The Adventures of Jimmie Dale [212]
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.
CHAPTER XVI "DEATH TO THE GRAY SEAL!"
On Jimmie Dale ran. Across on Fourth Avenue he swung on a car that took him to Astor Place. Then striking east once more, making a detour to avoid the Bowery, he ran on at top speed again. To reach the Sanctuary, not before the Magpie should have spread the alarm, that was impossible, but to reach it before the underworld should have had time to recover its breath, as it were, before the underworld should have had time to act--that was his only chance! The Magpie had, at the outside, a start of fifteen minutes; but he, Jimmie Dale, had probably retrieved five minutes of that in the time he had made in getting downtown. That left the Magpie ten to the good. How long would it take the Magpie to bring the underworld swarming like hornets around the Sanctuary? On Larry the Bat ran. At the Sanctuary were the clothes, the belongings of Jimmie Dale. Could he save Jimmie Dale! If he could get there, change, and get out again, the way was clear for him--as clear as for the Tocsin now. In a few hours the
CHAPTER XVI "DEATH TO THE GRAY SEAL!"
On Jimmie Dale ran. Across on Fourth Avenue he swung on a car that took him to Astor Place. Then striking east once more, making a detour to avoid the Bowery, he ran on at top speed again. To reach the Sanctuary, not before the Magpie should have spread the alarm, that was impossible, but to reach it before the underworld should have had time to recover its breath, as it were, before the underworld should have had time to act--that was his only chance! The Magpie had, at the outside, a start of fifteen minutes; but he, Jimmie Dale, had probably retrieved five minutes of that in the time he had made in getting downtown. That left the Magpie ten to the good. How long would it take the Magpie to bring the underworld swarming like hornets around the Sanctuary? On Larry the Bat ran. At the Sanctuary were the clothes, the belongings of Jimmie Dale. Could he save Jimmie Dale! If he could get there, change, and get out again, the way was clear for him--as clear as for the Tocsin now. In a few hours the