"He wouldn't let us," said Hen. "Say, I guess there's, no hope of saving that kid! This feller here told us all about everything, and how to got into the place and all, and then he fainted before he could tell where the house is."
"I know," said Porky. "I trailed them there. We will get this chap to a hospital, and get the police, and get the Wolf."
"Get nothing!" said Hen. He turned to the other driver. "Hop in here, and take this man to the nearest hospital. Say you picked him up in the park. They will arrest you probably, but we got something to do and it won't wait. That on! If they jug you, get word to Mr. Leffingwell."
Porky gave the address. Hen reached under the seat and from a hidden pocket brought out a small, wicked-looking revolver. "I will take your car," he said. He raced over, and started the engine. The boys followed, and tumbled in.
"Hi! Hi!" yelled Jim Morris, the taxicab driver. "What you doin'? You crazy! What do you want me to do?"
"Get that fellow into a doctor's hands quick as you can," said
Hen.
"Then what?" demanded Jim. "You say tell Mr. Leffingwell. What am I to tell him? Of all the boneheads! What steer do I give him? Hey?"
"Bully for you!" said Porky, swinging out the door. "Tell Mr. Leffingwell we are on track of the Wolf. Remember the name. The Wolf. Don't say it to any one before you tell Mr. Leffingwell or you will be sorry for yourself. Ask him to get the secret service men, and call the police force and come to this address." He scribbled a street and number on a piece of paper.
"Say, why don't one of youse boys come and tell this yarn? I can see where I'm the goat!"
"Never mind!" cried Porky. "We'll be along some time or other, and bail you out."