“Do you know where to find him?”
“I can round him up between now and dark. That’s what you said.”
“Come on, then,” said Patsy, rising. “Let’s lose no time about it.”
Despite Flynn’s assurance, however, nearly three hours were spent in a vain search before he finally found the gangster.
Eight o’clock that evening saw all three seated around a small table in a saloon in Second Avenue, on which several rounds of drinks already had been served.
Flynn had told his story and had put it fully as strong as Patsy Garvan had directed.
It appeared to have made a favorable impression upon Bannon, as also had the disguised detective, who had played his part to the letter.
“I know a place, all right, and a gang you’d fit in well with,” Bannon finally said, in response to a suggestion from Patsy that he ought to get under cover without delay. “There’s a guy among ’em you’d like to meet. He’s the big finger of the bunch.”
Patsy felt sure that he referred to Stuart Floyd.
“That will suit me, Bug, and then some,” he assured the grinning rascal. “You will always find me ready to hold my end up.”