By the time he could leap up and look about him, rather dizzily, his late assailant had made a clean escape.
"No time to waste on a fellow who's got away," quoth Dick.
He staggered slightly, at first, as he hurried from the yard back into the alleyway.
"Now, you quiet down!" commanded Dave Darrin hoarsely. "No more from you, Mr. Thug!"
"Lemme go, or it'll be worse for ye!" threatened a harsh voice that, nevertheless, had a whine in it.
"What use to let you go, Tip Scammon?" demanded Darrin. "We know you, and the police would pick you up again in an hour."
"Lemme go, and keep yer mouth shut," whined the fellow. "If ye don't, ye'll be sorry. If ye do lemme go, I'll pay ye for the accommodation."
"Yes," retorted Dave, scornfully. "You'd pay us, I suppose, with money you picked up in some way resembling the trick you played on Dick Prescott."
"Well, money's money, ain't it?" demanded Tip, skeptically.
"Some kinds of money are worse that dirt," growled Greg Holmes.