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.
Th' Great White Way first, where th' hotels hang out."

Lord Monckton had not returned to the hotel. Good. More telephoning.
Yes, the great railroad terminals had ten men each. A black-bearded
man with scarred fingers.

Haggerty was really a fine general; he directed his army with
shrewdness and little or no waste. The Jersey side was watched, East
and North Rivers. The big ships Haggerty himself undertook.

From half after nine that night till noon the next day, without sleep
or rest or food, excepting a cup of coffee and a sandwich, which, to a
man of Haggerty's build, wasn't food at all, he searched. Each time he
left the motor-car, the chauffeur fell asleep. Haggerty reasoned in
this wise: There were really but two points of departure for a man in
Mason's position, London or South America. Ten men, vigilant and
keen-eyed, were watching all fruiters and tramps which sailed for the
Caribbean.