Everybody got out. Mr. Sachs’s presumption was correct. One of the back wheels had failed to leap over a hole in Fifth Avenue some eighteen inches deep and two feet long. "What is that hole?" asked Edward Henry. "Well," said Mr. Sachs. "It’s just a hole. We’d better transfer to a taxi." He gave calm orders to his chauffeur. Four empty taxis passed down the sunny magnificence of Fifth Avenue and ignored Mr. Sachs’s urgent waving. The fifth stopped. The baggage was strapped and tied to it: which process occupied much time. Edward Henry, fuming against delay, gazed around. A nonchalant policeman on a superb horse occupied the middle of the road. Tram cars passed constantly across the street in front of his caracoling horse, dividing a route for themselves in the wild ocean of traffic as Moses cut into the Red Sea. At intervals a knot of persons, intimidated and yet daring, would essay the voyage from one pavement to the opposite pavement; there was no half-way refuge for these adventurers, as in decrepit London; some apparently arrived; others seemed to disappear forever in the feverish welter of confused motion and were never heard of again. The policeman, easily accommodating himself to the caracolings of his mount, gazed absently at Edward Henry, and Edward Henry gazed first at the policeman, and then at the high decorated grandeur of the buildings, and then at the Assyrian taxi into which Mr. Sachs was now ingeniously inserting Carlo Trent. He thought: "No mistake--this street is alive. But what cemeteries they must have!" He followed Carlo, with minute precautions, into the interior of the taxi. And then came the supremely delicate operation--that of introducing a third person into the same vehicle. It was accomplished; three chins and six knees fraternized in close intimacy; but the door would not shut. Wheezing, snorting, shaking, complaining, the taxi drew slowly away from Mr. Sachs’s luxurious automobile and left it forlorn to its chauffeur. Mr. Sachs imperturbably smiled. ("I have two other automobiles," said Mr. Sachs.) In some sixty seconds the taxi stopped in front of the tremendous glass awning of the Stuyvesant. The baggage was unstrapped; the passengers were extracted one by one from the cell, and Edward Henry saw Mr. Sachs give two separate dollar bills to the driver. "By Jove!" he murmured. "I beg your pardon," said Mr. Sachs politely. "Nothing!" said Edward Henry. They walked into the hotel, and passed through a long succession of corridors and vast public rooms surging with well-dressed men and women. "What’s all this crowd for?" asked Edward Henry. "What crowd?" asked Mr. Sachs, surprised. Edward Henry saw that he had blundered. "I prefer the upper floors," remarked Mr. Sachs as they were being flung upward in a gilded elevator, and passing rapidly all numbers from 1 to 14. The elevator made an end of Carlo Trent’s manhood. He collapsed. Mr. Sachs regarded him, and then said: