"
"You've still got the note, If persisted Hewitt. "It proves why you
went there. And the senator, too. He can testify. And we won't be
hundred yards away. And," he added grudgingly, "you have Nolan."
Nolan was the spoiled child of 'the office.' He was the district
attorney's pet. Although still young, he had scored as a detective
and as a driver of racing-cars. As Wharton's chauffeur he now
doubled the parts.
"What Nolan testified wouldn't be any help," said Wharton. "They
would say it was just a story he invented to save me."
"Then square yourself this way," urged Rumson. "Send a note now by
hand to Ham Cutler and one to your sister. Tell them you're going
to Ida Earle's--and why--tell them you're afraid it's a frame-up,
and for them to keep your notes as evidence. And enclose the one
from her."
Wharton nodded in approval, and, while he wrote, Rumson and the
detective planned how, without those inside the road- house being
aware of their presence, they might be near it.
Kessler's Cafe lay in the Seventy-ninth Police Precinct. In
taxi-cabs they arranged to start at once and proceed down White
Plains Avenue, which parallels the Boston Road, until they were on
a line with Kessler's, but from it hidden by the woods and the
garages. A walk of a quarter of a mile across lots and under cover
of the trees would bring them to within a hundred yards of the
house.
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