These words of mine were almost drowned by the heavy noise of an approaching dray. It lumbered past the window. As it did so, I stepped on to the balcony to acquaint the cabman with the fact that the three minutes were up.
I looked down into the street, and could not help starting—the cab had vanished.
I turned round quickly.
The big man had also stepped upon the balcony—he gave me an evil glance. Suddenly seizing me by the collar, he dragged me back into the room.
"You ere a humbug, you ere," he said, "wid yer bloomin' cabs—there ain't no cab there—no, nor never wor. Ef you don't go in one way you go in another. It ain't our fault ef things ain't quite agreeable. Come along, Sam, lend a 'and."
The next moment the ruffian had laid me flat on my back on the floor, and was kneeling on my chest.
Tollemache tottered from the sofa, and made a vain struggle to get the brute away.
"You get out of this," the fellow thundered at him. "I'll make an end of you, too, ef you don't look out."
He fumbled in his pocket and took out a huge clasp-knife.
I closed my eyes, feeling sure that my last hour had come. At this moment, however, the rapidly approaching sound of cab wheels was distinctly audible. A cab drove frantically up and stopped at the door.