It seemed, it always seemed, that, with an unopened letter of hers in his possession, it was as though he were about to open a page in the Book of Fate and read, as it were, a pronouncement upon himself that might mean life or death.
He hurried on.

People still passed by him--too many.

And then a cafe, just ahead, making a corner, gave him the opportunity that he sought.
Away from the entrance, on the side street, the brilliant lights from the windows shone out on a comparatively deserted pavement.

There was ample light to read by, even as far away from the window as the curb, and Jimmie Dale, with an approving nod, turned the corner and walked along a few steps until opposite the farthest window--but, as he halted here at the edge of the street, he glanced quickly behind him at a man whom he had just passed.

The other had paused at the corner and was staring down the street.