The point is, we must not leave here together--even on a duck hunt!" He smiled and departed, at least three minutes before the porter tapped for admission.
There was no hitch, although there was a margin of safety narrow enough to set Johnny's blood tingling.

He had "checked out" and had called his taxi and watched the porter load in gun case and grip, had tipped him lavishly and had slipped a dollar into the willing palm of the doorman, when he leaned in to get the address to give the driver.

And then, just as the taxi was moving on, over the doorman's shoulder Johnny distinctly saw Bland turn in between the rubber plants that guarded the doorway.

A pasty-faced, dull-eyed Bland, cheaply resplendent in new tan shoes, a new suit of that pronounced blue loved by Mexican dandies, a new red-and-blue striped tie, and a new soft hat of bottle-green velour.
For ten seconds Johnny was scared, which was a new sensation.

For longer than that he had a guilty consciousness of having "double-crossed" a partner.