The policeman had scrambled to his feet, and stevedores and bystanders were all making a concerted rush in Matt's direction.
"Yah, yah," taunted Matt defiantly. "I'm ready for anything from a fight to a foot race."
He was lightning-like in his movements now. Pulling over a barrel that stood on end, he rolled it into the midst of his pursuers. Half a dozen of them went down in a tangled heap and so interfered with the others that pursuit was, for a moment, checked.
Matt made the most of this period of grace and ducked away toward Canal Street. There were two or three carriages at the edge of the wharf, and by the open door of one of them a man was standing.
"This way, King!" the man shouted, beckoning.
Carl and Dick saw the fugitive swerve in the direction of the carriage. Another moment and he and the man were inside, the door slammed, and the darky on the box whipped away. In less time than it takes to tell it, the carriage was lost in a crowd of vehicles, while Dick and Carl were gasping on the levee, staring blankly into each other's eyes.
[CHAPTER II.]
MIXED IDENTITIES.
"You're all right, neighbor," panted the fugitive as he settled back in the carriage seat. "I was in a tight corner, but the copper hadn't any call to rough things up with me like he did. How did you happen to be handy by and willing to give me a lift?"