AT HALFPAST ONE
Larry the Bat closed the outer door noiselessly behind him, slipped
through the vestibule--and, an instant later, was slouching along Fifth
Avenue, heading back toward Washington Square. His hands in his ragged
pockets clenched. It had been well worked out--with a devil's ingenuity.
The police had swallowed the bait, jumped to the inevitable conclusion
desired, and credited the Gray Seal with the double crime of theft and
murder without an instant's hesitation. Well, why shouldn't they! It had
been well planned; it was natural enough! Larry the Bat, in his turn,
laughed, mirthlessly. But the game was not yet played out!
Through the by-ways, lanes and alleys of the underworld, Jimmie Dale
once more threaded his way, and finally, mounting the dark stairway
leading upward from the side entrance of a small house just off Chatham
Square, he let himself stealthily into a room on the first landing. It
was Virat now, and this was where Virat lived--a locality where a
stranger took his life in his hand any time! Below stairs was a pseudo
tea-merchant's store--kept by a Chinese "hatchet" man. But Lang Chang
had not been in evidence when he, Jimmie Dale, had crept up the stairs,
for there had been no light in the store windows.
And now Jimmie Dale's flashlight was playing around the room. Halfpast
one, she had said. It could not be more than one o'clock as yet There
was ample time to search for the bonds.
He began to move noiselessly around the room--a rather ornately
furnished combination sitting and bedroom. "Keep away, if dangerous,"
had been the Tocsin's caution. He smiled grimly. What danger could there
be? He had only to face one at a time; the Tocsin could absolutely be
depended upon to see to that, and the advantage of surprise was with
him. He was pulling out the drawer of a bureau now--and now his hands
were searching swiftly under the mattress of the bed. It was necessary
to secure the bonds. Barring that little matter of the numbers, they
were as good as cash--and the matter of numbers would not trouble Virat.
He knew Virat, and he had known Virat very well--but not so well by far
as he knew him now! Virat was as suave and polished a gentleman crook as
the country possessed. Viral was the sort of man who, after the uproar
had died down, would have the nerve and address to take up his residence
in some little out-of-the-way place, and either dispose of as many of
the bonds at a time as he dared to those he would cultivate as friends,
or even have the audacity to secure a loan on a modest number of them
from the local bank itself, whose conversance with the missing numbers
might be expected to be of the haziest description. Also Virat would be
careful to see that his offerings were not made at such dates as to have
the interest coupons cause him any inconvenience by falling due within
twenty-four hours! It would be quite simple--for Virate! In six months,
in as many places, with the length and breadth of the country to choose
from, Virat could quite readily dispose of the lot; not quite at the
issue price perhaps if he secured loans, but still at a figure that
would be very profitable--for Virat! Or, as Meighan had suggested, with
the aid of a confederate of the right sort, the change of a figure--ah!
Jimmie Dale; flat upon the floor, his hand stretched in under the
washstand, drew out a short, round, heavy object. He examined this
attentively for a second; and then, his face hardening, he slipped it
into his coat pocket.
He resumed his musings, and resumed his search through the room. Virat
was clever enough to find means of disposing of the bonds in some
fashion or other, and too clever to have ever committed murder for them
otherwise--there was no doubt of that. And, after all, what difference
did it make whatever Virat's method might be! It was extraneous,
immaterial. Jimmie Dale shrugged his shoulders. The vital question
was--where were the bonds?
It was a strange search there in the murderer's room, the flashlight
winking and flinging its little gleams of light through the blackness; a
strange search, thorough as only Jimmie Dale could make it--and still
leave no tell-tale sign behind to witness that a single object in the
room had been disturbed. But the search was futile; and at the end
Jimmie Dale smiled whimsically.
"The process of elimination again!" he muttered. "I seem to be obsessed
with that to-night. Well, not being here, there's only one place the
bonds _can_ be. The process of elimination has its advantages." The
flashlight circled around the room, and held for a moment on the
electric-light switch near the door. "It must be after halfpast one,"
said Jimmie Dale--and suddenly snapped off his light.
There came a faint creaking noise--some one was cautiously mounting the
stairs. Jimmie Dale snatched his automatic from his pocket, and without
a sound stole forward across the room to a position by the door. The
footsteps were on the landing now. The doorknob was tried; the door
began to open slowly, inch by inch, wider; a dark form slipped through
into the room; the floor was closed again--and Jimmie Dale, reaching
forward, clapped the muzzle of his automatic against the other's head.
But it was Larry the Bat who spoke--in a hoarse, guttural whisper.
"Youse let a peep outer youse, an' youse goes bye-bye for keeps! See?
Put yer hands over yer head, an' do it--_quick_!"
Jimmie Dale's left hand reached out and switched on the light. It was
Meighan, hands elevated, startled, angry, who stood blinking in the
glare--and then a low cry came from the man.
"Larry the Bat--the Gray Seal! So it's a plant, is it! That damned
she-pal of yours handed it to me good over the 'phone!" Meighan's lips
tightened. "And where's Virat--did you kill him, too?"
Jimmie Dale's hand was searching swiftly through the detective's
clothes. He transferred a revolver and a pair of handcuffs to his
own pockets.
"I had ter take a chance on de light," said Larry the Bat plaintively;
"'cause I had ter frisk youse." He turned off the light again. "Sure,
she's a slick one!" Larry the Bat, his left hand free again, turned his
flashlight upon the detective. "Youse can put yer flippers down now.
Mabbe she staked youse ter de tip dat de bonds was here, eh?"
"Yes, blast you--both of you!" growled Meighan.
"Well, dey ain't," said Larry the Bat coolly; "but mabbe, after all, she
wasn't handin' youse no steer."
Meighan, savage at his own helplessness, snarled his words.
"What do you mean?" he demanded.
"Mabbe nothin'--mabbe a whole lot." Larry the Bat dropped his voice
mysteriously. "I was thinkin' of pullin' off a little show here, an'
youse have de luck ter get an invite, dat's all. Mabbe I'll hand youse
somethin' on a gold platter, an' mabbe I'll hand youse--_this_!" The
automatic was shoved significantly an inch closer to Meighan's face.
"Youse know me! Youse know what'll happen if youse play any funny
tricks! No guy gets de Gray Seal alive--I guess youse are wise ter dat,
ain't youse? Now den, over youse go behind dat big chair on de other
side of de table!"
Meighan, a puzzled look replacing the angry expression on his
face, blinked.
"What's the lay?" he queried.
"I'm expectin' company," grinned Larry the Bat. "Youse keeps yer yap
closed till youse gets de cue--savvy? Dat's all! If youse play fair,
mabbe youse'll get a look-in on de rake-off; if youse throws me down,
the first shot I fires won't miss _youse_. Go on now, get down behind
dat chair--quick!"
Hesitantly, following the flashlight's directing ray, covered by Jimmie
Dale's automatic, Meighan, muttering, made his way across the room, and
crouched down behind the back of a large lounging chair. Jimmie Dale
leaned nonchalantly against the jamb of the door, the flashlight holding
a bead upon the chair.
"Youse'll pardon me if I keeps de spot-light on youse," drawled Larry
the Bat, "Some of youse dicks ain't trustworthy."
"Look here!" Meighan burst out. "This is a hell of a note! What--"
"Youse shut yer face!" Jimmie Dale's voice had grown suddenly cold and
menacing--the stairs were creaking again, this time under a quick tread.
"Listen! Say, youse don't have ter wait long fer de curtain, ter go up
on de act. Don't youse make a sound!"
The doorknob turned. Jimmie Dale whipped his flashlight into his
pocket--and in a flash, as a man entered, switched on the light, and
slammed shut the door. A dapper individual, wearing tortoise-rimmed
glasses, with black moustache and goatee, was staring into the muzzle of
Jimmie Dale's automatic.
"Hello, Frenchy!" observed Larry the Bat suavely. "Feelin' faint?"
The man's face had gone a chalky white. He looked wildly around him, as
though seeking some avenue of escape.
"_Mon Dieu_!" he whispered. "Larree ze Bat! It is ze Gray Seal!
It is--"
"Aw, cut out dat parlay-voo dope!" Larry the Bat broke in curtly. "Youse
don't need ter pull dat stuff wid me, Virat. Talk New York, see?"
Virat moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue.
"What do you want here?" he asked huskily.
"Oh, nothin' much," said Larry the Bat airily. "I thought mabbe youse
might figure dere was some of dem bonds comin' ter me."
"Bonds! I don't know anything about any bonds," said Virat, in a low
voice. "I don't know what you are talking about.'
"You don't--eh?" inquired Larry the Bat ominously. "Well den, I'll help
ter put youse wise. But mabbe I'd better get yer gun first, eh?" As he
had done to Meighan, he removed a revolver from Virat's pocket.
"T'anks!" he said. He pushed Virat with his revolver muzzle toward the
table, and forced the other into a chair. He sat down opposite Virat,
and smiled unpleasantly. "Now den, come across! Youse croaked de Magpie
ter-night!"
"You're dippy!" sneered Virat. "I haven't seen the Magpie in a month."
"An' dat's what youse did it wid." Larry the Bat, as though he had not
heard the other's denial, reached into his pocket, and shoved a small,
murderous, bloodstained blackjack, the leather-covered piece of lead
pipe that he had found beneath the washstand, suddenly across the table
under Virat's eyes.
With a sharp cry, staring, Virat shrank back.
"Sure! Now youse're talkin'!" approved Larry the Bat complacently. "But
dat ain't all. Say, youse have got a gall! Youse thought youse'd plant
me, did youse, wid dat gray seal on de Magpie's boot!" Jimmie Dale's
voice was deadly cold again. "Well, what about dat?"
"What do you want?" mumbled Virat.
Jimmie Dale's smile was not inviting.
"I told youse once, didn't I? What do youse suppose I want! If I got ter
fall fer it, I want some of dem bonds--dat's what I want!"
A look of relief spread over Virat's face.
"All right," he said hurriedly. "I--that's--that's fair. I--I'll get
them for you." He started up from his chair, his eyes travelling
instinctively toward the door.
"Youse sit down!" invited Larry the Bat coldly.
"But--but you said--I--I was going to get them," faltered Virat.
"Sure!" said Larry the Bat. "Dat's de idea! An', say, I'm in a hurry.
Dey ain't over dere, Frenchy--try nearer home!"
Virat's hands trembled as he unbuttoned his vest. He reached around
under the back of his vest, drew out a flat package, and laid it on the
table. He began to untie the cord.
"Wait a minute!" said Larry the Bat pleasantly. "I ain't in so much of a
hurry now dat I got me lamps on 'em! Youse can count 'em out after--half
for youse, an' half fer me. Tell us how youse fixed de lay."
And then, for the first time, Virat laughed, though still a little
nervously.
"Yes, that's square," he agreed eagerly. "I--I was afraid you were
going to pinch them all. I'll tell you. It was easy. I piped the Magpie
off to a chap named Kenleigh having the bonds up there in his rooms in
an apartment house. I couldn't crack Kenleigh's safe myself, but it was
nuts for the Magpie--see? He cracked the safe. I was with him, and I
copped that near-diamond pin of his, and left it there so there wouldn't
be any guessing as to who pulled off the job, and then we beat it back
to his place to divide--and I beaned him. I wasn't looking into any gun
then, and handing over fifty thousand--and besides, with the Magpie out
of the way, I had _some_ alibi." Virat laughed shortly. "That's where
you come in. Everybody knew you had it in for him. All I had to do
was--well, what you said I did. If you hadn't tumbled to it, and I'm
damned if I can see how you did, there wasn't anything to it at all. It
was open and shut that the Magpie pinched the swag, and that you croaked
him and beat it with the bonds."
"Say," said Larry the Bat admiringly, "youse're some slick gazabo, youse
are! But how did youse know dat guy Kenleigh had de goods?"
"That's none of your business, is it?" replied Virat, a little
defiantly. "You're getting yours now."
Larry the Bat appeared to ponder the other's words, a curious smile
on his lips.
"Well, mabbe it ain't," he admitted. "Let it go anyway, an' split the
swag. Count 'em out!"
Virat picked up the package again, and began to untie it--and again
Jimmie Dale's hand slipped into his pocket. And then, quick as the
winking of an eye, as Virat's hands came together over a knot, Jimmie
Dale leaned across the table, there was a click, and the steel were
locked on the other's wrists.
There was a scream of fury, an oath from Virat.
"Dat's yer cue, Meighan," called Larry the Bat calmly. "Come out an'
take a look at him!"
A ghastly pallor spreading over his face, staring like a demented man,
as Meighan, rising from behind the lounging chair, advanced toward the
table, Virat huddled back in his seat.
"Know him?" inquired Larry the Bat.
The detective bent sharply forward.
"My god!" he exclaimed. "It's--no, it can't--"
"Mabbe," murmured Larry the Bat, "youse'd know him better when he ain't
dolled up." He swept the glasses from Virat's nose, and wrenched away
the black moustache and goatee.
_"Kenleigh!"_ gasped Meighan.
"Mabbe," said Larry the Bat, with a twisted grin, "dere's somethin' he
may have fergotten ter wise youse up on, but he didn't mean ter hide
nothin' in his confession--did youse, Frenchy? An' mabbe dere's one or
two other things in de years he's been playin' Kenleigh dat he'll tell
youse about, if youse ask him--nice and pleasant-like!"
Larry the Bat edged around the table, and, covering Meighan with his
revolver, backed to the door.
"Well, so long, Meighan!" he said softly, from the threshold. "T'ink of
me when dey pins de medal on yer breast fer dis!"
And then Jimmie Dale laid Meighan's revolver down on the floor of the
room, and locked the door on the outside with a pick-lock, and went down
the stairs.