He was
bending over a prostrate body, and the cab-driver was bewailing the
plight of his voiturette.
Royson righted the carriage; then he lifted the man to a sitting
position, and listened to his stertorous breathing. The blow had been
delivered on that facial angle known to boxers as the "point," while
its scientific sequel is the "knock-out."
"He is all right," was the cool verdict. "He will wake up soon and feel
rather sick. The general effect will be excellent. In future he will
have a wholesome respect for British sailors."
He laid the almost insensible form on the road again, pocketed the
revolver, which he found close at hand, and gave an ear to von Kerber's
settlement with the _cocher_. The latter was now volubly indignant in
the assessment of damages to his vehicle, hoping to obtain a louis as
compensation. When he was given a hundred francs his gratitude became
almost incoherent.
The Baron cut him short, stipulating sternly that he must forget what
had happened. Then he turned to Royson.
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