not the burly innkeeper. There was an oath, a quick movement, and
Dickson went down with a knee on his chest and two hands at his throat.

"Heritage," he gasped. "Help!"

There was a sound of furniture scraped violently on the floor.
A gurgle from Dickson served as a guide, and the Poet suddenly
cascaded over the combatants. He felt for a head, found Leon's
and gripped the neck so savagely that the owner loosened his
hold on Dickson. The last-named found himself being buffeted
violently by heavy-shod feet which seemed to be manoeuvring before
an unseen enemy. He rolled out of the road and encountered another
pair of feet, this time unshod. Then came the sound of a concussion,
as if metal or wood had struck some part of a human frame, and then
a stumble and fall.

After that a good many things all seemed to happen at once.
There was a sudden light, which showed Leon blinking with a short
loaded life-preserver in his hand, and Heritage prone in front of
him on the floor. It also showed Dickson the figure of Dougal,
and more than one Die-Hard in the background. The light went out
as suddenly as it had appeared. There was a whistle and a hoarse
"Come on, men," and then for two seconds there was a desperate
silent combat. It ended with Leon's head meeting the floor so
violently that its possessor became oblivious of further proceedings.
He was dragged into a cubby-hole, which had once been used for
coats and rugs, and the door locked on him. Then the light sprang
forth again. It revealed Dougal and five Die-Hards, somewhat the
worse for wear; it revealed also Dickson squatted with outspread
waterproof very like a sitting hen.