Adna found himself in the middle of the street, entirely surrounded by demoniac motors. His wife wanted to lie down there and die. Adna dared neither to go nor to stay. Suddenly a chauffeur of an empty limousine, fearing to lose a chance to swear at a taxi-driver, kept his head turned to the left and steered straight for the spot where the Thropps awaited their doom.
Adna had his wife pendent from one arm and a valise or two from the other. Kedzie carried a third valise. Her better than normal shoulders were sagged out of line by its weight.
When Adna saw the motor coming he had to choose between dropping his valise or his wife. Characteristically, he saved his valise.
In spite of his wife's squawking and tugging on his left arm, he achieved safety under the portico of the Grand Central Terminal. He looked about for Kedzie. She was not to be seen. Adna saw the taxicab pass over the valise she had carried. It left no trace of Kedzie. Her annihilation was uncanny. He gaped.
“Where's Kedzie?” Mrs. Thropp screamed.
A policeman checked the traffic with uplifted hand. Adna ran to him. Mrs. Thropp told him what had happened.
“I saw the goil drop the bag and beat it for the walk,” said the officer.
“Which way'd she go?”
“She lost herself in the crowd,” said the officer.
“She was scared out of her wits,” Mrs. Thropp sobbed.