Now he felt assured that tonight would be his opportunity to elude the threats that hung above him.
PRESCOTT pushed a button on the wall. A Japanese servant entered. Prescott was about to speak to him when a sound came from the street. It was the loud back-fire of a motor.
Prescott leaped to his feet and was halfway across the room before he could restrain himself. He regained his composure with effort. Traces of alarm still remained upon his face. He had mistaken the noise for a revolver shot.
“Togo,” he said to the servant, “Mr. Fellows is leaving in ten minutes I shall drive to the station with him. Tell Louie to have the car ready immediately.”
The servant left to telephone the garage. Prescott looked at his watch. He lighted a panatella and puffed nervously, then threw the cigar away.
“I’m trusting you, Fellows,” he blurted suddenly. “I know your proposition is on the level. If these rats wanted to put me out of the way, they wouldn’t use any complicated plan to do it.
“I thought, for a few minutes, that your proposition was phony; but that would be ridiculous. I’m out of the racket now. I’m going to play straight. I don’t know who your boss is; but you have plenty of confidence in him. I’m glad I was on the level with you.”
He glanced at his watch.
“Louie ought to be here by now,” he said. “You go downstairs first, with your bag. Get in the car. If you see any one prowling around, come back as though you forgot something.
“If I don’t hear from you, I’ll come along in a few minutes. Leave the door of the car half open.”