“It’s the Silent Terror!” he exclaimed as he dropped the receiver. “He’s struck again. In broad day-light, not five blocks from here.” He reached for his coat.
“May I go with you?” Jimmie’s voice rose.
“Yes—yes, certainly.”
“And may I take this?” Jimmie asked.
“Yes, sure.” Tom did not even look.
Jimmie dropped a small clothes brush into his pocket.
A moment more and they were on their way. At the outer door Jimmie seized a newspaper and threw a nickel at the boy as he ran.
They arrived at the subway quite out of breath. A row of blue-coats kept the crowd back, but Tom Howe and Jimmie passed at once. The subway had been cleared. Three policemen stood over a small, gray-haired man who apparently was struggling to regain consciousness.
“The—the pay—pay—roll,” he murmured thickly. “Is—is it gone?”
“That’s all right,” one of the officers reassured him. “Tell us what happened.”