“I’ve an idea, sor. I think we can give thim a lesson if you can get to the L.” I had no idea what Larry had up his sleeve, and I had to watch my driving too closely to find out. Besides, by the time we dipped down to Fourth Avenue again, at 40th Street, the pursuing car had crept still closer, so I had no chance to turn either way. The traffic was thinning out, too, and remembering the recklessness of our pursuers, I felt the skin crawling on the back of my head, where I expected a better-aimed bullet almost any moment. However, either they had grown more cautious or they had made certain that they could catch us without difficulty, for as far as I know they did not fire again. At 34th Street I had a stroke of luck. I got across just before the traffic cop blew his whistle, and while I do not suppose that would have stopped our pursuers, there was another car in between which pulled up and obliged them to stop to avoid a collision. The traffic cop called after me, but I was much too busy to pay attention at the moment. “We’ve beat them, sor, we’ve beat them. Now where, sor?” cried Larry. “We’ll twist about a bit, Larry, and try to throw them off the scent entirely,” I answered. At 32nd Street I turned west. Then, at Madison, having plenty of time, I made a left-hand turn, going south again, as I imagined that they would immediately expect me to go north. After that I twisted in and out, gradually working south until I reached Broadway and Union Square. Here I turned east, intending to run down to Third Avenue and so run north, and as I passed Lexington Avenue, a long, black hood shot out and made for my rear wheels, and it was only by stepping on the accelerator that I avoided the nastiest kind of a turnover smash-up. Either our pursuers were mind-readers or it was the worst of bad luck. The other car swung in behind us at once, and in order to avoid being overtaken then and there, and probably shot at close quarters, I made a quick right-hand turn into Third Avenue, ran along beside a street car and shot in front of it, perilously close to an L pillar. I intended to make another right-hand turn almost at once, but Larry had another idea. “Now we’re here, sor, shtick to the L. Ye can wind in and out until we get to the Bowery, and then—then Oi’ll finish thim, or me name ain’t Larry Malloy!” My own idea was to trust to my luck and try turning corners again. But Larry seemed so sure of his plan that I decided to risk it, although, if I had realized its bloodthirsty nature, I might have hesitated. The others were held up for a moment or two behind the street car and before they could catch us again, I had turned into the broad open sweep of the Bowery, the scene of my first meeting with Larry. I slowed up a little and looked back. The pursuing car was half a block behind and overtaking us rapidly.