The cab swerved again, tore across Waverly Place, circuited Washington Square, crossed Broadway, and whirled finally into the upper end of the Bowery.
Jimmie Dale spoke once--to himself--plaintively.
"It's too bad I can't let old Carruthers in on this for a scoop with his precious MORNING NEWS-ARGUS--but if I get out of it alive myself, I'll do well! Wonder if the day'll ever come when he finds out that his very dear friend and old college pal, Jimmie Dale, is the Gray Seal that he's turned himself inside out for about four years now to catch, and that he'd trade his soul with the devil any time to lay hands on! Good old Carruthers! 'The most puzzling, bewildering, delightful crook in the annals of crime'-- am I ?" The cab drew up at the curb.

Jimmie Dale sprang out, shoved the bill into the chauffeur's hand, stepped quickly across the sidewalk, and pushed his way through the swinging doors of the Palace Saloon.

Inside leisurely and nonchalantly, he walked down past the length of the bar to a door at the rear.

This opened into a passageway that led to the side entrance of the saloon on the cross street.

Jimmie Dale emerged from the side entrance, crossed the street, retraced his steps to the Bowery, crossed over, and walked rapidly down that thoroughfare for two blocks.
Here he turned east into the cross street; and here, once more, his pace became leisurely and unhurried.
"It's a strange coincidence, though possibly a very happy one," said Jimmie Dale, as he walked along, "that it should be on the same street as the Sanctuary--ah, this ought to be the place!" An alleyway, corresponding to the one that flanked the tenement where, as Larry the Bat, he had paid room rent as a tenant for several years, in fact, the alleyway next above it, and but a short block away, intersected the street, narrow, black, and uninviting.