Once well away from the Sanctuary, however, Jimmie Dale quickened his
steps; and twenty minutes later, having stopped but once to telephone to
his home on Riverside Drive for his touring car, he was briskly mounting
the steps of the St. James Club on Fifth Avenue. Another twenty minutes
after that, and he had dismissed Benson, his chauffeur, and, at
the wheel of his big, powerful machine, was speeding uptown for the
Palais-Metropole Hotel.
It was twelve minutes after nine when he drew up at the curb in front of
the side entrance of the hotel--his watch, set by guesswork, had been a
little slow, and he had corrected it at the club. He was replacing the
watch in his pocket as he sauntered around the corner, and passed in
through the main entrance to the big lobby.
Jimmie Dale avoided the elevators--it was only one flight up, and
elevator boys on occasions had been known to be observant. At the top
of the first landing, a long, wide, heavily carpeted corridor was before
him. "Number one hundred and forty-eight, the corner room on the right,"
the Tocsin had said. Jimmie Dale walked nonchalantly along--past No.
148. At the lower end of the hall a group of people were gathered around
the elevator doors; halfway down the corridor a bell boy came out of a
room and went ahead of Jimmie Dale.
And then Jimmie Dale stopped suddenly, and began to retrace his steps.
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