Something sounded like a fast ball thudding into a catcher’s glove. The big man came back hard, and took me down with him.
I heard people shouting. A woman screamed. There were steps — running toward us.
Someone bent over us. I squirmed to get free. The automobile lights showed Pug’s face, still hard with cold hatred, bending over. He jerked the inert body of the big man to one side as though it had no weight. He leaned over me. His left hand grabbed my shirt and necktie. He started to lift me.
Someone was back of him. I saw a club making a glittering half circle, and heard the thud on the back of Pug’s skull. The hand that was holding my shirt loosened its grip. I fell back against the bumper of the car.
By the time I straightened, there was a swirl of activity back in the crowd. I heard the sound of grunting breaths, the sound of another blow, then feet running, this time away from me.
The big man who had gone down and taken me with him struggled to his knees. His right hand swung back to his hip. I saw blued steel glittering in the light reflected by the automobile headlights. I caught the man’s profile as he raised the gun and turned his head. It was Lieutenant Kleinsmidt.
A man pushed through the little crowd. “Everything all right, Bill?” he asked.
Kleinsmidt said thickly, “Where is he?”
“He got away. I gave him a full swing with the club, but it didn’t stop him.”
Kleinsmidt struggled to his feet.