t been there
after finding the metal case. Whitey Mack was known to be clever with a
lock--clever enough for that, anyhow.

He slipped in the key, turned it, and, on hinges that were always oiled,
silently pushed the door open and stepped across the threshold. He
closed the door until it was just ajar, that any sound might reach him
from without--and, whipping off his coat, began to undress swiftly.

There was no light. He dared not use the gas; it might be seen from the
alleyway. He was moving now quickly, surely, silently here and there.
It was like some weird spectre figure, a little blacker than the
surrounding darkness, flitting about the room. The oilcloth in the
corner was turned back, the loose flooring lifted, the clothes of Jimmie
Dale taken out, the rags of Larry the Bat put in. The minutes flew by.
It was not the change of clothing that took long--it was the eradication
of Larry the Bat's make-up from his face, throat, neck, wrists, and
hands. Occasionally his head was turned in a tense, listening attitude;
but always the fingers were busy, working with swift deftness.

It was done at last. Larry the Bat had vanished, and in his place
stood Jimmie Dale, the young millionaire, the social lion of New York,
immaculate in well-tailored tweeds. He stooped to the hole in the
flooring, and, his fingers going unerringly to their hiding place, took
out a black silk mask and an electric flashlight--his automatic was
already in his possession. His lips parted grimly. Who knew what part
a flashlight might not play--and he would need the mask for Lannigan's
benefit, even if it did not disguise him from Whitey Mack. Had he left
any telltale evidence of his visit? It was almost worth the risk of a
light to make sure. He hesitated, then shook his head, and, stooping
again, carefully replaced the flooring and laid the oilcloth over it--he
dared not show a light at any cost.

But now even more caution than before was necessary. At times, the
lodgers had naturally enough seen their fellow lodger, Larry the Bat,
enter and leave the tenement--none had ever seen Jimmie Dale either
leave or enter. He stole across the room to the door, halted to assure
himself that the hall was empty, slipped out into the hall, and locked
the door behind him. Again that trained, long-practiced, silent tread
upon the stairs. It seemed as though an hour passed before he reached
the bottom, and his brain was shrieking at him to hurry, hurry,
HURRY