“No,” replied Brodie.
“Who was he?”
“I don’t know.”
Steve Cronin offered no explanation. He knew who the man was.
Once before he had met The Shadow. That had been the only time in his life that he had known fear — before tonight. Now he was trembling in spite of himself, for once again he had been conquered by the mighty enemy of gangsters.
Brodie propped McGinnis against the back seat of the touring car, and motioned to Cronin to take care of him. Then he resumed his place at the wheel, and drove away, giving instructions and suggestions.
“You bungled this job,” he growled. “but there’s no use arguing about it now. The big shot will have plenty to say to-morrow.
“I’m going to drop you off, Cronin, just as I was told to do. I’ll take care of McGinnis. A couple of mugs; that’s all you are.”
“What about yourself?” asked Cronin sarcastically.
“What about me?” growled the chauffeur. “I was looking after the work up here. It was your job in back. Why did you let that guy in?”