“How about Frankie Gull’s?”
“O.K. Listen, Cliff, I’ll see you there to-morrow. Drop in around six o’clock. I’m not saying that there’ll be anything doing — not for a while, anyway — but we can talk then. I’ve got to see — to see another guy, you know. Maybe Pete told you that.”
Marsland nodded. “Yes. That’s what he said. Pete’s a great guy. When he left you, he slid out of the racket. Running a garage up in Buffalo, now.”
THIS information impressed Dip. He had not heard from Pete for some time. He did not know that the man’s whereabouts were well known to some of his old pals in New York, and that Cliff Marsland had obtained the information through The Shadow.
“To-morrow night, then,” declared Dip.
“O.K. Have another drink before you go,” Cliff urged.
Dip stepped up to the bar to accept Cliff’s invitation. The man from Chicago paid for the drinks, and Dip gulped his liquor. Cliff set his full glass down as the bartender gave him some money in return.
“How about this?” demanded Cliff. “trying to short-change me, eh?”
The bartender thrust out his jaw in defiance.
“What’re you tryin’ to pull?” he demanded. “I ain’t no sap!”