“Lupin, stop, this minute, this second, or I fire at mademoiselle.”
“I advise you to aim at the cheek if you wish to hit the temple,” replied Lupin, without turning his head.
“Maxime, don’t go so fast,” said Clotilde, “the pavement is slippery and I am very timid.”
She was smiling; her eyes were fixed on the pavement, over which the carriage was traveling at enormous speed.
“Let him stop! Let him stop!” said Sholmes to her, wild with rage, “I warn you that I am desperate.”
The barrel of the revolver brushed the waving locks of her hair. She replied, calmly:
“Maxime is so imprudent. He is going so fast, I am really afraid of some accident.”
Sholmes returned the weapon to his pocket and seized the handle of the door, as if to alight, despite the absurdity of such an act. Clotilde said to him:
“Be careful, monsieur, there is an automobile behind us.”
He leaned over. There was an automobile close behind; a large machine of formidable aspect with its sharp prow and blood-red body, and holding four men clad in fur coats.