THE BRASS BOWL
"Let 'er rip!" he cried exultantly. "Fan them folks out intuh th' street, Bergen, 'nd watch ow-ut!"
Maitland was pressing the lever slowly wide of its catch, and the lighted lobby dropped out of sight while the detective was still shouting admonitions to the police below. Gradually gaining in momentum the car began to shoot smoothly up into the blackness, safety chains clanking beneath the floor. Hickey fumbled for the electric light switch but, finding it, immediately shut the glare off again and left the car in darkness.
"Safer," he explained, sententious. "Anisty'll shoot, 'nd they says he shoots straight."
Floor after floor in ghostly strata slipped silently down before their eyes. Half-way to the top, approximately, Hickey's voice rang sharply in the volunteer operator's ear.
"Stop 'er! Hold 'er steady. T'other's comin' down."
Maitland obeyed, managing the car with greater ease and less jerkily as he began to understand the
334
