“Get rid of him as quick ’s you can,” Iff continued, “and join me here at the Park Avenue. I dodged down the fire-escape and caught his motor-car; his chauffeur thinks I’m him. I’ll wait in the street—Thirty-third Street side, with the car. Now talk.”
“All right,” said Staff heartily; “glad to. I’ll be there.”
“Chauffeur knows where Nelly is, I think; but he’s too big for me to handle alone, in case my foot slips and he gets suspicious. That’s why I need you. Bring your gun.”
“Right,” Staff agreed promptly. “The club in half an hour. Yes, I’ll come. Good-bye.”
He turned back toward Ismay and Alison, his doubts resolved, all his vague misgivings as to this case of double identity settled finally and forever.
“Alison,” he said, breaking in roughly upon something Ismay was saying to the girl, “you’ve a cab waiting outside, haven’t you?”
Alison stared in surprise. “Yes,” she said in a tone of wonder.
Staff paused beside the divan, one hand resting upon the topmost of a little heap of silken cushions. “Mind if I borrow it?” he asked, ignoring the man.
“No, but—”
“It’s business—important,” said Staff. “I’ll have to leave you here at once. Only”—he watched Ismay closely out of the corners of his eyes—“if I were you I wouldn’t waste any more time on this fellow. He’s bluffing—can’t carry out anything he promises.”