“And there’s an idea I’ve got!” continued Durgan. “One thing right in the back of my noodle! That bird’s been working through my moll!
“She’s spilled some dope on the racket. So it’s up to you to tag her, Mike. I’ve got dough. You know that. You get the same as you’ve been getting. I’m going to let her run — and you’re going to follow. Get me?”
“I get you.”
Durgan waved toward the door. Mike Wharton departed, satisfied with his new mission. Durgan remained alone.
An expression of ferocity came over his evil face. He looked cautiously around the room. Then he went to a corner and unlocked a small door in the wall. He brought out a telephone.
It was a private line which had been installed long before. No one — not even Madge — knew of its existence.
The racketeer called a number. Then he talked in a low voice, explaining the situation which had arisen.
“I’ve got to lay low,” he concluded. “It means the whole racket is jammed. The moll may have something to do with it. Mike Wharton is going to trail her.
“But there’s one guy in back of it. You know who he is. The Sha—”
DURGAN stopped suddenly, responding to a warning voice over the wire. He listened while the man spoke from the other end. Then he replied.