The next moment he was lost in a jam of people in the lobby.
He moved slowly now, very slowly--allowing those behind to press by him on the way to the entrance.

A babel of voices rose about him, as, tight-packed, the mass of people jostled, elbowed, and pushed good-naturedly.

It was a voice now, her voice, that he was listening for; but, though it seemed that every faculty was strained and intent upon that one effort, his eyes, too, had in no degree relaxed their vigilance--and once, half grimly, half sardonically, he smiled to himself.

There would be an unexpected aftermath to this exodus of expensively gowned and bejewelled women with their prosperous, well-groomed escorts! There was the Wowzer over there--sleek, dapper, squirming in and out of the throng with the agility and stealth of a cat.

As Larry the Bat he had met the Wowzer many times, as indeed he had met and was acquainted with most of the elite of the underworld.
The Wowzer, beyond a shadow of doubt, in his own profession stood upon a plane entirely by himself--among those qualified to speak, no one yet had ever questioned the Wowzer's claim to the distinction of being the most dexterous and finished "poke getter" in the United States! The crowd thinned in the lobby, thinned down to the last few belated stragglers, who passed him as he still loitered in the entrance; and then Jimmie Dale, with a shrug of his shoulders that was a great deal more philosophical than the maddening sense of chagrin and disappointment that burned within him, stepped out to the pavement and headed down Broadway.