The driver resisted sullenly.
"Mr. Kennedy--look out!" cried Elaine.
Craig turned. But it was too late. The rough looking fellow had
wakened to life. Suddenly he stepped up behind Kennedy with a
blackjack. As the heavy weight descended, Craig crumpled up on the
ground, unconscious.
With a scream, Elaine turned and started to run. But the chauffeur
seized her arm.
"Say, bo," he asked of the rough fellow, "what does Clutching Hand
want with her? Quick! There's another cab likely to be along in a
moment with that fellow Jameson in it."
The rough fellow, with an oath, seized her and dragged her into
the taxicab. "Go ahead!" he growled, indicating the road.
And away they sped, leaving Kennedy unconscious on the side of the
road where we found him.
. . . . . . . .
"What are we to do?" I asked helplessly of Kennedy, when we had at
last got him on his feet.
His head still ringing from the force of the blow of the
blackjack, Craig stooped down, then knelt in the dust of the road,
then ran ahead a bit where it was somewhat muddy.
"Which way--which way?" he muttered to himself.
I thought perhaps the blow had affected him and leaned over to see
what he was doing. Instead, he was studying the marks made by the
tire of the Clutching Hand cab. Very decidedly, there in the road,
the little anti-skid marks on the tread of the tire showed--some
worn, some cut--but with each revolution the same marks
reappearing unmistakably.
Pages:
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67