They are four to one, and ugly customers at that. Aleck is no Admirable Crichton, and if left to himself, no matter how gallant his attack, he must presently go down before the numbers opposed to him. The crowd seems paralyzed; in an affair of this kind, men usually believe it none of their business, but stand by and let those interested fight it out. Through the fringe of spectators, however, someone pushes a way. It is Wycherley in search of his friend, and upon seeing Aleck so beset he throws himself into the breach, which evens up the game a little. More help comes from an unexpected quarter. The half-intoxicated young fellow, whose muscular ability sent Scutari flying on the back trip, has evidently been spoiling for a fight. He picks out his man and faces him with the air of a scientific boxer, dazzles the eyes of the Oriental by the rapid use of his hands, and rains such a shower of blows upon him that the fellow, believing him a wizard with the six arms of a Chinese god, bellows for mercy. The action has been swift, and the field won. Aroun Scutari reads his defeat in the signs so apparent, and wisely steals away. His minions sneak after him. Aleck turns to the woman who still holds the limp figure of Dorothy. It galls him to see one arm thrown about the neck of the treacherous woman, and Dorothy’s head resting on her shoulder. “I don’t know what to say to you, madam. Your duplicity, your double-dealing, is known to me. I shall take the first opportunity to disclose it to your victim. Meantime you must assist me in getting her home--do you hear?” She bows her head. This double break in her plans has taken all the confidence out of the woman who could plot against her best friend. She now fears the result--for if Samson Cereal is once aroused against her she may well tremble for her fate. “Claude, see that she comes; we will find a carriage outside, perhaps.” “Oh, I’ll get one for you, boys,” cheerfully declares the young roysterer, as he endeavors to walk a straight line to the exit. With a strange feeling thrilling him through and through Aleck bends down and takes the young girl in his arms. She is not entirely senseless, for though her head droops upon his shoulder, he hears a fluttering breath and the words: “Oh, my father!” Reverently he raises his burden. “Make way, friends,” he says to those in front, and the crowd parts before him. They have by this time managed to get an inkling of the truth through their heads, and between the dark-skinned Turk and the frank-faced Canadian their sympathies are wholly with the latter. Strange to say, no Columbian guard has put in an appearance during the extraordinary fracas. They were everywhere when not wanted. The exit is close at hand, and as they pass through Aleck sees a figure with waving arms, a figure he has no trouble in recognizing as their quondam partner in the late deal. “This way! here’s your coach; step up lively now, gentlemen. We’re off over the divide.”