He tore one of Thorold's arms free from his neck--they were cheek to
cheek--Thorold was snarling out a torrent of blasphemy with gasping
breath--he wrenched himself free still--and then, their two hands
outstretched and clasped together as though in some grim devil's waltz,
they reeled toward the bed at the far end of the room, and smashed into
a chair. And, as they lost their balance, Jimmie Dale, gathering all his
strength for the one supreme effort, hurled the other from him. There
was a crash that shook the floor, as Thorold, hurtling backwards,
struck his head with terrific force against the iron bedstead, and
dropped like a log.

Jimmie Dale was on his feet again in an instant--but not before old Jake
had run, yelling madly, from the room. A glance Jimmie Dale gave at
Thorold, who lay limp and motionless, a crimson stream beginning to
trickle over temple and cheek; then, with a bound, he reached the
gas-jet, and turned out the light.

Old Jake's voice screamed from the hallway without:

"Help! The Gray Seal! The Gray Seal! Help! Help! Quick! The Gray Seal!"

The staircase creaked under the rush of feet; yells began to well up
from below. Jimmie Dale darted into the outer room, and crouched down
beside the doorway.

"Death to the Gray Seal!" The whole building, in a pandemonium of
hellish glee, seemed to echo and reecho the shout.

Jimmie Dale was deadly calm now, as his fingers closed around his