No! Slight as was the
sound, he heard, unmistakably now, a key grate in the lock--and then,
stealthily, the front door began to open.
A bewildered look came into Jimmie Dale's face, as he retreated further
back into the hallway itself now. It was probably Sonnino; but why did
Sonnino come stealing into his own house like--well, like any one of the
three predatory guests already there before him? And then Jimmie Dale's
face cleared. Of course! From the window the glow of the flashlight in
the inner room could be seen. Sonnino was forewarned, and
undoubtedly--forearmed!
The front door closed softly, so softly that had Jimmie Dale,
supersensitive as his hearing was, not been intent upon it, it would
have escaped him. The glow from the inner room, faint as it was,
threw into shadowy relief a man's form tiptoeing forward--and then a
board creaked.
"_What's that_!" came in a wild whisper from Clarie Archman.
"Got 'em again!" Laroque snapped back. "You make me tired!"
"Let's get out of here! Let's get out of here--quick!" Clarie Archman's
voice, not so low now, held a tone of frantic appeal.
"Nix!" said Laroque, in a vicious sneer. "Not till the job's done! D'ye
think I'm going to spend half an hour cracking a safe and take a chance
of missing any bets? We've got the coin all right, but there ought to
be one or two of Sonnino's sparklers lying around in some of these
drawers, and--"
There was a click of an electric-light switch, a cry from Clarie
Archman, the inner room was ablaze with light, and--Jimmie Dale had
edged forward again out of the hallway--Sonnino, revolver in hand, was
standing just over the threshold facing Gentleman Laroque and the
assistant district attorney's son.
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