"Not so fast, not so fast," said Clinton, placing one hand over the girl's mouth; "remember we're three to one here, and if you don't want your head broke, you'd better keep away."
"That's the kind," said Arthur, coming forward; "hold on to her, Clin—"
The words were no sooner spoken, than the speaker fell to the pavement, leveled by a heavy blow from the arm of the intruder, and a second blow sent Quirk, staggering, into the gutter, while at the same moment the girl was snatched from the now yielding arms of Clinton.
As she gained her feet, she flung back her hair from her eyes, and looked up in the face of her rescuer.
"Monsieur Wilkins!"
"Good Heavens! is this Blanche?"
At the mention of Wilkins' name, Arthur and Quirk sprang to their feet, and started on a run down the street, followed by Clinton.
"A devilish muss this," cried Quirk, as they paused on a corner, a few blocks from the scene of their discomfiture.
"It was too dark for him to recognize a soul of us," returned Clinton; "if it hadn't been for the lamp gleam coming suddenly through that window, she would not have known him."