Harry had departed, and had arrived near the old Galvin mansion before Briggs had returned. He had seen Briggs go in; but the false Bob Galvin had not come out.
So Harry had not been to the Astorbilt at all. He had phoned to a special number, and had heard Burbank answer. He had been told that the Astorbilt would be informed that Mr. Vincent would not be there if any one inquired. Burbank, Harry knew, had attended to that.
So Harry had waited, in the darkness of a parked coupe on the other side of the narrow street, ready to follow the false Bob Galvin, should the man appear.
Harry lingered hesitatingly on the front steps; then he bade Briggs good night and started to the street. The big man watched him. He stepped out from the shelter of the front door in order to keep Harry in view for a few seconds longer.
So intent was Briggs that he did not notice a vague shadowy form that crept upward beside him. Like an apparition, it slipped through the open front door. Briggs turned and reentered the house.
As the door closed behind him, Briggs felt himself seized in an overpowering grasp. His assailant worked quickly and with telling effect. A strong forearm pressed so firmly against the big man’s throat that not even a gurgle came from his lips.
Briggs crumpled upon the floor. In a few seconds, he was gagged and securely bound. A hand from the darkness reopened the front door. There was a low, indistinguishable hiss.
Two men came from a car across the street, one leaning unsteadily upon the other. They entered the darkened hallway and moved quietly across the room into gloomy light. Their faces were revealed.
One was Harry Vincent, grim and purposeful. The other was the real Bob Galvin, pale and tired-looking.
Again that hiss — a soft sibilant sound. Harry stopped beside a large comfortable chair. He placed Bob Galvin in it.