"It must be after halfpast one,"
said Jimmie Dale--and suddenly snapped off his light.
There came a faint creaking noise--some one was cautiously mounting the
stairs. Jimmie Dale snatched his automatic from his pocket, and without
a sound stole forward across the room to a position by the door. The
footsteps were on the landing now. The doorknob was tried; the door
began to open slowly, inch by inch, wider; a dark form slipped through
into the room; the floor was closed again--and Jimmie Dale, reaching
forward, clapped the muzzle of his automatic against the other's head.
But it was Larry the Bat who spoke--in a hoarse, guttural whisper.
"Youse let a peep outer youse, an' youse goes bye-bye for keeps! See?
Put yer hands over yer head, an' do it--_quick_!"
Jimmie Dale's left hand reached out and switched on the light. It was
Meighan, hands elevated, startled, angry, who stood blinking in the
glare--and then a low cry came from the man.
"Larry the Bat--the Gray Seal! So it's a plant, is it! That damned
she-pal of yours handed it to me good over the 'phone!" Meighan's lips
tightened. "And where's Virat--did you kill him, too?"
Jimmie Dale's hand was searching swiftly through the detective's
clothes.
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