"Any idea where the message came from?" Prale asked.
"It came from a public pay station in the subway. I had the call traced immediately, of course. No chance of finding out who sent it, naturally. I doubt whether I'd recognize the voice if I heard it again—could tell by the way the fellow talked that he was trying to disguise his tones. I told him to go to blazes, and he informed me that I was up against something too big for a man to face, or something like that."
"Jim, if there is any danger, I don't want you to work for me," Sidney Prale said. "You're married and a father and——"
"And that will be about all from you, Sid!" Farland interrupted. "Think I'm going to let some man who doesn't tell me his name throw a scare into me?"
"But, if there is danger——"
"I thrive on danger," said Jim Farland. "Think I'm going to desert you at this stage of the game? That is what they want, of course. If I did, you'd probably hire another detective, and it might be one of their own men—whoever they are. I'm in this game to stay, Sid, first because you are an old friend of mine and I think you are being made the victim of some sort of a dirty deal, and also because I'm not the kind of man to be bluffed out of a job. We are going right ahead. I got a note at the office, too."
"A note!" Prale gasped.
"Typewritten, but not on George Lerton's battered typewriter this time. It remarked that unless I gave up this case, somebody would make things hard for me, or words to that effect. Old stuff! If they are so scared that they send threatening letters, they're whipped right now—and they know it!"
"I had an interesting experience this afternoon," said Prale.
"The fight?"