He reached the top landing. Old Attic had two miserable rooms here,
where he conducted his even more miserable business! Jimmie Dale dropped
on his knees before the door that faced the head of the stairs, and
placed his ear to the panel. Noiselessly he tried the door. It was
locked. He was smiling that merciless smile again in the darkness, as
his deft, slim fingers worked at the keyhole. He was not too late this
time! Old Jake was there, and--yes, Thorold, too. They were even now
haggling over the pendant--he could hear them quite distinctly now with
the door open a crack.
He pushed the door open a little wider, but very slowly, scarcely an
inch at a time. He was in luck again! They were in the inner room. He
opened the door still a little wider, stepped softly over the threshold,
and closed the door behind him.
Save for a dim light that filtered out through the half open door of the
inner room, it was dark here. Slowly, with that almost uncanny, silent
tread that he had acquired on the creaky, rickety stairs of the old
Sanctuary, Jimmie Dale began to move forward, the weight of his body
wholly and firmly on one foot before the other was lifted from the
floor; and, as he advanced, the black silk mask, from a pocket in the
leather girdle, was drawn over his face.
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