The chauffeur made no sign that he had heard. Hopkins shrugged a
shoulder and chewed at his cigar, to which his teeth had clung grimly
throughout the mêlée.

Ten minutes and the auto turned into the open carriage entrance of a
noble mansion of brown stone, and stood still. The chauffeur leaped
out, and said:

"Come quick. The lady, she will explain. It is the great honor you
will have, monsieur. Ah, that milady could call upon Armand to do
this thing! But, no, I am only one chauffeur."

With vehement gestures the chauffeur conducted Hopkins into the
house. He was ushered into a small but luxurious reception chamber. A
lady, young, and possessing the beauty of visions, rose from a chair.
In her eyes smouldered a becoming anger. Her high-arched, threadlike
brows were ruffled into a delicious frown.

"Milady," said the chauffeur, bowing low, "I have the honor to
relate to you that I went to the house of Monsieur Long and found
him to be not at home. As I came back I see this gentleman in
combat against--how you say--greatest odds. He is fighting with
five--ten--thirty men--gendarmes, _aussi_. Yes, milady, he what you
call 'swat' one--three--eight policemans. If that Monsieur Long is
out I say to myself this gentleman he will serve milady so well, and
I bring him here."

"Very well, Armand," said the lady, "you may go." She turned to
Hopkins.