The bystanders took Falconer for a detective, and did not seem inclined to interfere, all except the carman before mentioned. He came up, pushing the crowd right and left.
“Let the man alone,” said he, in a very offensive tone.
“I assure you,” said Falconer, “he’s not worth your trouble; for—”
“None o’ your cursed jaw!” said the fellow, in a louder and deeper growl, approaching Falconer with a threatening mien.
“Well, I can’t help it,” said Falconer, as if to himself.
“Sutherland, look after the count.”
“That I will,” said Hugh, confidently.
Falconer turned on the carman, who was just on the point of closing with him, preferring that mode of fighting; and saying only: “Defend yourself,” retreated a step. The man was good at his fists too, and, having failed in his first attempt, made the best use of them he could. But he had no chance with Falconer, whose coolness equalled his skill.
Meantime, the Bohemian had been watching his chance; and although the contest certainly did not last longer than one minute, found opportunity, in the middle of it, to wrench himself free from Hugh, trip him up, and dart off. The crowd gave way before him. He vanished so suddenly and completely, that it was evident he must have studied the neighbourhood from the retreat side of the question. With rat-like instinct, he had consulted the holes and corners in anticipation of the necessity of applying to them. Hugh got up, and, directed, or possibly misdirected by the bystanders, sped away in pursuit; but he could hear or see nothing of the fugitive.
At the end of the minute, the carman lay in the road.