crowd of patrons were pouring from the club behind them. With a quick push Puffy deposited Drake in the streamlined coupe and rounded the rear tires on the run. He jumped behind the wheel and turned the key. Sirens were whining in close now.
The door slammed and a girl landed squarely on Drake's lap.
It was the dancing girl, Sylvia Fanton. Her face was flushed brightly with fright.
"Whee!" Drake shouted gleefully. "The Angel herself. Where's the Tiffany?"
He threw his arms about her slim, silver-clad waist and planted a popping kiss on her cheek. The flat of the girl's hand caught his face, hard. Drake sobered a degree.
"My jacket!" her voice was strained and tense. "Please! I must have it at once."
Drake was interested. His pale eyes started to show fight.
"Sure!" he said. "But it's my jacket."