"But what do you suppose makes 'em keep that door open? You'd think—"
"The way I figure it," the chauffeur cut in, "Red's plannin' to make his getaway in a car. He's just waitin' till the goin' looks good, and then he'll sail outa there like a streak of greased lightnin'. Yuh wanta be ready to duck, too, 'cause he'll come this way, an' keep guns goin' to prevent anybody from hinderin' him."
"Why this way? Sixth Avenue's nearer."
"Sure it is, but that way he'd have them L pillars to duck, to say nothin' of the crowd, and no tellin' but what a surface-car might block him. Yuh watch an' see 'f I ain't doped it out right."
From the dark interior of the besieged garage another automatic fluttered briskly; across the street a window fell in....
"Look here—you come with me," said P. Sybarite suddenly, plucking his chauffeur by the sleeve.
With a reluctant backward glance, the man suffered himself to be drawn apart from the crowd.
"How much nerve have you got?" the little Irishman demanded.
"Who—me? Why?"
"I want to stop this getaway—"