the make-up of the early morning papers; but from the noon editions
onward it had been flung across the front pages in glaring type--even
the most stately journals, for the nonce aroused out of their dignified
calm, indulging in "display" headlines that, quite apart from the mere
text, could not but have startled their equally stately and dignified
readers. The Gray Seal, the leech that fed upon society, the murderer,
the thief, the menace to the lives and property of law-abiding citizens,
the scourge that for years New York had combated in the no more
effective fashion than that of gnashing its teeth in impotent fury, had
suddenly reappeared with a fresh murder to his credit. And New York had
thought him dead!

Jimmie Dale, leaning back on the seat of his limousine as the car, now
halting at a corner, now racing with a hundred others to snatch a block
or two of distance before the next monarchial traffic officer of Fifth
Avenue should hold it up again a victim to the evening rush, turned from
first one to another of the pile of papers beside him. His strong,
clean-shaven face was grave; and there was a sober light in the dark,
steady eyes. In the St. James Club, which he had just left, perhaps the
most sedate, certainly the most exclusive club in New York, it had been
the one topic of conversation. Elderly gentlemen, not usually given to
excitability, had joined with the younger members in a hectic
denunciation of the police as criminally inefficient, and had made dire
and absurdly vain threats as to what they, electing themselves for the
moment a supreme court of last resort, proposed to do under the
circumstances. The irony was exquisite, if they had but known! Also
there was the element of humour, only there was a grim tinge to the
humour that robbed it of its mirth--some day they _might_ know!

He glanced out of the window, as the car was held up again. Everybody in