His brain
had repented of its stubbornness, it seemed, and was at work again.
There was a way, a very sure way as far as old Kronische being
"talkative" was concerned, but a very dangerous way from every other
point of view. Suppose he went to old Kronische--as Larry the Bat!
The car tore on through the night; towns and villages flashed by; the
long, deserted stretches of road began to give way to the city's
outskirts--and Jimmie Dale began to drive more cautiously. Larry the
Bat! Yes, it was perfectly feasible, as far as feasibility went. The
clothes that he had duplicated at such infinite trouble were still
hidden there in the Sanctuary. But to be caught as Larry the Bat
meant--the end. That was the one thing the underworld knew, the one
thing the police knew--that Larry the Bat was, or had been, the Gray
Seal. Still, he had done it once before, and it could be done again. He
could reach old Kronische's without much fear of discovery after all, he
would take good care to secure the few minutes necessary to make a
"getaway" from the old chemist's, and _afterwards_ old Kronische could
talk as much as he liked about--Larry the Bat! Yes, that was the way!
Old Kronische--and Larry the Bat.
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