This spirited advice did not seem to find favor with the front-rank men, and the enemy retired for consultation. At last a messenger came forward.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“I want you to keep out.”
“Who is he?” asked Decker's voice.
“There's another one there,” cried another voice. “Why, it's Doddridge Knapp!”
Decker made use of some language not intended for publication, and there was whispering for a few minutes, followed by silence.
I looked at Doddridge Knapp, sitting grim and unmoved, counting the minutes till the injunction should come. Suddenly a man bounded through the broken upper section of the door, tossed by his companions, and I found myself in a grapple before I could raise my revolver.
We went down on the floor together, and I had a confused notion that the door swung open and four or five others rushed into the room.
I squirmed free from my opponent, and sprang to my feet in time to see the whole pack around Doddridge Knapp.
The King of the Street sat calm and forceful with a revolver in his hand, and all had halted, fearing to go farther.