In the cloakroom downstairs he secured his hat and overcoat, and, though it was a warm evening, put on the latter since he was in evening clothes, then walked leisurely out of the club.
At the curb, Benson, the chauffeur, sprang from his seat, and, touching his cap, opened the door of a luxurious limousine.
“I shall not keep you waiting any longer, Benson,” he said. “You may take the car home, and put it up. I shall probably be late to-night.”
“You sent in a letter a moment or so ago, Benson?” observed Jimmie Dale casually, opening his cigarette case.
“Yes, sir,” said Benson. “I hope I didn't do wrong, sir. He said it was important, and that you were to have it at once.”
“He?” Jimmie Dale was lighting his cigarette now.
“A boy, sir,” Benson amplified. “I couldn't get anything out of him. He just said he'd been told to give it to me, and tell me to see that you got it at once. I hope, sir, I haven't--”
“Not at all, Benson,” said Jimmie Dale pleasantly. “It's quite all right. Good-night, Benson.”
“Good-night, sir,” Benson answered, climbing back to his seat.
There was a queer little smile on Jimmie Dale's lips, as he watched the great car swing around in the street and glide noiselessly away--a queer little smile that still held there even after he himself had started briskly along the avenue in a downtown direction. It was invariably the same, always the same--the letters came unexpectedly, when least looked for, now by this means, now by that, but always in a manner that precluded the slightest possibility of tracing them to their source. Was there anything, in his intimate surroundings, in his intimate life, that she did not know about him--who knew absolutely nothing about her! Benson, for instance--that the man was absolutely trustworthy--or else she would never for an instant have risked the letter in his possession. Was there anything that she did not--yes, one thing--she did not know him in the role he was going to play to-night. That at least was one thing that surely she did not know about him; the role in which, many times, for weeks on end, he had devoted himself body and soul in an attempt to solve the mystery with which she surrounded herself; the role, too, that often enough had been a bulwark of safety to him when hard pressed by the police; the role out of which he had so carefully, so painstakingly created a now recognised and well-known character of the underworld--the role of Larry the Bat.