He wanted just then not so much the criminal as the joy of finding him
against odds and laying his hand on his shoulder: just to show them all
that he wasn't a has-been.
His telephone message had thrown a cordon of argus-eyed men around New
York. Now, then, what would he, Haggerty, do if he were in Mason's
shoes? Make for railroads or boats; for Mason did not belong to New
York's underworld, and he would therefore find no haven in the city.
Boat or train, then; and of the two, the boat would offer the better
security. Once on board, Mason would find it easy to lose his
identity, despite the wireless. And it all hung by a hair: would Mason
watch? If he hid himself and stayed hidden he was saved.
"Chauffeur, what's your name?" asked Haggerty of Killigrew's man, as
the car rolled quietly on to Brooklyn Bridge.
"Harrigan,"--promptly.
"That's good enough for me,"--jovially. "Fill up th' gas-tank. I'm
going t' keep y' busy for twenty-four hours, mebbe. An' if I win, a
hundred for yours. All y' got t' do is t' act as I say. Let 'er go.
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