They both stooped and eyed him critically.
"You've landed him in a good pläace," said Pete; "a little farther back and he'd have been gone."
"Praise be to God that his life was spared."
Pete looked in some surprise at the bruiser, who continued:
"I'm out of practice, or I shouldn't have skinned myself like this—ah, here's Coalbran's trap. Perhaps he'll give you a lift, ma'am, into Peasmarsh."
The woman was helped into the trap, and after some discussion it was decided not to give themselves the trouble of taking the tramp to the police station, but to pull him to the side of the road and leave him to the consequences he had brought upon himself.
"He's had some punishment," said Pete when they were alone. He inspected the tramp, now feebly moaning, with the air of a connoisseur. "I'm hemmed if I ever saw a purtier knock-out."
"I'm out of training, as I told you," said the stranger.
"Then you must have bin a valiant basher in your day. It's a pity you let yourself go slack."