“To the Grand Central!” I shouted to the driver, “and go like the devil.”
We tumbled into the car as the driver stepped on his starter. Fortunately the engine started at once, and he slipped in his first gear and the clutch almost immediately, so that we were already moving when the first cop reached the car. “Here,” he yelled. “Stop, you! I want to talk to you!” And he jumped on to the running board.
I leaned toward him. “Sorry. No time. Got to catch a train. Jump down before you get hurt!”
We were out from the curb now and picking up speed. But the cop had plenty of pluck. Instead of answering he fumbled for his whistle and put it to his lips. At the same moment my fist shot past his arm to the side of his jaw, and he released his hold and fell backward, rolling over and over in the street. I hated to do it, but we had no time for argument.
There came another shout from behind, together with a startled exclamation from our own driver, who had turned and seen the blow. He threw out his clutch and put on his brake as police whistles began to ring out behind us, together with the clatter of competent policemen’s brogues.
Larry leaned forward, and the driver started and gave a gasp as he felt a cold muzzle nuzzling into the tenderest part of his neck. “Put in that clutch and step on her,” urged Larry, “or I’ll blow hell out of you and drive her myself.”
Unlike the cop, the driver did not stop to argue. He threw in his clutch and stepped on the accelerator at once, and we whisked round a corner with a patrol wagon manned by excited cops and shrilling whistles so close behind that they could have reached out and touched us. Once in the straight we drew away from them fast, however. A moment later we turned into Broadway going south.
“Go on,” urged Larry, “step on her, you —— ——”
The patrol wagon turned into Broadway a full block behind us, shrilling and clanging madly. Fortunately we had joined and then passed some other cars, and the two traffic cops we passed had no idea which car to stop. The first one tried to stop us all, but our driver, with the fear of death on him, whisked round and past him. Of course the other cars stopped, blocking the road and effectually preventing the patrol wagon from passing either. The second cop merely stared.
“Up a side street, quick!” I yelled to our driver. And as we turned out of Broadway I looked back to see the vibrating patrol wagon still trying to get past the jam.