He hurried Hamilton down the steps and pushed him into the car. "To the Hôtel Normandie," he ordered the driver, as he stumbled in himself. The bumping of the car hurt Monte's arm a good deal. In fact, with every bump he felt as if Hamilton were prodding his shoulder with a stiletto. Besides being unpleasant, this told rapidly on his strength, and that was dangerous. Above all things, he must remain conscious. Hamilton was quiet because he thought Monte still had the gun and was still able to use it; but let him sway, and matters would be reversed. So Monte gripped his jaws and bent his full energy to keeping control of himself until they crossed the Seine. It seemed like a full day's journey before he saw that the muddy waters were behind them. Then he ordered the driver to stop. Hamilton's shifty eyes looked up. "Hamilton," said Monte, "have you got it clear yet that--that Miss Stockton and I are engaged?" Hamilton did not answer. His fingers were working nervously. Monte, summoning all his strength, shook the fellow. "Do you hear?" he called. "Yes," muttered Hamilton. "Then," said Monte, "I want you to get hold of the next point: that from now on you're to let her alone. Get that?" Hamilton's lips began to twitch. "Because if you come around bothering her any more," explained Monte, "I'll be there myself; and, believe me, you'll go out the door. And if you try any more gun-play--the little fellows will nail you next time. Sure as preaching, they'll nail you. That would be too bad for every one--for you and for her." "How for her?" demanded Hamilton hoarsely. "The papers," answered Monte. "And for you because--" "I don't care what they do to me," growled Hamilton. "I believe that," nodded Monte. "Do you know that I 'm the one person on earth who is inclined to believe what you say?" He saw Hamilton crouch as if to spring. Monte placed his left hand in his empty pocket. "Steady," he warned. "There are still four shots left in that gun." Hamilton relaxed. "You don't care what the little fellows do to you," said Monte. "But you don't want to queer yourself any further with her, do you? Now, listen. She thinks you tried to shoot yourself. By that much I have a hunch she thinks the better of you." Hamilton groaned, "And because I believe what you told me about her," he ran on, fighting for breath--"just because--because I believe the shooting fits into that, I 'm glad to--to have her think that little the better of you, Hamilton." The interior of the cab was beginning to move slowly around in a circle. He leaned back his head a second to steady himself--his white lips pressed together. "So--so--clear out," he whispered. "You--you won't tell her?" "No. But--clear out, quick." Hamilton opened the cab door. "Got any money?" inquired Monte. "No." Monte drew out his bill-book and handed it to Hamilton. "Take what there is," he ordered. Hamilton obeyed, and returned the empty purse.