“Right away?”
“Yes.”
“Where to?”
“About Eighty-fourth and Third Avenue.”
The man’s face lighted up—Darrell was answered—he saw a chance of doubling his fare. “I reckon the other’d make no objection. Pay me first, and I’ll tell him I was taken by you.”
“One, fifty.”
Without a murmur the detective handed over the amount, submitting to be robbed in order to carry out his point.
Of course he was disguised.
No one would for a moment imagine that this old gentleman was the same athletic individual who had visited Prescott in his studio, and argued with him over a revolver.