Malone stood shivering. They’d never catch up with that car of Kane’s, not even the squad car would. And here he was stranded, and only he knew where she was going.

Not a taxi in sight. None nearer than Chicago Avenue.

Chicago Avenue—a sudden thought struck him, he wheeled around and sprinted down the street. One block to State Street, three blocks to Chicago Avenue. He made it to the safety zone just as an east bound streetcar came clanging through the rain.

“Wet night,” the conductor commented.

“Going to be wetter,” Malone prophesied gloomily. He dropped the remaining nickel in the coin box and began searching his pockets for an imaginary two pennies. The streetcar had reached the turn into Lakeshore Drive when Malone found the telephone slug, handed it triumphantly to the conductor for change and was properly surprised and crestfallen when it was returned to him. He continued to search for the pennies right up to the moment when the now empty streetcar came to an abrupt halt at the end of the line.

“Guess I’ll have to put you off here,” the conductor said. “No fare, no ride.”

Malone glanced through the window, saw the familiar outlines of Navy Pier, and said, “Only the brave deserve the fair.” He reached into his vest pocket and said, “Have a cigar.”

Jerry Kane’s custom-built convertible was parked at the entrance to the pier. There were no other cars in sight. Malone sighed. This was something he was going to have to handle by himself.

He knew exactly where to go. Up the stairs on the left-hand side of the pier, and along the promenade. Dark and deserted now, and desolate in the rain. There was one certain point, just beyond the line of benches—he stared ahead through the wet blackness and saw no sign of a girl in a nurse’s uniform. He began to run.

He reached the spot from which Diana Dawn had leaped to her death, years before, and looked over the railing. There was a blob of white on the black water. Malone peeled off his overcoat, kicked off his shoes, and jumped.

The water was icy cold. He caught his breath after one terrible moment, and swam in the direction of the white blob.

She was alive. She was struggling against the water. That gave him new strength. He held her head up for a minute and, by some miracle, managed to rid her of the dark mink coat that was pulling her down.

A boat was coming. A tiny canoe, dark against the darkness. Malone aimed for it, helping her. An oar came out from the canoe, and pushed—down.