“What about it?” questioned the reporter. “Can you trace the man through the hospitals?”
“You know better than that, Jerry,” he said. “These gangsters have their own physicians. Don’t you remember the doctor they bumped off six months ago? He was a sawbones who was going to pull a double cross.
“This gangster that Prescott wounded is on his way to some crooked medico right now.”
Jerry Kirklyn eyed Claude Fellows curiously. He recognized that the chubby-faced man was not of gangdom’s realm. He was anxious for a statement, and he made a quick approach.
“You were with Prescott before he was killed?” he asked. “What do you know about him?”
“I know everything,” replied Fellows. “He told me all his story before I left him. We were going to the station in his car.
“I am willing to give the police a complete statement that will — “
“Not here,” objected Higgins. “Come along to headquarters. You can tell me about yourself on the way down.” He turned to the reporter. “You see me later, Barney.”
The assistant commissioner gripped the insurance broker’s arm. He turned and drew Fellows toward the curb.
There were a few hangers-on standing near by. One of them, a sallow-faced youth with a cigarette hanging from his lips, looked sharply at Fellows as he passed. The insurance broker entered the police car with the officers.