“We’ll have to do some sprinting,” declared Lord Hastings.
For perhaps fifteen minutes they ran, turning corner after corner, and at last, when Lord Hastings felt they were safe from pursuit, he drew up for a much needed breath.
“Can’t tell whether they’ll follow us or not,” he said. “If they take any stock in the officer’s story that we are spies, they will. If they think it is just a private quarrel, the chances are they won’t. However, we can do no particular good here. We’ll have to go back and see.”
“Anything you say, sir,” agreed Frank. “I suppose I shouldn’t have hit that fellow, but he wouldn’t let me by.”
“Don’t worry about that. You did exactly right,” declared Lord Hastings. “Come on.”
He led the way in the direction from which they had come.
CHAPTER IV.
MARIE DULCÉ.
Things seemed to have quieted down when the three found themselves again before the café. Apparently there had been but a faint-hearted pursuit. All breathed easier.
“They can’t have believed very much in that spy story,” remarked Frank.
“It would seem that way,” agreed Lord Hastings. “Evidently they took your friend’s words as the ravings of a man intoxicated.”