He glanced at the form of Harry Vincent as it lay limp in the corner. Then he looked at Wally and grinned — and his ugly smile spoke more clearly than words.
"Come on, Wally," he said. "Help me pick him up. We'll take him out like he was drunk. You've got your car near here?"
"Just down the street."
"We'll put him in it. Then I'll tell you what to do. You're going to learn something to-night, Wally. I've used the rod to put some fellows away, but I know better ways of doing it. Safer ways."
Steve Cronin laughed again as they braced the unconscious Harry Vincent between their shoulders. He was satisfied that this man who knew too much would soon be where he could never reveal his knowledge.
CHAPTER VII. DOOMED TO DIE
An old touring car was standing at the side of a dirt road. Its lights were extinguished, and the vehicle was totally obscured in the darkness. There were two men in the car. The one at the wheel was listening intently. The other, who was beside him, was motionless as though asleep.
A motor throbbed in the distance, and as the sound came closer, the man at the wheel of the touring car opened the door and stepped to the ground. He looked back along the road toward the red light of a railroad crossing. A pair of headlights appeared beyond, and a moving automobile came rapidly in view.
The second car came alongside the first and stopped in the center of the road. The motor was turned off.
The man beside the touring car was in the glare of the headlights. He stepped to the car which had just arrived and opened the door. It was a closed job.