Hungrily the siren whined close by and he saw the police car whip down the street; he watched it disappear in the pall of tumbling rain. Yes, they were searching the streets for him now, weaving in and out of each block. I got to get out of here, he thought. Quickly, he hatched a tentative plan: He would wait here in this vestibule until he heard the siren sound again, and, if it came from far off, he would creep out and go—where? He did not know. But he had to leave; to remain meant risking capture and a renewal of torture. He lit another cigarette and puffed. Then the siren gave him the signal he was waiting for; its shriek came from far off and, as it sounded, it grew fainter, telling him that the car was going away from him. He opened the door and stepped into the rain and the cool, damp, fresh air. He took a few random steps, then stopped and looked curiously at the gaping manhole, half expecting to see the sewer water leap up again and toss the cover about. For some unaccountable reason—acting like a child filled with an unappeasable curiosity—he crossed the sidewalk and stepped over the gutter in which a torrent of water swirled and walked unsteadily to the center of the street and stood over the half-opened manhole. No water was gushing from it now; he stooped and squinted down into it, but could see nothing. The droning roar of water sounded in the black depths of the underground. He glanced up guiltily. Then he was stiff with terror; the siren was coming closer. It was so near that he had a wild idea that he had been dreaming and had not heard the approach of the siren and had suddenly awakened and now it was almost upon him. Frantically, he glared about. Should he run back into the vestibule? Would he have time? Instinctively, he bent over and peered again into the dark manhole, not with just casual curiosity this time, but stimulated by urgent impulse. The siren drew nearer and beat upon his tired ears. He looked up and down the street, but the police car was not in sight. Perhaps it was coming around a corner? So vividly did he imagine that it was just around the corner that he had a momentary hallucination: He saw the car bearing swiftly down upon him. . . . He blinked his eyes; there was no car. A tremor of relief went through his body and he dropped to his knees and his hands reached for the curved rim of the manhole cover. The siren hooted its warning and, with a gasp of physical strength, he jerked the cover far enough off the manhole to admit his body. Resting the weight of his body on both of his arms, with his fingers clutching at the rim of the manhole, he swung his legs quickly over the opening and lowered himself quickly into the rustling, watery blackness of the underground.