All was confusion and excitement in an instant. Quentin and the millionaire drew their lithe countryman away from the gathering crowd, one cheek white as a sheet, the other a bright pink, and Phil hoarsely whispered to him:
“I don't know what we're in for, Dickey, so for heaven's sake let's get out of here. We don't want any more of it. You gave him a good punch and that's enough.”
“You broke up the show all right enough,” exclaimed the millionaire, excitedly. “The fairies ran over each other trying to get out of the room. You're as game as a fighting cock, too.”
“Let me alone, Phil!” panted Dickey. “You don't suppose I'm going to run from that big duffer, do you? Let go!”
“Don't be a fool, Dickey,” said his friend, earnestly. Just then a pale-faced, sickly-looking waiter came up from behind and hoarsely whispered in Quentin's ear:
“Get out, quick! The big prince made a mistake. He was to have quarrelled with you, Monsieur.” He was gone before he could be questioned.
“See!” exclaimed Dickey. “It was a job, after all, and the dago is at the bottom of it!”
“Sh! Here he comes with the Russian and the whole pack behind them. It's too late; we can't run now,” said Phil, despairingly. As Ugo and Kapolski crossed the room, the former, whose face was white with suppressed passion, hissed under his breath into the ear of the raging Russian:
“You fool, it was the other one—the tall one! You have quarrelled with the wrong man. The big one is Quentin, Kapolski. How could you have made such a mistake?”
“Mistake or no mistake, he has struck me, and he shall pay for it. The other can come later,” growled the Russian, savagely.