There were other cities—­but then how was he to get to them?  He saw Manhattan for what it was to a man who was a fugitive from justice and injustice:  an island, a trap, with only a few outlets and inlets for its millions:  two railway stations—­a few ferries—­a few bridges—­a few tunnels:  and at every one of them policemen watching for him.  He could not leave New York.  And yet how in God’s name was he to stay here?

He thought of Maggie.  So she wanted the life of dazzling, excitement, of brilliant adventure, did she?  He wondered how she would like a little of the real thing—­such as this?

As he neared Forty-Second Street he still was without definite plan which would guarantee him safety, and there was Lefty hanging on doggedly.  An idea came which would at least extend his respite and give him more time for thought.  He opened the door of his cab and thrust a ten-dollar note into the instinctively ready hand of his driver.

“Keep the change—­and give me a swing once around Central Park, slowing down on those hilly turns on the west side.”

“I gotcha.”

The car entered the park at the Plaza and sped up the shining, almost empty drive.  Larry kept watch, now on the trailing Lefty, now on the best chance for execution of his idea—­all the way up the east side and around the turn at the north end.  As the car, now south-bound, swung up the hill near One Hundred and Fifth Street, at whose crest there is a sharp curve with thick-growing, overhanging trees, Larry opened the right door and said: 

“Show me a little speed, driver, as soon as you pass this curve!”

“I gotcha,” replied the chauffeur.

The slowing car hugged the inside of the sharp turn, Larry holding the door open and waiting his moment.  The instant the taxi made the curve Lefty’s car was cut from view; and that instant Larry sprang from the running-board, slamming the door behind him, landed on soft earth and scuttled in among the trees.  Crouching in the shadows he saw his car speed away as per his orders, and the moment after he saw Lefty’s car, evidently taken by surprise by this obvious attempt at escape, leap forward in hot pursuit.

Larry slipped farther in among the trees and sat down, his back against a tree.  This was better.  For the time he was safe.

He drew a long breath.  Then for a moment what he had just been through this last hour came back to him in an almost amusing light:  as something grotesquely impossible—­much like those helter-skelter, utterly unreal chases which, with slight variations of personalities and costumes, were the chief plots for the motion-picture drama in its crude childhood.  But though there seemed a likeness, there was a tremendous difference.  For this was real!  Every one was in earnest!

Again he thought of Maggie.  What would she think, what would be her attitude, if she knew the truth about him?—­the truth about those she had gone with and the life she had gone into?  Would she be inclined toward him, would she help him?...