For the rest, it was easy enough; and so
there had come into being these wretched quarters here, the New
Sanctuary--and Smarlinghue.
But the mere assumption of a new role was not all--it was not there that
the difficulty lay; it was in gaining for Smarlinghue the _confidence_
of the underworld that Larry the Bat had once held. And that had taken
time--was not even yet an accomplished fact. The intimate, personal
acquaintance of Larry the Bat with every crook and dive in Gangland had
aided him, as Smarlinghue, to gain an initial foothold, but his complete
establishment there had necessarily had to be of Smarlinghue's own
making. And it had taken time. Six months had gone now, six months that,
as far as the Tocsin was concerned, had been barren of results mainly,
he encouraged himself to believe, because his efforts had been always
limited and held in check; six months of anxious, careful building, and
now, just as he was regaining the old-time confidence that Larry the Bat
had enjoyed, just as he was reaching that point where the whispered
secrets of the underworld once more reached his ears and there was a
promise of success if, indeed, she were still alive, had come this thing
to-night that spelt ruin to his hopes and ultimate disaster to himself.
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