An idea came which would at least extend his respite and give him more time for thought.

He opened the door of his cab and thrust a ten-dollar note into the instinctively ready hand of his driver.
"Keep the change--and give me a swing once around Central Park, slowing down on those hilly turns on the west side." "I gotcha." The car entered the park at the Plaza and sped up the shining, almost empty drive.

Larry kept watch, now on the trailing Lefty, now on the best chance for execution of his idea--all the way up the east side and around the turn at the north end.

As the car, now south-bound, swung up the hill near One Hundred and Fifth Street, at whose crest there is a sharp curve with thick-growing, overhanging trees, Larry opened the right door and said: "Show me a little speed, driver, as soon as you pass this curve!" "I gotcha," replied the chauffeur.
The slowing car hugged the inside of the sharp turn, Larry holding the door open and waiting his moment.

The instant the taxi made the curve Lefty's car was cut from view; and that instant Larry sprang from the running-board, slamming the door behind him, landed on soft earth and scuttled in among the trees.