“And of course he’d tell us,” Ken said sarcastically.
“Of course.” Sandy laughed shortly. “Everything about him so far has been absolutely straightforward—the way he came to your father’s apartment, the way he told us he didn’t know Grace, the way he left that package for Grace to pick up—” He broke off angrily. “I’m certainly beginning to be mighty curious about that man. But I don’t see how we can learn much more about him, now that he’s got us spotted. If we turn up in his way again—”
“I’ve got an idea!” Ken leaned forward to speak to the driver. “We changed our minds. Take us to the Pennsylvania Station instead.”
“What? Penn Station?” The driver glanced around in surprise. “But I thought you were in such a hurry to get to Radio City.”
“You have to humor him,” Sandy explained to the back of the man’s head. “It’s his impulsive nature.”
“Oh. Sure. In that case. Anything your little heart desires.”
The cab swung left on Twenty-ninth Street and sped westward toward Seventh Avenue. There it turned right for the big railroad station a few blocks northward. It was difficult to be certain, in these busy streets, but Ken thought he spotted Barrack’s car half a block behind.
“You gave it to me,” Ken answered. “We’re going to make Barrack think we won’t turn up in his way again.”
The cab swung down into the ramp that led directly into the terminal. Ken paid the driver, thanked him, and then led Sandy through the door into the station.
“Let’s wait here a minute,” he said, just inside.
Barrack’s car was pulling up to the same spot their taxi had left only a few seconds before. The man in the turtle-neck sweater, wearing his pea jacket again—apparently he hadn’t had time to stop for his cap—jumped out of the front seat. Then Barrack, at the wheel, drove the car away.
“Let’s go.” Ken took Sandy’s arm and moved casually forward. “I’m glad we’ve got Cal instead of Barrack. From the way he banged around in that cabin tonight, I don’t think he’s very quick on his feet.”
“It certainly would be nice,” Sandy said, “if I knew what you had in that alleged mind of yours.”
Ken glanced over his shoulder. “Good,” he murmured. “He’s only about fifty feet behind. Everything’s proceeding according to plan.” He steered Sandy toward the Information Desk. “When is the next train to Brentwood?” he asked in a clear voice.