"So you've come back?"

"Where from?" said Hilliard. "What do you know of me?"

"As much as I care to," replied the other with a laugh. "So you
haven't quite gone to the devil yet? I gave you six months. I've
been watching the police news in the London papers."

In a maddening access of rage, Hilliard clenched his fist and struck
fiercely at the man. But he did no harm, for his aim was wild, and
Dengate easily warded off the blows.

"Hold on! You're drunk, of course. Stop it, my lad, or I'll have you
locked up till Monday morning. Very obliging of you to offer me the
pleasure I was expecting, but you _will_ have it, eh?"

A second blow was repaid in kind, and Hilliard staggered back
against the railings. Before he could recover himself, Dengate,
whose high hat rolled between their feet, pinned his arms.

"There's someone coming along. It's a pity. I should enjoy thrashing
you and then running you in. But a man of my position doesn't care
to get mixed up in a street row. It wouldn't sound well at
Liverpool. Stand quiet, will you!"

A man and a woman drew near, and lingered for a moment in curiosity.
Hilliard already amazed at what he had done, became passive, and
stood with bent head.