When the automobile drew up noiselessly at the corner of Market Street, a broad enough thoroughfare, but broken and battered in appearance, the only visible forms were those of three or four patrolmen, who were sauntering aimlessly along the sidewalk.

But there were eyes watching through unknown chinks in shutters, or peering through soiled curtains behind dirt-stained windows, and the quiet concentration of the police in one special quarter evidently did not pass unnoticed.
When the battle began, it partook of the vagaries of real warfare by opening unexpectedly.
It was ascertained afterwards that two men darted like shadows out of a passage in Market Street, and separated instantly.

One came toward East Broadway, where the detectives and their companions had just alighted from the car, and the other, breaking into a run, dived into Henry Street, with two patrolmen after him.

He it was who opened the fray, and the peace of the night was suddenly disrupted by the loud bark of an automatic pistol.

Three shots were fired with a quick irregularity, and then came the deeper report of a service revolver.
Steingall and Clancy ran forward, and the fugitive coming their way had actually passed them, with two more patrolmen in pursuit, when Steingall saw him and turned instantly.
"Stop!" he shouted.
The man only increased his pace, and the detective, astonishingly active for one of his bulk, raced along at top speed.
"Stop or I shoot!" he cried again.
By that time the self-confessed outlaw was nearly opposite the car.