"But, my boy, don't you realize that there are more than three or four Apaches around the Rue d'Ansin? The alarm will sound, and a score more will rush up. These rascals are sure death, Darry, if they get at you in sufficient numbers! The Parisians fear them. You don't see a single citizen on the street now. Look! Every one of them flew to cover as soon as the Apaches moved into action. If bystanders interfered, or even watched, they too would have to reckon with these Apaches. Now, Darry, you're no coward, and neither am I, but if you're wise you will imitate me by taking to your heels."
Still holding Dave's arm lightly, Jetson sprinted along to the next corner.
"To the right," whispered Dave. "I've a taxicab here."
More than halfway down the block they saw the car at the curb. The chauffeur, when Dave called, stepped from a doorway in which he had taken refuge.
"The Apaches!" gasped the driver.
"Hustle!" urged Dave. "Come on, Jetson."
As the two young naval officers sprang into the car, the driver leaped to his own seat. Pressing the self-starter, the chauffeur soon had his machine gliding along. Nor did he go back, either, by way of the Rue d'Ansin.
Not until he was four blocks away from the scene did the man ask for his orders.
"Back to the Embassy," Dave instructed him. Then he remembered his comrade's swift, fine rescue.
"Jetson," he asked, "did you know it was I who was menaced by the Apaches?"