"Yes, sir."
The merchant got it and handed it over, together with the envelope. He had told the truth. The letter was typewritten on an ordinary piece of paper, and the envelope was of the sort anybody could purchase at a corner drug store. Farland put the letter in his pocket.
"Here between ten thirty and a quarter of eleven, was he?"
"Yes, sir," said the merchant.
"All right! You remember that, and don't change your mind again, if you know what is good for you. You'll hear from me in the morning. That's all!"
Jim Farland went from the store with a grinning Murk at his heels, leaving a badly frightened small merchant behind him.
"I know that bird," he told Murk. "He's a fence, or I miss my guess. It's no job at all to run a bluff on a small-time crook like that. And now we'll run down and see that barber."
They engaged another taxicab and made a trip. Once more Murk remained outside, and Jim Farland entered and beckoned the barber to him.
"Step outside the door where nobody will overhear," he said. "I want to ask you something."
The barber stepped outside, wondering what was coming. This man knew Jim Farland, too, and he knew that a call from him might mean trouble.