It was this second party to the talk that Dick was after. He left the other fugitive to his two active, quick-witted chums. They were swift to understand, and grappled, together, with the rascal fleeing for the street.
The three went down in a scuffling, fighting heap.
Like a flash the fellow that Dick was after seemed to melt into the adjoining back yard. Prescott, in trying to get in after him in record time, fell flat to the ground just inside the yard.
Yet, as he went down Prescott grabbed one of his fugitive's trouser legs near the ankle.
"Let go!" hissed the other, in too low a voice to be recognized.
Before Dick, holding on grimly, had time to look upward, the wretch lifted a cane, bringing it down on Dick's head with ugly force.
CHAPTER X
TIP SCAMMON TALKS—-BUT NOT ENOUGH
If that ugly blow hadn't proved a glancing one, Dick Prescott might have been for a long siege of brain fever.
As it was, he was slightly stunned for the moment.