“How far is it to the station?” asked Bob.
“Two blocks.”
“Then keep on going.”
The driver pressed the accelerator to the floor boards and the cab leaped ahead, ran through a red light in spite of the waving arms of another traffic officer, and then shrieked to a stop before the central police station.
Behind them the siren rose and then fell as the motorcycle officer wheeled to the curb.
“Smart guys, smart guys,” he yelled. “Look where you stopped?”
Grinning, he pointed to the sign which designated the building as the police station.
“Just go right on in and make yourselves at home. You’ll be there long enough. I’m going to slap half a dozen traffic charges against you.”
Bob had no time to waste words with a traffic officer.
“Come on in and place all of the charges you want to,” he snapped, motioning to the taxi driver to accompany him.