Boarding a street car, he rode eight blocks. Having overhauled a night prowling taxi, he leaped into it from the car and went speeding away into the night.
As he settled back for an eight mile ride, there crept into his mind again grave misgivings. The sack at his side had been cut open by his own hand, and this the most precious, the most carefully guarded of all mail. Not one package might pass from one hand to another without an official signature and a stamp.
“And I dared break all rules!” he told himself, as his heart stood still. “One slip now, and I am done!”
“Done! Out of the mail service forever. Out!”
How he loved his work! Climbing into the clouds in the dewy morning; racing the stars at night; the air; the sky; all the freedom of a bird. How could he stand losing all this?
And yet, even from these he passed to more disturbing thoughts. Was that gang still after him? Where were they now?
“They, too, may be in the city by now,” he told himself. “What if they overhaul me before my task is done?” He shuddered.
“They must not!”
“Driver!” He leaned forward. “Driver, all the speed you dare. And an extra fee for your trouble.”
With a fresh burst of power the taxi sped on through the night.