"Never!"
"But we have no room to pass!"
"We shall get through."
"We can't get through."
"Yes, we can."
"Oh, Lord!"
A crash . . . outcries. . . . The motor had run into the tram-car, cannoned against a fence, torn down ten yards of planking and, lastly, smashed itself against the corner of a slope.
"Driver, are you disengaged?"
Lupin, lying flat on the grass of the slope, had hailed a taxi-cab.
He scrambled to his feet, gave a glance at his shattered car and the people crowding round to Octave's assistance and jumped into the cab: