ribs so full o' lead you'll look like a range-target! One move—an', by Gawd, I mean it!"
She groped for the taxi door as she spoke, half rising from her seat and backing slowly away as the door swung open.
Kestner stared into that crafty and audacious young face as the girl lifted the revolver so that the round black "O" of its barrel-end gaped insolently and impudently up into his own face. He watched her as she stepped to the running-board of the cab, and from there drew still further back to the curb of the sidewalk.
"Not a move!" she warned him, as she slammed shut the cab door behind her.
She had crossed the sidewalk and was half way up the brownstone steps before he came to a decision. The ignominy of utter inaction, under the circumstances, was more than he could endure. He decided to take the risk. And taking it, he knew it would have to be taken with a rush.
He was half up out of his seat before she saw him. She turned fully around, at that, raising her right arm a little as she turned.
The next moment, Kestner dropped low in the seat, hugging the worn upholstery, for instinctively he knew what was coming. The sharp bark of the revolver mingled with the sudden crash of glass. She had deliberately shot out the window of the cab door.
Kestner heard the driver's shout of terror, and felt the sudden pulse of the accelerated engine as the clutch was let in and the cab started forward. The man inside called for the driver to stop, but several
