"I am not quite sure, Benson," he replied. "In any case, you had better
wait here for twenty, minutes. If I am not back in that time, you may go
home. Don't wait any longer."
"Very good, sir," Benson answered.
It was only a short distance to the Sanctuary--down the cross street, a
turn into another only to emerge again on one that paralleled the first,
and then Jimmie Dale, walking slowly now, was sauntering along an
ill-lighted thoroughfare flanked on either side with a miscellany of
small shops and tenements of the cheaper class. There were but few
pedestrians in sight; but, as he neared the tenement that made the
corner of the lane ahead, Jimmie Dale's pace became still more
leisurely. A man and a woman were strolling up the street toward him.
They passed. Jimmie Dale, at the corner of the lane now, glanced behind
him. The two were self-absorbed. And then, like a shadow merging with
the darkness of the lane, Jimmie Dale had disappeared.
In an instant, he had gained the loose board in the high fence; and in
another, pressing close to the rear wall of the tenement, he had reached
the little French window that gave on the dingy courtyard.
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