Ahead loomed the gaunt structure of the Sixth Avenue "L," bridging the roadway at so low an elevation as to afford the omnibus little more than clear headroom. Once beneath it a single bounce up from the surface-car tracks must mean a wreck.
But the pursuit was less than half a block astern and gaining swiftly, even as the speed of the omnibus was growing less and desperately less.
At what seemed little better than a snail's pace it began to pass beneath the span of the Elevated.
Like a racing thoroughbred the roadster swept up alongside, motor chanting triumphantly, running-board level with the platform step.
Ekstrom, poised to leap aboard, hesitated; a pistol in his hand exploded; a shattered window fell crashing.
There was a yell from the guard, not of pain but of fright. Apparently he executed a von Hindenburg retreat. Without more opposition Ekstrom gained the platform.
In the same breath Lanyard stood up. The lowermost girder of the "L" was immediately overhead. He grasped it, doubled his legs beneath him, swung clear. The omnibus shot from under him, the roadster convoying.
Drawing himself up, he seized a round iron upright of guard-rail and heaved his body in over the edge of the platform round the switching-tower, which was at this hour dark and untenanted.
In the street below a police whistle shrieked, and a fusillade of pistol shots woke scandalised echoes.
Bending almost double Lanyard moved rapidly northward on the footway beside the western tracks,
