"She isn’t in Chicago, is she?" demanded Edward Henry, aghast. "I thought she’d reached New York!" "Who?" "Isabel Joy." "Oh! Isabel’s in New York, sure enough. She’s right here. They say she’ll have to catch the _Lithuania_ if she’s going to get away with it." "Get away with what?" "Well--the goods." The precious words reminded Edward Henry of an evening at Wilkins’s, and raised his spirits even higher. It was a word he loved. "And I’ve got to catch the _Lithuania_, too!" said he. "But Trent doesn’t know! ... And, let me tell you, she’s going to do the quickest turn round that any ship ever did. The purser assured me she’ll leave at noon to-morrow unless the world comes to an end in the meantime. Now what about a hotel?" "You’ll stay with me--naturally." "But--" Edward Henry protested. "Oh, yes, you will. I shall be delighted." "But I must look after Trent." "He’ll stay with me too--naturally. I live at the Stuyvesant Hotel, you know, on Fifth. I’ve a pretty good private suite there. I shall arrange a little supper for to-night. My automobile is here." "Is it possible that I once saved your life and have forgotten all about it?" Edward Henry exclaimed. "Or do you treat everybody like this?" "We like to look after our friends," said Mr. Sachs simply. In the terrific confusion of the quay, where groups of passengers were mounted like watch dogs over hillocks of baggage, Mr. Sachs stood continually between the travellers and the administrative rigours and official incredulity of a proud republic. And in the minimum of time the fine trunk of Edward Henry and the modest packages of the poet were on the roof of Mr. Sachs’s vast car, the three men were inside, and the car was leaping, somewhat in the manner of a motor boat at full speed, over the cobbles of a wide, medieval street. "Quick!" thought Edward Henry. "I haven’t a minute to lose!" His prayer reached the chauffeur. Conversation was difficult; Carlo Trent groaned. Presently they rolled less perilously upon asphalt, though the equipage still lurched. Edward Henry was forever bending his head toward the window aperture in order to glimpse the roofs of the buildings, and never seeing the roofs. "Now we’re on Fifth," said Mr. Sachs, after a fearful lurch, with pride. Vistas of flags, high cornices, crowded pavements, marble, jewelry behind glass--the whole seen through a roaring phantasmagoria of competing and menacing vehicles! And Edward Henry thought: "This is my sort of place!" The jolting recommenced. Carlo Trent rebounded, limply groaning, between cushions and upholstery. Edward Henry tried to pretend that he was not frightened. Then there was a shock as of the concussion of two equally unyielding natures. A pane of glass in Mr. Seven Sachs’s limousine flew to fragments and the car stopped. "I expect that’s a spring gone!" observed Mr. Sachs with tranquillity. "Will happen, you know, sometimes!"