closed now behind him—and on Jimmie Dale's face was a black silk mask.
For an instant neither man spoke nor moved; then Carling, spare-built, dapper in evening clothes, edged back from the desk and laughed a little uncertainly.
"Quite neat! I compliment you! From headquarters with a report, I think you said?"
"Which I neglected to add," said Jimmie Dale, "was to be made in private."
Carling, as though to put as much distance between them as possible, continued to edge back across the room—but his small black eyes, black now to the pupils themselves, never left Jimmie Dale's face.
"In private, eh?"—he seemed to be sparring for time, as he smiled. "In private! You've a strange method of securing privacy, haven't you? A bit melodramatic, isn't it? Perhaps you'll be good enough to tell me who you are?"
Jimmie Dale smiled indulgently.
"My mask is only for effect," he said. "My name is—Smith."
"Yes," said Carling. "I am very stupid. Thank you. I" he had reached the other side of the room now—and with a quick, sudden movement jerked his hand to the dial of the safe that stood against the wall.
But Jimmie Dale was quicker—without shifting his position, his automatic, whipped from his pocket, held a disconcerting bead on Carling's forehead.
"Please don't do that," said Jimmie Dale softly. "It's rather a good make, that safe. I dare say it would take me half an hour to open it. I was rather curious to know whether it was locked or not."
Carling's hand dropped to his side.
"So!" he sneered. "That's it, is it! The ordinary variety of sneak thief!" His voice was rising gradually. "Well, sir, let me tell you that"
"Mr. Carling," said Jimmie Dale, in a low, even tone, "unless you moderate your voice some one in the house
