A man in this position can be thrown so that he will either fall as lightly as a baby falls from his pillow to the bed, or with sufficient force to break his ribs.  Van Bibber, being excited, threw him the latter way.  Seeing this, the second man, who had so far failed to find Van Bibber’s knee-cap, backed rapidly away, with his hands in front of him.

“Here,” he cried, “lem’me alone; I’m not in this.”

“Oh yes, you are,” cried Van Bibber, gasping, but with fierce politeness.  “Excuse me, but you are.  Put up your hands; I’m going to kill you.”

He had a throbbing feeling in the back of his head, and his breathing was difficult.  He could still hear the heavy, irregular rapping behind him, but it had become confused with the throbbing in his head.  “Put up your hands,” he panted.

The third man, still backing away, placed his arms in a position of defence, and Van Bibber beat them down savagely, and caught him by the throat and pounded him until his arm was tired, and he had to drop him at his feet.

As he turned dizzily, he heard a sharp answering rap down the street, and saw coming towards him the burly figure of a policeman running heavily and throwing his night-stick in front of him by its leather thong, so that it struck reverberating echoes out of the pavement.

And then he saw to his amazement that Miss Cuyler was still with him, standing by the curb and beating it with his heavy walking-stick as calmly as though she were playing golf, and looking keenly up and down the street for possible aid.  Van Bibber gazed at her with breathless admiration.

“Good heavens!” he panted, “didn’t I ask you please to go home?”

The policeman passed them and dived uncertainly down a dark area-way as one departing figure disappeared into the open doorway of a tenement, on his way to the roof, and the legs of another dodged between the line of drays.

“Where’d them fellows go?” gasped the officer, instantly reappearing up the steps of the basement.

“How should I know?” answered Van Bibber, and added, with ill-timed lightness, “they didn’t leave any address.”  The officer stared at him with severe suspicion, and then disappeared again under one of the trucks.

“I am very, very much obliged to you, Miss Cuyler,” Van Bibber said.  He tried to raise his hat, but the efforts of the gentleman who had struck him from behind had been successful and the hat came off only after a wrench that made him wince.

“You were very brave,” he went on.  “And it was very good of you to stand by me.  You won’t mind my saying so, now, will you?  But you gave the wrong rap.  I hadn’t time to tell you to change it.”  He mopped the back of his head tenderly with his handkerchief, and tried to smile cheerfully.  “You see, you were giving the rap,” he explained politely, “for a fire-engine; but it’s of no consequence.”  Miss Cuyler came closer to him, and he saw that her face showed sudden anxiety.