IF EVER two boys undertook a desperate errand the sandy-haired G-man’s son and his pal had bitten off a big chunk to chew when Stan proposed that they take Gagnon to Main Haven and turn him over to John. What John might do, Stan did not know but he realized that G-men are extremely resourceful and he had no doubt that the grocer of Main Haven would find a way to take care of Gagnon till this case was over. The most important immediate act was to get Gagnon out of that little room, and to the sloop.
“You mean you’re going to turn me over to the feds?” demanded the mobster.
“Why not?”
“They’ll kill me!”
“Battling flea-hounds!” roared John, interrupting, “which do you want: to be murdered by your dear old pals or to end up in a nice warm jail, alive and with something to eat for the next dozen years or more?”
The man swallowed hard.
“I’ll come with you, boys, only don’t point that arrow at my face all the time!” he said.
“You’ve got sense!” responded Stan, quietly. “Get a move on, and no funny business!”
And as the man started off up the corridor, his hands bound behind his back, he admitted that he had a flashlight in his pocket. John dug it out and they hurried for the entrance. But on the way they encountered the sounds of footsteps and the voices of intruders and they retired up a side aisle.
Dago’s exclamation of alarm was caused by Gagnon’s stumbling effort to move further from the main aisle as he recognized the swarthy fellow’s growling voice. Had Dago elected to investigate that noise he would have received an arrow for his pains—lucky Dago!