From the latter, with its little pair of tweezers, he took out one of the adhesive gray seals.
His eyes warily on the two men, he dropped the seal on his handkerchief, restored the thin metal case to his pocket--and in its stead the blue-black ugly muzzle of his automatic peeped from between his fingers.
"Five thousand down," said Hamvert, pushing a pile of notes across the table, and tucking the remainder back into his pocket; "and the other five's here for you when you get back with the map.

Ordinarily, I wouldn't pay a penny in advance, but since you want it that way and the map's no good to you while the rest of the long green is, I--" He swallowed his words with a startled gulp, clutched hastily at the money on the table, and began to struggle up from his chair to his feet.
With a swift, noiseless side-step through the open door, Jimmie Dale was standing in the room.
Jimmie Dale's tones were conversational.

"Don't get up," said Jimmie Dale coolly.

"And take your hand off that money!" The Weasel, whose back had been to the door, squirmed around in his chair--and in his turn stared into the muzzle of Jimmie Dale's revolver, while his jaw dropped and sagged.
"Good-evening, Weasel," observed Jimmie Dale casually.

"I seem to be in luck to-night.