To have run at that instant would have left Harry open to gunshots. He knew it well, and so he adopted the opposite course.
He flung himself upon the nearer of the two men, and hurled the surprised mobsman upon his stunned companion. The third was pulling a gun from his pocket.
Harry shot a swift punch past the warding left arm, and caught his opponent in the face.
The second assailant was rising. The odds were impossible for Harry. But he had gained his chance. He dashed along the alley.
A revolver barked behind him. Harry took a zigzag course. More shots followed. A bullet zipped past his right ear. Then came a sharp pain in his shoulder. Harry had been clipped!
He staggered on; then he suddenly lost his footing, and sprawled headlong on the sidewalk of the next street.
He lay prone where he was. Numbed and half unconscious from his fall, Harry realized that his lack of motion might lead his enemies to believe him dead.
He heard the clatter of footsteps in the alleyway. They were coming, after all. Then he heard a shout beside him.
The footsteps stopped. They retreated up the alley. Harry understood that some one had come to his aid; that the gunmen had decided to make a quick departure.
Their encounter had been a chance one. It would have been a mistake for them to remain.