If it was the end to-night, this was his good-by to
Smarlinghue, to Larry the Bat--and the Gray Seal. This was his exit from
the sordid stage of the underworld--forever. Yes, in time, suspicious of
Smarlinghue's continued absence, they would investigate and search the
Sanctuary here; they might even discover that hiding place in the
wall--but what did it matter? They would find only the trappings of a
_character_ that had passed out of existence; and out of that fact the
police and the underworld would be privileged to make what capital they
could! No, it would not be as Smarlinghue that he would work
to-night--he was well enough as he was. He had not worn evening clothes
since that letter came, for the nights had been spent in constant toil,
and the dark suit of tweeds he wore now was not conspicuous. Nor need he
even have recourse to that hiding place again--what he required was
already in his pockets--for days now, in whatever role he had played, he
had been prepared for any emergency.
Jimmie Dale looked at his watch--it was ten minutes after nine--and,
reaching up, turned out the light. A minute more and the French window
was silently opened and closed again, and Jimmie Dale was once more on
the street.
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