Meanwhile, as the two cars skidded and reeled toward the appointed spot of disaster, Marc continued to loiter several blocks behind. Having deliberately cut across traffic in the middle of the block, he pulled up beside the police car and leaned out the window. "I just cut across traffic!" he called out. The cop behind the wheel left his conversation with his companion and observed Marc dubiously. "So what?" he asked. "You want me to give you a gold star on your driver's license?" "I don't have a driver's license," Marc offered hopefully. "What are you going to do about it, you big, thick-headed slob?" The cop turned back to his partner. "A kidder, we've got here," he said. He turned back to Marc. "Beat it, comedian, you and your girl friend take off." "Aren't you going to chase me?" Marc asked. "I'm a lawbreaker." "Move along, chum," the cop drawled, "before I sell you a ticket to the orphan's picnic." "But you've _got_ to chase me," Marc said urgently. "No I don't, friend," the cop said. "I've got to sit here and listen for radio leads on this goofy Pillsworth guy." "But that's me!" Marc said. "I'm Pillsworth!" The cop looked at him with forced patience. "Sure, sure," he said. "And I'm Miss Atlantic City. Beat it." He turned back to his companion. "What if I told you I knew where a murder was going to happen?" Marc ventured. The cop looked around. "You're just full of news, aren't you?" he said, and turned away again. For a moment Marc sat in silent indecision. Then he turned to the blonde. "Why don't you scream?" he asked. "Why should I?" the woman asked interestedly. "Do you really know where a murder's going to happen?" "You said screaming made you feel good," Marc suggested. "I feel fine," the woman said. "I always do with a lot of stuff going on. Who's going to get murdered?" Marc glanced desperately from the woman to the cops and back again. A determined look came into his eyes. He cautiously extended two fingers to the woman's thigh. "I'm sorry," he said, and pinched as hard as he could. * * * * * The results were everything to be wished for--and more. Stiffening in her seat, the woman let out a bleat that surpassed even her previous efforts. Even George might have envied the torment in her voice as it soared, swooped, scaled the heights and dipped into soul-shattering depths. At its completion, the blonde turned and took a clawing swipe at Marc's face. Marc ducked. "That's the stuff!" he said happily, noting from the corner of his eye that he had finally gained the undivided attention of the police force. Pinching the blonde again and nodding his satisfaction at the second chorus, he threw the coupe into gear, cut across traffic and headed down the speedway. It was only a moment before the wail of a siren mingled with the shrill vocalizations of his companion. He pushed the gas feed to the floor.