And across from it was that other tenement, that held a new
interest for him now, where, in an empty room on the second floor,
she had said, old Doyle still lay. Should he go there? He was thinking
quickly now, and shook his head. It would take what he did not have to
spare--time. It was already ten o'clock; and, granted that Connie Myers
had committed the crime only a little over an hour ago, the man by this
time would certainly be on his way to Doyle's house near Pelham, if,
indeed, he were not already there. No, there was no time to spare--the
question resolved itself simply into how long, since he had already
searched twice and failed on both occasions, it would take Connie Myers
to unearth old Doyle's hiding place for the money.
Jimmie Dale glanced sharply around him, slipped into the alleyway, and,
crouching against the tenement wall, moved noiselessly along to the side
entrance. A moment more, and he had negotiated the rickety stairs with
practiced, soundless tread, was inside the squalid quarters of Larry the
Bat, and the door of the Sanctuary was locked and bolted behind him.
Perhaps five minutes passed--and then, where Jimmie Dale, the
millionaire, had entered, there emerged Larry the Bat, of the
aristocracy and the elite of the Bad Lands. But instead of leaving by
the side door and the alleyway, as he had entered, he went along the
lower hallway to the front entrance.
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