-

His own car careened from side to side. Bentley wondered what the
chauffeur would think if he knew he was driving a race against one of
Barter's supermen. He would perhaps have realized that no man could
possibly follow with any degree of success. The police driver had
succeeded so far only because, Bentley guessed, he felt that where any
other man could drive, so could he.

Only Bentley knew that the driver up there was not a "man" in the
normal meaning of the word. He wondered who "he" really was--not that
it mattered greatly, for the entity required to make "him" a normal
man had perhaps been destroyed, or had become part of some giant
anthropoid to be used later in Barter's ghastly experiments.

"I wonder if Tyler will send out calls for police cars in other parts
of the city to try and cut off the runaway," shouted Bentley above the
shrieking of the motor and the wailing of the siren. "Are any police
cars equipped with radio?"

"Several," answered the police chauffeur. "And they are able to cut in
on various public radio stations, too. By this time warnings are being
heard on every blaring radio in Manhattan."

The two cars sped on. For a brief space the car ahead took to the
sidewalk. Suddenly a human body was tossed violently against the side
of a building, and the fleeing car passed on. As the pursuing car
passed the spot Bentley knew by the shape of the bundle that the enemy
had killed a woman. At that speed he must have crushed every bone in
her body. In a matter of seconds the information would be telephoned
to radio studios and people would be warned to take to open doorways
when they saw cars traveling at undue rates of speed.

"I'm a better driver than he is!" yelled the police chauffeur, out of
the side of his mouth at Bentley. "I haven't killed anyone yet."

The words had scarcely left his mouth when a blind man, tapping his
way with a cane, came from behind a building at an intersection and
stepped into the gutter. The fool, couldn't he hear the shrieking of
the siren? But perhaps he was deaf, too.

- - -

The police chauffeur turned sharply to the left and for a second
Bentley held his breath expecting the careening car to turn over. If
it did it would roll over a dozen times, and destroy anything that
happened to be in its path. But with a superhuman manipulation of the
wheel the police chauffeur righted the car, got it straightened out
again, and was on his way. The old man