With a cry hoarse and fierce, M’Ginnis followed and stooped, eager to make an end—stooped to be met by two fierce hands, sure hands and strong, that grasped his silken neckerchief as this crouching figure rose suddenly erect. So for a wild, panting moment they grappled, swaying grimly to and fro, while ever the silken neckerchief was twisted tight and tighter. Choking now, M’Ginnis felt fingers on his naked throat, iron fingers that clutched cruelly, and in this painful grip was whirled, choking, against the wall and thence borne down and down. And now M’Ginnis, lying helpless across his opponent’s knee, stared up into a face pale but grimly joyous, lips that curled back from gnashing white teeth—eyes that glared merciless. So Ravenslee bent M’Ginnis back across his knee and choked him there awhile, then suddenly relaxed his hold and let M’Ginnis sink, gasping, to the floor.
“A little—rough, Mr. Flowers,” he panted, “a trifle—rough with you—I fear—but I want you—to know that you —shall not utter—her name—in my presence. Now the key—I prefer door to window—the key, Mr. Flowers—ah, here it is!” So saying, Ravenslee stood upright, and wiping blood and sweat from him with his sleeve, turned to the door. “One other thing, Mr. Flowers; have the goodness to take off your neckerchief next time, or I—may strangle you outright.”
Halfway down the passage Ravenslee turned to see Murder close on his heels. Once he smote and twice, but nothing might stay that bull-like rush and, locked in a desperate clinch, he was borne back and back, their trampling lost in the universal din about them, as reeling, staggering, they crashed out through wrecked and splintered door and, still locked together, were swallowed in the night beyond.
Thus the Spider, crouching in the dark beneath the broken window with Spike beside him, was presently aware of the sickening sounds of furious struggling close at hand, and of a hoarse, panting voice that cursed in fierce triumph—a voice that ended all at once in a ghastly strangling choke; and recognising this voice, the Spider hunched his great shoulders and bore Spike to a remote spot where stood a solitary lamp-post. Here he waited, calm-eyed and chewing placidly, one arm about the fretful Spike.
Presently Ravenslee joined them; the shabby hat was gone, and there was a smear of blood upon his cheek, also he laboured in his breathing, but his eyes were joyous.
“Bo, what about Bud?”
“Oh, he’s lying around somewhere.”
“Hully Chee—d’ ye mean—”
“He tried gouging first, but I expected that; then he tried to throttle me, but I throttled a little harder. He’s an ugly customer, as you said, but”—Ravenslee laughed and glanced at his bloody knuckles—”I don’t think he’ll be keen to rough it with me again just yet.”
“Bo, I guess you can be pretty ugly too—say, when you laugh that way I feel—kind of sorry for Bud.”
“Why, what’s wrong with Spike?”
“Dunno—I guess they’ve been slinging dope into him. And he’s copped it pretty bad from Young Alf too—look at that eye!”
“Spike!” said Ravenslee, shaking him, “Spike, what is it? Buck up, old fellow!” But Spike only stared dazedly and moaned.
“It’s dope all right,” nodded the Spider, “or else Bud’s mixed th’ drinks on him.”
“Damn him!” said Ravenslee softly. “I wish I’d throttled a little harder!”
“I guess you give Bud all he needs for the present,” said Spider grimly, “anyway, I’m goin’ t’ see. The Kid ain’t hurt none. Get him home t’ bed, an’ he’ll be all right s’long, long, Geoff.”
“Good night, Spider, and—thank you. Oh, by the way, who’s Heine?”
“Heine’s a Deutscher, Geoff. Heine’s about as clean as dirt an’ as straight as a corkscrew; why, he’d shoot his own mother if y’ paid him, like he did—but say, what d’ you know about him, anyway?”
“Well, for one thing, I know he’s been arrested in Jersey City—”
“Heine? Pinched? Say, bo, what yer givin’ us—who says so?”
“Bud, and—”
But the Spider, waiting for no more, had turned about and was running back across the open lot.
CHAPTER XXI
HOW M’GINNIS THREATENED AND—WENT
“Mr. Geoffrey, prayer is a wonderful prop to a anxious ‘eart!” said Mrs. Trapes, leaning over the banisters to greet him as he ascended. “Mr. Geoffrey, my hands has been lifted in prayer for ye this night as so did me behoove, and here you are safe back with—that b’y. A prayer prayed proper, and prayed by them as ain’t plaguein’ the Lord constant about their souls an’ other diseases, is always dooly regarded. Yes, sir, a occasional petition is always heard and worketh wonders as the—my land, Mr. Geoffrey, look at your face!”
“I know, Mrs. Trapes. Has she come in yet?”
“Not yet—an’ glad I am. You’re all bleedin’—stoop your head a bit—there!” and very tenderly she staunched the cut below the curly hair with an apron clean and spotless as usual. “And the b’y—lord, what’s come to him?”
“A black eye—two, I’m afraid. Anyhow, I’ll look after him and get him into bed before she comes; can you keep her away till I’ve done so?”
“I’ll try. Poor lad!” she sighed, touching Spike’s drooping head with bony fingers, “if she wasn’t his sister, I’d be sorry for him!”
So Ravenslee took Spike in hand, bathing his bruised and battered features and setting ice water to his puffy lips, which the lad gulped thirstily. Thereafter he revived quickly but grew only the more morose and sulky.
“All right,” he muttered, “I’ll go t’ bed, only—leave me, see!”
“Can’t I help you?”
“No—you lemme alone. Oh, I know—you think I’m soused, but I ain’t; I—I’m not drunk, I tell ye—I wish I was. I
