The roaring sedan avoided a fireplug, scraped an iron railing, swerved with its right wheels on the sidewalk, tore off the bumper of the truck, and spun the corner at full speed. Ahead two blocks, The Spider’s phaeton was speeding, with open muffler.
“Der’s a guy behind a cannon, pointin’ at us,” gritted the driver at Chester’s side.
“Forget it. Go through, an’ we’ll give ’em the works. There must be ten in that car. Pass them so they can’t use that army gun.”
The chase was short. The hundred-horse-power sedan gained on the rocking, overloaded phaeton. Chester ducked his head and drew out his gat. He stared around the windshield.
“Why don’t they turn that buzz-saw loose?” protested the Rose Hill driver. “I gotta have me guts full ov lead before I get mad.”
“Duck, it’s coming,” said Chester. “Get a death grip on that wheel.”
An evil-visaged gangster rose in the rear of the touring-car. He pointed the army machine-gun at the front of the sedan. The Spider shouted something from the front of the car. The gangster drew back on the automobile trigger, behind the oil-cooled barrel. To Chester, crouched and watching with his dark eyes afire, there should have come a hail of hot fire.
Instead yellow and flamingo and purple light burst all around the phaeton. A ball of incandescence was in front of the sedan. A gust of wind and smoke blotted out everything. Through this acrid smoke the sedan plunged, struck an obstruction, turned partly over and righted itself when the driver twisted the wheel.
Looking back, Chick saw the remains of The Spider’s get-away phaeton strewn about the street. Torsos, heads, quivering limbs and blood smeared the curbs. Again Chester looked when the driver slowed the sedan to a legal limit.
“Cripes!” he heard one of his pals say. “There ain’t any ov ’em left!”
Intuition told Chester what had happened — what had probably saved his life. The machine-gun had exploded with all its big-caliber ammunition.
“Stop at this corner,” he instructed the driver. “Right there. I’m going back — you go on and get under cover.”
A north-bound taxi swung around at Chester’s hand-signal. He sprung in and said to the bucker, “Take me south, along Prospect Square, to the arch. Make it snappy.”
The driver started up, after adjusting the meter. He turned his head.
“I can’t go through by th’ Square, sir. Been an accident.”
“Ye — s? What kind?”
“A hell ov a big touring-car blew up. Five killed an’ two are dyin’. Tore a hole in everythin’. Must have been luggin’ dynamite. Guess they were gangsters.”
“Was one of them a man with a nick in his ear, scar across his chin?”
“Sure. Friend ov yours? All that wuz left ov him wuz not worth pickin’ up.”
“Take me to Hadden Towers,” smiled Chester. “I’ve changed my mind.”
Knowing The Spider had been effaced, Chick’s stride was buoyant when he approached Gabby’s ancient phaeton. She perched at the steering wheel. Chick got in and clutched her arm.
“They got th’ works, kid. All of them. The Big-Shot will be tickled to death. He’ll be—”
An innocent roguish smile curled the moll’s red lips.
“Did something explode? I thought I heard a blast, y’u know?”
“You heard one, kid. And you turned the trick for us. What was that you hid under your skirt when I left you?”
“Quart of nitroglycerine. M’ own brand.”
“Ye — s?”
“I didn’t want tu see you shoot it out with The Spider’s gang. I sneaked up the alley, before the pineapples went off, and pried a window open in the garage, at No. 9.1 crawled in, y’u know. The army machine-gun was in a big car. I’d seen it before, when Dad had it. I... I unscrewed the lower drain-plug of th’ cooling chamber.”
“Ye — s?” Chick’s black eyes snapped.
“That let the commercial glycerin out. It was a shame to leave the chamber empty, so I pours m’ quart of nitro in. Anybody firing that cannon would set it off, an’ blooey for them!”
Chester looked at Gabby’s inviting lips. His face neared hers.
“Gimme a kiss, kid. You’re one swell pal.”
A harness bull strolled past the phaeton. He rapped the hood with his night stick. “No petting parties allowed!” he said gruffly. “Move on!”
“I can’t move,” gurgled Gabby. “He’s holding both my arms!”