In a hundred-yard sprint, Jimmie Dale raced it a half block to the station, tore up the steps--and a moment later dropped nonchalantly into a seat and pulled an evening newspaper from his pocket.
Jimmie Dale got off at the second station down, crossed the street, mounted the steps of the elevated again, and took the next train uptown.
His movements appeared to be somewhat erratic--he alighted at the station next above the one by which he had made his escape.

Looking down the street it was too dark to see much of anything, but a confused noise as of a gathering crowd reached him from what was about the location of the secondhand store.

He listened appreciatively for a moment.
"Isn't it a perfectly lovely night ?" said Jimmie Dale amiably to himself.

"And to think of that cop running away with the idea that I didn't see him when he hid in a doorway after I passed the corner! Well, well, strange--isn't it ?" With another glance down the street, a whimsical lift of his shoulders, he headed west into the dilapidated tenement quarter that huddled for a handful of blocks near by, just south of Washington Square.

It was a little after one o'clock in the morning now and the pedestrians were casual.