"There should be no danger," the Tocsin had
written. His eyes darkened with a flash of passion. Danger! Danger was a
small, pitiful factor now! He had been too late through no fault either
of his or the Tocsin's--but he still knew where the pendant was, or
would be! Time was counting again; he was afraid now only that he might
be too late a second time. Old Attic would not let any grass grow under
his feet in disposing of the diamonds through one of the many channels
at his command, and once they had passed out of that scoundrel's hands
they were as good as hopelessly lost. Also there was Thorold to reckon
with. Thorold would naturally get the pendant first, then turn it over
to Jake Kisnieff. Had Thorold already done so? It depended, of course,
on when the theft had been committed. That snatch of conversation--"the
light ... when we were at dinner"--came back to him. His brows gathered.
He crouched a little in his seat, staring abstractedly at the black
tunnel walls without. Station after station was passed. Jimmie Dale's
hand, resting on the window sill, was so tightly clenched that it seemed
the skin must crack across the knuckles.
But he was smiling when he left the subway--only it was that same
merciless smile once more.
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