Wharton was to give them a start of half an hour. That he might
know they were on watch, they agreed, after they dismissed the
taxi-cabs, to send one of them into the Boston Post Road past the
road-house. 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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