"All right," said Garrison. "Shake!"
He gave the astonished man a firm, friendly grip and bade him "So 'long!" at the door.
A few minutes later, dressed in his freshest apparel, he hastened out to gulp down a cup of strong coffee at an adjacent café, then headed downtown for the ferry.
CHAPTER XXII
A MAN IN THE CASE
The hour was just after four o'clock when Garrison stepped from a cab in Hackatack Street, Jersey City, and stood for a moment looking at the red-brick building numbered 937.
It was a shabby, smoke-soiled, neglected dwelling, with signs of life utterly lacking.
Made wary by his Central Park experience, Garrison had come there armed with his gun and suspiciously alert. His cabman was instructed to wait.
Without apparent hesitation Garrison ascended the chalk-marked steps and rang the bell.
Almost immediately the door was opened, by a small and rather pretty young woman, dressed in good taste, in the best of materials, and wearing a very fine diamond ring upon her finger.