“Step on it; we’ll pay any fines,” he said.
The cab lurched away, gaining speed so rapidly they shot around the corner in a dizzy skid. Turning onto Fifth Avenue they saw the long, dark sedan and ahead of it the taxi in which Jim was riding. A stop light blazed in their faces and their cab ground to a halt.
“Go on, go on,” urged Janet, leaning toward the driver.
“Can’t make it,” he growled, pointing to the heavy stream of cross traffic which was flowing ahead of them.
When the light changed the taxi and its pursuing sedan had disappeared.
“Pull over to the curb,” Janet told their driver. “Now what shall we do?” she asked her companions.
“Anybody know where Jim lives?” asked Curt.
“I do,” replied Janet.
“Then let’s go there and wait for him. We’ll be sure that he gets home all right.”
Janet gave the driver Jim Hill’s address and they raced up the avenue once more. In less than fifteen minutes they pulled up before an apartment house and Janet went into the small lobby and pressed the buzzer that signalled Jim’s apartment. There was no reply and she returned to the cab, a mounting fear in her heart.