As he approached the black alleyway that flanked the miserable tenement, he glanced sharply behind and about him; and, at the alleyway itself, without pause, but with a curious lightning-like side step, no longer Jimmie Dale now, but the Gray Seal, he disappeared from the street, and was lost in the deep shadows of the building.
In a moment he was at the side door, listening for any sound from within--none had ever seen or met the lodger or the first floor either ascending or descending, except in the familiar character of Larry the Bat.

He opened the door, closed it behind him, and in the utter blackness went noiselessly up the stairs--stairs so rickety that it seemed a mouse's tread alone would have set them creaking.

There seemed an art in the play of Jimmie Dale's every muscle; in the movements, lithe, balanced, quick, absolutely silent.

On the first landing he stopped before another door, there was the faint click of a key turning in the lock; and then this door, too, closed behind him.

Sounded the faint click of the key as it turned again, and Jimmie Dale drew a long breath, stepped across the room to assure himself that the window blind was down, and lighted the gas jet.
A yellow, murky flame spurted up, pitifully weak, almost as though it were ashamed of its disreputable surroundings.