"If that's the case," said Vroon, "why hasn't he had us apprehended?"
Braine laughed heartily. "Haven't you been able to see by this time what his game is? Revenge. He does not want the police to meddle only in the smaller affairs. He wants to put terror into the hearts of all of us. Keep this point in your mind when you act. He'll never summon the police unless we make a broad daylight attempt to get possession of his daughter. And even then he would make it out a plain case of kidnaping. Elimination, that's the word. All right. We'll play at that game ourselves. No. 1 shall be Mr. Norton. And if you fail I'll break you," Braine added to the ex-reporter.
Later, when he applied for a situation on the _Blade_, it happened that there were two strikes on hand, and two or three extra men were needed on the city staff. The man from the Black Hundred was given a temporary job and went by the name of Gregg.
For three days he worked faithfully, abstaining from his favorite tipple. He had never worked in New York, so his record was unknown. He had told the city editor that he had worked on a Chicago paper, now defunct.
He paid no attention whatsoever to Norton, a sign of no little acumen. On the other hand Norton never went forth on an assignment that Gregg did not know exactly where he was going. But all these stories kept Norton in town; and it would be altogether too risky to attempt to handle him anywhere but outside of town. So Gregg had to abide his time.
Norton was idling at his desk when the city editor called him up to the wicket.
[Illustration: NORTON WAS IDLING AT HIS DESK WHEN THE CITY EDITOR CALLED HIM UP TO THE WICKET]
"General Henderson has just returned to America. Get his opinion on the latest Balkan rumpus. He's out at his suburban home. Here's the address."
"How long will you hold open for me?" asked Norton, meaning how long would the city editor wait for the story.
"Till one-thirty. You ought to be back by midnight. It's only eight now."
"All right; Henderson's approachable. I may get a good story out of him."
"Maybe," thought Gregg, who had lost nothing of this conversation.
It was his opportunity. He immediately left the zone of the city desk for a telephone booth. But as he passed the line of desks and busy reporters he did not note the keen scrutiny of a smooth-faced, gray-haired man who stood at the side of Norton's desk awaiting the reporter's return.