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Page 30
The Weasel made a mighty effort.
"Number three hundred and one--" His voice trailed off into
silence.
"He's dead," said Beany.
"What shall we do?" said Hen. "He's not dead, but pretty close
to it. We will have to get him to a hospital, and wait for him
to give the street that house is on. That means the kid will be
murdered before that time, I suppose. Gee, it's awful."
A taxi rounded the square, and stopped close to them. The driver
got out.
"It's him!" said Hen. "I know that fellow." As the driver
walked toward them, he recognized Hen.
"Hullo!" he said. "What's new?"
"Look here," said Hen. "We got to get this man to the hospital.
A fellow came along and did for him."
"Great Scott!" said the driver, peering into the taxi, where the
electric light shone on the huddled figure in Beany's arms.
A slight, boyish figure came running along the walk. It was
Porky, out of breath, and excited.
"I thought you would have him safe in a hospital," he complained.
"He wouldn't let us," said Hen. "Say, I guess there's, no hope
of saving that kid! This feller here told us all about
everything, and how to got into the place and all, and then he
fainted before he could tell where the house is."
"I know," said Porky. "I trailed them there. We will get this
chap to a hospital, and get the police, and get the Wolf."
"Get nothing!" said Hen. He turned to the other driver. "Hop in
here, and take this man to the nearest hospital. Say you picked
him up in the park. They will arrest you probably, but we got
something to do and it won't wait. That on! If they jug you,
get word to Mr. Leffingwell."
Porky gave the address. Hen reached under the seat and from a
hidden pocket brought out a small, wicked-looking revolver. "I
will take your car," he said. He raced over, and started the
engine. The boys followed, and tumbled in.
"Hi! Hi!" yelled Jim Morris, the taxicab driver. "What you
doin'? You crazy! What do you want me to do?"
"Get that fellow into a doctor's hands quick as you can," said
Hen.
"Then what?" demanded Jim. "You say tell Mr. Leffingwell. What
am I to tell him? Of all the boneheads! What steer do I give
him? Hey?"
"Bully for you!" said Porky, swinging out the door. "Tell Mr.
Leffingwell we are on track of the Wolf. Remember the name. The
Wolf. Don't say it to any one before you tell Mr. Leffingwell or
you will be sorry for yourself. Ask him to get the secret
service men, and call the police force and come to this address."
He scribbled a street and number on a piece of paper.
"Say, why don't one of youse boys come and tell this yarn? I can
see where I'm the goat!"
"Never mind!" cried Porky. "We'll be along some time or other,
and bail you out."
Hen's mouth thinned down to a straight line as he started the
car.
"Not too fast!" said Porky. "It is not far." He repeated the
street and number. Hen made a quick turn and glided smoothly
across a side street. Beany, looking behind, saw Jim Morris
give a look after them, then start his car and dash off, the
insensible figure of the Weasel swaying on the back seat.
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