intervening feet to the fence that enclosed the courtyard. Here, next to
the wall, a loosened plank swung outward at a touch, and he was standing
in a narrow, black areaway beyond. There was only the depth of the house
between himself and the street, and he paused now, crouched motionless
against the wall, listening. He heard no footfalls from the
pavement--only, like a distant murmur, the night sounds from the Bowery,
a block away--only the muffled roar of an elevated train. The way was
presumably clear, and he moved forward again--cautiously. He reached the
front of the building, which, like the old Sanctuary, was a tenement of
the poorer class, paused once more, this time to peer quickly up and
down the dark, ill-lighted cross street--and, satisfied that he was safe
from observation, stepped out on the sidewalk, and began to walk
nonchalantly along to the Bowery.

And here, at the corner, under a street lamp he consulted his watch. It
was ten o'clock! He smiled a little ironically. Certainly, they would
hardly expect him as early as that! Well, he would be a little ahead of
time, that was all!




CHAPTER III


THE MAN WITH THE SCAR

Jimmie Dale walked on again, rapidly now, heading down the Bowery. At
the expiration of perhaps ten minutes, he turned east; and still a few
minutes later, in the neighbourhood of Chatham Square, plunged suddenly