John Bruce dropped off the car, and planted himself in the path of the on-coming taxi. Call it his job, then, if it pleased him! He owed it to Larmon to get to the bottom of this. How extremely logical he was! The transaction in the traveling pawn-shop had been so fair-minded as almost to exonerate Monsieur Henri de Lavergne on the face of it, and if it had not been for a certain vision therein, and a fire in his own veins, and a fury at the thought that even her acquaintance with the gambling manager was profanity, he could have heartily applauded Monsieur Henri de Lavergne for a unique and original---- The taxi bellowed at him, hoarsely indignant. John Bruce stepped neatly to one side--and jumped on the footboard. “Here, you! What the hell!” shouted the chauffeur. “You----” “Push your foot on it a little,” said John Bruce calmly. “And don't lose sight of that closed car ahead.” “Lose sight of nothin'!” yelled the chauffeur. “I've got a fare, an'----” “I hear him,” said John Bruce composedly. He edged in beside the chauffeur, and one of the crisp, new, fifty-dollar banknotes passed into the latter's possession. “Keep that car in sight, and don't make it hopelessly obvious that you are following it. I'll attend to your fare.” He screwed around in his seat. An elderly, gray-whiskered gentleman, a patently irate gentleman, was pounding furiously on the glass panel. “We should be turnin' down this street we're just passin',” grinned the chauffeur. John Bruce lowered the panel. “What's the meaning of this?” thundered the fare. “I'm very sorry, sir,” said John Bruce respectfully. “A little detective business.” He coughed. It was really quite true. His voice became confidential. “The occupants of that car ahead got away from me. I--I want to arrest one of them. I'm very sorry to put you to any inconvenience, but it couldn't be helped. There was no other way than to commandeer your taxi. It will be only for a matter of a few minutes.” “It's preposterous!” spluttered the fare. “Outrageous! I--I'll----” “Yes, sir,” said John Bruce. “But there was nothing else I could do. You can report it to headquarters, of course.” He closed the panel. “Fly-cop--not!” said the chauffeur, with his tongue in his cheek. “Any fly-cop that ever got his mitt on a whole fifty-dollar bill all at one time couldn't be pried lose from it with a crowbar!” “It lets you out, doesn't it?” inquired John Bruce pleasantly. “Now let's see you earn it.” “I'll earn it!” said the chauffeur with unction. “You leave it to me, boss!”