He made for this.
To the mind of Quasimodo this flight had but one significance--he was dealing with an arrant coward; and he based his subsequent acts upon this premise, forgetting that brave men run when need says must.

It would have surprised him exceedingly to learn that he was not driving, that he was being led.

Hawksley wanted his enemy alone, where no one would see to interfere.

Red torches and hobnailed boots! For once the two bloods, always more or less at war, merged in a common purpose--to kill this beast, to grind the face of him into pulp! Red torches and hobnailed boots! Presently one of the huge passenger boats, moored for the winter, loomed up through the fog; and toward this Hawksley directed his steps.

He made a flying leap aboard and vanished round the deckhouse to the river side.
Quasimodo laughed as he followed.