"Some skipper comin' to his ship," muttered Tagg. "It can't be ours. By
George, if those chaps tackled him they would be sorry for themselves."

"Captain Stump is a good man in a row, I take it?"

"'Good' isn't the word. He's a terror. I've seen him get six of his men
out of a San Francisco crimp's house, an' I s'pose you 'aven't bin to
sea without knowing wot that means."

"Ah!" said Royson admiringly. He had found safety many times during the
past two days by some such brief comment. Thus did he steer clear of
conversational rocks.

The carriage drew nearer, and became dimly visible--it was one of the
tiny voiturettes peculiar to French towns. Suddenly the listeners heard
a shout. The horse's feet ceased their regular beat on the roadway.
Royson began to run, but Tagg vociferated:

"Wait for me, you long ijiot! If you turn up alone they'll knife you
before you can say 'Jack Robinson.'"

Dick had no intention of saying "Jack Robinson," but he moderated his
pace, and helped Tagg over the ground by grasping his arm. They soon
saw that two men had pulled the driver off the box, and were holding
him down--indeed, tying him hand and foot. Royson prevented the success
of this operation by a running kick and an upper cut which placed two
Marseillais out of action. Then he essayed to plunge into a fearsome
struggle that was going on inside the carriage. Frantic oaths in German
and Italian lent peculiar significance to a flourishing of naked
knives. But that which stirred the blood in his veins was his