Klanner was panting from his exertions.
“My God—what’s it mean!” he gasped. “I—I thought I saw a revolver in that man’s hand, the fellow next to me, just as the lights went out.”
“You probably did,” said Jimmie Dale grimly.
“Well——what’s it mean?” repeated Klanner heavily.
It was a moment before Jimmie Dale answered. For the man’s own sake, the less that Klanner knew the better, probably—and yet the man must be kept out of harm’s way for the rest of the night. Having failed at Baldy Jack’s, it was certain, since Clarke’s whole plan hinged on Klanner’s death, that they would try again. After to-night—if all went well—it did not matter, for Klanner then would be no longer a factor to Clarke or Hunchback Joe!
“It means,” said Jimmie Dale gravely, “that there’s been some sort of a gangster’s fight pulled off, and that probably there’s been dirty work—murder—in there. The police will go the limit to round up everybody they can find who was in Baldy Jack’s. There’s only one thing to do—keep your mouth shut and lie low to-night. You can’t take any chances of getting into this—you look like a man who’s got a decent job he doesn’t want to lose, and you don’t look like a man who is entitled to be saddled with a reputation for hanging around that sort of place. Do you live near here?”
“Yes,” said Klanner, a little dully.
“Well then,” said Jimmie Dale quietly, “get out of this neighbourhood for the night. Don’t risk recognition while the chase is hot. Go uptown somewhere to any hotel you like, and stay there in your room. You can go to work just as well from there in the morning. Got any money?”
“Yes,” said Klanner slowly. “Yes, I got some money—and I guess you’re right. Say, who are you anyway? You seem to have a line on this sort of thing, and I guess I owe you a whole skin. If you hadn’t—”
“I’m a man in a hurry,” said Jimmie Dale whimsically—and then the grim note crept back into his voice. “I am giving you a straight tip. Take it—and take that street car that’s coming along there.” He held out his hand.