Two men stood across the street from the Merrimac Club. They were holding a low conversation. Their faces were turned toward the building by which they stood, yet they seemed keenly observant of all who passed them.
“Ten o’clock, Harry,” said one of the men.
The other nodded.
“We may have to wait until midnight, Clyde,” he replied. “He stays late, sometimes.”
“Yes,” confirmed Clyde, “and then he usually goes home. Still, I’m glad we’re on the job again.”
“Why?”
“Because The Sha—” Clyde Burke caught his words—”because we went off duty the night after we lost Paget in the restaurant. I’m glad to be on again. We’re not going to slip this time.”
Harry Vincent suddenly gripped his companion’s arm.
“There he is, Clyde,” he whispered. “But stay back! Remember the orders—”
Rodney Paget had appeared outside the entrance of the Merrimac Club. He stood there, staring up the street in his bored manner.