formed themselves into a sort of singsong refrain that, for the last few days, had been running through his head.A strange enough guiding star to mould and dictate every action in his life! And that was all he had ever seen of her, all that he had ever heard of her--except those letters, of course, each of which had outlined the details of some affair for the Gray Seal to execute.
Indeed, it seemed a great length of time now since he had heard from her even in that way, though it was not so many days ago, after all.
Perhaps it was the calm, as it were, that, by contrast, had given place to the strenuous months and weeks just past.The storm raised by the newspapers at the theft of Old Luddy's diamonds had subsided into sporadic diatribes aimed at the police; Kline, of the secret service, had finally admitted defeat, and a shadow no longer skulked day and night at the entrance to the Sanctuary--and Larry the Bat bore the government indorsement, so to speak, of being no more suspicious a character than that of a disreputable, but harmless, dope fiend of the underworld.
Larry the Bat! The Gray Seal! Jimmie Dale the millionaire! What if it were ever known that that strange three were one! What if--Jimmie Dale smiled whimsically.A burst of applause echoed through the house, the orchestra was playing, the lights were on, seats banged, there was the bustle of the rising audience, the play was at an end--and for the life of him he could not have remembered a single line of the last act!
The aisle at his elbow was already crowded with people on their way out.Jimmie Dale stooped down mechanically to reach for his hat beneath his seat--and the next instant he was standing up, staring wildly into the faces around him.
It had fallen at his feet--a white envelope.Hers! It was in his hand now, those slim, tapering, wonderfully sensitive fingers of Jimmie Dale, that were an "open sesame" to locks and safes, subconsciously telegraphing to his mind the fact that the texture of the paper--was hers.Hers! And she must be one of those around him--one of those crowding either the row of seats in front or behind, or one of those just passing in the aisle.It had fallen at his feet as he had stooped over for his hat--but from just exactly what direction he could not tell.His eyes, eagerly, hungrily, critically, swept face after face.Which one was hers? What irony!
She, whom he would have given his life to know, for whom indeed he risked his life every hour of the twenty-four, was close to him now, within reach--and as far removed as though a thousand miles separated them.She was there--but he could not recognise a face that he had never seen!
With an effort, he choked back the bitter, impotent laugh that rose to his lips.They were talking, laughing around him.Her VOICE--yes, he had once heard that, and that he would recognise again.He strained to catch, to individualise the tone sounds that floated in a medley about him.It was useless--of course--every effort that he had ever made to find her had been useless.She was too clever, far too clever for that--she, too, would know that he could and would recognise her voice where he could recognise nothing else.
And then, suddenly, he realised that he was attracting attention.
Level stares from the women returned his gaze, and they edged away a little from his vicinity as they passed, their escorts crowding somewhat belligerently into their places.Others, in the same row of seats as his own, were impatiently waiting to get by him.With a muttered apology, Jimmie Dale raised the seat of his chair, allowing these latter to pass him--and then, slipping the letter into his pocketbook, he snatched up his hat from the seat rack.
There was still a chance.Knowing he was there, she would be on her guard; but in the lobby, among the crowd and unaware of his presence, there was the possibility that, if he could reach the entrance ahead of her, she, too, might be talking and laughing as she left the theatre.Just a single word, just a tone--that was all he asked.
The row of seats at whose end he stood was empty now, and, instead of stepping into the thronged aisle, he made his way across to the opposite side of the theatre.Here, the far aisle was less crowded, and in a minute he had gained the foyer, confident that he was now in advance of her.The next moment he was lost in a jam of people in the lobby.
He moved slowly now, very slowly--allowing those behind to press by him on the way to the entrance.A babel of voices rose about him, as, tight-packed, the mass of people jostled, elbowed, and pushed good-naturedly.It was a voice now, her voice, that he was listening for; but, though it seemed that every faculty was strained and intent upon that one effort, his eyes, too, had in no degree relaxed their vigilance--and once, half grimly, half sardonically, he smiled to himself.There would be an unexpected aftermath to this exodus of expensively gowned and bejewelled women with their prosperous, well-groomed escorts! There was the Wowzer over there--sleek, dapper, squirming in and out of the throng with the agility and stealth of a cat.As Larry the Bat he had met the Wowzer many times, as indeed he had met and was acquainted with most of the elite of the underworld.The Wowzer, beyond a shadow of doubt, in his own profession stood upon a plane entirely by himself--among those qualified to speak, no one yet had ever questioned the Wowzer's claim to the distinction of being the most dexterous and finished "poke getter" in the United States!
