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.
The gangster threw a sidelong glance toward Steffan. He could see the pallor of the young man's face; the twitching of his lips, the blinking of his eyelids. Then the match dropped over the rail and Steffan's face became a white blur in the darkness as the ferry slid from its slip.
Jake Bosch drew back as Louis Steffan nervously threw the cigarette into the river and started toward the front gate of the ferry. As Steffan paused there, Jake turned and sauntered idly into the cabin where he stood within the door. Biff Towley was seated close at hand. No one else was near.
"He looks nervous, Biff," said Jake, in a low tone.
"He ought to," came the reply, with an easy, ugly laugh. "Keep ahead of him on the other side. I'm sticking close with him. Remember one of us has got to point him out!" Jake nodded and went back on deck.
The water was churning as the ferry approached the slip on the New York side. The myriad lights of Manhattan were blotted as the boat came close to the roof of the ferryhouse.
When the gate was opened, Louis Steffan was one of the first to leave. He saw nothing suspicious in the form of Jake Bosch, walking swiftly ahead. Nor did he notice the idling shape of Biff Towley, who was strolling on behind him.
Louis Steffan stopped at a row of phone booths. He fumbled nervously through the pages of the Manhattan directory. Biff Towley, a few feet away, smiled grimly. He stepped into one of the telephone booths and held a nickel poised above the slot.