There was an interval of silence. Sidney Zoom knew that he was on the beat of car eighty-two. He was within a few blocks of Third and McAlpin, and he spun the wheel, turned down a side street that would give him a clear run to McAlpin.
Not that Sidney Zoom was a part of the police force. Far from it. Independently wealthy, owner of a palatial private yacht upon which he spent most of his time, he was tired of the ways of civilization. He demanded conflict, this gaunt, grim fighter. He had found that conflict in patrolling the midnight streets of the great city, listening to the reports which came over the short length radio from police headquarters, selecting such cases as sounded interesting, and speeding to them, gave him relief.
His activities were never quite illegal. That is, their illegality could never be proven. But those activities were very effective at times. There were occasions when he protected the weak, occasions when he fought the strong, and always, of late, he was in conflict with the police.
In the rumble seat of the roadster, crouched his companion of the night prowls, a tawny police dog, trained in the work of the police, trained, also, to obey the commands of Sidney Zoom. Master and dog worked together with unerring efficiency.
Sidney Zoom knew that car eighty-two had beat him to the call as he swung his roadster into McAlpin. He could see the red tail light, just above which was a any pinprick of blue light, signal of the police car. It was ahead of him and speeding along the boulevard.
Sidney Zoom did not care to tangle with the police unless he derived some pleasure or benefit from the contact. The mere routine of a casual investigation was not a sufficiently alluring bait. He swung his car to the right on Fourth Street and let the police car go on to the comer of Third.
Zoom drove in close to the curb and slowed down. He was listening for another call that would prove of interest. The siren whistle commanded attention while the mechanical voice of the police announcer reported a man chasing a woman, armed with a big knife. The chase was in a far corner of the city, however, and Zoom knew that car thirteen would be on the ground.
Another call reported a burglary on the beat of car twenty-nine. Then there was a period of silence, and Zoom saw the man who was walking rapidly and purposefully along the curb, his face turned back, as though looking for a cruising cab.
It was a section of the city where cabs rarely cruised, at that hour of the night. The business district was near, and this place was given over to wholesale offices, little retail stores that could not afford high rentals. Pedestrians were far from plentiful.
The lights of Zoom’s car fell full upon the white, strained face of the man at the curb. He was dressed in a brown sack suit, wore a black felt hat, had on a red necktie and brown shoes. He was, perhaps, forty-three or four and was stocky in build.
Sidney Zoom’s hawk-like eyes fastened upon the face of the waiting man, and something of tension in the strained, drawn expression of the mouth and eyes caused this connoisseur of adventure, to brake his car to an abrupt stop.
“Perhaps I can give you a lift,” he said. “There won’t be a cab along here for half an hour, perhaps.”
He saw the instant relief which flooded the face of the pedestrian.
“Thanks,” said the man and moved forward.
Sidney Zoom kicked a switch which shut off the radio from operation. The man climbed into the car and sat down.
“Nice dog you have there,” he said.
“Yes,” answered Sidney Zoom, shortly.
The police dog leaned forward, smelling of the newcomer, his paws placed upon the folded top of the roadster. He gave a deep sniff, then braced himself and growled throatily.
The man moved hastily.
“Won’t bite, will he?” he asked.
“No,” said Zoom. “That’s all, Rip. Get back and lie down.”
The dog stepped back to the cushion of the rumble seat, dropped down; but he gave another of those low, rumbling growls.
Sidney Zoom understood that growl as plainly as though the dog had spoken to him in words, and said: “I can smell a gun in this man’s pocket. It’s been shot somewhere recently. There’s the odor of powder, burnt powder.”
But Sidney Zoom gave no sign that he had learned that the man he had picked up on the dark side street was carrying a concealed weapon. His manner remained courteous, but aloof.
“I’m driving uptown,” he said.
“I wonder if you’re going past the Raleigh Arms Hotel on Madison Street,” said his guest.
“I can,” said Zoom, and spun the wheel.
The man he had picked up stared at him in surreptitious appraisal. Zoom kept his unwinking eyes on the road. He seemed to have no curiosity, no desire for social conversation. The car came to Madison Street. Zoom drove to the hotel, slowed the car.
“Thanks,” said his passenger.
“Don’t mention it,” said Zoom.
He speeded the car away from the curb, turned to the right at the comer, turned to the right again at the next comer and swung once more into Madison Street when he came to the intersection. He parked the car, ordered the dog to crouch down behind the lines of the car body so that he would be invisible to passers-by. Then Zoom walked to the other side of the street, stood in a position where he could watch the hotel lobby, both the front and side exits.
He waited five minutes. The man he had carried in his car came out of the side door, Looked about him, held up his hand for a cab. Zoom walked swiftly back, along the curb, climbed into his roadster and started the motor. By the time the cab had swung into the main street Zoom was on its tail.
He followed the cab to the Yeardly Apartments, an unpretentious building sandwiched between two of the outlying business streets, saw his man pay off the cab and go up a flight of stairs.
Zoom switched on the radio and started cruising again. He filed the appearance of the man and the place where he had discharged the cab in a hodge-podge of miscellaneous information which Zoom kept under his hat, and which concerned various and sundry of the night activities of the city.
He had gone a matter of some eight or nine blocks when the sound of the radio, calling car eighty-two again claimed his attention.
“An unconscious man is reported as being in an alley opening off of Fourth Street near McAlpin. Car eighty-two, investigate and report.”
Sidney Zoom pushed the throttle of his roadster well down and speeded toward the place described in the radio alarm. There was no stopping for arterial stops, no pausing for speed limits. The roadster rushed through the dark streets, Zoom’s gaunt hands gripping the steering wheel.
Once more he found that car eighty-two was ahead of him, but Zoom managed to catch up within the last two hundred feet. The cars swung to the curb together.
There was the form of a man, huddled in the shadows at the mouth of the alley, lying limp and inert. As the officers bent over him, the sound of the clanging gong of an ambulance came to their ears.
Sidney Zoom pushed his way forward.
One of the officers frowned, grunted: “Look who’s here!”
The other officer straightened, said: “Hello, Zoom.”
The greetings were not particularly cordial, nor were they entirely unfriendly. Lonely men who patrol the night streets, in more or less constant danger, welcome company, even though they do not always agree with the methods used by that company. On two occasions Zoom had been of considerable assistance to the patrol cars. On one evening he had saved the life of an officer who was trapped between the fire of two desperate bandits.
“Dead?” asked Zoom.
“Don’t think so. Got a sock on the head. Turn him over, Frank, and let’s see if there’s any blood.”
The men tugged at the inert body.