At that instant the policeman signaled the uptown traffic to move on.
CHAPTER XI
ONE O'CLOCK
Devar had the nimble wits of a fox, and the blood which raced in his veins was volatile as quicksilver. The same glance which showed him the gray automobile stealing softly across the network of car-lines of one of the city's main thoroughfares revealed a roundsman crossing the square.
"Friend Anatole may be heeled," he said. "Let's get help."
Leaning out, he shouted to Arthur, whose other name was Brodie:
"Pull in alongside the cop. I want to speak to him."
The chauffeur obeyed, and the policeman turned a questioning eye on the car, thinking some idiot meant to run him down. Devar had the door open in a second.
"Have you heard of the murder in 27th Street, outside the Central Hotel?" he said, almost bewildering the man by his eager directness.