Seeing his enemy so occupied, Jack Benson edged off, holding the whip so that he could use it.
From down the street came the sound of flying feet. Then, just as suddenly the speed lessened.
"I'll wait until I get help, and I'll grab this pair," muttered Captain Jack. "The police chief will be delighted at having a good, close look at Fred Radwin!"
At that moment loud yells and coarse cries broke from the eight or ten young men down the street. Then fist-blows sounded.
"Mine's a Chinaman's luck," grunted Jack Benson, disgustedly. "Only a gang of drunken hoodlums down there. They'd stand in with anything that is against the police. No use depending on such human cattle."
Jack, in fact, grasped the significance of the new riot a little before Fred Radwin did. The submarine boy, therefore, wheeled and ran swiftly toward the fighting hoodlums, though wholly intent on getting past them.
Radwin, believing that the young skipper was racing for help, dragged his driver-companion roughly, swiftly along, finally pushing him inside the hack. Then Radwin leaped to the box, gathered up the reins, and was away like a flash.
The young submarine skipper, from what he knew of hoodlum street crowds, hurried by on the other side. Two blocks further along Benson encountered a tardy policeman. Knowing that it was now too late to hope to catch Fred Radwin, Jack contented himself with inquiring the way back to the Somerset House, where he arrived, after a long walk, still carrying the whip as his trophy of the late encounter.
"You'll have to telephone the hospital, after all, I'm afraid," muttered the young skipper, when he met Mr. Farnum and the others in the lobby.
"What happened?" demanded Farnum, eyeing the whip curiously.