planned for the robbery of Henry
LaSalle, for it would not be an easy matter, even once inside Spider
Jack's, to find that package--since it was Spider's open boast that
things committed to his care were where the police, or any one else,
might as well whistle and suck their thumbs as try to find them!

And then, with sudden decision, taking his hesitation, as it were, by
the throat, Jimmie Dale hurried on again--to the Sanctuary. At most, it
could delay him but another fifteen minutes, and by half-past twelve, or
a quarter to one at the latest, he would be at Spider Jack's.

Disdaining the secrecy of the side door on the alley, for who had a
better right or was better known there than Larry the Bat, a tenant of
years, he entered the tenement by the front door, scuffled up the stairs
to the first landing, and let himself into his disreputable room. He
locked the door behind him, lighted the choked and wheezy gas jet, in a
single, sharp-flung glance assured himself that the blinds were tightly
shut, and, kneeling in the far corner, threw back the oilcloth and
lifted up the loose section of the flooring beneath. He reached inside,
fumbling under the neatly folded clothes of Jimmie Dale, and in a moment
laid his leather girdle with its kit of burglar's tools on the floor
beside him; and beside that again an electric flashlight, a black silk
mask, and--what he had never expected to use again when, early the night
before, he had, as he had believed, put it away forever--the thin, metal
insignia case of the Gray Seal. Another moment, and, with the flooring
replaced, the oilcloth rolled back into position, he had stripped off
his coat and was pulling his spotted, greasy shirt off over his head;
then, stooping quickly, he picked up the girdle, put it on, put on
his shirt again over it, put on his coat, put the metal case, the
flashlight, and the mask in his pockets--and once more the Sanctuary was
in darkness.

It was perhaps fifteen minutes later that Jimmie Dale turned into the
upper section of Thompson Street. Here he slowed his pace, that had
been almost a run since he had left the Sanctuary, and began to shuffle
leisurely along; for the street, that a few hours before would have been
choked with its pushcarts and venders, its half naked children playing
where they could find room in the gutters, its sidewalks thronged with
shawled women and picturesquely dressed, earringed, dark-visaged men,
a scene, as it were, transpo