The hoot of a motor-horn broke out behind him, and, rudely startled, he sprang aside.

He was too late; somebody cried out in warning, and the next moment he was conscious of a blow that flung him bodily forward.

He came down with a crash; something seemed to grind him into the stones; there was a stabbing pain in his side, and he lost consciousness.
Fortunately, the big car was promptly stopped, and two men sprang down.
An indistinct object lay just behind the forward pair of wheels, and in anxious haste they dragged it clear and into the glare of the lamps.
Herbert's hat had fallen off; he was scarcely breathing, and his face was ghastly white; but one of the men recognized him.
"It's Lansing," he exclaimed.

"Seems badly hurt, though I'd nearly pulled her up when she struck him." "He was dragged some way; jacket must have caught the starting crank or something; but that doesn't matter now." He raised his voice.
"Dreadfully sorry, Mr.Lansing; can you hear me ?" There was no answer, and the man shook his head.
"I'm afraid this is serious." His companion looked unnerved, but he roused himself with an effort.
"It is, and we're behaving like idiots, wasting time that may be valuable.

Get hold and lift him in; his house is scarcely a mile away." They had some difficulty in getting the unconscious man into the car; and then its owner backed it twice into a bank before he succeeded in turning round, but in three or four minutes they carried Herbert into Brantholme, and afterward drove away at top speed in search of assistance.