Greek in a tone of polite
reproach, but not relinquishing his hold.

'Possibly, but it's my own bicycle, and I prefer to throw it away.'

Margaret had watched the contest in silence. She now stepped out of the
car, came up to the two men and laid her hands on the object of
contention. Logotheti let go instantly, but Lushington did not.

'This is ridiculous,' said Margaret. 'Give it to me!'

Lushington had no choice, and besides, he needed his right hand for his
nose, which was getting the better of him again. He let go, and
Margaret lifted the bicycle into the body of the car herself, though
Logotheti tried to help her.

'Now, get in,' she said to Lushington. 'We'll take you as far at the
Chaville station.'

'Thank you,' he answered. 'I am quite able to walk.'

He presented such a lamentable appearance that he would have hesitated
to get into the car with Margaret even if they had been on good terms.
He was in that state of mind in which a man wishes that he might vanish
into the earth like Korah and his company, or at least take to his
heels without ceremony and run away. Logotheti had put up his glasses
and shield, over the visor of his cap, and was watching his rival's
discomfiture with a polite smile of pity. Lushington mentally compared
him to Judas Iscariot.

'Let me point out,' said the Greek, that if you won't accept a seat
with us, we, on our part, are much too anxious for your safety to leave
you here in the road. You must have been badly shaken, besides being
cut. If you insist upon walking, we'll keep beside you in the car. Then
if you faint, we can pick you up.'

'Yes,' assented Margaret, with a touch of malice, 'that is very
sensible.'

Lushington was almost choking.

'Do let me give you another handkerchief,' said Logotheti,
sympathetically. 'I always carry a supply when I'm motoring--they are
so useful. Yours is quite spoilt.'

A forcible expression rose to Lushington's lips, but he checked it, and
at the same time he wondered whether anybody he knew had ever been
caught in such a detestable situation. But Anglo-Saxons generally
perform their greatest feats of arms when they are driven into a corner
or have launched themselves in some perfectly hopeless undertaking. It
takes a Lucknow or a Balaclava to show what they are really made of.
Lushington was in a corner now; his temper rose and he turned upon his
tormentors. At the same time, perhaps under the influence of his
emotion, his nose