Whitey Shane extinguished his flashlight and reached in the car to release the emergency brake. Jake Michener pushed him to one side.
"I told you there wasn't goin' to be no comeback on this job," he said. "It would look fine, wouldn't it, if somebody fished up this buggy and found a guy trussed up!"
"It would be just as bad if they found him pumped full of lead," retorted Whitey. "There's no use plugging' him if he's goin' down with the car."
"Who said anythin' about usin' a gat?" questioned Jake, in the darkness. "What do you think I brought along that bottle for? An' those rags? Wait here till I get em'."
Jake Michener went to the touring car and returned quietly. He instructed Whitey Shane to turn on the flashlight.
In expert fashion, Jake applied a saturated rag to Harry Vincent's nostrils. Harry's head toppled back against the seat.
A knife gleamed in Jake's hand. He cut the bonds that held the victim, and severed the gag that had prevented him from raising an outcry.
"All set," he declared. "Now we're ready to let go. We frisked this bozo back at the Green Mill. I left a little money on him, and the licenses for the car are in his pocket."
"That dope I just gave him will hold 'im. Maybe he'll wake up at the bottom of the quarry.
Maybe. Maybe not."