Don't hesitate.

In a moment they will be here upon you." "But who are they, Olinto?
You must tell me," I cried in desperation.
"_Dio!_ Go! Go!" he cried, pushing me violently towards the door.

"Fly, or we shall both die--both of us! Run downstairs.

I must make feint of dashing after you." I turned, and seeing his desperate eagerness, precipitately fled, while he ran down behind me, uttering fierce imprecations in Italian, as though I had escaped him.
A man in the narrow dark passage attempted to trip me up as I ran, but I fired point blank at him, and gaining the door unlocked it, and an instant later found myself out in the street.
It was the narrowest escape from death that I had ever had in all my life--surely the strangest and most remarkable adventure.

What, I wondered, did it mean?
Next morning I searched up and down Oxford Street for the Restaurant Milano, but could not find it.