Jackson got back into the driver’s seat, blinked his bright lights and looked into the rear-view mirror.

The Cadillac’s bright lights blinked in reply.

The hearse drove slowly away.

The Cadillac pulled up and double-parked in the same position beside the station wagon.

“What you going to do with this heap?” the driver asked.

“Leave it right here, with the motor running,” the white man said. “If Joe Green’s a big shot, which he’s gotta be, ain’t nobody going to bother with it.”

He took his short-barreled police special from his right overcoat pocket, held it in his lap and spun the chamber, then put it back into his pocket.

“I’ll go first,” he said.

He got out and crossed the sidewalk, side-stepped two men and a woman and tried the handle to the door.

The two colored men closed in behind him.

The handle turned; the door opened.

“He made it easy for us,” the white man said, and started up the stairs, keeping close to the edges and walking on the balls of his feet.

The colored men followed.

“Lock the door behind you,” the white man whispered over his shoulder.

Chapter 18.

Grave Digger and Coffin Ed sat in the car with the lights off on 19th Street, and waited. The motor was idling and the windshield wipers working.

Snow drifted down. The superintendents of the swank high-rent apartment houses flanking the private residences had their helpers out cleaning the sidewalks. Snowplows had already passed. The streets in this neighborhood were kept clean.

“I got a feeling we’re missing something,” Grave Digger lisped.

“Me, too,” Coffin Ed agreed. “But we got to have somewhere to start.”

“Maybe the sailor boy will hit it.”

Coffin Ed looked at his watch.

“It’s a quarter past seven. He’s had ten minutes. If he hasn’t hit it by now, he ain’t never going to hit it.”

“Blow for him then.”

Coffin Ed touched the horn, giving the prearranged signal. They watched in the rear-view mirrors.

Roman came out. Someone stood out of sight in the open door, watching him. He put his hat on the back of his head and started along the street.

When he came level, Grave Digger reached back, opened the door and said, “Get in.”

A head came out of the open door, peered briefly and then withdrew. The door closed.

“What did you make out of it?” Coffin Ed asked.

“Whew!” Roman blew. A film of sweat shone on his smooth tan skin. “Nobody knew Mister Baron,” he said. “Leastwise they all said they didn’t.” He blew again. “Jesus Godamighty!” he exclaimed. “Them people! And they’s rich. And educated, too!”

“They knocked you out, eh?” Coffin Ed said absently.

He and Grave Digger stared at one another.

“We’d better stop by the hospital again,” Coffin Ed suggested. He sounded dispirited and perplexed.

“We’re losing time,” Grave Digger said. “We had better phone.”

Coffin Ed drove around Gramercy Square and stopped in front of a quiet, discreet-looking bar on Lexington. He got out and went inside.