"Hold, friend," I shouted.
"Make haste," panted a voice from the middle of the group. "Ha, you scoundrel! You pinked me then."
One man against a gang of assassins! So that was the story. It savored more of Paris than of the staid London of merchants and shop-keepers over which the Hanoverian exercised his stolid sway.
But I had scant time for philosophy. A figure detached itself from the central swarm and came lunging at me with cutlass aswing. I parried his blade and touched him in the shoulder. He bellowed for aid.
"This is no fat alderman, bullies. He wields a swift point. To me, a brace of ye."
They were on me in an instant, my first assailant in front, an assassin on either hand, slashing with hangers and cutlasses that knew no tricks of fence, but only downright force. Their former prey was left with one to handle.
"Get to his rear, one of you, fools," snarled the ruffian in command whilst he pounded at my guard.
But I backed into a handy doorway and barely managed to fend them off. And all the while the real object of their attack continued his appeals for the watch.
'Twas this which spoiled the fray for me. I could not but wonder, as I dodged and parried and thrust, what would happen if his cries should be heard and the watch appear. Would they know me? Or perchance should I have the opportunity to slip quietly away?
I stole a glance about me. Several windows had gone up along the street, and nightcapped heads protruded to add their clamor to that of my friend.