It overtook them in the second block, stayed alongside.
Kells said: “Turn off right, at the next side street.” He was deep in the dark corner of the cab, watching the coupe narrowly. Then the driver of the coupe put up his hand and Kells saw that it was Borg. They turned together into the side street, drove up about a hundred yards to comparative darkness. Borg parked a little way ahead of the cab.
Kells got out and went up to the coupe. He said. “That’s the way people have accidents,” unpleasantly.
Borg was silent.
Granquist was sitting very low in the seat beside Borg. She straightened, said: “Your other driver spilled his guts an’ the tip went out on the joint we were at...”
Borg interrupted her: “That’s a swell invention, the radio. I don’t know what we would’ve done without it.”
“Then while we were getting out,” Granquist went on, “the call went out to the car in Larson’s neighborhood to go and pick you up — we got the address from that. Fat couldn’t find a car so we hired this one at a garage—”
“An’ damn near busted our necks getting to Larson’s,” Borg finished.
Kells asked: “Where did you pick me up?”
“We were turning off Third onto Gramercy when you turned into Third.” Borg lighted his stump of cigar. He bent his head toward Granquist. “Miss Eagle-eye here thought she spotted you in the cab — an’ I thought she was nuts. She wasn’t.”