“All right, then. Here are the diamonds. Hurry back.”
Young Maynard passed a rather bulky package to Townsend, and the latter hurried away. At the door of the room he paused and turned back.
“I’ll go to the Wisconsin first,” he said, “and if there is no chance there, I’ll go on up Broadway. You wait until I return.”
Townsend closed the door and walked through the outer room to the street. As he did so, a dark, lithe, muscular man of perhaps thirty years, who had been standing at the cigar case for a moment, stepped to the street door and spoke a few words to a man standing there. Then he turned to the cigar case again, and as he did so was accosted by a young man as dark and as sinister of face as himself.
“Well?” asked the elder man.
“The young fellow took them off with him.”
“Where?”
“To a hotel.”
“I see,” said the other. “To the Wisconsin. Get a cab—quick.”