He chewed on an unlighted cigar, and leaned forward. “What time, is it, Kardos?” he asked the driver.
“Twenty-five after ten,” Kardos replied. “The boss ought to be here soon.”
The stocky man with the long face continued to chew nervously on the cigar. “This business is gettin’ my goat. Workin’ for this guy, Kardos, is dangerous stuff. Linky Teagle works for him — an’ he didn’t show up this morning. I’m wonderin’—”
He stopped, as Kardos stiffened in his seat, cried hoarsely, “Looka that! Some other crowd is takin’ that guy away!”
He pointed to the court house steps, down which were coming the five men with the federal badges, dragging along the prisoner known as John Doe.
The stocky man jerked open the door of the cab, leaped to the sidewalk. His hand went to his armpit, but he didn’t draw the gun. “What’s the use?” he said to the driver. “We can’t take the whole five of ’em.”
Kardos swung to him, “What’ll we do, Brinz? We were told not to let any one take him away.”
Brinz shrugged. “Tell you what — you tail them in the cab. See where they go — and for the luva Pete, don’t lose them. I’ll stick around, an’ when this boss of ours gets here, I’ll break the sad news to him. You call back when they hole out.”
The car with the five federal men swung around the corner, passing close to the cab. Kardos called out, “Okay, Brinz, here I go.” He shifted into gear, set off in the wake of the escaping car.
Brinz remained at the curb, still chewing his cigar. He appeared oblivious of the crowd that had swarmed out of the court house. But their voices were raised, loudly, excitedly, and he could hear them plainly. He heard Runkle cry, “I tell you, they were no federal men. Their badges were fakes! But they took me by surprise. By the time I knew what it was all about, they had that fellow out of the building!”
Brinz continued to listen worriedly. He heard District Attorney Fenton say bitterly, “So you say, Runkle! I’m willing to bet that you knew all the time what was going to happen!”
Brinz swung his eyes away suddenly from the crowd across the street. For a truck had drawn up quietly at the curb. Its side bore the lettering, “Interstate Express — Deliveries Everywhere.”
The driver’s compartment of this truck was entirely enclosed so that the man who sat behind the wheel could not be seen. A close inspection of the body would have shown that it was constructed of bullet-proof sheet steel, with a large double door at the back, and a small grilled window on either side.
Brinz stepped close to the grilled window. A deep, metallic voice spoke from the darkness within. “What has happened here? Is everything set?” Brinz shook his head. There was a little awe in his tone, as if he were almost afraid to break the news. “It’s all gone haywire, boss. This here John Doe must have been brought up in court ahead of time. Just now he got taken away by five men in a car — practically snatched out of the court room, what it looks like. That crowd across the street is wonderin’ what’s happened.”
The metallic voice carried a note of rage. “Did you find out who those men were?”
“I didn’t, boss.” Brinz shuddered slightly, for that voice had sounded very ominous to him. He added eagerly, “But I tell you what I did — Kardos was in his cab over at the corner, an’ I told him to tail them. Maybe he’ll call back an’ give us some dope on them.” He went on swiftly as there came no answer from the truck, “I done the best I could, boss. I couldn’t stop ’em alone, could I? And anyway, Kardos’ll probably be calling back pretty soon.”
For a moment there was silence. Then the resonant voice said, “Kardos had better call back — for the sake of both of you!”
The side window closed with a snap, and the track rolled away from the curb, disappeared around the corner.
Brinz wiped his face with the sleeve of his coat. There was a fine sweat on his face and on the back of his hands. He had been close to death just now. His broad nose, which had at some time been flattened by a smashing blow, twitched with the reflexes of relief from fright. He stood a moment undecided, then he suddenly nodded to himself and crossed the street.
He elbowed through the crowd in front of the court room until he was close to Runkle, and tapped him on the shoulder. The little attorney turned, said, “Hello, Brinz, where’ve you been for the last couple of years?”
“Here an’ there,” he answered evasively. “Can I talk to you — in private — Mr. Runkle?”
“Certainly. Are you in trouble again?”
“Yes. But not with the law. This is something different.”
Runkle regarded him curiously. “All right. Let’s go over to my office.”
He led the way out of the crowd, and down the street, Brinz walking close beside him, and looking furtively about as if he feared being observed.
One man observed them. That was District Attorney Fenton, who watched them speculatively until they turned into the shabby building past the next corner, where Runkle had his office.
Fenton’s eyes were veiled as he turned and re-entered the court house without speaking to anyone.
IN the meantime, the car with the five men and the prisoner sped east for two blocks, slowed up and swung into a garage in the middle of one of the East Side slum blocks. The taxi that was following pulled up just beyond the entrance, and waited with its motor running.
Within the garage, the five men bundled their prisoner out. He was handcuffed now, but still silent, though there was growing fear reflected in the black, reptilian eyes.
The men gagged the killer, tied his ankles with wire, and joined the end of the wire to the handcuffs behind his back, rendering him helpless. Then they bundled him into the rear compartment of a showy green coupe that stood in the shadows in the rear.
A young, red-headed man sat at the wheel of this coupe. When the top of the compartment closed over the prisoner, he said to the five men, “All right, boys. You can go now. Get back to your regular jobs and forget all about this. Forget you ever flew to New York this morning!”
They did not notice the figure of Kardos, who had left his cab and stolen to the door, where he peered inside, noting what was taking place.
The pseudo federal men grinned at the red-headed young man. “Don’t worry, Mr. Hobart. Our memories are going to be something terrible from now on. As far as we’re concerned, we never saw this town in our life!”
Kardos, outside, slipped away from the door as he saw them prepare to leave, and he returned to his taxicab, watched them walking away in different directions.
Inside the garage, the red-headed Jim Hobart issued swift orders to two mechanics, who took the car in which “John Doe” had been brought there, and rolled it on to a circular platform. They set to work upon it at once, removing the license plates first. Within two hours enough work would have been done on that car to make it impossible to recognize it as the one in which Runkle’s client had been abducted.
Jim Hobart, in the meantime, locked the rumble compartment of his coupe, in which the killer had been stowed, then drove slowly out of the garage, and turned the corner. He headed north. But he did not see the taxicab that followed him at a discreet distance.
Chapter XII
WHEN Secret Agent “X” stepped out of Judge Rothmere’s chambers into the corridor of the court house, he made his way without stopping, down the back staircase and out the rear entrance into Lafayette Street. A small sedan was parked near by, and in this he made his way uptown.
On the way he stopped and called the Hobart Detective Agency. Jim Hobart had just got back. “It’s okay, Mr. Martin,” he reported. “The boys got this John Doe as per orders, and I just delivered him at the apartment on Eighth Avenue at the address you gave me. He’s there now, all nicely tied up.”