Jimmie Dale moved quickly along.
The whimsical smile was back on his lips. Sonnino, whose business, the
money-lending end of it, would naturally have kept him late at work, was
now evidently intent on a belated meal; Sonnino, therefore, could be
counted upon as a factor eliminated for at feast the next half hour--and
half an hour was enough, a little more than enough!
Jimmie Dale glanced back over his shoulder. There was no one in sight.
A yard ahead of him, one of those relics of barbaric architecture,
tunnelled as it were through the centre of a building that the space
overhead might not be wasted, was the black driveway that gave
entrance to the courtyard behind, where Sonnino lived alone in one of
a half dozen small, tottering-from-age frame houses. Jimmie Dale drew
closer to the wall, came opposite the driveway--and disappeared from
the street.
It was the Gray Seal now, the professional Jimmie Dale, as silent in his
movements as the shadows about him. He traversed the driveway, and
emerged on the courtyard. Here, it was scarcely less dark. There was no
moon, and no lights in any of the houses that made the rear of the
courtyard. He could just discern the houses as looming shapes against
the sky line, that was all.
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