“I am going with you tonight, because I would like to talk to Henri Zayata. He was Robert’s friend. From him, I may learn the answers to those problems that puzzle me.”
Larkin nodded in understanding.
“It is not wise to remain here, Miss Margaret,” he said softly. “Let us start.”
The pair went out into the damp night. The gloom of the street made Margaret Glendenning shudder. She and Larkin walked toward the corner through the thickening fog.
Once, Margaret looked across the street and thought she saw a man sidling through the mist. She dismissed it as a phantom of her imagination.
At the lighted avenue, Larkin threw a cautious glance back along the way which they had come. He helped the girl into a cab, and gave a low order to the driver, who nodded and muttered a low reply. Margaret did not catch a word that was exchanged.
As the cab drove away, a young man materialized out of the mist and hailed another taxi. He clambered into it quickly and spoke decisively to the driver.
“Follow that cab!” he ordered.
The driver glanced back suspiciously.
A ten-dollar bill was thrust into his hand. Without further ado, the driver shot away in hasty pursuit.