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Their object, apparently, had been just to strike terror into him, for when all were again on their legs, instead of any shooting, there was a foolish pause, while the two cut ones glanced at their hands, and Cobby touched a bump on his forehead, until on panting breaths Cobby said: "Now, look here—just yonder is King's College Hospital: run to it, you two—tell them you've been cut with a septic lancet, or you are likely to have your arms off."

The three looked at one another.

"C'est la blague," remarked the non-cut to the cut.

"It is Not blague," Cobby said, suddenly walked away, and was not followed.

All in a flush he reached his chambers, indignant, dominant; and, as he broke into the room where Rolls under his rug awaited his coming, words burst from him. "Well, I have decided, Rolls. I go with you...."

"Good talk!" breathed Rolls astare.

"I've been attacked"—he told the story of it.

Rolls snapped finger and thumb. "Good luck! They reckoned to scare you off, that's it—and have done the other thing! They don't know their Cobby, the blackguards!"