double chin and a thick, apoplectic neck--a huge, round face, with rat's eyes. Clayton dropped Jimmie Dale's hand and waved his own in the air. Jimmie Dale remained modestly on the outside of the circle as the reporters gathered around the police inspector. "Now, then," said Clayton coarsely, "the guy that's croaked there is Metzer, Jake Metzer. Get that?" Jimmie Dale, scribbling hurriedly in his notebook like all the rest, turned a little toward the bed, and his lower jaw crept out the fraction of an inch. Both gas jets in the room were turned on full, giving ample light. A man fully dressed, a man of perhaps forty, lay upon his back on the bed, one arm outflung across the bedspread, the other dangling, with fingers just touching the floor, the head at an angle and off the pillow. It was as though he had been carried to the bed and flung upon it after the deed had been committed. Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted and swept the room. Yes, everything was in disorder, as though there had been a struggle--a chair upturned, a table canted against the wall, broken pieces of crockery from the washstand on the carpet, and-- "Metzer was a stool pigeon, see?" went on Clayton, "and he lived here. Moriarty wasn't on to him. Metzer stood in thick with a wider circle of crooks than any other snitch in New York." Jimmie Dale, still scribbling as Clayton talked, stepped to the bed and leaned over the murdered man. The murder had been done with a blackjack evidently--a couple of blows. The left side of the temple was crushed in. Right in the middle of the forehead, pasted there, a gray-colored, diamond-shaped paper seal flaunted itself--the device of the Gray Seal. In Jimmie Dale's hand, hidden as he turned his back, the tiny combination of powerful lenses was focused on the seal. Clayton guffawed. "That's right!" he called out. "Take a good look. That's a bright young man you've got, Carruthers." Jimmie Dale looked up a little sheepishly--and got a grin from the assembled reporters, and a scowl from Carruthers. "Now, then," continued Clayton, "here's the facts--as much of 'em as I can let you boys print at present. You know I'm stretching a point to let you in here--don't forget that when you come to write up the case--honour where's honour's due, you know. Well, me and Metzer there was getting ready to close down on a big piece of game, and I was over here in this room talking to him about it early this afternoon. We had it framed to get our man tonight--see? I left Metzer, say, about three o'clock, and he was to show up over at headquarters with another little bit of evidence we wanted at eight o'clock tonight." Jimmie Dale was listening--to every word. But he stooped now again over the murdered man's head deliberately, though he felt the inspector's rat's eyes upon 

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