“Hello, Reds,” called the bartender. “Come here a minute.”
Reds Mackin approached the bar, and the attendant gave him a letter. Mackin studied the envelope for an instant. Then he opened it.
The message gave an address, and the time of ten o’clock. Under it were scrawled the words:
“Be there sure.”
The red-headed man thrust the letter in his pocket. It was not yet nine o’clock. He sat at a table, and ordered a drink.
Gangsters were few in the Black Ship that evening. Two or three entered and left during the half hour that Reds Mackin remained there.
Mackin looked at the letter again. A new arrival, a middle-sized man, with a heavy cap, cast a sidelong glance at him; but Reds did not apparently notice it.
When Reds finally arose and strolled out of the Black Ship, the hoodlum followed a few minutes later.
Reds Mackin was leisurely in his gait. He went toward his destination in a roundabout way. It was nearly ten o’clock when he turned from a busy street, and entered the quiet of a side thoroughfare.
A large touring car, which had been standing by the curb, suddenly came to action. It went ahead a square, and turned a corner; then another. It should have arrived at the crossing of two narrow streets almost simultaneously with Reds Mackin.