Although the scene appealed to his sense of humor, it also had its serious side--even from Max’s point of view. All his plans for the future would be ruined if these men were captured and their identity unmasked. At any rate, they must be allowed to escape, and, after a moment’s hurried thought, the waiter drew out his own revolver and cautiously pushed the muzzle under the lower edge of the curtain. “Massey doesn’t happen to be the only crack shot on hand,” he told himself. “I’m now going to ring for help,” the millionaire announced, moving slowly toward an electric button set into his desk. “You’ll remain just where you are until the servants come, and the very first man among you who attempts to play any tricks will be shot down like a dog, without any further----” Crack! At that moment Max Berne pressed the trigger of his revolver, and the bullet, true to its aim, struck Massey on the wrist, shattering the bone and causing him to drop the weapon with an involuntary howl of pain. What happened next the waiter did not stop to see. As soon as he had fired and had thereby given Atherton and his companions a chance to make their escape, he leaped to his feet and dashed off in the direction of the wooden door, which opened into the lane. Long before he reached the door, he heard the four men racing across in the same direction. As he did not wish them to see him, however, he hid himself behind some bushes, but as soon as they had passed him, he emerged from his hiding place, and followed them at a little distance. Meanwhile, the report of the revolver had aroused the occupants of the house, and by the time Max reached the door in the wall, he could hear the servants running out of the house and calling to one another through the darkness. By that time, though, Atherton and the others had scrambled into their machine, and the car was halfway down the lane. Swiftly, yet without any trace of flurry, the waiter darted across the road, snatched away the screen of leaves from his motor cycle, and wheeled the machine into the lane. While he was starting the engine, he heard a number of servants running toward the door, and, just as he mounted, two of them dashed out. “Here’s one of them!” called the foremost servant, and, as he uttered the words, he rushed at Max and tried to seize him by the arm. A blow in the mouth, however, sent him reeling back into the arms of the other servants, and the next instant the waiter was scorching down the lane at a speed which defied pursuit. Half an hour later, after passing through Freehold, Berne caught sight of the tail lights of Atherton’s car. He easily could have overtaken it had he wished, but he preferred to follow it at a respectful distance. Eventually, to make a long story short, he saw it thread its way through the outlying districts of Long Island City, across the Queensborough Bridge, and plunge into the narrow streets of the East Side.