But that first spurt was short-lived, for we came to sharply applied brakes by the time we had but crossed the avenue.
I heard a sharp command as a man dashed from the swing door of a shore-front saloon. Then the door beside me was yanked open, and as quickly closed.
“After ’em now, for all that’s in you!” yelled the man who had flopped beside me, and the car lurched forward again.
I whirled on the intruder in a rage.
“Came near losing ’em, didn’t you?” said he quietly.
“Pawlinson!” I managed to whisper in my amazement.
“I was a trifle dramatic,” he explained easily; “but, from my vantage point of the saloon window yonder, I calculated that maybe two of us might work together better in this case.
“And, besides,” he added meaningly, as the cab swayed us to its mad pace, “I want to talk over some things with you.”
As I think was natural enough, I had the greatest difficulty in recovering from complete bewilderment. But I did manage finally to blurt out:
“And I, too—I’m in the dark about a good many things.”