"Shake him again!" he commanded.
None too gently, a policeman caught Jimmie Dale by the shoulder and shook him vigorously--again Jimmie Dale, once the other let go his hold, fell back limply on the bed, breathing in that same, slightly slowed way.
"Larry the Bat, eh ?" grunted Kline; then, to the officer who had volunteered the information: "Who's Larry the Bat?
What is he?
And how long have you known him ?" "I don't know who he is any more than what you can see there for yourself," replied the officer.

"He's a dope fiend, and I guess a pretty tough case, though we've never had him up for anything.

He's lived here ever since I've been on the beat, and that's three years or--" "All right!" interrupted Kline crisply.

"He's no good to us! You say there's an exit from this house into that saloon at the back ?" "Yes, sir but the fellow, whoever he is, couldn't get away from there.
Heeney's been over on guard from the start." "Then he's still inside there," said Kline, clipping off his words.
"We'll search the saloon.

Nice night's work this is! One out of the whole gang--and that one with the compliments of the Gray Seal!" The men went out and began to descend the stairs.
"One," said Jimmie Dale to himself, still motionless, still breathing in that slow way so characteristic of the drug.