This began to worry Harry. How long would it be before they began a search for his hiding place?
The proprietor must know of its existence. Would he suggest that they look behind the revolving panel?
These thoughts, and the constant throbbing of his wounded arm, made time pass slowly and feverishly for Harry Vincent.
The whole affair was unexplainable, with one exception. He knew that he had been tricked by Volovick.
The fellow had followed Stanley Berger openly; had called the address aloud to the cab driver — all so Harry would trail him to the Pink Rat.
Harry Vincent’s conjecture that the proprietor knew of the hiding place behind the wall was quite correct. The ruddy-faced little man had planned that secret compartment himself, and he did not know that any other person knew of its existence. Hence he had no idea that Harry was hiding there.
The attack started by Volovick had been done without the proprietor’s approval. He had not even seen the intended victim. He was satisfied because the police had gone.
New patrons began to enter the den. Harry could see them through the peephole. They were typical denizens of the underworld. One by one they strode in, gazing curiously about them, and making no comment.
They had heard of the fight. They were looking the place over. But they asked no questions.
The presence of these newcomers was not encouraging to Harry.