The Wowzer!  Jimmie Dale stole forward silently, without a sound, swiftly—­pausing only to listen for a second’s space at the doors as he passed.  From this one came that clink of coin; from another that jabber of Chinese; from still another that overpowering stench of opium—­and once, iron-nerved as he was, a cold thrill passed over him.  Let this lair of hell’s wolves, so intent now on their own affairs, be once roused, as they certainly must be roused before he could hope to finish the Wowzer, and his chances of escape were—­

He straightened suddenly, alert, tense, strained.  Voices, raised in a furious quarrel, came from a door just beyond him on the other side of the passage, where a film of light streamed out through a cracked panel—­it was the Wowzer and Dago Jim!  And drunk, both of them—­and both in a blind fury!

It happened quick then, almost instantaneously it seemed to Jimmie Dale.  He was crouched now close against the door, his eye to the crack in the panel.  There was only one figure in sight—­Dago Jim—­standing beside a table on which burned a lamp, the table top littered with watches, purses, and small chatelaine bags.  The man was lurching unsteadily on his feet, a vicious sneer of triumph on his face, waving tauntingly an open letter and Jimmie Dale’s pocket-book in his hands—­waving them presumably in the face of the Wowzer, whom, from the restrictions of the crack, Jimmie Dale could not see.  He was conscious of a sickening sense of disaster.  His hope against hope had been in vain—­the letter had been opened and read—­the identity of the gray seal was solved.

Dago Jim’s voice roared out, hoarse, blasphemous, in drunken rage: 

“De Gray Seal—­see!  Youse betcher life I knows!  I been waitin’ fer somet’ing like dis, damn youse!  Youse been stallin’ on me fer a year every time it came to a divvy.  Youse’ve got a pocketful now youse snitched to-night dat youse are tryin’ to do me out of.  Well, keep ’em”—­he shoved his face forward.  “I keeps dis—­see!  Keep ’em Wowzer, youse cross-eyed—­”

“Everyt’ing I pinched to-night’s on de table dere wid wot youse pinched yerself,” cut in the Wowzer, in a sullen, threatening growl.

“Youse lie, an’ youse knows it!” retorted Dago Jim.  “Youse have given me de short end every time we’ve pulled a deal!”

“Dat letter’s mine, youse—­” bawled the Wowzer furiously.

“Why didn’t youse open it an’ read it, den, instead of lettin’ me do it to keep me busy while youse short-changed me?” sneered Dago Jim.  “Youse t’ought it was some sweet billy-doo, eh?  Well, t’anks, Wowzer—­dat’s wot it is!  Say,” he mocked, “dere’s a guy’ll cash a t’ousand century notes fer dis, an’ if he don’t—­say, dere’s some reward out fer the Gray Seal!  Wouldn’t youse like to know who it is?  Well, when I’m ridin’ in me private buzz wagon, Wowzer, youse stick around an’ mabbe I’ll tell youse—­an’ mabbe I won’t!”