Swearing petulantly in his disappointment, Lanyard pulled up on the corner.
The number on the license plate was plainly revealed as the vehicle showed
its back to the street lamp. But what good was that to him? He memorised
it mechanically, in mutinous appreciation of the fact that the taxi was
setting a pace with which he could not hope to compete afoot.
The rumble of another motor-car caught his ear, and he looked round
eagerly. A second taxicab--undoubtedly that which had brought the young
woman now presumably closeted with Mr. Blensop--was moving up into the
place vacated by the first.
In two strides Lanyard was at its side.
"Follow that taxi!" he cried--"number seventy-six, three-eighty-five. Don't
lose sight of it, but don't pass it--don't let them know we're following!"
"Engaged," the driver growled.
"Hang your engagement! Here"--Lanyard pressed a golden eagle into the
fellow's palm--"there will be another of those if you do as I say!"
"Le's go!" the driver agreed with resignation.
If the cab was moving before Lanyard could hop in and shut the door, the
other had already established a killing lead; and though Lanyard's man
demonstrated characteristic contempt for municipal regulations governing
the speed of motor-driven vehicles, and racketed his own madly down the
Avenue, he was wholly helpless to do more than keep the tail-lamp of the
first in sight.
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