While the megaphone barks at a famous hostelry， letme whisper you through the low-tuned cardiaphone to sittight； for now things are about to happen， and the greatcity will close over them again as over a scrap of tickertape floating down from the den of a Broad street bear.
The girl in the tan jacket twisted around to viewthe pilgrims on the last seat. The other passengers shehad absorbed； the seat behind her was her Bluebeard’schamber.
Her eyes met those of Mrs. James Williams. Between twoticks of a watch they exchanged their life’s experiences，histories， hopes and fancies. And all， mind you， with theeye， before two men could have decided whether to drawsteel or borrow a match.
The bride leaned forward low. She and the girl spokerapidly together， their tongues moving quickly likethose of two serpents—a comparison that is not meantto go further. Two smiles and a dozen nods closed theconference.
And now in the broad， quiet avenue in front of theRubberneck car a man in dark clothes stood with upliftedhand. From the sidewalk another hurried to join him.
The girl in the fruitful hat quickly seized her companionby the arm and whispered in his ear. That young manexhibited proof of ability to act promptly. Crouching low，he slid over the edge of the car， hung lightly for an instant，and then disappeared. Half a dozen of the top-ridersobserved his feat， wonderingly， but made no comment，deeming it prudent not to express surprise at whatmight be the conventional manner of alighting in thisbewildering city. The truant passenger dodged a hansomand then floated past， like a leaf on a stream between afurniture van and a florist’s delivery wagon.
The girl in the tan jacket turned again， and looked in theeyes of Mrs. James Williams. Then she faced about and satstill while the Rubberneck auto stopped at the flash of thebadge under the coat of the plainclothes man.
“What’s eatin’ you？” demanded the megaphonist，abandoning his professional discourse for pure English.
“Keep her at anchor for a minute，” ordered the officer.
“There’s a man on board we want—a Philadelphia burglarcalled ‘Pinky’ McGuire. There he is on the back seat. Lookout for the side， Donovan.”
Donovan went to the hind wheel and looked up at JamesWilliams.
“Come down， old sport，” he said， pleasantly. “We’vegot you. Back to Sleepytown for yours. It ain’t a bad idea，hidin’ on a Rubberneck， though. I’ll remember that.”
Softly through the megaphone came the advice of theconductor：
“Better step off， sir， and explain. The car must proceedon its tour.”
James Williams belonged among the level heads.
With necessary slowness he picked his way through thepassengers down to the steps at the front of the car. Hiswife followed， but she first turned her eyes and saw theescaped tourist glide from behind the furniture van andslip behind a tree on the edge of the little park， not fiftyfeet away.