“Ain’t you Baseball Joe?” he asked. “Sure you are! I’ve seen your picture many a time!”
Joe motioned him to be silent, but it was too late. There were muttered exclamations and the scraping of chairs in the adjoining stall, and the next moment Hupft and McCarney were blocking the door.
“So you were spying on us, were you?” snarled Reddy, whose flushed face showed he had been drinking.
He lunged forward as he spoke, while McCarney also rushed at Joe.
The latter’s right fist shot out and caught Hupft a terrific blow straight between the eyes, sending him staggering back against the partition. The next moment Joe’s left had landed on McCarney’s jaw.
They were back at him a moment later, and they went at it hammer and tongs. Joe could have handled either one of them easily, but the two made a formidable combination. Still he was getting the better of it when his foot slipped in the débris of the meal that had been dashed to the floor and he went down heavily, striking the back of his head. He was stunned, and the next instant McCarney and Hupft were both on top of him.
[CHAPTER XII]
THE POLICE RAID
What might have happened to Joe at that critical minute is a matter for conjecture had not fate—or the police—decided to take a hand in the matter.