ectancy and suspense at the nearness of the
meeting--every nerve of audition strained to catch the first footfall
upon the stairs. Hunt, watching her, could but wonder, in case Larry was
the clever, dashing person that had been described, what would be the
outcome when these two natures met and perhaps joined forces.

CHAPTER IV

While the preparations for dinner were going on in the studio, down
below Larry turned a corner and swung up the narrow street toward the
pawnshop. He halted and peered in before entering; in doing this he was
obeying the caution that was his by instinct and training.

Leaning over the counter within, and chatting with his grandmother's
assistant was Casey, one of the two plain-clothesmen who had arrested
him. Larry drew back. He was not afraid of Casey, or of Gavegan, Casey's
partner, or of the whole police force, or of the State of New York; they
had nothing on him, he had settled accounts by having done his bit. All
the same, he preferred not to meet Casey just then. So he went down the
street, crossed the cobbled plaza along the water-front, and slipped
through the darkness among the trucks out to the end of the pier. Under
his feet the East River splashed sluggishly against the piles, but out
near the river's center he could see the tide swirling out to sea at six
miles an hour, toward the great shadowy Manhattan Bridge crested with
its splendid tiara of lights.

He stretched himself and breathed deeply of the warm free spring. It
tasted good after two long years of the prison's sealed air. He would
have liked to shed his clothing and dive down for a brisk fight with the
tingling water. Larry had always taken pleasure in keeping his body fit.
He had not cared for the gymnasiums of the ward clubs where he would
have been welcome; in them there had been too much rough horseplay and
foulness of mouth, and such had always been offensive to him. And
though he had ever looked the gentleman, he had known that the New York
Athletic Club and other similar clubs were not for him; they pried a bit
too much into a candidate's social and professional standing. So he had
turned to a club where really searching inquiries were rarely made;
for years he had belonged to a branch of the Y.M.C.A. located just off
Broadway, and had played handball and boxed with chunky, slow-footed
city detectives who were struggling to retain some physical activity,
and with fat playwrights, and with Jewish theatri