But, at that moment, there came a shrill voice:
“I’m here, Johnny Thompson! I’m here!”
One moment the knife poised above his chest; the next a diminutive figure attached itself to the arm that held the knife and sent it whirling to one side.
“Tom Stick, the midget clown!” gasped Johnny, renewing his struggle for freedom.
Dimly in the half light, he saw what followed. Turning all his attention to this new enemy, the counterfeiter appeared to seize the dwarf by the heels and dash him with terrible force against the ground.
Then, almost instantly, a great, brown bulk lumbered in out of the blackness, and at that instant, with a gurgling cry, the counterfeiter appeared to rise in air to be sent crashing again and again against the side of the embankment.
“Jo-Jo, the French elephant, Tom Stick’s friend!” cried Johnny, leaping to his feet to bend over the prostrate form of his little defender.
Two attendants came hurrying up.
“It’s Tom Stick,” explained Johnny. “That other fellow’s dead. The big bull elephant killed him. And right it was. He deserved it. Look after Tom. I’ve got to find the twins and the black cat.”
Once more, after recovering his automatic, which had been thrown from him in the first assault of the counterfeiter, he leaped away into the dark.