The man in the dark-brown coat smiled a little; he whispered:
“Let’s walk back and look at the lights.”
The train began to move, slowly.
The other man’s empty eyes were on one of the big pockets of the brown coat where something besides the big man’s hand bulged the material. He did not move, seemed incapable of moving.
The man in the brown coat repeated: “Let’s walk back...” Then he crossed swiftly and grabbed the other’s coat-collar with his free hand and jerked him to his feet, shoved him to the door and out into the narrow corridor; they went towards the rear of the train.
They went through four cars, most of them with the berths made up and curtains drawn, encountered only a heavily breathing drunk in pajamas who had mislaid something, and two sleepy porters. The last car was partly compartments, partly observation car. As they entered it, a red-haired brakeman passed them without looking at them and went forward. They went to the observation rear end and the man in the green hat said: “This is far enough, Lew, if you want to talk.”
The man in the brown coat smiled. His right hand moved the coat pocket suggestively. He nodded his head sidewise, erupted, “Out on the platform, Gino. Then no one will hear us.”
Gino took one glance at the bulged coat pocket, and opened the door to the observation platform.
The train was just coming out of the tunnel to the elevated tracks and the rosy glow of midtown Manhattan was reflected by the gray wind-driven clouds. The wind slashed like an icy knife and green-hat mechanically turned up his collar, shivered violently.
Following him, the man in the brown coat pulled the door shade down — both window shades were drawn — and closed the door tightly. He jerked his hand from his pocket. There was a momentary flash of something bright and glittering as he swung his hand up and down in a short arch against the other’s skull. The hat went whirling away into the wind and darkness and the man sank to his knees, toppled forward to crush his face against the floor.