From this one came that clink of coin; from another that jabber of Chinese; from still another that overpowering stench of opium--and once, iron-nerved as he was, a cold thrill passed over him.

Let this lair of hell's wolves, so intent now on their own affairs, be once roused, as they certainly must be roused before he could hope to finish the Wowzer, and his chances of escape were-- He straightened suddenly, alert, tense, strained.

Voices, raised in a furious quarrel, came from a door just beyond him on the other side of the passage, where a film of light streamed out through a cracked panel--it was the Wowzer and Dago Jim! And drunk, both of them--and both in a blind fury! It happened quick then, almost instantaneously it seemed to Jimmie Dale.
He was crouched now close against the door, his eye to the crack in the panel.

There was only one figure in sight--Dago Jim--standing beside a table on which burned a lamp, the table top littered with watches, purses, and small chatelaine bags.

The man was lurching unsteadily on his feet, a vicious sneer of triumph on his face, waving tauntingly an open letter and Jimmie Dale's pocket-book in his hands--waving them presumably in the face of the Wowzer, whom, from the restrictions of the crack, Jimmie Dale could not see.