As they came within sight of Hoffstein’s tavern, they encountered groups of men coming away, but no one was disposed to loiter on that night of turmoil; no one accosted them as they approached.  The place was built of corrugated iron, and they heard the sand whipping against it as they drew near.  Kelly paused within a few yards of the entrance.  The door was open and the lights of the bar flared forth into the darkness.

“You stop here!” bawled Kelly.  “I’ll go in and investigate.”

There was an iron fence close to them, affording some degree of shelter from the blast.  Burke stood back against it, dumbly patient.  The other man went on, and in a few seconds his short square figure passed through the lighted doorway.

There followed an interval of waiting that seemed interminable—­an interval during which Burke moved not at all, but stood like a statue against the wall, his hat well down over his eyes, his hands clenched at his sides.  The voices of men drifted to and fro through the howling night, but none came very near him.

It must have been nearly half-an-hour later that there arose a sudden fierce uproar in the bar, and the silent watcher straightened himself up sharply.  The turmoil grew to a babel of voices, and in a few moments two figures, struggling furiously, appeared at the open door.  They blundered out, locked together like fighting beasts, and behind them the door crashed to, leaving them in darkness.

Burke moved forward.  “Kelly, is that you?”

Kelly’s voice, uplifted in lurid anathema, answered him, and in a couple of seconds Kelly himself lurched into him, nearly hurling him backwards.  “And is it yourself?” cried the Irishman.  “Then help me to hold the damned young scoundrel, for he’s fighting like the devils in hell!  Here he is!  Get hold of him!”

Burke took a silent hard grip upon the figure suddenly thrust at him, and almost immediately the fighting ceased.

“Let me go!” a hoarse voice said.

“Hold him tight!” said Kelly.  “I’m going to take a rest.  Guy, you young devil, what do you want to murder me for?  I’ve never done you a harm in my life.”

The man in Burke’s grasp said nothing whatever.  He was breathing heavily, but his resistance was over.  He stood absolutely passive in the other man’s hold.

Kelly gave himself an indignant shake and continued his tirade.  “I call all the saints in heaven to witness that as sure as my name is Donovan Kelly so sure is it that I’ll be damned to the last most nether millstone before ever I’ll undertake to dig a man out of Hoffstein’s marble halls again.  You’d better watch him, Burke.  His skin is about as full as it’ll hold.”

“We’ll get back,” said Burke briefly.

He was holding his captive locked in a scientific grip, but there was no violence about him.  Only, as he turned, the other turned also, as if compelled.  Kelly followed, cursing himself back to amiability.