Chapter 11: One O'Clock

⁠​​​‌​​​​​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​​​​​​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​⁠Devar had the nimble wits of a fox, and the blood which raced in his veins was volatile as quicksilver. The same glance which showed him the gray automobile stealing softly across the network of car-lines of one of the city's main thoroughfares revealed a roundsman crossing the square.

"Friend Anatole may be heeled," he said. "Let's get help."

Leaning out, he shouted to Arthur, whose other name was