“Akers!” he called.
Akers stopped, but he did not turn.
“I've got a car here. If you mean what you say, and it's straight, I'll take you.”
“Where's the car?”
On their way to it, threading in and out among the toiling crowd, Willy Cameron had a chance to observe the change in the other man, his drooping shoulders and the almost lassitude of his walk. He went ahead, charging the mass and going through it by sheer bulk and weight, his hands in his coat pockets, his soft hat pulled low over his face. Neither of them noticed that one of the former clerks of the Myers Housecleaning Company followed close behind, or that, holding to a tire, he rode on the rear of the Cardew automobile as it made its way into the center of the city.
In the car Akers spoke only once.
“Where is Howard Cardew?” he asked.
“With the Mayor, probably. I left him there.”
It seemed to him that Akers found the answer satisfactory. He sat back in the deep seat, and lighted a cigarette.
The Municipal Building was under guard. Willy Cameron went up the steps and spoke to the sentry there. It was while his back was turned that the sharp crack of a revolver rang out, and he whirled, in time to see Louis Akers fall forward on his face and lie still.