"The grandfather, who was working in his garden, saw the incident, and hurried as fast as he could to the rescue. At the same time, the driver jumped from his seat to protect the child, but before they could reach the spot, the boy was lying bruised and senseless in the dust. "The old man rushed at the American in impotent rage, and the driver, fearing for his safety, caught him by the arm and tried to separate them, saying, 'You look after the boy. Let me settle with him.' But the old man was deaf and could not understand, and thought that the driver, also an American, was assisting his employer. In the struggle, the American suddenly drew a knife, and in spite of the driver's efforts, struck twice at his feeble opponent, who fell back in the arms of his would-be protector, just as the older brother rushed upon the scene. The American leaped into the carriage and snatched up the lines. The mechanic sprang after him, and as he caught hold of the seat in his attempt to climb in, the knife flashed again, cutting a long gash in his arm and hand, severing the little finger. With the other hand, he caught the wrist of the American, but a heavy blow in the face knocked him beneath the wheels, and the horses dashed away down the road. "The driver was bending over the old man trying to staunch the flow of blood, when several workmen, attracted by the cries of the helpless grandmother, who had witnessed the scene from the porch, came running up. ''E's one on 'em--'e's one on 'em,' cried the old lady. ''E 'eld my man while 'tother 'it 'im.' "The driver saw her mistake instantly, and realizing his danger as the man passed into the house with the body of the old man, he ran down the street and escaped. Two days later, he read in a Liverpool paper that the grandfather and boy were both dead, and that the dying statement of the old man, the testimony of the grandmother and the brother, was that both the strangers were guilty. "How the wealthy American made his escape from the country you know best. The driver shipped aboard a vessel bound for Australia, and later, made his way home." When Dick had finished his story, Whitley's face was drawn and haggard. He leaped to his feet again, but the revolver motioned him back. "What fiend told you all this?" he gasped hoarsely. "Who are you?" "I am the driver." Whitley sank back in his chair; then suddenly broke into a harsh laugh. "You are a crazy fool. Who would believe you? You have no proof."