"Gag him!"
"It is fate!"
"He is ours!"
"A rope!"
There was no mistaking the feeling of the men. Julien whispered swiftly in Kendricks' ear. Simultaneously his right arm shot out. The man who guarded the door felt his neck suddenly twisted back. Kendricks snatched the key from his hand and thrust it in the lock. Some one struck him a violent blow on the head. He reeled, but was still able to turn the key. They came then with a howl from all parts of the room. Julien felt a storm of blows. Falkenberg, with one swoop of his long arm, disposed of their nearest assailant.
"Get off, man," Kendricks ordered. "You first!"
The door was wide open now. They half stumbled, half fell into the outer café. The orchestra stopped playing, people rose to their feet. Before they well knew what was happening, Falkenberg had slipped through their midst and passed out of the door. One of the pursuers, with a howl of rage, sprang after him, but he tripped against an abutting marble table and fell. Kendricks and Julien stepped quietly to one side, threading their way among the throng of customers in the cafe. Loud voices shouted for an explanation.
"It was a pickpocket," some one called out from among those who came streaming from the room,—"a tall man with a wound on the forehead. Did no one see him?"
They all looked towards the door.
"He passed out so swiftly," they murmured.