the puddles and mudholes. He heard shouts in the distance and he did not
decrease his speed until he neared the street opening below. There he
ran into some one and fell. Besmeared and bespattered, he quickly
picked himself up; and when, a moment later, he gained the sidewalk, no
one would hardly have recognized in the dilapidated-looking creature the
dapper Hugh Ridgeway. Police whistles were calling behind him, nearer
and nearer, but he walked boldly out into the street and up to Sixth
Avenue. His nerves were tingling and his breathing was hard to control
after the mad dash through the alley, but he slouched along in the lee
of the buildings to escape the downpour, stopping near the corner.

Suddenly he rushed out and hailed a passing cab, climbed inside and gave
orders to drive as quickly as possible to the Twenty-third Street Ferry.
Then he sat up boldly and stared forth with all the courage that his
escape inspired.

"By Jove," he was shouting inwardly, "that poor devil was on my heels.
He looked hard as he hustled past, but I stared back just as hard. It
took nerve to face him. Hang it all, I'm sorry for him. He wasn't to
blame. But this letter will cheer him up. It's for the kids if anything
happens to him."

Apparently changing his mind at Herald Square, he instructed the driver
to go down Thirty-fifth Street to Eighth Avenue and drop him at the
corner. After leaving the cab he ventured into an all-night shop and
bought a cheap raincoat, slouch hat and umbrella. Then, like a thief, he
stole forth and warily made his way toward the dock. It was bad going
and he hailed a second cab. Before climbing into it, he crossed and
dropped an envelope into the mailbox.