As the first car disappeared we caught a glimpse of a man leaning out of it.  He seemed to be swinging something around and around at arm’s length.  Suddenly he let it go and it shot high up in the air on the roof of a tenement house.

“The automobile is the most dangerous weapon ever used by criminals,” muttered Garrick, as the first car shot down through a mass of trucking which had backed up and shifted, making pursuit momentarily more impossible for us.  “These people know how to use the automobile, too.  But we’ve got someone here, anyhow,” he cried, leaping out and pushing aside the crowd that had collected about the wrecked car.

In the bottom of it we found a man, stunned and crumpled into a heap.  Blood flowed from his arm where one of the bullets had struck him.  Several bullets had struck the back of the cab and both tires were cut by them.

As I came up and looked over Garrick’s shoulder at the prostrate and unconscious figure in the car, I could not restrain an exclamation of surprise.

It was the garage keeper, the Boss—­at last!

Policemen had come up in the meantime, and several minutes were consumed while Garrick proved to them his identity.

“What was that thing the fellow in the forward car whirled over his head?” I whispered.

“A revolver, I think,” returned Garrick.  “That’s a favourite trick of the gunmen.  With a stout cord tied to a gun you can catapult it far enough to destroy the evidence that will hold you under the Sullivan law, at least.  I mean to get that gun as soon as we are through with this fellow here.”

Someone had turned in a call for an ambulance which came jangling up soon after, and we stood in a group close to the young surgeon as he worked to bring around the captured gangster.

“Where’s the Chief?” he mumbled, dazed.

Garrick motioned to us to be quiet.

The man rambled on with a few inconsequential remarks, then opened his eyes, caught sight of the white coated surgeon working over him, of us standing behind, and of the crowd about him.

Memory of what had happened flitted back to him.  With an effort he was himself again, close-mouthed, after the manner of the gangsters.

The surgeon had done all in his power and the man was sufficiently recovered to be taken to the hospital, now, under arrest.  As far as we were concerned, our work was done.  The Boss could be found now, at any time that we needed him, but that he would speak all the traditions of gangland made impossible.

I wondered what Garrick would do.  As for myself, I had no idea what move to make.

It surprised me, therefore, to see him with a smile of satisfaction on his face.

“I’ll see you this afternoon, Tom,” he said merely, as the ambulance bore the wounded Boss away.  “Meanwhile, I wish you’d take the time to go over to headquarters and give Dillon our version of this affair.  Tell him to hold to-night open, too.  I have a little work to do this afternoon, and I’ll call him up later.”