“Dear Philanthropic Crook”--it was the same inevitable beginning. “You are well enough again, aren't you, Jimmie?--I am sending these little things back to you, for you will need them to-night.”--Jimmie Dale read on, muttering snatches of the letter aloud: “Michael Breen prospecting in Alaska--map of location of rich mining claim--Hamvert, his former partner, had previously fleeced him of fifteen thousand dollars--his share of a deal together--Breen was always a very poor man--Breen later struck a claim alone; but, taking sick, came back home--died on arrival in New York after giving map to his wife--wife in very needy circumstances--lives with little daughter of seven in New Rochelle--works out by the day at Henry Mittel's house on the Sound near-by--wife intrusted map for safe-keeping and advice to Mittel--Hamvert after map--telephone wires cut--room one hundred and forty-eight, corner, right, first floor, Palais-Metropole Hotel, unoccupied--connecting doors--quarter past nine to-night--the Weasel--Mittel's house later--the police--look out for both the Weasel and the police, Jimmie--”
There was more, several pages of it, explanations, specific details down to a minute description of the locality and plan of the house on the Sound. Jimmie Dale, too intent now to mutter, read on silently. At the end he shuffled the sheets a little abstractedly, as his face hardened. Then his fingers began to tear the letter into little shreds, tearing it over and over again, tearing the shreds into tiny particles. He had not been far wrong. From what the night promised now, this might well be the last letter. Who knew? There would be need of all the wit and luck and nerve to-night that the Gray Seal had ever had before.
With a jerk, Jimmie Dale roused himself from the momentary reverie into which he had fallen; and, all action now, stuffed the torn pieces of the letter into his trousers pocket to be disposed of later in the street; took off the old coat and slouch hat again, and resumed the disposal of Larry the Bat's effects under the flooring.
This accomplished, he replaced the planking and oilcloth, stood up, put on his dress coat and light overcoat, and, from the table, stowed the black silk mask, the automatic, the little kit of tools, the flashlight, and the thin metal case away in his pockets.