That
underground passage from the shed into that queer house near Chatham
Square, for instance--which was known only to the _most_ intimate! But
perhaps the Wolf had forgotten, or perhaps even the Wolf had never known
he had been on quite such intimate terms with--Larry the Bat.
Jimmie Dale glanced behind him. There was no one in sight for the
moment. He was at the corner of a lane now--and he chose the lane. It
was a shorter, and a safer route. It bordered on the rear of the
courtyard which was his objective, and obviated the necessity of
attempting to steal down past the side of "The Yellow Eastern"
unnoticed. No, he did not underestimate the Wolf, but if he had luck
to-night--! He shrugged his shoulders in a sort of grim whimsicality.
His mind reverted to the Spider now--Spider Webb. Facetious, in a way,
the name was! Webb--Spider Webb! And yet the man had come by it
honestly, or dishonestly, enough! The old antique shop for years covered
dealings that were shabbier than the shabbiest of its antiques! It was
probable that more stolen had found Spider Webb's a clearing house than
any other Mecca of the crooks in New York. It was probable, too, that it
had known more police raids than any of its competitors--but, unlike
many of its competitors, nothing but what indubitably belonged there had
ever been found.
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