"One chance in ten," muttered Jimmie Dale through his set lips. "One
chance in ten--and I guess I'll take it!"
The footsteps came nearer--they were almost at the head of the stairs
now. But now Jimmie Dale was in action--swift as a flash and silent as a
shadow in every movement. The bundle of securities was thrust into his
pocket, the sheet of note paper followed, and, as a knock sounded on the
door, he stooped, picked up the bottle from the floor, and darted into
the adjoining room--and in another instant he had reached the locked
door and was working at it silently and swiftly with a picklock.
CHAPTER XVII
THE DEFAULTER
At the other door the knocking still continued--and then it was
opened--and there came a chorus of low, horrified, startled cries, and
the quick rush of feet into the room.
The picklock went back into Jimmie Dale's pocket, and crouched, now, his
hand on the knob, turning it gradually without a sound, drawing the door
ajar inch by inch, he kept his eyes on the doorway connecting with the
other room. He could see the three men bending over Forrester. Their
voices came in confused, broken, snatches:
"... Dead!.
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