The faces of all save the central figure were expressive of the liveliest interest and excitement.
“And they got you against the stone rampart in the park, you say?” eagerly questioned Grat Wallace.
“Yes,” replied Clif. “There were two of them, the driver of the carriage and that scoundrelly little diver, Pedro. I thought my end had come. In fact, to use a common expression, I saw my finish. I had no intention of giving up, though.”
“Not you,” broke out Nanny.
“Thanks,” laughed Clif; then he continued:
“I don’t know how it happened without”—his voice grew soft and reverend—“the Almighty interposed and aided me. All I know is that we were struggling on the very edge of the stone rampart when the driver slipped over the edge and”—Clif shuddered—“fell down to a horrible death.”
“Served him right!” exclaimed more than one voice.
“I whipped the coat from my head just in time to see Pedro disappear among the trees. I gave chase, but he escaped me. I was pretty well shaken up, I tell you, but I managed to reach the central police headquarters and told my story to an interpreter.”
“And the driver?”
“They found him an hour later on the roof of a house at the foot of the bluff. He was a mass of broken bones.”