The other car swung in behind us at once, and in order to avoid being overtaken then and there, and probably shot at close quarters, I made a quick right-hand turn into Third Avenue, ran along beside a street car and shot in front of it, perilously close to an L pillar.
I intended to make another right-hand turn almost at once, but Larry had another idea. “Now we’re here, sor, shtick to the L. Ye can wind in and out until we get to the Bowery, and then—then Oi’ll finish thim, or me name ain’t Larry Malloy!”
My own idea was to trust to my luck and try turning corners again. But Larry seemed so sure of his plan that I decided to risk it, although, if I had realized its bloodthirsty nature, I might have hesitated.
The others were held up for a moment or two behind the street car and before they could catch us again, I had turned into the broad open sweep of the Bowery, the scene of my first meeting with Larry.
I slowed up a little and looked back. The pursuing car was half a block behind and overtaking us rapidly.
“This is as good a place as another, sor,” said Larry grimly. “Duck yer head as much as ye can and lave thim catch us. Most like they’ll try to come up alongside, and that’s what I’m afther.” He was fumbling with his kit of tools under his coat, and a moment later I caught the dull flash of light from a heavy, blue-steel jemmy.
The whole street was deserted before us as the other car came purring up behind. We were on the car tracks and doing about thirty-five miles an hour. The other car must have been doing at least forty-five or fifty.
Sure enough it came up close behind and then nosed out on to the north-bound car tracks, evidently with the idea of running up alongside. But as I turned out to the left, Larry rose suddenly in his seat, turned half round, and I saw his arm flash back with the jemmy in it. There came a clatter of glass from the pursuing car, a wild scream, and then the most horribly roaring crash that I have ever heard.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw the jemmy fly true to the wind-shield and through it, just as the car turned out. It must have caught the driver squarely in the face, for the car kept straight on its diagonal course.
My last sight of it, looking back, was a huge car, reared up with its front half-way to the top of a badly buckled L pillar, its front axle bent almost double, so that wheels clasped the pillar and a limp body, hanging head downward, across the hood.