door. "If I run in there he'll see me."

Ronicky stepped from the machine, paid him and dismissed him with
a word of praise for his fine trailing. Then he stepped around the
corner.

What he saw was a little street closed at both ends and only two or
three blocks long. It had the serene, detached air of a village a
thousand miles from any great city, with its grave rows of homely
houses standing solemnly face to face. Well to the left, the
Fifty-ninth Street Bridge swung its great arch across the river, and
it led, Ronicky knew, to Long Island City beyond, but here everything
was cupped in the village quiet.

The machine which they had been pursuing was drawn up on the
right-hand side of the street, looking south, and, even as Ronicky
glanced around the corner, he saw the driver leave his seat, dart up a
flight of steps and ring the bell.

Ronicky could not see who opened the door, but, after a moment of
talk, the chauffeur from the car they had pursued was allowed to
enter. And, as he stepped across the threshold, he drew off his cap
with a touch of reverence which seemed totally out of keeping with his
character as Ronicky had seen it.

"Bill," he said to Gregg, "we've got something. You seen him go up
those steps to that house?"

"Sure."