That was really the gist of it. And yesterday morning he had remembered,
to his dismay, that he had had little or no money left the night before.
He had intended, of course, to replenish his supply--when he got home.
Only he hadn't gone home! And now he needed money--needed it badly,
desperately. With thousands in the bank, with abundance even in
his safe, in his own den at home, a supply kept there always for an
emergency, he was facing actual want--he rattled two dimes, a nickel,
and a few odd pennies thoughtfully against the keys in his pocket.
To a certain extent, old Jason, his butler, could be trusted. Jason even
knew that mysterious letters of tremendous secretive importance came
to the house, and the old man always meant well--but he dared not trust
even Jason with the secret of his dual personality. What was he to do?
He needed money imperatively--at once. Thanks to Kline, for the time
being, at least, he could not rid himself of the personality of Larry
the Bat by the simple expedient or slipping into the clothes of Jimmie
Dale--he must live, act, and remain Larry the Bat until the secret
service officer gave up the hunt. How bridge the gulf between Jimmie
Dale and Larry the Bat in old Jason's eyes!
Nor was that all. There was still another matter, and one that, in order
to counteract it, demanded at once a serious inroad--to the extent of
a telephone call--upon his slender capital.
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