Out came the neatly folded clothes of Jimmie Dale; and with them,
serving him so well in the days gone by, the leather girdle, or
undervest, with its stout-sewn, upright pockets in which nestled, in an
array of fine, blue-steel, highly tempered instruments, a compact
powerful burglar's kit. It was the one thing that he had saved from the
fire in the old Sanctuary--and that more by accident than design. He had
been wearing the girdle that night when he had stolen into the Crime
Club, and afterwards had returned to the Sanctuary with the intention of
destroying forever all traces of Larry the Bat; and then, only half
dressed, as he was changing into the clothes of Jimmie Dale, the alarm
had come before he had taken off the girdle, and, without thought of it
again at the time, he had still been wearing it when he had made his
escape. He looked at it now for a moment grimly--and smiled in a
mirthless way. He had not used it since that night, and that night he
had never meant or thought to use it again--only to destroy it!
He reached into the aperture in the wall once more, drew out a pocket
flashlight and an automatic pistol, and laid them down beside the
clothes and the leather girdle; then, pulling off his coat and shirt, he
ran noiselessly across the room to the washstand.
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