"Try and make me," chuckled Pinkey Baird.
"I have no quarrel with you," said the stranger quietly. "But I can make one if you desire it. The easy course is for you to leave — now. I feel that a trip South would be good for your health.
"This envelope" — a long hand appeared with a sealed package — "contains a ticket and reservation on the Florida Flyer that leaves at 9:15. Take it."
With a contemptuous gesture, Pinkey Baird flung the envelope back to the man who had given it to him. He leaned back in his chair, and grinned as he looked toward the dance floor of the club. Then the smile froze on his lips.
Without a word, the stranger had nudged close to his chair, and now the threatening muzzle of an automatic was tickling Pinkey's ribs. The confidence man turned pale.
"Move along," came the low voice.
Pinkey stared into a pair of menacing eyes. He realized that he had met a man who meant business. Shakily, he arose from the table and started toward the door of the Club Savilla. The hawk-faced man rose with him. Side by side, they kept pace. Cliff Marsland stared in surprise as the men passed his table. He did not see the hidden automatic.
"You are going to Florida," whispered the voice in Pinkey's ear. "You are going to stay there — for one month. Longer, if you wish. Here is your ticket."
Pinkey felt the envelope as it entered his pocket. Gradually, he was yielding to the dominance of this man who had so suddenly appeared to command him.
They reached the street in front of the Club Savilla. There, the stranger beckoned to a taxicab. He urged Pinkey into the car. He followed.