The dark eyes seemed to turn coal-black. A laugh, like the laugh of one
damned, rose to his lips, and was choked back. It was gone! GONE! That
thin metal case, like a cigarette case, that, between the little sheets
of oil paper, held those diamond-shaped, gray-coloured, adhesive seals,
the insignia of the Gray Seal--was gone! Clew! It seemed as though there
were an overpowering nausea upon him. CLEW! That little case was not a
clew--it was a death warrant!
His hands clenched fiercely. If he could only think for a moment! The
lining of his pocket had given away. The case had dropped out. But there
was nothing about the case to identify any one as the Gray Seal unless
it were found in one's actual possession. Therefore Whitey Mack, to have
solved his identity, must have seen him drop the case. There could be no
question about that. It was equally obvious then that Whitey Mack would
know the Gray Seal as Larry the Bat. Did he also know him as Jimmie
Dale? Yes, or no? It was a vital question. His life hung on it.
That keen, facile brain, numbed for the moment, was beginning to work
with lightning speed. It was four o'clock that afternoon when he had
assumed the character of Larry the Bat--some time between four o'clock
and the present, it was now well after eleven, the case had dropped from
his pocket. There had been ample time then for Whitey Mack to have
made that appointment with Lannigan--and ample time to have made a
surreptitious visit to the Sanctuary.
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