"What's--what's this!" Clarie Deane snatched the envelope from him.
"THE GRAY SEAL!"-- the words came with a jerk from his lips.

He ripped the envelope open frantically--and like a man stunned gazed at the four blank sheets, while the colour left his face.

"IT'S GONE!" he cried out hoarsely.
"Gone!" There was a burst of oaths from Australian Ike.

"Gone! Den we're nipped--de lot of us!" The Mope's face was like a maniac's as he whirled on Stangeist.
"Sure!" he croaked.

"But youse gets yers first, youse--" With a cry, Stangeist, to elude the blow, ducked blindly backward--into the portieres--and with a rip and tear the hangings were wrenched apart.
It came instantaneously--a yell of mingled surprise and fury from the three--the crash and spit of Jimmie Dale's revolver as he fired one shot at the floor to stop their rush--then he flung himself at the window, through it, and dropped sprawling to the ground.
A stream of flame cut the darkness above him, a bullet whistled by his head--another--and another.