seems to me that it would be better if we went in a taxicab, because this big car is sure to attract attention if we leave it standing for any length of time in that East Side street. And then, we can have the cab and the chauffeur waiting for us with the engine running, so that we can get away on the jump when we come out. We might be in a hurry, sir,” he suggested.
Val nodded. “You’ve struck twelve, Eddie.” They were home now. “Put the car away and get a taxi. I’ll go upstairs and get the guns.”
•••••••
At about ten thirty that evening a taxicab carrying Val and Eddie came to a grinding stop at the corner of a small, narrow, ill-smelling alley.
“Are we there?” asked Val, popping his head out of the door.
“Dunno,” replied the driver. “I think it’s around here somewhere, though. Maybe one of these fellers can tell us. Hey!” he called to them.
A small tough came forward, unshaven, rat faced, and sharp, beady eyes that seemed to look in two different directions at once. His derby, which was too small for him, a sort of brown bowler, was perched perilously on one side of his unkempt hair, and he spat viciously into the gutter under the taxicab before opening his mouth to speak.
“Whatcher want?” he asked, eyeing the occupants of the taxicab sharply, and then addressing himself to them.
“Can you tell me where 22 Delancey Place is?” asked Val.
The other looked at him searchingly for an instant. “Dis here’s Delancey Place,” he replied. “Yer num-
