He
could not leave New York. And yet how in God's name was he to stay
here?
He thought of Maggie. So she wanted the life of dazzling, excitement,
of brilliant adventure, did she? He wondered how she would like a
little of the real thing--such as this?
As he neared Forty-Second Street he still was without definite plan
which would guarantee him safety, and there was Lefty hanging on
doggedly. An idea came which would at least extend his respite and
give him more time for thought. He opened the door of his cab and
thrust a ten-dollar note into the instinctively ready hand of his
driver.
"Keep the change--and give me a swing once around Central Park,
slowing down on those hilly turns on the west side."
"I gotcha."
The car entered the park at the Plaza and sped up the shining, almost
empty drive. Larry kept watch, now on the trailing Lefty, now on the
best chance for execution of his idea--all the way up the east side
and around the turn at the north end. As the car, now south-bound,
swung up the hill near One Hundred and Fifth Street, at whose crest
there is a sharp curve with thick-growing, overhanging trees, Larry
opened the right door and said:
"Show me a little speed, driver, as soon as you pass this curve!"
"I gotcha," replied the chauffeur.
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