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nydus/Continental Op StoriesPublic

A collection of short stories about an unnamed agent of a detective agency in the early 1920s.

Page 983 of 1257
Table of Contents

V

“It is. But you oughtn’t have split on your word. You halfway promised you wouldn’t have me shadowed.”

“I’m not the big boss,” I apologized. “Sometimes what I want don’t fit in with what the headman wants. This shouldn’t bother you much⁠—you can shake him, can’t you?”

“Uh-huh. That’s what I’ve been doing. But it’s a damned nuisance jumping in and out of taxis and back doors.”

We talked and drank a few minutes longer, and then I left Carey’s room and hotel, and went to a drugstore telephone booth, where I called Dick Foley’s home, and gave Dick the swarthy man’s description and address.

“I don’t want you to tail Carey, Dick. I want you to find out who is trying to tail him⁠—and that shadower is the bird you’re to stick to. The morning will be time enough to start⁠—get yourself dried out.”

And that was the end of that day.

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