Then he went back to his seat.
He could hear a murmur of voices from the custom-house, and it grew louder and louder; he caught disjointed scraps of angry talk.

Of a sudden his father's voice rose loud in apparent fury, and he cried in Italian, "Spies! We're nothing of the kind!" and then in English, "Bolt!" In a flash the car was moving, and half a dozen soldiers sprang forward, crying, "Stop! Stop!" "It's running away!" screamed Tinker in Italian, and switched it on to full speed.
It jerked forward; and the soldiers ran heavily after it.
"Hold it back! Hold it back!" screamed Tinker, and with the unquestioning obedience of the perfectly disciplined man, a simple young soldier caught hold of the back of the car, and threw all his heart and strength into the effort to stop it, only to find himself running fast.

At sixty yards he was running faster and shouting loudly.

At eighty yards, he stopped shouting, let go, and fell down.
Tinker looked back, and saw him sitting up in the dust and shaking his fist, while forty yards beyond him his fellow-soldiers danced gesticulating in the middle of the road.
[Illustration: "Hold it back!" screamed Tinker.].