As Rouse came in again Coles took up the defensive rôle once more. He had never shown better form. The cramped nature of the room prevented any possibility of footwork. It was incumbent upon him to stand his ground and fight, and this seldom suits a boxer who can use his feet, but Coles suited himself to the circumstances with outstanding success. His temper, which a few moments ago had been at fever heat, slowly cooled off as he found himself gaining the upper hand. The thought that a few moments hence he would have Rouse at his mercy acted as a sedative upon him, and presently he smiled. Rouse noticed it and drew back for a breather, collecting his energy the while for a greater and fiercer onslaught yet. Next moment Coles’ left shot out and tilted back his head. The pain of the blow was considerable, but in his present mood it counted with Rouse as naught. He set his teeth, adopted a new pose and prepared to dash in again. Before he had finally made up his mind, however, which hand to hit with, that long left had come out again and drawn a trickle of blood from his nose. He moved forward wrathfully and suddenly let fly with his own left. Coles caught the blow neatly with his elbow and slammed in a right swung. For a second or so it seemed to Rouse that his neck had been broken. He was not at all sure where he was. It came to him quite suddenly that he had fallen sideways and hit his head against the wall, so he straightened himself with an almost deprecating smile and put up his hands again. Just as before Coles’ left shot out and tapped his nose. Rouse became decidedly annoyed. He sprang in and swung up his fist towards Coles’ chin. To hit Coles on the chin was all he had come for, and he could see no reason for delaying any longer. The blow never landed. Coles merely tilted his head tauntingly out of reach and countered again with his right. Rouse swayed giddily backwards and was brought up straight again by a blow in the middle of the waistcoat. Then for a few short moments he stood still, considering the situation in a puzzled manner whilst he faced Coles with a badly bleeding countenance and glassy eyes. The worst of a fight with bare fists is that it makes such a mess. He could feel that his face was rapidly growing unsightly; he was aware that blood was dripping down his chin and on to his collar. Unfortunately he could do nothing to stop it. He had had no fights since his early youth. Coles was hitting very straight and cruelly hard. He seemed to be planting blows on the same place over and over again too. Rouse could tell that from the pain of their landing.