If things turn out as I expect there will
be a gray touring motor car outside Tarteran's shop in the course of a few
minutes. From that car will descend Dagger Rodwell. He will enter
Tarteran's. Watch, then, as though your very life depended upon it!"
I squeezed myself against the wall and looked down upon the never-ending
procession. The street was continually blocked with motor cars and
taxicabs. On the other side of the way streams of people were moving all
the time. I recognized many acquaintances even in those few minutes. And
then suddenly I saw the gray motor car. I held out my hand to Mr.
Bundercombe.
Without the slightest attempt at concealment, the man Mr. Bundercombe had
called Dagger Rodwell alighted from the motor and stood for a moment
looking into the windows of Tarteran's shop before he entered. He was
faultlessly dressed in morning clothes, smoking a cigarette and carrying a
silver-headed cane.
After some hesitation he entered the shop. Mr. Bundercombe drew a little
breath. He had been looking at another part of the street.
"Now things are beginning to move," he observed softly. "Come here, Paul!"
He pulled aside a little curtain behind which was a sort of cubicle--an
easy chair, a manicurist's stool and a table.
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