Guy wondered at the term “sissy” applied to his companion. It was not light enough for the highwayman to distinguish the effeminate features of the hotel clerk, and the latter’s voice was not girlish.
“I haven’t got any money,” declared Artie as he took off his coat and dropped it to the pavement.
“No, I don’t suppose you have,” the footpad replied; “but I don’t want to miss any chances. You might have a ‘tuppence’ sewed up in the lining o’ yo’r wais’co’t, you know. Now, off with that, too.”
Meanwhile Guy had been on the alert for a favorable opportunity to make a dash away in the fog, but the highwayman was watchful. Neither of the boys had enough valuables on his person to make it worth while to risk the boring of a bullet through him in order to save them.
But suddenly there was an interruption to proceedings. Without the least warning, a hand shot out in the fog, grasped the wrist of the hand that held the pistol, and in a twinkling the weapon was wrested away.
“Help, lads! Get ’im by the legs!”
This instruction came from the rescuer sharply and vigorously. Both boys sprang forward to obey, but they were too late. The highwayman broke loose and disappeared in the darkness.
“Blast the luck!” exclaimed the new arrival, picking himself up from the pavement where he had fallen in the scuffle. “He was too slippery for me. But my jiu-jitsu training came in good anyway,” he added as he reached for the highwayman’s pistol, which he had dropped.
“It’s funny that gun didn’t go off when it fell,” said Artie.
“It’s too bad you didn’t keep it in your hand when you took it away from him,” said Guy regretfully. “You could ’ave turned it on ’im, and he wouldn’t ’a’ dared to run.”