When the taxicab got beyond the place where the eight-miles-an-hour speed limit did not interfere, the driver let the machine out, and the figures in the dial danced a jig. But Random & Griggs were furnishing the music for the dance, and Matt composed himself.
“You’re a stranger in New York, aren’t you?” Harold inquired.
“I haven’t been in the city for a long time,” Matt answered.
“This is the Pelham Road,” the messenger went on, “and that’s the sound, over there.”
“I was never out this way before,” said Matt, “but——”
Just at that moment something went wrong with the taxicab. There was a wobble, a wild lurch sidewise, a brief jump across the road, and a terrific jolt as the machine came to a halt. The body of the car was thrown over to a dangerous angle, Matt was flung violently against Harold Granger, and both of them struck the door. Under the impact of their bodies, the door yielded, and they fell out of the vehicle and into the road.
Malt had given vent to a sharp exclamation, and his companion had uttered a shrill cry. The next moment they were on the ground, Matt picking himself up quickly, a little shaken but in no wise injured.
The taxicab, he saw at a glance, had dived from the road into a stone wall. The driver had vanished, and Matt took a hurried glance over the wall to see if he had landed on the other side of it. He was not there, and the mystery as to his whereabouts deepened.
Turning to give his attention to Granger, Matt received another start. The young fellow was lying beside the taxicab, lifting himself weakly on one arm. His tin box had dropped near him, and his derby hat had fallen off. Strands of long, yellow hair, which must have been done into a coil and hidden under a wig of some sort, had been released and were waving about Granger’s shoulders.
A woman! Here was a pretty tangle, and Motor Matt was astounded.