He had not expected that there would be--but it was as well to be sure.

He walked then a few steps along the Bowery--and slipped suddenly into a doorway, from where he could command a view of the street corner that he had just left.

At the end of ten minutes, satisfied that no one had any concern in his immediate movements, he shambled on again down the Bowery.
There was a saloon two blocks away that boasted a private telephone booth.

Jimmie Dale made that his destination.
Larry the Bat was a very well-known character in that resort, and the bullet-headed dispenser of drinks behind the bar nodded unctuously to him over the heads of those clustered at the rail as he entered; Larry the Bat, as befitted one of the elite of the underworld, was graciously pleased to acknowledge the proletariat salutation with a curt nod.

He walked down to the end of the room, entered the telephone booth--and was carelessly careful to close the door tightly behind him.
He gave the number of his residence on Riverside Drive, and waited for the connection.