The taxi came to a sudden halt at a curb. The driver sprang from the front seat, mounted the running-board and pressed a pair of sharp eyes against the side glass. Fay, Rake and Yeader lay on the cab floor with their faces shielded by their up-thrown arms. The driver swung into the seat, raced the engine, and clicked through the speeds. The taxi darted up Fifth Avenue. It gained Fifty-ninth Street and turned into the Park. It swung the dark curves on its swift passage uptown. Fay’s fingers groped along the seat and clasped an automatic. “Get the other!” he said into Rake’s ear. “You, Yeader, take the hatchet and pry at the bottom of the door. I’ve got my hand over the suction pipe. We wont be suffocated.” The ride seemed endless. The taxi rolled from out the foliage of the Park and climbed a long hill. It turned northward along street-car tracks. “Broadway!” said Fay, sensing his position. “We’re going right out Broadway.” Rake gasped and pressed a finger across his mouth. He coughed, pounded his chest, and recovered himself. His eyes glared indignantly. He waited till the taxi clattered over a bridge, then he protested: “Let me out, Chester. I’ll wring that damn girl’s neck! I can’t stand this much longer. There’s no air.” “Sisst!” said Fay. “Are you sure Elsie De Groot is driving the taxi?” “Sure! I’d swear to it!” Fay chuckled. “We’ll soon know. This is Yonkers. We’ve passed Getty Square. We’re turning now. Now we’re going north. Two turns and then a straight road. I’d know where we are, blindfolded.” * * * * * It was twenty minutes later when the taxi slowed, backed, then swung toward the left and took a narrow bumpy road. Fay sat up, pressed his toe on the sucking exhaust-pipe and clamped his teeth with a suggestive grind. “All ready!” he said nudging Yeader. “See, we’re rising. We’re going across a bridge. Listen! That’s the New York Central Railroad below us. This is where Stephney was thrown on the freight-train. Now--look out!” The taxi dropped down a long, sharp incline with its brakes grinding. It rounded a lodge-gate, swung by a dark, stone house and came to a sudden halt in a sheltered courtyard. The driver sprang out. Fay braced his feet against the door. He heard two voices in whispered conversation. A third joined in with a protesting snarl. The handle of the door clicked. A key was inserted. The lock snapped open. Fay bent his knees, aimed at the exact center of the panel and kicked outward. He rolled over with the force of his blow. He staggered from the cab with Yeader and Rake scrambling after him. “Get up your hands!” he exclaimed, jabbing forward the automatic. “Up! Up! Up! All three of you!” Rake lunged swiftly and wrapped his arms about the forward figure of a startled group. He went down with the man under him.