ad turned the corner, and he watched
it now in a sort of grim fascination. There was no possible doubt of it!
The two bobbing, bouncing headlights were creeping steadily nearer. And
then a sort of unnatural calm settled upon Jimmie Dale, and his hand
went mechanically to his pocket to feel his automatic there, as he
turned again to the chauffeur.

"If you've got any more speed, you'd better use it!" he said
significantly.

The man shot a quick look at him.

"They are following us? You are SURE?"

"Yes," said Jimmie Dale.

The chauffeur laughed again in that mirthless, savage way.

"Lean over here, where I can talk to you!" he rasped out. "The game's
up, as far as I am concerned, I guess! But there's a chance for you.
They don't know you in this."

"Give her more speed--or dodge into a cross street!" suggested Jimmie
Dale coolly. "They haven't got us yet, by a long way!"

The other shook his head.

"It's not only that cab behind," he answered, through set lips. "You
don't know what we're up against. If they're really after us, there's
a trap laid in every section of this city--the devils! It's the package
they want. Thank God for the presentiment that made me leave it behind!
I was going back for it, you understand, if I was satisfied that we
weren't followed. Listen! There's a chance for you--there's none for me.
That package--remember this!--no one else knows where it is, and it's
life and death to the one who sent you here. It's in Box 428 at--My God,
LOOK! Look there!" he yelled, and, with a wrench at the wheel, sent the
taxi lurching and staggering for the car tracks in the centre of the
street.

The scene, fast as thought itself, was photographing itself in every
detail upon Jimmie Dale's brain. From the cross street ahead, one from
each corner, two motor cars had nosed out into Broadway, blocking the
road on both sides. And now the car on the left-hand side was
moving forward across the tracks to counteract the chauffeur's move,
deliberately insuring a collision. There was no chance, no further
room to turn, no time to stop--the man driving the other car jumped for
safety--they would be into it in an instant.

"Box 428!" Jimmie pleaded fiercely. "Go on, man! Go on! FINISH!"

"Yes!" cried the chauffeur. "John Johansson, at--"

But Jimmie Dale heard no more. There was the crash of impact as the
taxicab plowed into the car that had been so craftily manoeuvered in
front of it, and Jimmie Dale, lifted