Jimmie Dale pushed open the door that gave on the lane.  Behind him, Bristol Bob closed the door of the private room and retreated back along the passage.  Jimmie Dale stepped out into the lane—­and instinctively his eyes sought the window of the private room.  The shade was drawn, only a yellow murk filtered out into the black, unlighted lane, but suddenly he started noiselessly toward it.  The window was open a bare inch or so at the bottom!

The sill was just shoulder high, and, placing his ear to the opening, he flattened himself against the wall.  He could not see inside, for the shade was drawn well to the bottom; but he could hear as distinctly as though he were at the table beside the two men—­and at the first words, the loose, disjointed frame of Larry the Bat seemed to tauten curiously and strain forward lithe and tense.

“This Gray Seal dope listens good, Whitey; but, coming from you, I’m leery.  You’ve got to show me.”

“Don’t you want him?” There was a nasty laugh from Whitey Mack.

“You bet I want him!” returned the headquarters man with a suppressed savagery that left no doubt as to his earnestness.  “I want him fast enough, but—­”

“Then, blast him, so do I!” Whitey Mack rapped out with a vicious snarl.  “So does every guy in the fleet down here.  We got it in for him.  You get that, don’t you?  He’s got Stangeist and his gang steered for the electric chair now; he put a crimp in the Weasel the other night—­get that?  He’s like a blasted wizard with what he knows.  And who’ll he deal the icy mitt to next?  Me—­damn him—­me, for all I know!”

“That’s all right,” observed Lannigan coolly.  “I’m not questioning your sincerity for a minute; I know all about that; but that doesn’t land the Gray Seal.  I’ll work with you if you’ve anything to offer, but we’ve had enough ‘tips’ and ‘information’ handed us at headquarters in the last few years to make us a trifle skeptical.  Show me what you’ve got, Whitey?”

“Show you!” echoed Whitey Mack passionately.  “Sure, I’ll show you!  That’s what I’m going to do—­show you.  I’ll show you the Gray Seal!  I ain’t handing you any tips.  I’ve found out who the gray seal is!”

There was a tense silence.  It seemed to Jimmie Dale as though cold fingers were clutching at his heart, stifling its beat—­then the blood came bursting to his forehead.  He could not see into the room, but that silence was eloquent.  It seemed as though he could picture the two men—­Lannigan leaning suddenly forward—­Lannigan and Whitey Mack staring tensely into each other’s eyes.

“You—­what!” It came low and grim from Lannigan.

“That’s what!” asserted Whitey Mack bluntly.  “You heard me!  That’s what I said!  I know who the Gray Seal is—­and I’m the only guy that’s wise to him.  Am I letting you in right?”

“You’re sure?” demanded Lannigan hoarsely.  “You’re sure?  Who is he, then?”