“Mister Leighton has already made one mistake by going ahead on his own,” Casper said.

“That’s why he doesn’t want to make another,” Peters said. “That’s why we are requesting your co-operation in advance.” He paused for a moment, then added, “We will have to cover you in any event, whether you like it or not; but it would be much better all around if we had your co-operation.”

Casper conceded. “All right. I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you when I’m checking out. Will you be there?”

“If I’m not, someone else will.”

“Okay, give me the number.”

When he had hung up, he waited for a minute, then dialed the number he’d been given.

An unfamiliar voice said, “Pinkerton Detective Agency.”

“Let me speak to Herbert Peters.”

“Who’s calling, please.”

“Casper Holmes.”

A moment later Peters’ calm voice said, “Yes, Mister Holmes?”

“I’m just checking,” Casper said. “Being as I can’t look through the telephone and see just who really is phoning me.”

“I understand, Mister Holmes. Is that all, sir?”

“That’s all.”

Casper cradled the receiver and sat up in bed, thinking. The trainee had finished and closed the windows and left, but he hadn’t noticed.

He lifted the receiver and told the switchboard operator not to put through any more calls.

“If some one telephones, what shall I say?”

“Say that I am sleeping and ask them to phone back after eight o’clock.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And give me an outside line.”

When he heard the central office buzz, he dialed a number.

A woman’s voice answered. “Hel-looo?”

“Marie?”

“Yes. Is that you, Casper?”

“Yeah. Is Joe in?”

“Yes. I’ll call him. How’s your noggin?”

“Palpitating. Let me talk to Joe.”

He heard her calling, “Jooooe! It’s Casper.”

Joe Green was the biggest numbers banker in Harlem; he had a part of three lotteries.

“Casper, how’s the boy?” he greeted in a husky voice.

“Ain’t nothing that a little sleep won’t cure.”

“Can’t hurt you hitting you on the head,” Joe said. “But snatching all that long green off you must have given you a running fit.”

“It wasn’t mine,” Casper said. “They didn’t hurt nothing but my feelings.”

“And you’ll never forgive the mother-rapers for that.”

“Now that’s for sure. But what I called you for is I want to borrow a couple of your boys for later in the day.”

“For bodyguards or running errands?”

“I’m going to check out here at seven-thirty in one of Clay’s hearses—”

Joe chuckled. “Just don’t go by the way of the cemetery, daddy.”

Casper laughed. “By way of Clay, neither. Naw, I’m going home. I want to dodge the newsboys; I got a pop call to make on the way. I just want them to trail me.”

“It’s done,” Joe said. “How ’bout Big Six and George Drake in the Cadillac? They ought to handle any situation that might jump up. Or do you want another one?”

“Naw, they’ll do. I want them to pick up the hearse at Clay’s and stay with it, but not too close. I don’t want it looking like no procession.”