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.