From the direction of the Nest came sounds of disorder and riot. A
patrolman's whistle rang out shrilly. It had been as close a call
perhaps as the Gray Seal had ever known--but, at that, the night's work
was not ended! There was still the actual thief. Thorold had said he was
to meet the man in his, Thorold's, office in half an hour to split their
ill-gotten gains. Jimmie Dale's jaw squared. The thief! His hand at his
side clenched suddenly. Would it be _only_ the thief, or would he have
to reckon with Thorold again as well? Could Thorold keep the appointment?
It was a question of how badly Thorold was hurt, and that he did not
know.
Jimmie Dale walked on another block, still another, then turned so as to
bring him into, but well up, the street on which the tenement was
situated. From here, far down the ill-lighted street, he could see a mob
gathered outside the Nest. And then, as he stood hesitant, there came
the strident clang of a bell, the beat of hoofs, and he caught the name
of the hospital on the side of an ambulance as it tore by--and, at that,
he swung suddenly about, and, making his way across to Broadway, boarded
an uptown car.
Twenty minutes later, he closed the door of a telephone booth in a
saloon on lower Sixth Avenue behind him, and consulting the directory
for the number, called the hospital.
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