The cab had been headed north; the St. Luke rears its massive bulk south of Twenty-third Street. The driver expertly swung his vehicle almost on dead center. Simultaneously it careened with the impact of a heavy bulk landing upon the step and falling in a heap on the deck. "My worrd, what's that?" came from aloft. Maitland was altogether too startled to speak. The heap sat up, resolving itself into the semblance of a man; who spoke in decisive tones: "If yeh're goin' there, I'm goin' with yeh, 'r yeh don't go--see?" "The sleuth!" gasped Maitland, astounded. "Ah, cut that, can't yeh?" Hickey got on all fours, found his cigar, stuck it in his mouth, and fell into place at Maitland's side. "Hickey, I mean. But how--" "If yeh're Maitland, 'nd Anisty's at the St. Luke Buildin', tell that fool up there to drive!" Maitland had no need to lift the trap; the cabby had already done that. "All right," the young man called. "It's Detective Hickey. Drive on!" The lash leaped out over the roof--_cr-rack!_--and the horse, presumably convinced that no speed other than a dead-run would ever again be demanded of it, tore frantically down the Avenue, the hansom rocking like a topsail-schooner in a heavy gale. Maitland and the detective were battered against the side and back of the vehicle and slammed against one another with painful regularity. Under such circumstances speech was difficult; yet they managed to exchange a few sentences. "Yeh gottuh gun?" "Anisty's--two good cartridges." "Jus' as well I'm along, I guess." And again: "How'd yeh s'pose Anisty got this cab?" "I don't know--must've been in the house--I told cabby to wait--Anisty seems to have walked out right on your heels." "Hell!" And a moment later: "What's this about a woman in the case?" Maitland took swift thought on her behalf. "Too long to go into now," he parried the query. "You help me catch this scoundrel Anisty and I'll put in a good word for you with the deputy commissioner." "Ah, yeh help _me_ nab him," grunted the detective, "'nd I won't need no good word with nobody." The hansom swung into Broadway, going like a whirlwind; and picked up an uniformed officer in front of the Flatiron Building, who, shouting and using his locust stridently, sprinted after them. A block further down another fell into line; and he it was who panted at the step an instant after the cab had lurched to a stop before the entrance to the St. Luke Building. Hickey had rolled out before the policeman had a chance to bluster. "'Lo, Bergen," he greeted the man. "Yeh know me--I'm Hickey, Central Office. Yeh're jus' in time. Anisty's in this buildin'--'r was ten minutes ago. We want all the help we c'n get." By way of reply the officer stooped and drummed a loud alarm on the sidewalk with his night-stick. "Say," he panted, rising, "you're a wonder, Hickey--if you get him." "Uh-huh," grunted the detective with a sidelong glance at Maitland. "C'm 'long."