Fellows nodded. He picked up his bag and left the penthouse. When he reached the street, the insurance broker saw Prescott’s limousine standing in front of the building. The chauffeur was in the front seat.
Prescott had sent the car to bring Fellows to his home; hence the observant insurance broker recognized the car immediately.
Fellows opened the back door and entered. He closed the door and peered through the window, up and down the street. He saw no one. Then, to his surprise, the car began to move.
It started suddenly and Fellows lurched back into the seat. His outstretched hand struck a human form. There, beside him, was a man, trussed with rope and gagged.
THE car stopped around the corner, just as Fellows turned on the light in the rear. So intent was the insurance broker that he did not realize the car was no longer in motion.
For the light had revealed the features of the bound man, and Fellows looked upon Louie, Prescott’s chauffeur!
“What’s the big idea?”
The voice came from the front seat. Fellows looked into the face of the man who had taken the chauffeur’s place. The speaker had the ugly countenance of a professional thug.
“How did you get in here?” he demanded, still glaring angrily at Fellows.
Before the insurance broker could reply, he was startled by a volley of revolver shots.