To his chauffeur he said: “That’s all. Call up at eight-thirty to-morrow morning.”
“That bum is still over there, sir——”
“All right, Harvey. Go back to the garage.... And I’ll want the coupé to-morrow.”
“Very good, sir.”
Smull watched the car glide away down Greenwich Avenue, turn east, disappear.
Then he walked across to Jane Street and as far as the house he was watching, and gazed up at her darkened windows.
For half an hour or so he sauntered back and forth between her house and the corner. The night had grown warmer and he loosened his light grey overcoat and threw it back.
Now and then he noticed that the shadowy shape of Carter had not stirred. That did not concern him for a while.
But, as the hour wore on, irritation increased and his nerves became more susceptible to annoyance.
And once, although his contempt for Carter remained supreme, he ran his right hand over the coat pocket where the pistol sagged,—a movement involuntary and quite unconscious.