The taxicab had its limitations, and Hambleton suddenly became impatient of its monotonous slithering along the firm road.  Telling the driver to follow him, he descended and crossed to where Cathedral Parkway switches off.  He walked briskly, feeling the tonic of the sea air, and circled the cathedral, where workmen were lounging away after their day’s toil.  The unfinished edifice loomed up like a giant skeleton of some prehistoric era, and through its mighty open arches and buttresses Jim saw fleecy clouds scudding across the western sky, A stone saint, muffled in burlap, had just been swung up into his windy niche, but had not yet discarded his robes of the world.  Hambleton was regarding the shapeless figure with mild interest, wondering which saint of the calendar could look so grotesque, when a sound drew his attention sharply to earth.  It was a small sound, but there was something strange about it.  It was startling as a flash in a summer sky.

Besides the workmen, there was no living thing in sight on the hillside except his own taxicab, swinging slowly into the avenue at that moment, and a covered motor-car getting up speed a square away.  Even as the car approached, Hambleton decided that the strange sound had proceeded from its ambushed tonneau; and it was, surely, a human voice of distress.  He stepped forward to the curb.  The car was upon him, then lumbered heavily and swiftly past.  But on the instant of its passing there appeared, beneath the lifted curtain and quite near his own face, the face of the singer of yesterday; and from pale, agonized lips, as if with, dying breath, she cried, “Help, help!”

Hambleton knew her instantly, although the dark abundance of her hair was almost lost beneath hat and flowing veil, and the bright, humorous expression was blotted out by fear.  He stood for a moment rooted to the curb, watching the dark mass of the car as it swayed down the hill.  Then he beckoned sharply to his driver, met the taxicab half way, and pointed to the disappearing machine.

“Quick!  Can you overtake it?”

“I’d like nothing better than to run down one o’ them Dook machines!” said the driver.

CHAPTER III

MIDSUMMER MADNESS

The driver of the taxicab proved to be a sound sport.

Five minutes of luck, aided by nerve, brought the two machines somewhat nearer together.  The motor-car gained in the open spaces, the taxicab caught up when it came to weaving its way in and out and dodging the trolleys.  At the frequent moments when he appeared to be losing the car, Hambleton reflected that he had its number, which might lead to something.  At the Waldorf the car slowed up, and the cab came within a few yards.  Hambleton made up his mind at that instant that he had been mistaken in his supposition of trouble threatening the lady, and looked momently to see her step from the car into the custody of those starched and lacquered menials who guard the portals of fashionable hotels.