, and the avenue and its occupants swept by in
an indistinguishable blur.

"They'll surely track us by the noise!" screamed Cecil, trying to make
himself heard above the horrible din.

"We're too far off by this time," returned Spotts. "Can you manage the
horses?"

"Oh, they're all right so long as we've a clear road!" yelled Banborough
in reply.

They were now well under way, the traffic ahead of them swerving wildly
to right and left at the insistent clamour of the bell. They rushed
forward by leaps and bounds, an occasional stretch of asphalt giving
them an instant's respite from the dreadful shaking of the cobblestones.
They spoke but little, excitement keeping them quiet, but the Englishman
suffered keenly in spirit at the thought of what the delicate girl, shut
up in that dark stifling prison behind them, must be undergoing.

Suddenly in front of them loomed up the helmeted figure of a policeman,
swinging his club and gesticulating wildly.

"Run him down!" howled Spotts; and Cecil, who had caught some of the
madness of their wild flight, lashed the horses afresh and hurled the
Black Maria straight at the officer of the law.

The constable, still gesticulating, made a hasty leap to one side, and
they swept by a huge express-wagon which was coming up the
cross-street, nearly grazing the noses of the rearing horses, and
catching a glimpse of the driver's startled face.

So they ran on and on, faster and faster as the traffic became less, and
the pair of bays settled down in earnest to the race. Suddenly the
street narrowed, and a confused mass of carts and horses seemed to block
up the farther end. Banborough put on the brake, and with considerable
difficulty succeeded in bringing his team to a standstill on the outer
edge of the throng.

"It's the Harlem River," cried Spotts, "and the drawbridge is up, curse
the luck!"

There was nothing for it but wait, and Cecil, jumping down, patted the
horses and examined the harness to make sure that everything was all
right.

"You seem in a rush," said a neighbouring driver.

"Hurry call to Harlem," replied Banborough brusquely.

"Whereabouts?"

"Oh, police station."

"What station?"

The Englishman grunted an inaudible reply as a forward movement of the
crowd betokened that the bridge was again in position. A moment later
they were trotting towards freedom and the open country, Cecil making
the horses go slower now, wishing to reserve their strength for