THE SHOTS FROM THE TOWER
SEAVIEW PIER was a mighty, man-made promontory that thrust its long projecting line a thousand feet to sea. The huge dance hall, fronting on the board walk, was flanked by broad decks. Then, after a stretch of open space, came the motion-picture palace. Beyond that lay the exposition building.
This structure filled an enlarged square space some six hundred feet from the shore. It, too, was surrounded by decks. Then the pier narrowed to a long, straight stretch of foam-swept walk. At last, it spread again to form the last outpost — the square upon which the closed submarine observation building was located.
One odd feature gave the pier a most unusual appearance. That was the eighty-foot tower that spanned the center of the open stretch between the last two buildings. This structure, a miniature of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, had been erected for the big pageant that was to close the present season. It was studded with lights, ready for its first illumination.
It was beneath this tower, in the midst of the blackness of night, that Wheels Bryant was now passing. He had made his escape. Only a hundred feet lay between him and his goal — the dark building at the end of the pier.
The big shot knew that he was hard pressed. He had hurried here from the cellar of the Club Catalina; but it had been a difficult trip through the sand beneath the board walk. With the cry out for Rufus Cruikshank, he had not risked showing himself; but had gained the level of the pier through a special ladder underneath the dance hall.
Now, glancing back toward the board walk, Wheels could see tiny men running toward the pier. He laughed. Let them come! He would be ready.
Nearing the end of the pier, Wheels uttered a short, shrill whistle. A response came from the darkness. Wheels Bryant spoke. Shifter Reeves answered.
“That you, Wheels?”
“Yes.”