“I am sorry”—were the words—”very sorry to inform you that Mr. Crowthers died seven minutes ago.”
CHAPTER IX. THE SHADOW’S AGENTS
As Clyde Burke rode downtown on the subway, his mind was occupied with the unusual events that had surrounded him since the first visit of George Clarendon to the office on Forty-eighth Street.
There had been Burke’s interview with Doctor Palermo; following that, the stirring incidents in the taxicab. The very next afternoon, Burke had received the first message from his mysterious employer, and it had caused the former reporter to make important changes in his usual routine of life.
He had been instructed to close the clipping office, and to find new lodgings. He had been warned to tell no one of his plans.
In accordance with these instructions, Burke had moved to a rooming house more than a mile from his former lodging. He had taken a new office in the downtown section of Manhattan, and no name appeared upon the door.
He was on his way there now, confident that he had followed the orders correctly.
Burke had sent in a full report of the doings at Palermo’s. His memory had been singularly clear the next morning, and he had left his detailed description at the Jonas office before noon. Thus Clarendon was fully conversant with the situation.
Burke had escaped death once, and a gunman had died. That fact presaged new attacks.
It was a warm day, Burke noted, as he trudged from the subway station toward his new office. He had chosen an old, obscure building, and his office was an inside room. It seemed stifling when he entered.