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Incredible though it appeared to him, he passed out of the gate and along the boulevard without a single pursuer. A few yards down the cross street he caught up with the girl leaning against the high railings and partly unconscious. She tottered towards him and he half carried, half dragged her through the gate he had indicated, into the gardens. Inside, and behind the shadow of some shrubs, he paused for a moment to listen. The tumult in the centre of the city continued unabated, but nearer at hand everything seemed peaceful. He led her along a gravel path towards a formidable-looking door which he opened with a Yale key. As soon as they were both inside, he slammed and bolted it. For a time, at any rate, they were in safety.

"Well, what do you know about that?" he demanded of no one in particular as he leaned against the wall, recovering his breath.

She sank on to a divan with a little sob of relief. With one hand she pressed a fragment of torn handkerchief to her eyes; the other sought weakly for his. Wilfred Haven, who was not in the least used to holding a girl's hand, patted it awkwardly.