Through a chink of the enamelled white shutters a faint pencil of light shone out in the gloomy darkness.
"Good God!" he groaned, "I would give my life to be within that room." For his heart told him that Irma Gluyas lay helpless within there, and he only wandered away at midnight, when a stray policeman suspiciously eyed him lingering in the alley.
"Einstein is my only hope," he despairingly cried, as he wandered back to the bridge and sought his lonely rooms.

The silky-gray dawn found him still dressed, lying on a chair, with his eyes fixed upon the picture, the first sight of which had been the beginning of his fevered dream.
And then, suddenly recalling himself, he put out the flaring lights, bathed his throbbing temples, and went out to seek an early-opening coffee-shop.

"I must be myself to-day," he muttered, after the drowsy waiter had forced some breakfast upon him.
"For the three-days' holiday begins at noon, and I shall be free then.

I must do my bank business alone, and keep Einstein on the watch." By sheer force of habit, he had opened the damp morning--paper thrust upon the swell customer.
"Some young fly by night, throwing his money and his life away," mused the experienced Celtic attendant.

"Give me the Tenderloin for fools.