In spite of his bewilderment at this discovery, Barry was decidedly relieved. He was not at all anxious for a revival of the old affair before he had taken the steps he planned in regard to Julian Farr’s exposure. He was absolutely innocent, of course, and felt that it would be impossible for them to prove anything against him. Still, the bank people might make things annoying, and perhaps ruin the plans he had made about the cashier. The car bumped over the Twenty-third Street tracks, and went speeding on down Fifth Avenue. After a time another slight jolt told Lawrence that Fourteenth Street had been reached and put behind, but still the course was held straight southward. Barry tried to sound his captor a little more, but the latter had grown taciturn, and shut him up without revealing another scrap of information. Eighth Street was crossed, and, a moment or two later, the car swerved sharply to the right. "Washington Square," Barry thought, with every sense alert. "Now, where the mischief are they taking me?" The twists and turns which followed were so bewildering that Barry soon ceased trying to keep track of his whereabouts. The car sped on, whirling around corners, taking long, straight stretches with a rush, and darting back and forth, up and down, in such a manner that Lawrence finally lost even his sense of direction. Evidently the detective—Barry was sure by this time of his captor’s occupation—was headed for some rendezvous where possibly he would meet the persons who had employed him in this lawless undertaking. Between leaving the car and entering the building, wherever that might be, there would surely be some slight chance of breaking away, and Lawrence determined to be ready to take advantage of it the instant the car stopped. Thus it was that, when the automobile began to slow down and swerve in toward the curb, Barry held himself tense, with feet braced in such a manner that he was ready to launch himself straight at his companion in the twinkling of an eye, snatch the automatic, and fling himself from the car to freedom. "No monkeyshines, now!" admonished the unknown suddenly, as if reading Lawrence’s very thoughts. "You try to make a get-away, and you’ll wish you hadn’t." "Why should I?" Barry returned, with light indifference. "I’m too anxious to see you get yours, to leave just now." The only answer was an inarticulate grunt. The car skidded a little, then stopped with a jerk. Lawrence was waiting breathlessly for the pressure of the revolver to be removed, when suddenly his heart sank into his boots. From the sidewalk came the low murmur of voices, followed almost instantly by the jerking open of the door. In a single swift glance he took in the shadowy forms of three men grouped around the car—four, if he counted the chauffeur, who was slipping out of his seat to join them.