“Perhaps, if she lives. There are still grave doubts regarding her recovery. But if she does live, this boy has two faces, a smile and a mask. He will show her the smile. She must pick him from among other men. She was frightened that night. Will she recall the face? Well, perhaps.”
“But there are the bullets. They are absolute proof.”
“They are our best bet. We must guard them well.”
A little later Newton Mills spoke to Johnny in a low tone. At the same time he pressed a package into his hand.
“You keep these until to-morrow,” he said. “I’m a marked man. They won’t suspect you of having them. It’s the bullets, the little pills that will send that man of the masked face down for life.”
Perspiration started out on Johnny’s brow as he listened to these words. Nevertheless, he stowed the small package deep in his innermost pocket.
“They won’t get them,” he muttered. “None of them will.”
As an afterthought, he drew the package from his pocket, seated himself at a table, then wrote his name and address on the outside of the package. He then replaced it in his pocket.
This was a habit of Johnny’s, of long standing. Not for ten years had he carried a package a distance of so much as one block without first writing his name and address upon it. Absent-minded people should keep their records well. Johnny was, at times, absent-minded.