He, too, had caught the scuffle of footsteps, those of three or four men at least, on the front porch.
There was one way, only one, of escape--through the French windows! It was a matter of seconds only before Mittel, with the police at his heels, would be in the room--and Jimmie Dale sprang to his feet.

There was a wild scream of terror from the maid, echoed by another from the cook--and, still screaming, both women fled for the door.
"Mr.Mittel! Mr.Mittel!" shrieked the maid--she had flung herself out into the hall.

"He's--he's back again!" Jimmie Dale was at the French windows, tearing at the bolts.

They stuck.

Shouts came from the front entryway.