Well, there was one man who knew where Marre was--Hunchback Joe. And,
come what might, Hunchback Joe would tell him, Jimmie Dale, to-night
where Marre was! He was not so sure as the Tocsin that Hunchback Joe
would talk to the police; he was sure that Hunchback Joe would talk--_to
the Gray Seal_. That was all. That was what he was waiting for here now
in the darkness before the police came--for Hunchback Joe.
Time passed--a half hour--an hour. It was getting perilously close to
the time when the Secret Service men would be pounding at the door
out there, and the margin of time left for that grim interview with
Hunchback Joe was narrowing rapidly; but there was a strange, calm,
cold patience possessing Jimmie Dale--the man would come, and come in
time--he knew that, knew it as he knew that he sat there and lived
and breathed.
The silence was oppressive, heavy; it seemed to palpitate in rhythm with
the lap of the water against the pier. The minutes dragged by, another
five of them--and then suddenly Jimmie Dale sat rigidly forward in his
chair. The front door had not been unlocked or opened, but there was the
sound of a footstep now--from the rear section of the shed, where there
had appeared to be no entrance! The footstep came nearer--the door of
the partition opened--there was the click of the electric-light
switch--the light came on--and then a low, savage, startled oath came
from the doorway.
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