," added another.

"Shut up, all of you!" angrily cried a harsh-voiced man--clearly one in
authority--as he elbowed his way to the front. "Do you want to bring the
police down on us?"

The warning had a prompt effect, and comparative silence ensued. The
injured man tried to rise, but his potations had weakened him more than
the loss of blood.

"Where's the bloke what hit me?" he feebly demanded.

His maudlin speech and woe-begone manner roused Jack's sympathy. He
knelt down beside him, and made a brief examination.

"It's nothing serious--the bottle glanced off," he said. "Fetch water
and a sponge, and I'll soon stop the bleeding. Who has a bit of
plaster?"

No sponge was to be had, but a basin of water was quickly produced. Jack
tore his handkerchief in two and wet part of it. He was about to begin
operations when a hand tapped him on the shoulder and a familiar voice
pronounced his name.

CHAPTER XXI.

A QUICK DECISION.

Jack turned around, and when he saw Victor Nevill bending over him he
looked first confused and then pleasurably surprised.

"Hello, old chap," he said. "Wait a bit, will you?"

"You've led me a chase," Nevill whispered in a low voice. "I want to
talk to you. Important!"

"All right," Jack replied. "I'll be through in a couple of minutes."

He wondered if it could have anything to do with Diane, as he set to
work on the injured man. With deft fingers he bathed the cut, staunched
the blood, and applied a piece of plaster handed to him by a bystander;
over it he placed the dry half of his handkerchief.

"You'll do now," he said. "It's not a deep cut."

With assistance the man got to his feet. The shock had sobered him, and
he was pretty steady. He pulled his cap on his head, and winced with
pain as it stirred the bandage.

"Where's the cowardly rat what hit me?" he demanded.

"Never you mind about 'im," put in the proprietor of the club--a very
fat man with a ponderous watch-chain. "While the excitement was on 'e
'ooked it. You be off, too--I don't want any more rowing." Sinking his
voice to a faint whisper, he added: "You'd be worse off than the rest
of us, 'Awker, should the police 'appen to come."

"Yes, go home, my good fellow," urged Jack. "You look ill; and what you
need is rest. You'll be all right in the morning."

He pressed half a sovereign into the man's hand--so cleverly that none
observed the action--and then slipped back and joined Nevill and Mostyn,
who ha