where dirty children sat playing within a few inches of death-dealing
wheels. Hambleton wondered what kept them from being killed by
hundreds daily, but the wonder was immediately forgotten in a new
subject for thought. The cab had stopped, although several yards of
clear road lay ahead of it. The driver was climbing down. The
motor-car was nosing its way along nearly a block ahead. Hambleton
leaped out.

"Of course, we've broken down?" he mildly inquired. Deep in his heart
he was superstitiously thinking that he would let fate determine his
next move; if there were obstacles in the way of his further quest,
well and good; he would follow the Face no longer.

"If you'll wait just a minute--" the driver was saying, "until I get my
kit out--"

But Hambleton, looking ahead, saw that the car had disappeared, and his
mind suddenly veered.

"Not this time," he announced. "Here, the meter says four-twenty--you
take this, I'm off." He put a five-dollar bill into the hand of the
driver and started on an easy run toward the west.

He had caught sight of smoke-stacks and masts in the near distance,
telling him that the motor-car had almost, if not quite, reached the
river. Such a vehicle could not disappear and leave no trace; it ought
to be easy to find. Ahead of him flaring lights alternated with the
steady, piercing brilliance of the incandescents, and both struggled
against the lingering daylight.