"Not on a Friday. Fridays is unlucky days." He did not take his eyes off Potter's face, but stood with a pugilist's crouch, waiting. Potter sprang toward him, took Philip's blow upon the side of the head, and closed in. They grappled, whirled about, trampling the floor until the glasses behind the bar danced upon the shelves. Potter was larger, stronger. He succeeded in lifting Philip from his feet and hurling him to the floor, but Philip clung to him, forcing him to sprawl on top of his prisoner. In a moment of fierce energy Potter was kneeling upon Philip's arms and sitting upon his chest. The stout man who had dozed in the corner shuffled to his feet and approached leisurely. "This man is a spy. Help me tie him," Potter panted. "For sure," said the man, stepping behind Potter. Then Potter felt something hard jammed against his ribs. He did not see it, nor could he feel its shape, but he knew what it was. "What are you doing?" he said. "Vell," said the stout man, "I t'ink I should take some interest. I t'ink maybe it iss best if you git up und leave the young man alone. For sure. You should get up, und you should _shut_ up. Right off." The man's voice was not raised, not angry or menacing, rather genial, in fact, but the thing pressed against Philip's ribs was not genial. Nor was it an instrument encouraging one to dispute. "Git up," the stout man repeated, and Potter obeyed sullenly. Philip struggled to his feet, scowling. "I told you to keep out of this," he said to Potter. "You're one of them that won't take advice. You come beggin' for it, and now you're gettin' it.... You boys keep him here an hour--after that I don't care what becomes of him.... Then you better beat it. The government dicks are wise to us. I guess the circus is over." "One hour?" said the stout man. "That'll be plenty." "He will stay--like goot young man," said the stout individual, pleasantly. "You go along, mit nottings to worry." Philip went first into the rear portion of the house, where the living quarters of the proprietor had their location--judging, at least, from the odor of cookery. He remained five minutes, then reappeared. He had done the telephoning he had come to do. "Don't let him make his getaway," he said, as he went out of the door. "I t'ink you should better go in der back room," said the stout man, and Potter obeyed reluctantly. "How about getting away yourself?" he said. "Doesn't that interest you?" "You should worry. In one hour you can go. Den I look out for meinself."