Had he done so, he would have seen the cab driver lean out and stare down the street in back of him.
The coupe was coming on. The police whistle had failed to stop it.
Now the driver of the cab was using every trick he knew to dodge away from the car that sought to overtake him. He knew that the man in the coupe was pursuing the passenger within the cab, and he was determined to prevent the capture.
IT was a thrilling race through the city streets, zigzagging along the brightly lighted thoroughfares toward the more secluded roads of Central Park. In his efforts to get there, the cab driver virtually doubled on his tracks.
Through it all, Burke was drowsing in the back seat, totally indifferent to his surroundings — utterly oblivious of his fate. If great danger threatened him, he did not know and did not care.
At last the taxi driver gained his opportunity. He shot recklessly between an automobile and a trolley car.
The coupe, close in the rear, was stopped short by the trolley. Before the slow moving barrier was gone, the taxi had turned down a side street.
Two minutes later, it reached Central Park.
The driver was more careful now. He looked through the glass partition and grinned as he saw his passenger resting in the corner of the seat, apparently asleep.
There was no sign of the coupe. It had been lost in traffic.