were curious, bitter-faced individuals who seemed to gloat in the knowledge
that wrongdoers had gained a momentary triumph.
In considering those whom he thus classified, Graham Wellerton adopted an
odd neutrality so far as he himself was concerned. Had he included himself, he
would undoubtedly have placed himself in the select category. In dress,
appearance and manner, Graham was the most distinctive occupant of the subway
car.
Tall, handsome and dressed in perfectly tailored clothes, Graham had the
appearance of a polished man-about-town as he sauntered from the car when the
train stopped at an uptown station.
But the smile upon his face was reminiscent. Not so many hours before,
Graham Wellerton, in another subway car, had represented an opposite class of
society. Then he had been wearing baggy trousers, heavy sweater and checkered
cap.
Graham was still smiling as he tossed his newspaper into a trash
receptacle. The accounts of the bank holdups had included descriptions of just
such individuals as he had been at noon this very day. Evening had brought the
present transformation.
So far as the bank holdups were concerned, Graham's neutrality was one of
balance. He was pleased that the attempt upon the Parkerside Trust had failed;
he was glad that the Terminal National robbery had been successful. For Graham
knew something that the police did not suspect: namely, that both raids had
been ordered by one master of crime.
Two lieutenants had been employed, each the leader of a band of marauders.
One - "Wolf" Daggert - had failed at the Parkerside Trust. His minions had been
overpowered, his own escape had been a matter of luck.
The other - Graham Wellerton - had succeeded at the Terminal National. By
cool strategy and swift action, he had gained his end without the loss of a
single henchman.
No longer the rowdy that he had appeared to be by day, Graham Wellerton,
in his gentlemanly guise, hailed a taxicab as he stepped from the subway.
Lounging in the back seat, he lighted a cigarette and, amid the puffs of
smoke, emitted soft chuckles. From a position as a lesser gangster, he had
risen to a lieutenancy which equaled that of Wolf Daggert. Today, he had shown
his superiority over Wolf.
Graham Wellerton was anxious to hear what the big shot would have to say.
That was his mission tonight - a visit to the big shot. From now on, Graham
would rate above Wolf Daggert. The big shot liked smooth workers.
Yet the smile of triumph upon Graham's face was sour at the corners.
Despite the proficiency which he had shown in crime, this handsome young man
was not overpleased with his calling.
THE cab pulled up at a huge apartment house. Graham Wellerton, his face no
longer showing traces of satisfaction, alighted and paid the driver.
Wellerton strolled into the lobby, approached the doorman and inquired if
Mr. Furzman were at home. The doorman asked the visitor's name, made a short
call over the apartment telephone and ushered Graham to the elevator.
The car stopped at the fourteenth floor. Graham stepped out and approached
a doorway at the end of a short corridor.
