I was in the driving seat with Larry tumbling in behind me before the stranger reached his own car. But just as I slipped in the clutch something whistled between Larry and me, and a section of glass from my wind-shield leaped into the air and fell on the hood. “Head down, Larry,” I shouted, as we gathered speed. Then I looked back. The other car was drawn across the road, with the front wheels on the sidewalk, in the act of turning. It looked enormous in the dim light, and I could see that it had more than one occupant, though how many I could not tell. Another bullet whistled over our heads, perilously close, but there came no sound of an explosion. “Air-guns again, Larry,” I shouted, above the roar of my open cut-out. “If we’re to save our skins we’ve got to shake them.” Fortunately Park Avenue, when we reached it, was clear for the moment and we drove across, heading for Fifth. Larry looked back this time, for I had to watch the wheel. “They’re at Park now, sor,” he shouted. “They’re stuck in the thraffic, I—no, sor, they’re through—and coming like the wind!” he added. I was pretty sure of being able to shake them off, for my little car could do sixty easily, being well engined and heavily built, and that was as fast as any car would dare go under any circumstances, in the city, I thought. But Larry had a better idea. “Tis a big, long cyar, they have, sor. ’Twill take them long to turn corners, I’m thinkin’,” he shouted. By the time we reached Madison Avenue the big car was about a hundred feet behind us and gaining rapidly. Again the street was clear luckily, and I swung round the corner to the right on two wheels. The pursuing car turned more slowly, as Larry had surmised, and by the time I turned east again, it was just getting into speed on Madison Avenue. I was well down the block toward Park Avenue again when the long hood swung round the corner of Madison, and it looked very much as if we could get away by constantly turning corners. But we were both of us mad to count on our luck holding so long, for at Park Avenue I met a phalanx of three cars abreast, going south, and by the time I was able to turn south on Park Avenue, the big car was close behind. Fortunately there was one car between, for our pursuers again took long in turning. As it turned into Park behind us, Larry looked back again. “There’s three of them in the car, sor. Must be their lucky number.” At all events Larry was always a cheery companion. But now I did not dare turn out again, they were too close. By reckless driving that brought a shout from more than one other car, I managed to keep my lead and even to lengthen it by passing another car. But as we swept up on the viaduct around the Grand Central, the big car nosed its way back to third place again. Larry leaned close to me. “Can you make a left-hand turn, sor?” he asked eagerly. “Can ye get to Third Avenue?” “What for?”