“What’s the matter, bud?” he asked.
“The matter!” ejaculated the cab driver, forgetting all about the recent pursuit. “I had a passenger in here a minute ago. Now he’s gone!”
With an oath, the other man dashed back to the sedan. The big car swung around, and climbed the curb on the opposite side of the street, making its turn with the greatest possible speed.
It shot up toward the avenue; and just as it arrived, a cab left the corner. A man was staring through the back window. The sedan moved in immediate pursuit.
Lamont Cranston laughed slightly, as he rolled along in the new cab. A freak of fate had spoiled his little game.
He had left the first cab, when it had stopped so suddenly at the corner of Prince Zuvor’s street. He had cleverly avoided observation of those in the sedan. He had led them back to Prince Zuvor’s house — to the end of a blind trail.
But he had reckoned on another cab at the corner; and none had been there. It had been more than a minute before a cab had come along; and in that space of time, the occupants of the sedan had learned their mistake, and had taken up the chase anew.
The driver of this cab was as reckless as the other. He displayed a marvelous knowledge of upper New York. Picking streets with remarkable precision, he seemed always to arrive at a corner while a green light was burning.
Once, he left the sedan confronting a light which turned red as the taxi passed; but Lamont Cranston, glancing backward, saw that the pursuers paid no attention to the stop signal at the crossing.
The taximan knew it, too; and he tried the plan again; this time to better avail. He shot over a crossing as the light was changing.