They would fight at eight; he had nearly an hour.

In three minutes he was dressed, and racing down the stairs.

He met Dorothy coming up.
"What's the matter ?" she cried at the sight of his white face.
"My father--he's fighting Le Comte de Puy-de-Dome, and he's got us out of the way!" He did not see her turn pale, and clutch the banisters; he was racing out of the hotel.

He ran to the coach-house, wheeled his bicycle into the courtyard, mounted, and rode down the street.

He went at a moderate pace through the town, but once on the Corniche road, he drove the machine as hard as he could pedal.
He was well on his way before his mind cleared enough for him to think what he was doing; and then his heart sank; he could do nothing.