Then from a pocket of the leather girdle beneath his vest he produced his small, thin, flat, metal case.

From this, from between sheets of oil paper, with the aid of a pair of tweezers, he lifted out a gray, diamond-shaped seal.

Jimmie Dale was apparently fastidious.

He held the seal with the tweezers as he moistened the adhesive side with his tongue, laid the seal on his handkerchief, and pressed the handkerchief firmly against the safe--as usual, Jimmie Dale's insignia bore no finger prints as it lay neatly capping the knob of the dial.
He reached down, picked up the cash box--and then, for the second time that night, held suddenly tense, alert, listening, his every muscle taut.

A door opened upstairs.