"Save the what?" gasped Collins. "Here! Good Lord! Do you mean to
say--?"

"Struggle--struggle--struggle!" cut in the man impatiently. "Can't you
grasp the situation? It's a put-up thing: the taking of a kinematograph
film--a living picture--for the Alhambra to-night! Heavens above,
Marguerite, didn't you tell him?"

"Non, non! There was not ze time. You come so quick, I could not. And
he--ah, le bon Dieu!--he gif me no chance. Officair, I beg, I entreat of
you, make it real! Struggle, fight, keep on ze constant move.
Zere!"--something tinkled on the pavement with the unmistakable sound of
gold--"zere, monsieur, zere is the half-sovereign to pay you for ze
trouble, only, for ze lof of goodness, do not pick it up while the
instrument--ze camera--he is going. It is ze kinematograph, and you
would spoil everything!"

The chop-fallen cry that Collins gave was lost in a roar of laughter
from the pursuing crowd.

"Struggle--struggle! Don't you hear, you idiot?" broke in the red-headed
man irritably. "You are being devilishly well paid for it, so for
goodness' sake make it look real. That's it! Bully boy! Now, once more
to the right, then loosen your grip so that I can push you away and make
a feint of punching you off. All ready there, Marguerite? Keep a clear
space about her, gentlemen. Ready with the motor, chauffeur? All right.
Now, then, Bobby, fall back, and mind your eye when I hit out, old chap.
One, two, three--here goes!"