“All right, then,” the girl said. “If you don’t take me to the Plaza, I won’t be nice to you the way you like, any more.”

“Oh, I say now, Zelda,” the man argued. “That’s not sporting, after I’ve given you so much.”

“Well, I don’t care,” said the girl. “I just won’t be nice that way any more, that’s all.”

“Oh, good lord!” the man exclaimed, anxiously. “Well, all right.” He rapped on the taxi window with his stick. “I say, my man.”

“Yeah?” the Bearcat answered as he choked down the speed of the car.

“Drive us to the Plaza—the Plaza!”

“Oh, you darling!” cried the girl.

“Be careful,” said the man. “Confound it! Look, you’ve got powder all over my shoulder.”

The Bearcat scratched his head in wonder when they had entered the hotel. The man had tipped him fifteen cents. The clock had recorded two dollars and a quarter. Expensive fur, the Plaza for tea, and a lousy fifteen cents.

As he swung back along Fifth Avenue, going downtown, he was hailed and two men got in. They were sporty looking guys, with quick-darting furtive eyes, and thin cruel lips.

“Go over the Queensborough Bridge and out along Queens Boulevard till we tell you to stop.” They lit cigarettes and settled back in the car. It was growing dark.

Some of their talk—strange, sinister—came faintly to the Bearcat.

“Got word that they’re gonna spring Dapper tonight,” said one.

“Yeah. He’s been in the big house for six months.”

“They got a screw fixed up there. After we do the business tonight, he’ll get a tip-off that everything’s okay.”

“What’s he gonna do when we get word to the hideaway?”

“Dapper’s gonna lam it for Chi. Chip and Bottlehead are drivin’ him to Cleveland, where they’ll make a connection for him to be taken the rest of the way. I’m followin’ him tomorrow night.”

“What about me?”

“You’ll cover this end. All you got to do is stay solid. If they dog you, call up the mouthpiece, see?”

The Bearcat was driving them along a stretch of Queens Boulevard lined on both sides by vacant lots overgrown with weeds and shrubbery. Pulled up, off to one side of the road, was a touring car with curtains fastened down.

“Stop here!” ordered the man who seemed to be the leader of the two.

“That must be Bottlehead waitin’,” said the other, as they got out of the cab.

The leader shoved five dollars into the Bearcat’s hand.

“Keep it,” he said. “But you ain’t seen us—you ain’t never goin’ to remember us if you see us again, see. Be a wise guy and don’t forget that, an’ you’ll stay healthy. Otherwise—” His hand in his coat-pocket shoved forward. It gripped some pointed instrument.