He did not run, since a dripping pedestrian or two imposed on him the necessity of not exciting undue suspicions. Yet Sadie saw that he might still head her off before she turned south into Eighth Avenue. And she knew the second cab was close behind her, making impossible any lateral escape into the doorways past which she was speeding.
Then, of a sudden, a wave of renewing hope swept through her tired body. For under the clearer light of the street corner lamp beyond the waiting taxicab she made out the crimson oblong of a mail box. It stood out, a quadrangle of warm red, as reassuring and consoling as a harbor light to a distressed skipper. Trivial as it seemed, it suddenly typified the organized strength of a nation's governmental machinery. It stood there, a sanctuary demanding respect, something official and inviolate, something which it was peril to outrage.
It was not until she heard the pursuing cab draw up behind her that she ventured once more to change her course and dart across the street. She was running now with little groaning gasps of desperation, whimpering like a harried pup, but grimly resolved to reach that mail box before the driver who had come between her and her goal could do so.
