He
switched it in again with the words, "Now, get ready, Tom. Just
one more; then we must hurry around in that car of ours and watch
the fun."
This time he was talking into the microphone. In a most solemn,
sepulchral voice he repeated, "Let the slayer of Rena Taylor
beware. She will be avenged! Beware! It will be a life for a
life!"
Three times he repeated it, to make sure that it would carry.
Then, grabbing up his hat and coat, he dashed out of the room,
past the surprised policeman at the door, and took the steps in
front of the house almost at a bound.
We hardly had time to enter our own car and reach the corner of
Forty-seventh Street, when the big black automobile which we had
followed uptown shot by almost before the traffic man at the
crossing could signal a clear road.
"We must hang onto him!" cried Garrick, turning to follow. "Did
you catch a glimpse of his face? It's our man, the go-between, the
keeper of the garage whom they call the Boss. He was as pale as if
he had seen a ghost.
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