Higgins stopped and clutched the insurance broker’s arm. Something in the statement impressed him.
“Wait until we’re inside,” he ordered. “I want Weaver to be in on this. I think you’ve got the dope. Remember now, play square. If you do — “
The assistant commissioner turned suddenly. A large touring car was coasting silently toward the curb.
In an instant, Higgins realized the menace.
“Duck!” he shouted, as he released his hold on the arm of his companion. “Duck for cover!”
BEFORE Fellows could respond, the staccato rattle of a machine gun drowned the commissioner’s words.
Claude Fellows was the living target of the steel-jacketed bullets. Standing alone on the sidewalk, he went down beneath the metal avalanche.
A gasp escaped his lips as he fell. It was the last sound he uttered in this life.
The motor of the touring car purred as the automobile swept away. In a few moments it was traveling at reckless speed, disappearing around the corner before any could identify it.
Higgins had escaped the attack. He rose from the spot beside the steps where he had flung himself.