trousers, frayed at the bottoms; a
soiled shirt, collarless, open at the neck. Attired to his satisfaction,
he placed the box upon the table, propped up a cracked mirror, sat down
in front of it, and, with a deft, artist's touch, began to apply stain
to his hands, wrists, neck, throat, and face--but the hardness, the grim
menace that now grew into the dominant characteristic of his features
was not due to the stain alone.

"Dear Philanthropic Crook"--his eyes were on the Tocsin's letter that
lay before him. He read on--for once, even to Jimmie Dale's keen, facile
mind, a first reading had failed to convey the full significance of what
she had written. It was too amazing, almost beyond belief--the series of
crimes, rampant for the past few weeks, at which the community had
stood aghast, the brutal murder of Roessle but a few hours old, lay bare
before his eyes. It was all there, all of it, the details, the hellish
cleverness, the personnel even of the thugs, all, everything--except the
proof.

"Get him, Jimmie--the man higher up. Get him, Jimmie--before another
pays forfeit with his life"--the words seemed to leap out at him from
the white page in red, dancing lines--"Get him--Jimmie--the man higher
up."

Jimmie Dale finished the second reading of the letter, read it again
for the third time, then tore it into tiny fragments. His fingers delved
into the box again, and the transformation of Jimmie Dale, member of New
York's most exclusive social set, into a low, vicious-featured denizen
of the underworld went on--a little wax applied skilfully behind the
ears, in the nostrils and under the upper lip.

It was all there--all except the proof. And the proof--he laughed aloud
suddenly, unpleasantly. There seemed something sardonic in it; ay, more
than that, all that was grim in irony. The proof, in Stangeist's own
writing, sworn to before witnesses in the presence of a notary, the
text of the document, of course, unknown to both witnesses and notary,
evidence, absolute and final, that would be admitted in any court, for
Stangeist was a lawyer, and would see to that, was in Stangeist's own
safe, for Stangeist's own protection--Stangeist, who was himself the
head and brains of this murder gang--Stangeist, who was the man higher
up!

It was amazing, without parallel in the history of crime--and yet
ingenious, clever, full of the craft and cunning that had built up the
shyster lawyer's reputation below the dead line.

Ji