dealing with a life-and-death matter. "But it can't be helped. I didn't
know until just a little while ago, or I would have telephoned. I am
going right out again."

"Very good, sir," Jason bowed. "Your clothes, Master Jim, are--"

"I shan't dress, Jason," said Jimmie Dale--and, crossing the reception
hall, with its rich, oriental rugs, he ran up the wide staircase, opened
the door of his "den," locked it behind him, and, switching on the
lights, began to strip off his coat and vest, as he hurried toward the
further end of the great, spacious, luxuriously appointed room that ran
the entire depth of the house.

He threw coat and vest on a nearby chair; and, sweeping the portieres
away from in front of a little alcove, knelt down before the
barrel-shaped safe with its multitudinous glistening knobs, that, in
the days gone by when he had been with his father in the business of
manufacturing safes, the business that had amassed the fortune he had
inherited, he had designed himself. His fingers flew over the dials.
He swung the outer and the inner doors open, reached inside, took out
the leather girdle with its burglar kit, and fastened it around his
waist. Then, slipping an automatic and a flashlight into his pocket,
he closed the safe, drew the portieres together, and put on his coat
and vest again.

An instant later he was downstairs, and, selecting a soft slouch
hat--Jason for the moment not being in evidence--went down the steps to
his waiting limousine.

"The Marleton, Benson," he directed, as he stepped into the car. "And