He ceased to struggle, and, panting but triumphant, we released our respective grips.
At that moment Mortimer arrived on the scene. He looked down on us with a smile.
"Well, you seem to have got him all right," he said. "Who is it?"
Tommy mopped his forehead with the back of his hand.
"I think it's Sandow," he replied. "Get up, my friend, and let's have a squint at you."
The stranger rose rather stiffly into a sitting posture. "You've 'alf choked me, guv'nor," he said reproachfully, putting his hand to his neck. "You 'adn't no call to 'andle me like that."
We all three burst our laughing.
"I'm sorry," said Tommy gravely. "I was under the impression that you were trying to kick me in the stomach."
The stranger grinned, and somewhat painfully clambered to his feet.
He was a massively built man of about forty, swarthy and black-bearded, and clothed in the conventional rags of a case-hardened tramp.