And I don't mind tellin' you, if you do, you
won't get it."
Again the spiteful drumming of the automatic: P. Sybarite swung round
in time to see one of the plain-clothes men return the fire with
several brisk shots, then abruptly drop his revolver, clap a hand to
his bosom, wheel about-face, and fall prone.
A cry shrilled up from the bystanders, only to be drowned out by
another, but fortunately more harmless, fusillade from the garage.
"Tunin' up!" commented the chauffeur grimly. "Sounds to me like they
was about ready to commence!"
P. Sybarite shut his teeth on a nervous tremor and lost a shade or two
of colour.
"Ready?" he said with difficulty.
The chauffeur's reply was muffled by another volley; on the echoes of
which the little man saw the nose of a car poke diagonally out of the
garage door, pause, swerve a trifle to the right, and pause once
again....
"They're coming!" he cried wildly. "Stand by, quick!"
The alarm was taken up and repeated by two-score throats, while those
dotting the street and sidewalks near by broke in swift panic and
began madly to scuttle to shelter within doorways and down basement
steps....
Like an arrow from the string, November's car broke cover at an angle.
Ignoring the slanting way from threshold to gutter, it took the bump
of the curb apparently at full tilt, and skidded to the northern curb
before it could be brought under control and its course shaped
eastward.
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