“Do you know anything about the Gray Taxi Company?”
“The one with the ex-convict drivers?”
Chester Fay nodded.
“No. I heard the bunch talking about it. Why did you ask?”
Fay rose from his chair and threw back his shoulders. “Your boss is supposed to own it,” he said. “Ponsardin is the owner! I’ve got a case that’s far from being clear, Foley. I’ll give you first chance when I’ve worked it out for Mr. Mott. Good-by!”
Rake led the way out and down the steps to the street.
“Where to, Chester?” he asked as they stood on the sidewalk.
“Nearest telephone!” said Fay, thrusting his hands in his pockets in search for some change.
Rake waited outside of the cigar-store while Fay entered a booth. Night was dropping on the city. The sun had set over the blue barriers of the Palisades. The lights of Broadway slashed the purple heavens from south to north. Forty-second Street with its sign-clusters marked the center of the illumination.