"Did you make a deal with either of them?"
"No. I wanted to talk to you first. They'll both be at the Club Savilla tonight. All I've got to do is give the wink to the right one, and hold him there after the other has gone away. Thought I'd talk it over with you, first."
"That's right," commended the lawyer. "From what you say, Biff, either one would do. I prefer Pinkey Baird, however."
"I feel the same way," agreed the gangster.
"You've known Baird longer," said Tremont thoughtfully. "He's older and, from what you say, he's safer. This fellow Marsland sounds like a good one — but I choose Baird in preference. Try him.
"If he wants the job, give it to him. If he doesn't, then take Marsland. I'm leaving it to your judgment, Biff. I want the man to go to Glendale tomorrow."
Biff Towley nodded.
"You know all about it, Biff," declared Tremont. "Tell your man the old story. Orlinov has enemies. Needs an intelligent companion. Has the place under guard. All the rest of it. Beyond that, keep mum as usual." The gangster grinned. Well did he know the game that Glade Tremont was playing. He had helped that game, and it had proven profitable.
Tremont was a square shooter in Biff's estimation. At the same time the swarthy gangster knew well that he was totally within the lawyer's power. A snap of Tremont's fingers, and the police would have enough evidence to send Biff to the electric chair.
Yet the gang leader was not ill at ease. He knew that the threat which hung over him would never be used so long as he played square with Glade Tremont.
Biff had never entertained the notion of double-crossing his chief. Hence he dwelt in security, and had proven himself an important adjunct to the lawyer's schemes.
"That's all, Biff," said Tremont. "I choose Baird — if you can get him. Otherwise Marsland. Orlinov knows all about it. Fix it tonight."
Biff Towley left the office. He strolled along Broadway and dropped into a theater. Biff liked crime thrillers. They gave him a laugh — these murder pictures — when he compared them with the reality. It was nearly six o'clock when he went into the theater. That meant that he would reach the Club Savilla after nine.
Mentally, Biff Towley agreed with Glade Tremont's choice. "Pinkey" Baird was the right man for the job at Glendale. There had been trouble because of Louis Steffan — but Louis Steffan had not been a product of the underworld.
With either Baird or Marsland serving Orlinov, there would be no repetition of the trouble that had occurred with Steffan.
Biff had left both men eager to meet him again. He knew that each was looking for a tie-up with a shady enterprise. Either could be bought cheap and would serve well.
Biff had promised nothing. He had merely intimated that he would like to see his acquaintances again. Tonight he would line up Baird and ease off Marsland. Unless — as was extremely unlikely — Baird should express a lack of interest.
Business was moving at the Club Savilla before the hour of nine. While Biff Towley was still enjoying the feature talkie, a throng of early comers was filing into the gay uptown nightclub. Among these early arrivals were the two men who were anxious to meet Biff Towley again.
They entered the club almost side by side, but did not speak to one another, for they were not acquainted. They had met Biff Towley separately, the night before.
Each took his place at a separate table, but both were close to the spot where Biff Towley made his headquarters on his nightly visits to the Club Savilla. Tilted chairs denoted the gang leader's reservation.
Cliff Marsland, husky and steady-faced, did not appear to be a gangster. Quietly puffing at a cigarette, he had the air of a wealthy club member. He was attired in a tuxedo, and his clothes were well-fitted and immaculate.
Pinkey Baird, twenty feet away, formed a contrast to Cliff Marsland. His face had a cunning look. His roving eyes were everywhere as though seeking someone whom he could interest in a gold-brick proposition.
Cliff's eyes met Pinkey's; but the stare was only momentary. Neither knew that the other was awaiting Biff Towley. In Pinkey, Cliff recognized the look of the shrewd confidence man. In Cliff, Pinkey saw only a stern-visaged person who would be too smart to fall for any plan that he might offer. So both lost interest in the other.
A tall man clad in a dark suit entered the Club Savilla and strolled over to the table where Pinkey Baird was seated. He sat down without a word, and looked at the menu card.
Pinkey Baird surveyed him quizzically, then looked elsewhere. But Cliff Marsland stared with furrowed brow.
The newcomer had an impassive face, and his hawklike nose gave him a stern appearance. Somehow, that face impressed Marsland.
He tried to catch a glimpse of the stranger's eyes, but failed. They were turned toward the table, except when they occasionally peered in the direction of Pinkey Baird, who was staring straight ahead, unnoticing.
Cliff had seen that man last night. The hawk-faced stranger had been seated at a table close by, while Cliff had been chatting with Biff Towley. Strangely enough, the same man had been there while Biff and Pinkey Baird had conversed. But Pinkey, unlike Cliff had not noticed his presence. Now, as Cliff Marsland ended his scrutiny, it was Pinkey Baird who found his interest aroused by the man with the hawk nose. A voice spoke at Pinkey's elbow. Surprised by the low tones, Pinkey turned suddenly to meet the gaze of two sharp, burning eyes.
"Good evening, Baird," came the even, monotonous voice. "You are waiting for Biff Towley."
"Who are you?" questioned Pinkey, in a low growl.
"That does not concern us," was the deliberate reply. "The important matter is that you are leaving here before Towley arrives."
"Yes?" Pinkey Baird raised his eyebrows "That's your idea, is it?"
"It is my order," stated the hawk-faced one.
"Try and make me," chuckled Pinkey Baird.
"I have no quarrel with you," said the stranger quietly. "But I can make one if you desire it. The easy course is for you to leave — now. I feel that a trip South would be good for your health.
"This envelope" — a long hand appeared with a sealed package — "contains a ticket and reservation on the Florida Flyer that leaves at 9:15. Take it."
With a contemptuous gesture, Pinkey Baird flung the envelope back to the man who had given it to him. He leaned back in his chair, and grinned as he looked toward the dance floor of the club. Then the smile froze on his lips.
Without a word, the stranger had nudged close to his chair, and now the threatening muzzle of an automatic was tickling Pinkey's ribs. The confidence man turned pale.
"Move along," came the low voice.
Pinkey stared into a pair of menacing eyes. He realized that he had met a man who meant business. Shakily, he arose from the table and started toward the door of the Club Savilla. The hawk-faced man rose with him. Side by side, they kept pace. Cliff Marsland stared in surprise as the men passed his table. He did not see the hidden automatic.
"You are going to Florida," whispered the voice in Pinkey's ear. "You are going to stay there — for one month. Longer, if you wish. Here is your ticket."
Pinkey felt the envelope as it entered his pocket. Gradually, he was yielding to the dominance of this man who had so suddenly appeared to command him.
They reached the street in front of the Club Savilla. There, the stranger beckoned to a taxicab. He urged Pinkey into the car. He followed.
Pinkey realized that this man would brook no delay. He was taking him to the station — for that was the order that Pinkey heard him give to the taxi driver.
As the cab pulled away from the curb, the pressure of the automatic relaxed. Slumped back in the seat, Pinkey Baird appeared completely subdued. The cab moved onward a few yards; then stopped at a traffic light, less than half a block from the Club Savilla.