The second
glass of whisky followed the first--into the cuspidor. Again the
threadbare sleeve was drawn across the thin, distorted lips, and,
pushing back his chair, Jimmie Dale rose from the table and made his way
out into the street.
CHAPTER XX
THE OLD-CLOTHES SHOP
Ten minutes later, still in the heart of the East Side, Jimmie Dale
reached his destination, and paused on the edge of the sidewalk,
ostensibly to light a cigarette while he looked tentatively around him,
before the entrance to a courtyard that ran in behind a row of cheap and
shabby tenements. He shook his head, as he tossed the match away. It was
still early; there were too many people about, to say nothing of the
group of half-naked children playing in the gutter under the street lamp
in front of the courtyard entrance, and "Smarlinghue" was far too well
known a character in that section of the Bad Lands to warrant him in
taking any chances. If anything was wrong in Melinoff's dingy little
place behind there, if anything had transpired, or was about to
transpire that would ultimately, say, invite the attention of the
police, it might prove extremely awkward--for Smarlinghue--should it be
remembered that he had entered there! There was a better way--a much
better way, and one that was exceedingly simple.
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