Then the man with the knife was seized, whirled round till his back was toward the youth attacked, and flung clean over Merry's head, striking on his head and shoulders on the flagging of the sidewalk.
The fifth thug paused in astounded hesitation. What sort of a chap was this who could dispose of four men with the rapidity of lightning, using only his bare hands? More than that, they had attacked him when he seemed quite unaware and unprepared, yet they had brought upon him not the slightest harm.
Frank's hand went toward his hip pocket.
With a yell, the fifth thug turned and ran for his very life, dodging into a dark alleyway.
From the opposite side of the street a strapping big man came hurrying toward Merry, crying:
"Give it to 'em! That's the stuff!"
Wondering if the fellow was another of the thugs, who might try to get at him, Merry held himself on the alert, ready for anything.
The dim light showed that the big fellow had a beardless, youthful face. He was dressed plainly, but his appearance was not that of a ruffian.
He paused, thrust his hands into his pockets, and surveyed the fallen thugs, who were beginning to bestir themselves.
"Well," he said, with a laugh, "you certainly got away with that bunch in a hurry. I saw them jump on you and made tracks to give you a hand, expecting they would down you before I could get here. Instead of downing you, they went down so fast that they looked as if they were falling before a machine gun. Your style of fighting is much like that of a chap I knew at college. It's the goods."