But he, Jimmie Dale, _had_
appeared since then as Larry the Bat--and for some reason to-night she
must have found it necessary, in working out her plans to their
consummation no doubt, to have assumed again the character of Silver
Mag--and she had been caught! But the Mole, it was absolutely certain,
if left alone, would first exhaust every means within his power of
forcing from Silver Mag the information that he would naturally believe
she had concerning the whereabouts of the Gray Seal, before wreaking the
vengeance of the underworld upon her; but equally the Mole, if
interrupted by the police, would, in a sort of barbarous rivalry, if he,
Jimmie Dale, knew the underworld at all, never surrender Silver
Mag--alive. It would be the old cry, hideously worded, as he had heard
it that night of the long ago in the attack on the old Sanctuary--the
Gray Seal and Silver Mag were their "_meat!"_ Something like a moan was
wrung from Jimmie Dale's lips. With the police out of it there would
have been time; with the police a factor, granted even that the Mole
gave her up, her death was certain.
The mind works swiftly. An eternity seemed bridged as he stood there
against the door, his hands pressed to his temples--in reality scarcely
a second had passed.
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