"My real name's John Lever," he replied, "but I'm better known to the music hall public as Madrooba, the Muscular Muscovite."
"Madrooba—the chap who lets eight men stand on his chest?"
"That's me."
"Then what in blazes were you following me for?"
"Following you?" repeated Mr. Madrooba. "Never set eyes on you before.
Run after the train 'cause I got a contract to appear in Paris tonight."
Barraclough lowered the point of his pistol slowly.
"And you've never heard of Van Diest?"
"Never! Van Biene I know and Van Hoven, but——"
"Then it looks to me," said Barraclough regretfully. "It looks to me as if I've made a pretty substantial fool of myself. If you're big enough to accept an apology, Mr. Madrooba, I'd be glad to come off this perch and offer it."
"I reckon if I can stand eight men on my chest," came the reply, "I don't need to take a lot of notice of this little misunderstanding. Let yourself drop and I'll catch you."