Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 25, No. 2, August 13, 1927

I glanced about me and saw that there was a smaller window high up in the wall. It had no curtain, but its panes were of colored glass. I peered at them closely. The uppermost piece was of plain glass. Perhaps I could see through it into the room.

“Worth trying,” said I, and felt my way along the wall until I came to a small porch. I climbed up on its rickety railing and stretched my neck until I thought it would crack. I could just see the tops of the heads of the two persons in the room. One was the girl in the green dress and the other was the huge young man who had tried to trick me out of the capsule.

I let myself down from the porch cautiously. There was nothing more to be gained by staying there, and I confess that I was getting increasingly uneasy. I started back through the garden the way I had entered. The rolling of the thunder grew louder and a vivid flash of lightning split the sky, outlining the trees, the walk and a sun-dial in clear relief. Then utter darkness. Another flash. I halted in my tracks, my heart pounding wildly.

Through the garden, like the shadows of doom, three men were approaching me, silently and quickly, with jaws out-thrust and arms swinging menacingly. I had no time to take in their features as they converged on me in the gloom.

Well, here was something that I could understand. Here was no mystery of tom papers and puzzling conversation. This meant fight and my overwrought nerves welcomed the combat. I was a big, strong fellow for all my bookish ways, and I told myself that these thugs would know, when the battle was over, that they had been to the wars.

“Come on,” said I. “Let’s go!”

They came. I perceived, by the grace of another flash of lightning, that they were unarmed. Perhaps they feared to arouse the neighborhood by firing at me and then again perhaps they wanted me with a whole skin.

I had no time to dwell upon the subject. I heard the swift pat of a foot on the hard wet ground before me and my right fist lashed out into the darkness. Ah! My knuckles sunk, with a satisfying bite, into the cheek of one of my assailants and he went rolling into the muck of the garden.

“One down!” I howled above the noises of the gathering storm.

The other two charged at me in determined fashion. A heavy fist caught me behind the ear and the force of the blow spun me around like a top. I kept my feet and shook the cobwebs out of my brain. Then I lowered my chin behind my left shoulder and drove a terrific blow into the face of a huge man who arose at me out of the darkness. He folded up like one of those old-style opera hats and I booted him out of the way savagely.

The fellow I had knocked into the garden returned to the fray. Two against one. It was not hopeless. The man I had smashed in the face would fight no more this night. He was done.

We stalked each other in the dark. One of the thugs worked his way behind me and before I could turn on him he hurled himself at my legs. Down we went into the mud in a tangle of flying arms. I managed to grasp one of my opponent’s arms, locked my leg about it and began to slowly twist his wrist. It was a wrestling bold and a torturous one.

“Quit kicking, you fool,” I growled. “I’ll break your arm in two.”

My victim groaned.

“Hey, Alf,” he called in an agonized voice, “drive a knife into this devil. He’s killing me.”

“Can’t,” said Alf laconically out of the dark. “Hold on. I’ll get him in a minute.”

With a farewell twist that sent a shudder through the body of the man on the ground, I released him and hopped to my feet. I would have a better chance there.

“Now, Alf, my boy,” said I. “Let me get my hands on you and this fight is over.”

“Think so?” he sneered. “You may find that I’m not so easy as those two bums. You’ll have to prescribe for yourself when I get through working on you.”

With that he charged at me with both arms swinging. I sidestepped him quickly and dug two vicious blows into his ribs.

“Not bad,” commented Alf as he swung around and charged again. “Not half bad for a bloomin’ pill roller.”

Another streak of lightning shot across the angry sky and I got a momentary glimpse of our battle-field. There was the man called Alf, a heavy, hulking beetle-browed ruffian. The victim of my wrestling hold was getting to his trembling legs and in the mud of the garden the unconscious villain lay face downward.

The flare had no sooner faded than Alf’s big fist crashed into my chin and I slid to the ground. Badly shaken, I struggled to my feet and evaded him until my head cleared. Then we closed in.

“Might as well settle this now as to fight all night,” I snarled.

“Sure,” said Alf amiably as he swung and missed a fierce right to my head.

I shifted him into position, passed my arm around his face and locked my fingers. It was now or never with me. I must either injure Alf so badly as to put him out of commission or come out loser, for it was plain to me that I lacked the stamina to batter such a brute down in a finish fight.