Scarcely had he settled back comfortably in his seat than the man pressed the button, then rose to get off. Johnny followed.
Once off the car the man struck directly across the street, walked a half block, then turned to the right. He was now at the river. He went down a narrow, dirty sort of boat landing that skirted the river. Johnny could not follow here without being noticed, so, walking out on the bridge, he kept a watch from the corner of his eye.
About a block from the street the man turned again, this time to vanish. He had entered a door.
After carefully counting first the windows, then the doors in that block, then noting the type of building the man had entered, Johnny left the bridge to follow the street. Then, after turning the corner, he came up to the front of the building the man had entered.
Before that building he paused. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Funny sort of place to be going into.”
The place did seem strange. It was a store front, but the room on the street had not been used for months. The dust was so thick on the windows that one could discern objects within only as through a fog. The doorway was littered with heaps of dirty bits of paper deposited there by the wind.
“Been a commission merchant’s place sometime,” was Johnny’s mental comment as he caught a glimpse of dust blackened banana crates within. “Ships brought in produce and landed it at the back. Business didn’t thrive. Too far east on this street.”
“Well,” he sighed, “guess that’s about all for this time. Won’t forget the place, though, nor Mister Pink-Eyes either,” and with that he turned and headed for the central fire station.
“Johnny,” said the Chief as they sat in his office that afternoon, “I hope you realize the importance of the work you are attempting to do.”
“I hope so too,” said Johnny.