But before the waggoner could get it, Lenoir received something himself that sent him to earth with a hollow groan—felled like a bullock beneath the butcher's pole-axe.
Somebody had after all been concealed in the waggon.
That somebody was Herbert Murray himself.
The English youth had heard the scuffle, and seeing his opportunity, he slid out of his place of concealment and joined in the fight at the very right moment.
The waggoner shook himself together.
"That was neatly done, camarade," he said.
"I was just in time," said Murray; "look after him. He is wanted by the police; a desperate customer. They are after him now."
"He's very quiet," said the waggoner, with a curious glance.
"He's not dead," returned Murray; "he has his destiny to fulfil yet."