The man checked his speed and gave a searching look at his questioner.
“Come!” he cried, catching Ludovic’s sleeve and trying to drag him on. “Get me out of this for the love of Heaven. Come, or I am a dead man!”
There was no fear in the fellow’s face, indeed he seemed to take his situation as a joke, but his appeal was somehow so irresistible that Ludovic found himself hurrying on by his side.
They had not gone far, however, when sounds of pursuit were heard.
“They are after us still, the dogs,” the man panted. “This comes of making myself cheap with canaille and crossing swords with a cowardly bully.”
“You have run a man through?” Ludovic asked.
“Something like it. No; he ran himself on to my point, clumsy brute. But I doubt not it is a hanging matter. Don’t empty your lungs any lower on my account, friend. It is not worth it. I am obliged for your company but we will part here. Perhaps we may meet again in the next world, it is not likely in this.”
In spite of his devil-may-care speech there was a refinement about the man which rather interested Ludovic in him. The signs of pursuit were now uncomfortably near. “No, no,” he urged quickly. “You must not be taken like this, man. You know the Jena Platz?”
“Well.”
“Take this key, it will open the door of number eleven. I will throw these people off the scent and join you presently. Quick! Down there! It will take you straight.”