“Go around the block,” ordered Flash. “Now give me the dope. What did you tell that dick?”
“I told him — I told him — ” the man stammered.
“No stalling!” came Donegan’s command. “Spill it quick, or you’ll swallow lead!”
“I told him I’d found out where a guy named Middleton lives,” blabbed Miller.
“All right,” growled Flash, “that’s what I want to know. Speak quick! Write this, Cliff.”
Cliff Marsland quickly scrawled the address that the taximan gave. Flash continued his interrogation, but by the time the cab was completing the circuit of the block, it was evident that Dunc Miller’s supply of information was exhausted.
Flash leaned back from the front seat, his automatic still in readiness. He nudged Cliff Marsland.
“Give me that paper,” he whispered. “I’m getting out. You stay with this cab. Make him drive up an alley and give him the bump.
“Pick a spot over by the Club Yama” — Flash gave the location of an East Side night club — “and meet me in there. How long do you need?”
“How long do you want me to take?”