"Wait!" Napier called to one of the policemen. "Get that lady out of this, will you?"
But the lady would come when she could take "him" along. "A taxi, please."
Some one had given her a large-sized pocket-handkerchief. She made a bandage and tied it round the bleeding head. Some one else fetched a cab for the lady. And the ambulance would be there in a minute.
"Oh, he'll hate the ambulance! Help me to get him to the cab!" she besought.
His eyelids opened, and he moaned a little as, between Napier and one of the policemen, Julian was carried through the alley which had been opened in the crowd. As the limp figure was borne past, they muttered and jeered.
"Oh, hush!" cried a voice. "Isn't it enough to have nearly killed him?" Nan's question cut its way through the muttering and hate; it startled the people into momentary silence. But when the little procession had gained the cab and were driving off, the anger of the disintegrated mob broke out afresh. The air was filled with cries, and for several hundred yards men and boys ran along by the taxi, shouting insult and imprecation through the window.
Napier looked out. Not one of those foul-mouthed pursuers wore khaki or sailor's blue.
That was something.