The Yellow Band by Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson

Author:Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson [Grant, Maxwell & Gibson, Walter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Espionage, Fiction, Thrillers
ISBN: 9781932806878
Amazon: 1932806873
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1937-08-15T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XIII. THE LOST HOUR.

THE SHADOW knew that luck had tricked him, before he had traveled a quarter mile. He had given the taxi driver an address and told the fellow to hurry; so he was keeping ahead of the sedan. What The Shadow needed was a greater gap before the pursuers drew closer.

A break in traffic helped; The cab sped across a busy street just as the light went red. Cleer would have followed through the stop signal; but other cars intervened. That little halt, however, gave Cleer a chance to talk to a traffic cop.

As the cab swung down another street, a siren shrieked behind it. A motor-cycle officer whizzed into sight and overtook the cab. Glaring at the driver, the cop shouted:

“Pull over!”

The cabby started to obey, just as they reached a cross street. At that instant, the cold steel of a gun muzzle pressed the cab driver's neck. A voice toned the command:

“Turn right!”

The cabby jerked the wheel. The taxi spun right on two wheels. The motor-cycle policeman overran the crossing; and came about with another shout. Before he could pull a gun or turn his cycle, the cab had run a short block and made a left turn.

That chill down the cabby's spine was all that the fellow needed to make him perform miracles at the wheel. He saw traffic ahead and was ready to rip through it, when the voice behind him told him to stop the cab. The gun muzzle withdrew from the quaking man's neck, but he thought he could still feel it.

He was sitting there, teeth chattering, when the motor-cycle cop pulled up to demand why he had disobeyed orders. The cabby managed to move his lips, barely uttering:

“The guy in back-take him off me!”

The cop yanked open the rear door. The cab was empty. The officer came back to the driver.

“Maybe you'd better come along with me, he told the cabby. “We'll let you take the booze test. Looks like you've got the rams-driving around, thinking people have got a bead on you.”

Cleer arrived with the sedan while the cop was talking. He listened to the cabby's story and so did Kurman. They had a different opinion.

“There was a guy in that cab,” asserted Cleer. “He must have ducked out. Where'd he get to?”

From the back seat, Gancy pointed across the street to the side door of a garage. Cleer caught the idea.

“He's in there! voiced the dick. “Probably grabbing a bus of his own. Get around to the front, quick!”

THE motor-cycle cop was off. He reached the corner just in time to see a long roadster wheel from the garage and turn in the other direction. Jumping off his motor-cycle, the policeman, beckoned to Cleer and pointed out the car. The cop had spotted the license number. He shouted it.

Angrily, Cleer waved him to go ahead. The sedan didn't have a chance to overtake that big machine of Allard's, but the motor-cycle did. The cycle cop resumed the chase; but he was badly outdistanced.

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