At the first opening he had
darted wildly into the fray, not realizing that the enemy was
already helpless in the hands of his captors.
"I've got him!" he cried, joyously. "He's out!'
"Higgins!" Anthony exclaimed, sharply. "What the devil--" Then the
dead weight in his arms, the lolling head and sagging jaw of the
stranger, sobered him like a deluge of ice-water.
"You've done it this time," he muttered.
"Good God!" Locke cried. "Let's get away! He's hurt!"
"Here, you!" Anthony shot a command at the speaker that checked
him half-way across the room. "Ringold, take the door and don't
let anybody in or out." To Higgins he exclaimed, "You idiot,
didn't you see I had his hands?"
"No. Had to get him," returned Higgins, with vinous dignity.
"Wanted to rob my old friend, Mr.--What's his name?"
"We've got to leave quick before we get in bad," Locke reiterated,
nervously, but Anthony retorted:
"We're in bad now. I want Padden." He stepped to the door and
signaled a passing waiter. A moment later the proprietor knocked,
and Ringold admitted him.
"What's the--" Padden started at sight of the motionless figure on
the floor, and, kneeling beside it, made a quick examination,
while Anthony explained the circumstances leading up to the
assault.
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