“Listen, Marty.” Lance was insistent. “Maybe you got mixed up on this. You should ‘a’ let me talk to Flash, too. You know what he told us. Get any guy out quick—”
“Yeah, but he told me to tip him off tonight, if we nabbed anybody. We did. That’s what he says: wait.
“But suppose we fix it this way, Lance: I’m takin’ my time gettin’ to Howley’s. If Flash ain’t there, we’ll know he ain’t comin’. Give him a few minutes — then the works for this gazebo!”
“Now you’re talkin’, Marty!” agreed Lance, pleased at the compromise.
The touring car rolled on in silence. At one spot, it passed close by a traffic officer, who gave it no attention. Finally, the automobile turned into a small side street, and Marty, after an alert glance in both directions, piloted it into a narrow alley.
The place widened out after twenty yards. It was an open space in back of a deserted building — the old garage which had been abandoned. The structure was awaiting the wreckers.
“A good spot,” commented Lance. “We were comin’ here, anyway. Just as well that Flash liked it. But I don’t see him around.”
“Lay low,” replied Marty, as he parked the car at the side of the open space. The lights were out, and the automobile was practically invisible. “Wait a couple of minutes, Lance.”
Silence reigned while Marty Jennings stared straight ahead. Lance reached back into the rear of the car and prodded Harry Vincent to make sure the captive was still under control.
“I’m takin’ a look,” whispered Marty.