“Sure! Paul. ‘Paul who was also called Saul.’ No, not ri’. ‘Saul who was also called Paul.’ Meet my friend Shis-sh——” But the name was too much for Dan. “Come on now, Dan,” said the third man, a giant of a fellow. “We are not going to stay here all night, and if you want that drink you have to come right away.” So saying, he threw his arm around the drunken man and lifted him along with him. “And you, young man,” he added, turning to Paul, “cut away from here. You are holding up the procession. Git!” “Yes,” said “smooth face,” quietly, “you just slide. We will handle him all right. Good night!” “Good night!” said Paul, none too sure that all was well, but unwilling to interfere and anxious to be on his way. But he had not gone very many yards when loud voices from the group arrested him and, turning about, the moon showed a struggle going on. Immediately he ran back toward them. As he ran he saw a hand rise and fall and then a form crumple to the sidewalk. Swiftly and silently he was upon them. As he had expected, he found Dan Tussock down and two of the men going through his pockets. The giant whirled on him, swung something over his head, which, fortunately for him, Paul caught in a paralysing blow upon his arm. A half-arm upper cut caught the giant fairly under the chin, the head snapped sharply back and he pitched backward off the sidewalk and there lay. With an oath “whiskers” rushed at Paul, but tripping over the drunken man he too fell headlong. “Come on, I’ve got it,” shouted “smooth face,” dashing off. But Paul with his unharmed arm caught him round the neck, shouting for help at the same time to a cab which was driving past, and slipping his hand into the man’s inside pocket grasped what he found there. At the approach of the cabman, “smooth face” tore himself free and made off, followed by “whiskers,” and, in a minute or so, by the giant who had risen, painfully and dazed, to his feet. Paul, bending over Dan Tussock, found him still insensible, and the moon, breaking through, showed his face pallid as that of a dead man. “Dead?” asked the cabby. “No, his heart is beating. Strange! No blood, no wound,” said Paul. “Black-jack!” grunted the cabby. “Does the trick very neat, without blood or broken bones. Friend of yours?” “No, not exactly. But we will bring him along.” Together they lifted the unconscious man into the cab and set off for Paul’s boarding house. By the time they had arrived there, Tussock was able to speak and to help himself to a certain extent. They reached Paul’s room with difficulty and against the protests of the landlady, who declared that she “kept a respectable house and didn’t want no toughs round here.”