He turned his steps toward Sixth Avenue, and stopped at the corner of Forty-fourth Street. A few minutes later, a cab pulled up beside the curb.
“Taxi?” asked Paget, speaking from beside the car.
“Busy,” replied the driver.
“Faithful,” said Paget, in a low voice.
“The Fifty,” replied the driver.
“Silence,” said Paget.
“The Seven,” came the response.
Paget placed his hands against his chest, one hand outspread, the other clenched to form a fist. The driver made the same sign.
It was the signal of recognition that identified the members of the Faithful Fifty, the men who served the Silent Seven. The driver opened the cab.
Paget instructed him to drive to the Merrimac Club. As the cab moved out between the pillars of the elevated, the driver’s hand appeared through the partition that separated the back seat from the front. An envelope dropped to the floor.