The quarry stopped at a corner, lighted a cigar, and stood waiting. Muggs was concealed in a doorway fifty feet behind him; Verbeck was in another doorway across the street.
An owl car came along, and their quarry boarded it. But Verbeck had been expecting that, and for some time had been watching a taxicab standing before a drug store on the corner. As the owl car started up again, Verbeck dashed across the street, and he had the chauffeur out of the drug store and into the seat before Muggs reached the spot.
“Follow that owl car,” Verbeck directed. “There’s a man on it that we’d like to see when he gets off.”
“I’m wise,” the chauffeur cried. “Fly cops, eh? Get in!”
The cab lurched along the slippery street, keeping half a block behind the owl car. Whenever the car stopped, the cab drew up at the curb, and Verbeck put out his head to watch. But their quarry remained aboard.
“If this keeps up we’ll clear out of town,” said Muggs.
“Anxious for action?” Verbeck asked, laughing. “You may get plenty of it before we are done. Have a bit of patience, Muggs.”
“I’ve got patience, all right, boss—and I’ve got a hunch, too.”
“Let’s have it!” At times Verbeck had a great deal of respect for Muggs’ hunches.
“I’ve got a hunch we’d have done better if we’d handed that gent over to the police.”