There was a click. The voice of the operator came over the wire, asking for the number. Cliff gave it impatiently. He was informed that the line was busy. He hung up the receiver and called again. A busy signal followed. It was one of those troublesome and unexpected interruptions.
“GO immediately.” That had been the order. Cliff knew Cassidy’s store. He had been exploring through the underworld at various times, and had learned much from Madge. Cassidy had a back room, where no one was disturbed — if Cassidy knew them.
The place had fallen into disuse due to police observations; but now it was coming back into its own. There was a phone in Cassidy’s back room. In an emergency, Cliff could call from there. It would be wise to get on the job.
He returned to Madge. He told the girl he was going on his way. He left the restaurant. She was to depart later.
Cliff was still wondering about his mission when he reached the street. He failed to glance behind him. He did not see the man lurking by the steps. Cliff entered a cab and gave the destination.
He lighted a cigarette and rode along in silence. He did not glance behind. When he reached Cassidy’s, he walked directly through the store and entered the back room. No one else was there.
Cliff sat down in front of the telephone, pondering whether to call his number. He fancied that he heard the door open. He turned, expecting to encounter a person whom he was to meet.
He found himself staring into the muzzle of a huge automatic. It was held by a short, stolid-faced man.
“So you’re the guy, eh?” came the man’s low words. “Put up your mitts” — Cliff obeyed — “and don’t get funny, or you’ll get a load from this smoke wagon.
“Maybe you’d like to know who I am? I’m Mike Wharton. I’m working for Killer Durgan — the guy whose moll you’ve tried to swipe!”