“Not here, Lance,” warned Marty. “Flash is takin’ care of it. He’s goin’ to meet us back of Howley’s.”
“He didn’t say nothin’ about it before,” said Lance dubiously. “I don’t see why—”
“This guy ain’t no ordinary bird,” responded Marty. “He’s got somethin’ in mind — or he wouldn’t have come in right after the others. You know the lay, Lance. After anybody comes along with the sign, we gotta watch close.”
“Maybe you’d better call Flash again and—”
“Not on your life! He was sore because I talked as much as I did. He started the gab, though. Go on — open the door!”
A minute later, the touring car rolled out through a door that led to the street. Marty Jennings swung the machine westward. Lance Bolero was staring into the back seat to make sure their captive was still well bound and gagged.
“I’m for bumpin’ him quick,” he growled. “That’s what Flash said to do. Knock him off in back of Hawley’s an’ then travel. There won’t be no mistake if we do. I can make a guy squawk; but sometimes it ain’t easy to—”
“That would be a fine idea, wouldn’t it?” ridiculed Marty. “Suppose Flash should come along afterward—”
“Flash oughta be there as soon as us. He’s got his bus ready. It won’t take him much time—”
“He might be delayed.”