His shoulders lifted in a shrug that, meant to be philosophical, was far from philosophical.

He could not, dared not venture far through the tenement dressed as he was; and even if he could there were three exits to the Sanctuary, a fact that now for the first time was not wholly a source of unmixed satisfaction to him; and besides--she was gone! Jimmie Dale opened the letter, a grim smile playing on his lips.

He had forgotten for the moment that the illusion he had cherished for years in the belief that she did not know Larry the Bat as an alias of Jimmie Dale was no more than--an illusion.

Well, it had been a piece of consummate egotism on his part, that was all.

But, after all, what did it matter?
He had had his innings, tried in the role of Larry the Bat to solve her identity, devoted weeks on end to the attempt--and failed.
Some day, perhaps, his turn would come; some day, perhaps, she would no longer be able to elude him, unless--the letter crackled suddenly in his fingers--unless the house that they had built on such strange and perilous foundations crashed at some moment, without an instant's warning, in disaster and ruin to the ground.