When it
was directly in front of the cafe, the chauffeur would throw away into
the road an empty cigarette-case.
From the cigar-stand they selected a cigarette box of a startling
yellow. At half a mile it was conspicuous.
"When you see this in the road," explained Rumson, "you'll know we're on
the job. And after you're inside, if you need us, you've only to go to a
rear window and wave."
"If they mean to do him up," growled Bissell, "he won't get to a rear
window."
"He can always tell them we're outside," said Rumson--"and they are
extremely likely to believe him. Do you want a gun?"
"No," said the D.A.
"Better have mine," urged Hewitt.
"I have my own," explained the D.A.
Rumson and Hewitt set off in taxi-cabs and, a half-hour later, Wharton
followed. As he sank back against the cushions of the big touring-car he
felt a pleasing thrill of excitement, and as he passed the traffic
police, and they saluted mechanically, he smiled. Had they guessed his
errand their interest in his progress would have been less perfunctory.
In half an hour he might know that the police killed Banf; in half an
hour he himself might walk into a trap they had, in turn, staged for
him.
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