Then the new comer held up his hand.
“If you are a friend give up your weapon.”
“Clear the house of all except yourself and one or two more and I will. I can convince you.”
“Do you want to walk into a police trap, friend?” asked Burski, with a sneer. He had the crowd with him now and they echoed the sneer with a laugh.
But the leader was a persistent fellow in his way. “How many are in the house?” he asked Burski.
The latter shrugged his shoulders. “There were plenty just now; enough to treat me pretty roughly; and I’m no bantling.”
“There are no police in the house except that man and one other. He knows that,” I declared.
The leader turned to the crowd and tried to reason with them; but it was useless. Not a man would leave the house. Some began to murmur and growl at him for his interference; and the yells and cries against me redoubled in violence.
Then for a while things went all wrong with me. One of the fellows in the hallway picked up a mat and with a raucous laugh and an oath flung it at me. It hit me full in the face; and a burst of laughter and wild cheering hailed the shot.
Before I knew anything more, another man rushed up the stairs and caught me by the legs. Down I went backwards, my weapon flew out of my hand, and in an instant I was hauled down the stairs, feet first into the seething mass of infuriated men; grabbed here, thrust there, beaten, kicked and hustled all ways at once, to the accompaniment of such screeching, oathing and yelling as I hope I may never hear again, at least under similar conditions.