An agonized yelp of protest burst from Tommy, but too late. Fired with enthusiasm, Albert flung a loop of rope over the intruder’s head, and jerked him backwards off his feet.

The inevitable happened. The pistol went off with a roar and Tommy felt the bullet scorch his ear in passing, ere it buried itself in the plaster behind him.

“I’ve got him, sir,” cried Albert, flushed with triumph. “I’ve lassoed him. I’ve been practising with a lasso in my spare time, sir. Can you give me a hand? He’s very violent.”

Tommy hastened to his faithful henchman’s assistance, mentally determining that Albert should have no further spare time.

“You damned idiot,” he said. “Why didn’t you go for a policeman? Owing to this fool’s play of yours, he as near as anything plugged me through the head. Whew! I’ve never had such a near escape.”

“Lassoed him in the nick of time, I did,” said Albert, his ardor quite undamped. “It’s wonderful what those chaps can do on the prairies, sir.”

“Quite so,” said Tommy, “but we’re not on the prairies. We happen to be in a highly civilized city. And now, my dear sir,” he added to his prostrate foe. “What are we going to do with you?”

A stream of oaths in a foreign language was his only reply.

“Hush,” said Tommy. “I don’t understand a word of what you’re saying, but I’ve got a shrewd idea it’s not the kind of language to use before a lady. You’ll excuse him, won’t you, Miss⁠—do you know, in the excitement of this little upset, I’ve quite forgotten your name?”

“March,” said the girl. She was still white and shaken. But she came forward now and stood by Tommy looking down on the recumbent figure of the discomfited stranger. “What are you going to do with him?”