We were just approaching the front door when a police patrol wagon drew up in front of it outside. Of course it was quite dark by this time, but the arc light on the corner showed me the patrol wagon and several policemen besides the driver. I hesitated an instant, but two policemen jumped down at once and approached the entrance and there was nothing to do but put a bold face on it and walk out. “Come on, Larry,” I muttered. “If they stop us we’ll bolt in opposite directions and meet at ten o’clock in the Times Square drug store.” And so we sallied forth. We walked out calmly enough, looking the two policemen casually in the eye, and they stepped back to let us pass. But when we reached the sidewalk I looked back, like a fool, and one of them had his eye on us. The other was talking to the elevator attendant and I suddenly realized that he was probably being told that I had just passed him. I glanced away at once, and my eye suddenly fell on the car that Larry had hired that afternoon, still standing where I had left it. I found out afterwards that Larry had hired it for the entire evening, and the driver figured that if he stuck around he could claim pay for that time, as I had not dismissed him. It was questionable ethics, as he must have believed me to be nearly killed and very unlikely to want him again, but I blessed him for it. “There’s the car, Larry. Jump in!” I told him quickly. As we approached it, there was a shout from behind us in the doorway. “To the Grand Central!” I shouted to the driver, “and go like the devil.” We tumbled into the car as the driver stepped on his starter. Fortunately the engine started at once, and he slipped in his first gear and the clutch almost immediately, so that we were already moving when the first cop reached the car. “Here,” he yelled. “Stop, you! I want to talk to you!” And he jumped on to the running board. I leaned toward him. “Sorry. No time. Got to catch a train. Jump down before you get hurt!” We were out from the curb now and picking up speed. But the cop had plenty of pluck. Instead of answering he fumbled for his whistle and put it to his lips. At the same moment my fist shot past his arm to the side of his jaw, and he released his hold and fell backward, rolling over and over in the street. I hated to do it, but we had no time for argument. There came another shout from behind, together with a startled exclamation from our own driver, who had turned and seen the blow. He threw out his clutch and put on his brake as police whistles began to ring out behind us, together with the clatter of competent policemen’s brogues. Larry leaned forward, and the driver started and gave a gasp as he felt a cold muzzle nuzzling into the tenderest part of his neck. “Put in that clutch and step on her,” urged Larry, “or I’ll blow hell out of you and drive her myself.”