“At the Southampton Pier.” “That looks like business. We’ll be there, eh?” “Right there! We’ll meet the bankers at Quarantine, substitute ourselves for them, and land, all regular and proper, at the Southampton dock. I notified Harrigan, at Mr. Mott’s office, to get our outfits. They’ll be waiting for us with a valet at the Battery. We will have a valet.” “What, Chester?” “Joe Yeader will play that part to perfection. Remember his accent? He did time in Brixton Jail.” “I don’t get it all,” blurted Rake. “What is coming off?” Fay furrowed his brow and stared seriously toward the paper in his hand. He thrust it into his pocket. “I’ll explain later,” he said. “We’re going right into the lion’s den. We’ll bait the trap with more banknotes. We’ve got to clear the name of the Gray Brotherhood and the ex-inmates working for the Gray Taxi Company.” “Do you suspect that girl?” “I have every reason to believe she is guilty.” “She don’t look the part.” “Looks and beauty are skin deep!” “She didn’t talk like a gun moll or a fallen sister.” “She’s employed by a man who is suspected by the police and Mr. Mott. She has sole charge of Ponsardin’s taxicab interests. She was the first to meet Stephney on this side of the Atlantic. She was the last to see him alive, according to her own admission. What would you think from all that?” “I think a lot, Chester. But appearances are deceiving. She’d never admitted takin’ that Stephney from the dock if she was guilty. She’d of denied it. The only time my Mary, at home, is lyin’ to me is when she says nothing.” “Illogical logic!” “Sure—an’ it’s the truth, nine times out of ten, Chester.” Fay glanced at his watch and quickened his steps. “We’ll take the Subway to the Customhouse. From there we go over the Bay.” Rake scratched his head and followed Fay down the steps, past the ticket-chopper, and lunged with him into the warm interior of a subway car. They were hurtled southward. Fay said nothing during the quick trip. His mind wove the details of the plan which
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