“Croak is a good word,” said the man, and at the sound of his voice Elk stared. “You don’t think that old police car of yours is going to reach Wandsworth, do you?”
“Who are you?” asked Elk, peering forward.
“They want Litnov badly,” said the Frog. “They want to settle with him, and if the poor fish thinks it’s brotherly love that makes old man Frog go to all this trouble, he’s reserved a big jar for himself.”
“Broad! What . . . !”
The American licked his finger and wiped away the frog from his wrist.
“I’ll explain after, Mr. Elk, but take a friend’s advice and call up Wandsworth.”
Elk’s telephone was buzzing furiously when he reached his office.
It was Wandsworth station calling.
“Your police car was held up on the Common, two of your men were wounded, and the prisoner was shot dead,” was the report.
“Thank you!” said Elk bitterly.