For once, his
inside information outreached hers. It was still--the Rat. Her letter
changed nothing, save that afterwards, perhaps--well, that afterwards,
perhaps, there was another, others beside the Rat, with whom an
accounting would be made!
CHAPTER XIII
THE SECRET ROOM
Jimmie Dale dressed quickly now. From the pockets of the little leather
girdle to the pockets of his tweeds he transferred a steel picklock, a
pair of light steel handcuffs, a piece of fine but exceedingly strong
cord, a black silk mask, and that small metal case, within which,
between sheets of oiled paper, lay those gray-coloured, diamond-shaped,
adhesive paper seals that were known in every den in the underworld,
known in every police bureau of two continents, as the insignia of the
Gray Seal. He slipped the flashlight into his pocket, took his automatic
from the discarded garments of Smarlinghue--and, thrusting the ragged
clothing into the opening, put the removable section of the base-board
back into place.
And now, twin to that streak of lesser gloom that came from the
top-light, another filtered into the room. The small French window
opened and closed without sound--the room was empty.
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