"I feel the same way," agreed the gangster.
"You've known Baird longer," said Tremont thoughtfully. "He's older and, from what you say, he's safer. This fellow Marsland sounds like a good one — but I choose Baird in preference. Try him.
"If he wants the job, give it to him. If he doesn't, then take Marsland. I'm leaving it to your judgment, Biff. I want the man to go to Glendale tomorrow."
Biff Towley nodded.
"You know all about it, Biff," declared Tremont. "Tell your man the old story. Orlinov has enemies. Needs an intelligent companion. Has the place under guard. All the rest of it. Beyond that, keep mum as usual." The gangster grinned. Well did he know the game that Glade Tremont was playing. He had helped that game, and it had proven profitable.
Tremont was a square shooter in Biff's estimation. At the same time the swarthy gangster knew well that he was totally within the lawyer's power. A snap of Tremont's fingers, and the police would have enough evidence to send Biff to the electric chair.
Yet the gang leader was not ill at ease. He knew that the threat which hung over him would never be used so long as he played square with Glade Tremont.
Biff had never entertained the notion of double-crossing his chief. Hence he dwelt in security, and had proven himself an important adjunct to the lawyer's schemes.
"That's all, Biff," said Tremont. "I choose Baird — if you can get him. Otherwise Marsland. Orlinov knows all about it. Fix it tonight."
Biff Towley left the office. He strolled along Broadway and dropped into a theater. Biff liked crime thrillers. They gave him a laugh — these murder pictures — when he compared them with the reality. It was nearly six o'clock when he went into the theater. That meant that he would reach the Club Savilla after nine.