Dead Men Live

The glaring headlight of the big locomotive came to a slow stop as the West Shore Express pulled into the Weehawken Terminal. A station attendant pulled open the exit gate. Dim figures of alighting passengers appeared upon the platform and became an advancing throng. The attendant idly watched the approaching group.
Two men were standing a short distance from the gate. Away from the glimmer of the locomotive headlight, they were obscure and unnoticed. Like the attendant, they were watching the people coming down the platform.
He'll be here in half a minute, Jake, said one in an undertone. We've got to spot him the second he shows up. Right on the ferry with him.
I got you, Biff, was Jake's reply.
The two men waited. Although they were tense, neither one appeared excited. This was not surprising. Watching for a passenger coming from a train was no great task for Biff Towley and his fellow watcher, Jake Bosch. For Biff Towley was one of the craftiest mobsmen in all New York, and his companion was his counterpart.
A tall, youthful man came through the gate with the last of the passengers leaving the Express. Biff Towley nudged his companion.
Both men seemed to be disinterested bystanders as the tall passenger glanced nervously in their direction. But as the young man continued toward the ferry, the two self-effacing gangsters swung along behind him.
It's Louis Steffan, all right, whispered Biff Towley. Separate when we reach the boat. You stay ahead of him. I'll be in back.
Jake Bosch grunted his agreement.
In the ferryboat, Louis Steffan continued through to the front deck. There, he leaned against the rail and stared across the light-studded waters of the Hudson.
He fumbled in his pocket and drew forth a cigarette. He lighted it with trembling hand.
As he raised the match toward his face, Steffan did not notice another man who leaned upon the rail close beside him. It was Jake Bosch.