“Eh?” he stammered. “What? Not a bit. You take my wife!”

“Get away!” hissed Bosinney⁠—“or I’ll throw you into the road!”

Dartie recoiled; he saw as plainly as possible that the fellow meant it. In the space he made Irene had slipped by, her dress brushed his legs. Bosinney stepped in after her.

“Go on!” he heard the Buccaneer cry. The cabman flicked his horse. It sprang forward.

Dartie stood for a moment dumbfounded; then, dashing at the cab where his wife sat, he scrambled in.

“Drive on!” he shouted to the driver, “and don’t you lose sight of that fellow in front!”