THE AFFAIR OF THE PUSHCART MAN Larry the Bat shambled out of the side door of the tenement into the back alleyway; shambled along the black alleyway to the street--and smiled a little grimly as a shadow across the roadway suddenly shifted its position.

The game was growing acute, critical, desperate even--and it was his move.
Larry the Bat, disreputable denizen of the underworld, alias Jimmie Dale, millionaires' clubman, alias the Gray Seal, whom Carruthers of the MORNING NEWS-ARGUS called the master criminal of the age, shuffled along in the direction of the Bowery, his hands plunged deep in the pockets of his frayed and tattered trousers, where his fingers, in a curious, wistful way, fondled the keys of his own magnificent residence on Riverside Drive.

It was his move--and it was an impasse, ironical, sardonic, and it was worse--it was full of peril.
True, he had outwitted Kline of the secret service two nights before, when Kline had raided the counterfeiters' den; true, he had no reason to believe that Kline suspected HIM specifically, but the man Kline wanted HAD entered the tenement that night, and since then the house had been shadowed day and night.

The result was both simple and disastrous--to Jimmie Dale.

Larry the Bat, a known inmate of the house, might come and go as he pleased--but to emerge from the Sanctuary in the person of Jimmie Dale would be fatal.