For an instant Jimmie Dale looked at the other searchingly, and then, smiling strangely, he shook his head.
“There's a better way than that, Burton,” he said quietly.
“I think, as I said before, you've had a lesson to-night that will last you all your life. I'm going to give you another chance—with Maddon. Here are the stones.” He reached into his pocket and laid the case on the table.
But now Burton made no effort to take the case—his eyes, in that puzzled way again, were on Jimmie Dale.
“A better way?” he repeated tensely. “What do you mean? What way?”
“Well, say at the expense of another man's reputation—of mine,” suggested Jimmie Dale, with his whimsical smile. “You need only say that a man came to you this evening, told you that he stole these rubies from Mr. Maddon during the afternoon, and asked you, as Mr. Maddon's private secretary, to restore them with his compliments to their owner.”
A slow flush of disappointment, deepening to one of anger dyed Burton's cheeks.
“Are you trying to make a fool of me?” he cried out. “Go to Maddon with a childish tale like that! There's no man living would believe such a cock-and-bull story!”
“No?” inquired Jimmie Dale softly. “And yet I am inclined to think there are a good many—that even Maddon would, hard-headed as he is. You might say that when the man handed you the case you thought it was some practical joke being foisted on you, until you opened the case”—Jimmie Dale pushed it a little farther across the table, and Burton, mechanically, his eyes still on Jimme Dale, loosened the catch with his thumb nail—“until you opened the case, saw the rubies, and—”
“The Gray Seal!” Burton had snatched the case toward him, and was straining his eyes at the inside cover. “You—the Gray Seal!”