Dare he risk the Sanctuary--for the clothes of Jimmie Dale? Or was
it safer to burglarise, as he had once done before, his own mansion on
Riverside Drive?
His thoughts were running riot, and he frowned, angry with himself.
There was time enough to think of that when he knew that it was the
police against whom he had to match his wits.
Well in the shadow of the buildings, he moved swiftly along the side
street until he came to the corner of the street on which, halfway down
the block, fronted Chang Foo's tea-shop. A glance in that direction, and
Jimmie Dale drew a breath of relief. A patrol wagon was backed up to
the curb, and a half dozen officers were busy loading it with what was
evidently Chang Foo's far from meagre stock of gambling appurtenances;
while Chang Foo himself, together with Sam Wah and another attendant,
were in the grip of two other officers, waiting possibly for another
patrol wagon. There was a crowd, too, but the crowd was at a respectful
distance--on the opposite side of the street.
Jimmie Dale still hugged the corner. A man swaggered out from a doorway,
quite close to Chang Foo's, and came on along the street. As the other
reached the corner, Jimmie Dale sidled forward.
"'Ello, Chick!" he said, out of the corner of his mouth. "Wot's de lay?"
"'Ello, Larry!" returned the other. "Aw, nuthin'! De nutcracker on
Chang, dat's all.
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