Anatole now began to cry with emotion at his own chivalrous self-sacrifice, which changed quickly into bravado as he cried, striking the table noisily—
"Who cares? I would save you from the Prefect himself."
At this moment the big man who had been watching at the window returned, accompanied by two others. He walked straight towards the door of the wine-shop.
"Sacré bleu! le patron (chief). You are lost! Quick! take me by the throat."
Hyde jumped to his feet and promptly obeyed the curious command.
"Now struggle; throw me to the ground, bolt through the back door," whispered Anatole, hastily.
All which Hyde executed promptly and punctiliously. Anatole suffered him to do as he pleased, and Hyde escaped through the back entrance just as the other policemen rushed in at the front.
"After him! Run! Fifty francs to whoever stops him!"
But Hyde had the heels of them. He ran out and through a little courtyard at the back communicating with the street. There he found a fiacre, into which he jumped, shouting to the cabman—
"Drive on straight ahead! A napoleon for yourself."