IT was early the following night when Ernie Shires appeared on a side street that led to Eighth Avenue. He walked along leisurely until he came to the blank wall of a large building. There he paused to light a cigarette.
He stood beside the building, scanning the street in both directions. The tiny end of the cigarette formed a meteoric streak as it shot across the sidewalk and fell in the gutter.
Satisfied that he was not observed, Ernie retraced his steps a few paces, ducked into an opening at the back of the building, and entered a small door. Prowling through the darkness, he came to another door and entered.
He pressed a switch. The light revealed a battered desk and several chairs. Ernie was in a back office of the New Era Garage!
There was an evil look on the gangster’s face as he sat at the desk, smoking another cigarette. He pushed a pile of papers on the floor, so that he could put his feet on the desk.
A newspaper attracted his attention. It was a copy of the Evening Sphere. Ernie began to read it.
Only the tightening and curling of his thin lips showed the various thoughts that passed through his mind. For the news story which Ernie was reading brought him both resentment and satisfaction.
The shooting at the Club Drury had caused a tremendous sensation. The management had done its best to suppress the news. The malefactors had escaped, and there was no direct clew to their identity.
It would have been easy to fix the police — the management had done it before — but the fact that three bullet-riddled bodies had been found on the premises put a serious aspect on the situation.
Ernie began to make a mental summary. There had been nine men in the gang — including himself — when the affray had commenced.