The conversation took a new turn now that the strange formality had reached its end.
"New York in the morning. The end of the trail," announced Butcher, with a broad smile.
"All on deck at seven. We want to take a look at the Statue of Liberty!"
"Let the old gal take a look at us!" cackled Ferret.
"It's all the same to me," said Major. "What I'm thinking about is the few bottles that we might carry in. Judge would appreciate hearing our toast, when we see him."
"Deacon's the boy to lug in the grog," said Ferret cunningly. "He could pack it under his coat. There's plenty of room around that spindle shape of his. Lend him one of your coats, Butcher."
"Why worry about it?" questioned Butcher. "Like enough Judge will have a house-load of booze in over the Canadian border. No use monkeying with the custom men, if we can help it."
"There's sense in that," declared Major. "You know I don't like to take foolish chances. There are enough big ones. It was a great load off my mind when we spotted that plane off the Florida coast. The crew figured we sent in our full liquor supply then."
"They've been educated to it," observed Deacon.
"The important thing now," resumed Major, "is to split up after we land. Handshakes at the dock. The best of luck — for the future!"
"And no tears from you, Deacon," said Butcher. "I thought you were going to bust out crying when we made that overboard heave down in the Caribbean—"
"Forget it, Butcher," growled Major; "forget it! Deacon has forgotten it. That reminds me, Ferret — you're the one that has some forgetting to do."
"Major is right, Ferret," seconded Deacon.
"That letter writing" — Major shook his head in disapproval — "it wasn't right, Ferret!"
"But Hawk was a pal of mine," protested Ferret, looking around the group. "He wouldn't squawk. Anyway, I only told him—"
"We talked that over before," said Major. "We'll drop it now. I'm thinking of tomorrow. I'll get you a time-table, Ferret, as soon as we reach New York. The first train out of the big town will be the best. We want you to drop in on Judge ahead of the rest of us."
"All right," returned Ferret, in an annoyed tone. "Leave it to me, Major."
"I'll leave it to you!" Major spoke emphatically. "But remember, you're one in five. The interests of the gang come first. You may have some idea of your own. Get it out of your head — until afterward. There'll be plenty of time, later on. We're all going to be independent, after a while."
"Remember it," echoed Deacon, staring solemnly at Ferret.
Butcher chimed in with a warning growl.
That ended the discussion. Butcher, chewing the end of a Havana cigar, called for the steward, and another bottle was brought to the table. Afterward came dinner; then an ocean evening that ended with the men tottering singly to their cabins.
Faces were weary and solemn when the men gathered in the morning, as the Vesta nosed her way through the outer harbor. Standing by the rail, the four watched the outgoing liners, and stared toward the Staten Island shore.
Butcher seemed half groggy and less jocular than usual. Deacon was quiet and silent; but that was not unusual. Major said very little, but bore himself with the poise of a veteran. Ferret was the quietest of all. Yet his glance was furtive, and his manner restless.
With various delays in order, it was late in the afternoon when the Vesta had finally docked, and the four men had passed the customs officials. Ashore, the departing passengers shook hands with the stern-faced captain of the yacht. The Vesta was due to clear for another port within a few days. Deacon entered a taxicab alone. Butcher drove off in another. Major and Ferret remained, the latter grinning as he looked along the avenue that bordered the water front.
Major left him for a moment, to return with a time-table.
"Your train leaves Grand Central at midnight," he said. "I've marked it here. Telephoned a reservation for you. Go get some dinner, take in a show, but be sure you pull out on the Whirlwind Limited. Get me?"
"I get you," answered Ferret with a grin. "So long, Major. I'll be seeing you later." Ferret stepped into a cab and rolled away. He went directly to the Grand Central Station. There he picked up his railroad and sleeper tickets. He followed Major's advice about obtaining dinner.
But afterward, Ferret went to a telephone booth and consulted the Manhattan directory. His first finger ran along one of the front pages of the book. It stopped at the name of Antrim. Ferret noted the address. He closed the book, and his eyes gleamed wickedly. He had found his entertainment for that night!
Major was right. There were five of them. The predominant interest of the five was a common interest. But Ferret — more than any of the others — had an interest of his own. He did not intend to let it pass. The others would never know!
There was plenty of time remaining before midnight. A stroll on Broadway first; then he could take the path he wanted. Leave it to luck. If luck came his way, he would meet it. Thus it was that shortly after ten o'clock, Ferret, hands in pocket, appeared on a street some blocks north of Forty-second Street, sauntering toward the apartment where Daniel Antrim made his home.
Chapter III — Ferret Talks Business
Beneath the light of a street lamp, Ferret stopped and reached into his inside pocket. He drew forth a crumpled envelope. From this he extracted a much-creased letter.
The note, as Ferret opened it, revealed a crude scrawl, with a roughly traced diagram in the center of the page. Ferret's avid eyes swept through the writing as though they were merely refreshing themselves with knowledge that was already deeply embedded in the man's memory.
The letter was the work of a man who could spell but crudely. Ferret, a quick, keen reader, touched important statements with his finger tip, and smiled cruelly as he read them.
I have bin watching A sins you wised me up about him… I got into his plac whil he was out one nite… This drawing showes the lay… In the desk he kips the dop on the gys he is dubbel-crosing… Solly Bricker… Centter 1592… Keeping mum becuz of what you rote… Phony key behynd haul raddiater…
The final word formed the signature. Ferret digested every statement in the letter. He paid particular attention to the diagram, which bore such marks as "big room," "back door," "raddiater," and "desk." Then Ferret tore the letter into tiny fragments. He strolled on through the dark, and tossed the pieces to the breeze. They fluttered away in all directions.
Sneaking craftily, Ferret reached the front door of an old apartment building. The inner lobby was dimly lighted. He entered and turned toward a flight of stairs at the left, ascending to the third floor. At the end of the hall were two doors — one at the corner on the left; the other on the right, but a dozen feet from the corner.
There was a light beaming through the glass transom of the doorway on the left. Ferret grinned. He stared suspiciously at the door on the right. The transom above it was black. That was sufficient. Ferret looked back along the gloomy hall. Seeing no one, he advanced to a radiator at the extreme end of the hall. He stooped and fished beneath the radiator. A key glimmered in his hand. Ferret was looking intently at the key. He did not observe the white face pressed against the transom at the right. Someone was watching him, but Ferret did not know it.
Silently, the stoop-shouldered man unlocked the door at the left and entered.
He was very cautious now — more stealthy than he had been in the hall, where his footfalls left a slight sound. He was peering into a lighted room, from a small entry. In the far corner he observed a stout, bald-headed man seated at a desk.
Ferret's lips curled in hatred as he noiselessly closed the door behind him. From his hip pocket he drew a short, stub-nosed revolver.