you bounder; I'm ready for you!"

And, as if he really heard that invitation, and really was eager to
accept it, the red-headed man did "come on" with a vengeance. And all
the time, "madmazelly," unheeding Collins's advice, stood calmly and
silently waiting.

Onward came the runner, with the whole roaring pack in his wake,
dodging in and out among the vehicles, "flooring" people who got in
his way, scudding, dodging, leaping, like a fox hard pressed by the
hounds--until, all of a moment he spied a break in the traffic, leapt
through it, and--then there was mischief. For Collins sprang at him like
a cat, gripped two big, strong-as-iron hands on his shoulders, and had
him tight and fast.

"Got you, you ass!" snapped he, with a short, crisp, self-satisfied
laugh. "None of your blessed squirming now. Keep still. You'll get out
of your coffin, you bounder, as soon as out of my grip. Got you--got
you! Do you understand?"

The response to this fairly took the wind out of him.

"Of course I do," said the captive, gaily; "it's part of the programme
that you should get me. Only, for Heaven's sake, don't spoil the film by
remaining inactive, you goat! Struggle with me--handle me roughly--throw
me about. Make it look real; make it look as though I actually did get
away from you, not as though you let me. You chaps behind there, don't
get in the way of the camera--it's in one of those cabs. Now, then,
Bobby, don't be wooden! Struggle--struggle, you goat, and save the
film!"