Diary of a Drug Fiend

The Gatto Fritto 123 ‘I resented the remark with almost insane intensity. To hell with the fellow ! He noticed it at once, and leered with a horrible chuckle. ‘‘ All right, mister,’’ he said. “ No offence meant,” and he threw an arm round Lou’s neck, and made a movement to kiss her. I was on my feet in a second, and swung my right to his jaw. It knocked him off the bench, and he lay flat. | In a moment the uproar began. All my old fighting instincts flashed to the surface. I realised instantly that we were in for the very row that Feccles had so wisely warned us to avoid. _ The whole crowd—men and women—were on their feet. They were rushing at us like stampeding cattle. I whipped out my revolver. The wave surged back as a breaker does when it hits a rock. “Guard my back!” I cried to Lou. She hardly needed telling. The spirit of the true Englishwoman in a crisis was aflame in her. Fixing the crowd with my eyes and my barrel, we edged our way to the door. One man took up a glass to throw; but the padrone had slipped out from behind the bar, and knocked his arm down. The glass smashed to the floor. The attack on us degenerated into a volley of oaths and shrieks. We found ourselves in the fresh air—and also in the arms of half a dozen police who had run up from both ends of the street. Two of them strode into the wine-shop. The uproar ceased as if by magic. And then we found that we were under arrest. We were being questioned in voluble, excited Italian. Neither Lou nor I understood a word that was said to us. The sergeant came out of the dive. He seemed an intelligent man. He understood at once that we were English.