The big
machine, with a diminuendo cough, flew away like an albatross down
the avenue into which the street emptied.
The driver of the auto sped his machine without a word. He was masked
beyond guess in the goggles and diabolic garb of the chauffeur.
"Much obliged, old man," called Hopkins, gratefully. "I guess you've
got sporting blood in you, all right, and don't admire the sight of
two men trying to soak one. Little more and I'd have been pinched."
The chauffeur made no sign that he had heard. Hopkins shrugged a
shoulder and chewed at his cigar, to which his teeth had clung grimly
throughout the melee.
Ten minutes and the auto turned into the open carriage entrance of a
noble mansion of brown stone, and stood still. The chauffeur leaped
out, and said:
"Come quick. The lady, she will explain. It is the great honor you
will have, monsieur. Ah, that milady could call upon Armand to do
this thing! But, no, I am only one chauffeur."
With vehement gestures the chauffeur conducted Hopkins into the
house. He was ushered into a small but luxurious reception chamber. A
lady, young, and possessing the beauty of visions, rose from a chair.
In her eyes smouldered a becoming anger. Her high-arched, threadlike
brows were ruffled into a delicious frown.
"Milady," said the chauffeur, bowing low, "I have the honor to
relate to you that I went to the house of Monsieur Long and found
him to be not at home. As I came back I see this gentleman in
combat against--how you say--greatest odds.
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