I opened the door, and she passed through. I followed and pulled the door to. There were customers on the fountain stools, though not the same ones, and Henry was selling a man a pack of cigarettes. I paused on my way to the street door to tell him that Mr. Gale would be out soon, then opened the door for Lila. On the sidewalk I told Lila to go wait in the car while I made a phone call. Then I saw she was trembling all over, so I escorted her and got her safely on the front seat.
Up twenty paces was a bar and grill, and I walked to it, entered, found a phone booth, dialed WA 9–8241, asked for Sergeant Purley Stebbins, and got him. He wanted to know if I was up at the Polo Grounds.
I told him no. “Where I am,” I said, “is top secret. I’m giving you a hot one. Put this down; Gale’s Pharmacy, nine-two-three-two Eighth Avenue. Get a prowl car there fast, and plenty of reinforcements. Gale, the owner, on information received, was the go-between for the gamblers who fixed the ball game. He is in the back room of his store, gagged and tied. The reason—”
“Is this a gag?”
“No. The reas—”
“Where are you?”
“Quit interrupting or I’ll ring off. The reason for the hurry is that I think Gale sent for a rescue squad to deal with certain parties who are no longer there, and it would be nice to get there in time to welcome them. So PD cars should not park in front. Be sure to tell them not to step in the stuff on the floor that looks like water, because it’s sulphuric acid. That’s all. Got the address?”
“Yes, and I want—”
“Sorry, I’ve got a date. This could make you a lieutenant. Step on it.”
I went out and back to the car. Lila was on the driver’s side, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. As I opened the door her head turned to me.