He reached a cab stand. There, he glanced behind him. Satisfied, he entered a taxi and ordered the driver to take him to the Cobalt Club.
But with all his alertness, Bob did not observe the shadowy form that had flitted along the street behind him. He had not seen it in the obscurity of the side street; it had been invisible to his eyes even in the brighter light of the avenue.
Nor did he pause when he reached the door of the Cobalt Club. He entered that imposing edifice with an air of self-assurance.
His confidence might have disappeared had he noticed another cab rolling by as he alighted from his own.
It was several minutes after Bob had entered the club before another man walked through the portals. Like Bob, this visitor was faultlessly attired. His face was solemn and impassive. The doorman bowed.
“Good evening, Mr. Clarendon,” he said.
CHAPTER XII
AT THE COBALT CLUB
THREE men were finishing dinner in a quiet corner of the grillroom at the Cobalt Club. Except for them, the room was virtually deserted.
They formed an unusual trio. Until now, their conversation had been rather trivial. But when the solemn-faced waiter had cleared the table, it was evident that the three men were prepared to take up a discussion of matters of grave importance.