“Dollar and a half, sir.”

“Go ahead,” directed Jack, springing inside and pulling the door shut.

The only time Benson had been to the hospital before was on the morning of the accident.

At that time he had not noticed the road very closely.  Now, at night, all looked so different to him that he had no idea whether or not he was being driven in the right direction.  He left all that to the driver, as most people do when employing cabs.

“I’d like just a little peep-in at Rhinds tonight,” thought Jack, as he settled back against the comfortable upholstery.  “I reckon he knows, by this time, something of the way of the transgressor.”

If the young submarine captain noticed anything at all of the way the driver was taking him, he saw only that the vehicle was rolling through a quiet, rather shabby, ill-lighted portion of the city.

Thus the cab went, down street after street, the horses moving only at the slowest trot.

“What this cab needs is one of our gasoline engines,” thought Jack, lazily.  Then, suddenly: 

“No, sir!  By gracious, no!  That would make an automobile out of this old tub on wheels, and, until Mr. Pollard gets whole again, anyway, we’ve had enough of automobiles.  One of our crowd in hospital, at a time, is plenty!”

Then there came a moment in which the cab stopped so suddenly that the young skipper was all but thrown from his seat.

“Gracious!” uttered the submarine boy.  “Who’s torpedoing us?”

But, at that instant, Jack Benson received a more genuine shock.

For the left-hand door of the vehicle was wrenched suddenly open.  In the doorway appeared the white, ugly, desperate face of Fred Radwin!

Without a word, Radwin threw himself forward, making a leap into the carriage.

CHAPTER XXII

A CORNERED SUBMARINE CAPTAIN

“You—­get—­out!”

Quick as thought Jack Benson raised his left foot, planting it, as vigorously as his sitting position allowed, against the ribs of Fred Radwin.

That worthy, one foot on the sill, and bent in the act of entering fell back, going in a heap to the sidewalk.

Benson fairly hurled himself through the open door in his need of reaching the sidewalk in time.

He stood, now waiting for a second or so.

Then Fred Radwin jumped up, prepared to grapple with this young foeman.

But Jack was ready for that.  He had ready a handy sailor jab—­a short-arm blow with the fist that sent Radwin once more to the sidewalk.

Then, as scientific boxing rules were not called for in an encounter of this kind, Jack followed up his advantages with two severe kicks.

Down from the seat leaped the driver, heavy whip in hand.

“Oh, you’re in this, are you?” panted Jack, seeing that the driver was headed straight for him.