"Look here," said the man in the car, twisting angrily about so that he faced the driver through the cab-door, "if you try any—"
That was as far as the tall Southerner got. For out of the dripping shrubbery a third figure had emerged, had stepped up to the running board, and had opened the opposite door of the cab. And the next moment a crooked arm was thrown tightly about Hardman's neck and the cab was thumping and rocking with the tumult of the sudden struggle.
The driver did not even wait to determine the outcome of that encounter. He ran to the front of his car, cranked his engine, and climbed into his seat. He could still feel the cab rock and jolt with the fury of the struggle going on inside. From that narrow little arena he could hear short gasps and grunts which warned him that the fight was not as one-sided as it had promised to be. And by the light of a nearby Park lamp Wilsnach could see slowly approaching them the great waterproofed figure of a policeman. He knew that this officer's curiosity had been aroused. So he dropped his revolver back in his pocket and speeded up his engine, knowing the racing machinery would serve as a muffler to the more dangerous sounds from within the cab.
Then Wilsnach's heart came up in his throat, for above the other noises rang out the quick report of a pistol-shot. At the same time a bullet tore its way out through the roof of the cab-hood. Then came a moment of more frenzied agitation and threshing about, and then comparative silence.
Wilsnach, pedalling his accelerator, still let his
