somewhat incongruous note, others of the appointments were modern
enough--the flat-topped desk in the centre of the room with its
revolving chair, for instance, and a large, ponderous safe that stood
back against the rear wall.

Jimmie Dale crossed the room for a closer inspection of the safe, and,
as his flashlight played over the single dial, he shook his head
whimsically. No, it would be hardly true to call _that_ modern; it was
only an ancient monstrosity, a helpless thing at the mercy of any
cracksman who--

The flashlight in his hand went out. Like lightning, Jimmie Dale, his
tread silent on the heavy rugs, leaped back across the room, and in an
instant slipped in behind the end hangings of the divan and stood,
pressed closely, against the wall.

A key turned stealthily in the lock, the door opened as stealthily--then
silence--then a flashlight swept suddenly around the room--darkness
again--and then a hoarse whisper:

"All clear, Birdie. Lock the door."

The door closed. The flashlight played down the room again--and upon
Jimmie Dale's lips came a twisted smile, as, his fingers edging the
hanging slightly to one side, he peered out.

The light ray moving before them, two dark forms stole across the room
to the safe.

"There you are, Birdie!" said one of them. "Ain't she a beaut! Say,