It happened to be a pet day with shoppers. Traffic officers worked furiously to keep the crossings free of vehicles; uniformed footmen opened limousine doors and helped well-dressed women across the walks and into shops. Conversations seemed limited to dry goods and bargains.
Verbeck had not remembered how the corner would be thronged when he gave the Black Star’s man his orders. The corner now was a jam of human beings. Verbeck crossed the street and stood beside a stone pillar in front of a show window, from where he could watch easily.
The hour of two arrived, and Verbeck scrutinized every man who passed the corner. Five minutes passed, and no one had given him the signal. And then he saw Howard Wendell, the brother of his fiancée, walking slowly down the street close to the curbing.
Verbeck drew back quickly behind the pillar. If Howard Wendell saw him, he undoubtedly would stop to talk, and Verbeck did not want to hold a conversation just then.
Wendell passed without seeing him. He stopped for an instant on the corner; he removed his hat, and he ran one hand around the brim of it as if brushing away dust.
Verbeck’s jaw dropped and his eyes bulged with amazement. The next instant he was chuckling at the coincidence of it. There was no possibility of Howard Wendell being a member of the Black Star’s band, of course. The boy accidentally had done what Verbeck had ordered the crook to do, that was all, and when he came to think of it Verbeck realized it was a natural thing for any man to do, and wished he had told the crook to use some other sign.
Howard Wendell walked on up the street, and Verbeck continued his watch. The minutes slipped by, and no other man gave the sign. A doubt entered Verbeck’s mind. That boast he had made at the reception—Howard Wendell had heard that, and the Black Star had known of it soon afterward. And Howard had given the correct sign.
“Bosh! Can’t be!” Verbeck muttered to himself. “I’m a fool to think it for a minute. Why on earth would Howard be mixed up with a gang of crooks? Even if he wanted to be, how could he get into a first-order gang like that of the Black Star? They’d not have him! I’m crazy to think of it!”
He looked at his watch; it was a quarter of three. He decided to go to the hotel where the unknown crook was to hold conversation with Miss Freda Brakeland. Perhaps he could decide the matter there, learn the crook’s identity.
The lobby of the hotel was thronged when Verbeck entered. He met men and women he knew, but managed to keep free from lingering conversation. He wanted to be at liberty to make a complete investigation.