"G'wan out o' here!" growled the detective.
The young man quietly fell into step beside him, but on the sidewalk he turned on him, white and desperate.
"I tell you I've got to keep that appointment." He stood aside as the girl passed him, head lowered, and halted to wait for her cab. "I tell you I've got to go back——"
"Here, you!" The detective seized his arm as he attempted to pass; the young man wheeled and flung him aside, and the next instant reeled back as the detective struck him again with his billy, knocking him halfway into the street.
"You damned dead-beat!" he panted, "I'll show you!"
The young man stood swaying, his hands against his head; porters, cabmen, and the detective saw him stagger and fall heavily. And the next moment the girl was kneeling beside him.
"Let him alone, lady," said somebody. "That bum isn't hurt."
The "bum," in fact, was getting to his feet, groping for some support; and the girl's arm was offered and he leaned on it a moment, clearing his eyes with a gloved hand. Suddenly he made a movement so quick that she never understood how she wrenched the short, dull-blue weapon from his hand.
"Pick up your hat!" she gasped. "Do what I tell you!"
He looked at her, dazed, then the blood blotted his dark eyes again. She stooped swiftly, caught up his hat, and, holding tightly to his arm, opened the other door of the taxicab.
