She clung to him weeping until he put away her hands and went out. The girl threw herself face downward upon the lounge and sobbed, this time from a sense of loneliness and perhaps of loss.
McCarthy descended the stairs and walked rapidly through the darkened lawn to the street. In spite of his pretense of believing there was no danger he found himself nervous. He walked two blocks toward the street car line, when a taxicab swerved toward the sidewalk.
"Taxi, sir, taxi?" asked the driver. "Take you downtown, sir?"
McCarthy hesitated an instant. If he hurried back to the hotel and found Swanson he would rid himself of the nervous dread of something intangible which he could not explain.
"How much downtown?" he asked, stopping near the taxicab, which had come to a full stop.
"Take you down for half rates, sir; I'm going that way."
"Very well," said McCarthy.
He walked to the side of the car, and turned the handle to step within. The instant he entered the car he felt himself seized and jerked downward while a pair of hands gripped at his throat. A vicious blow struck him on the back of the neck. Twisting, fighting, squirming, he struggled to free himself from the hands that were throttling him. His knees found a grip upon the floor of the car, and bracing himself, he jerked loose from one of the men, and struck wildly at the shape he saw silhouetted against the opposite window. His fist met flesh with a crunching sound.
"I'll kill you for that," gritted someone, striking him. In the half light of the interior McCarthy saw an object descending. He threw up an arm to protect his head, and with a crunching blow a heavy blackjack fell upon his arm. He seized the weapon and jerked it from the hand that had held it, but it fell to the floor of the cab.
McCarthy had struggled to his feet, bowing as his head struck the roof. One man, seated, kicked at him and hurt him cruelly. He was standing, with the car door swinging wide, while the car lurched and raced along a rough street.