By this time there was a full-sized riot on the porch and in the café. But the detective’s blood was up, and he cared nothing for that.
It was seldom he allowed his anger to make him lose sight of the main purpose in view. But he was so disgusted with the interference of these men, at such a critical moment, that he was determined to make them pay.
He dropped the chair and shot out his two fists, sending the talkative individual, who had called for the police, one way, and another busy person another.
He was setting himself for an onslaught on three others who were coming toward him, when suddenly two men he had not seen before ranged themselves on his side. They disposed of four of the foes with well-directed blows.
Before Nick could look around to see who his unexpected reënforcements were, Patsy Garvan whispered in his ear:
“Break away, chief! The fellow you knocked down is hustling along the avenue. Let’s get after him.”
A hand was laid on each of his arms, and, as he was drawn away into the shadows, where the people on the porch could not see him, he found Chick on one side of him and Patsy on the other.
“Do you know who he was?” asked Nick.
“I didn’t see,” replied Patsy. “I only made out that he was dark, and that he had on light clothes. I’ll know him again, though. Come on!”
“Who was he, chief?” asked Chick.