"Really, I am at a loss for words to persuade you that your only course is to use my carriage. Otherwise there will be a confounded row."
The stranger's voice was a trifle petulant She was such an unreasonable young lady. She turned to him irresolutely—to find Philip at her side—thrusting himself in front of her would-be rescuer.
"You have been the victim of a plot, madam," he said. "Your driver is not drunk. He caused the accident purposely. These two scoundrels are in league with him. If——"
"What the devil——" cried the other, fiercely, but Philip swung him bodily against the iron railings.
"If you care to take my cab, alone, it is at your service. I will look after these cads."
His quick eyes caught a signal from Victor to the cabman. He was sorry for the horse, but this comedy must be stopped. He instantly caught the bridle, and backed the cab violently toward the excavation. The cabman lashed at him in vain, and swore, too, with remarkable fluency for one so drunk. Both wheels crunched on top of the stout barrier, and became locked there.
Then Anson ran back toward the girl, whose arm was held by the owner of the brougham.
"Take your hands off that lady, or I will hurt you," said Philip, and there was that in his emphatic order which brooked no delay.
The stranger dropped his restraining hand, but shouted furiously:
"By what right do you interfere? I am only offering the lady some assistance?"