"If Templar had sent the police they'd have been here twenty minutes ago," Raddon answered promptly. "The Saint doesn't want the police in this any more than we do. But he's an interfering swine, and we've got to get after him. Start up the cab, Tyler."
"Give me a charnce, will yer?" protested Tyler, climbing into his seat. "I'll 'ave it out in a jiffy."
He was an optimist. They gave him a chance; but the self-starter, which usually had the engine firing after the first whirr, whirred in vain. Tyler's cursing only added to the ear-aching sounds which filled the garage.
"You'll have no batteries left," Raddon said helpfully.
The taxi man climbed down from his seat.
"Funny bloomin' thing," he rumbled. "She don't usually play tricks like this 'ere. "Tain't as if she was stone cold neither."
"Perhaps you forgot to turn the petrol on," ventured Welmont.
"P'raps there ain't any blinkin' engine," snarled Tyler. "Wot the 'ell d' yer take me for?" He uncovered the engine and addressed a few scorching remarks to it. "Can't nobody show me a light?" he said bitterly. "Think I'm a blarsted cat? Nothink wrong with the jooce." The carburetor flooded at his touch. "Ignition looks all right too. 'E didn't take out the plugs. Nothink loose nowhere…"
He tried again, with the same result. The engine, for some inexplicable reason, amused itself by turning over, but it simply refused to fire. Tyler had been a taxi driver for years, and before that he had worked as a motor mechanic. The cab was his own property, and he always did his own repairs. He tried everything he could think of, but he never thought of taking a look at the rear end of the exhaust pipe.
"We've wasted enough time," said Raddon angrily. "I've got to get in touch with Z—"