And here, for perhaps the space of a minute, he surveyed the house from
the sidewalk--watching, with a sort of speculative satisfaction, a man's
shadow that passed constantly to and fro across the drawn blinds of one
of the lower windows. The rest of the house was in darkness.
"Yes," said Jimmie Dale, nodding his head, "I rather thought so. The
servants will have retired hours ago. It's safe enough."
He ran quickly up the steps and rang the bell. A door opened almost
instantly, sending a faint glow into the hall from the lighted room; a
hurried step crossed the hall--and the outer door was thrown back.
"Well, what is it?" demanded a voice brusquely.
It was quite dark, too dark for either to distinguish the other's
features--and Jimmie Dale's hat was drawn far down over his eyes.
"I want to see Mr. Thomas H. Carling, cashier of the Hudson-Mercantile
National Bank--it's very important," said Jimmie Dale earnestly.
"I am Mr. Carling," replied the other. "What is it?"
Jimmie Dale leaned forward.
"From headquarters--with a report," he said, in a low tone.
"Ah!" exclaimed the bank official sharply. "Well, it's about time! I've
been waiting up for it--though I expected you would telephone rather
than this. Come in!"
"Thank you," said Jimmie Dale courteously--and stepped into the hall.
The other closed the front door.
Pages:
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222