uniforms came running, more whistles piped, and almost before he
realized it he found himself in the centre of a pack of lean-faced
brown men who were struggling to pull him down and striking at him
with their clubs. With a sudden wild thrill he realized that this
was no ordinary street fight; this was deadly; he must beat off
these fellows or be killed. But, as fast as he cleared them away,
others appeared as if by magic, until a dozen or more were
swarming upon him like hungry ants. They clung to his arms, his
legs, his clothing, with a desperate courage wholly admirable in
itself, while strokes were aimed at him from every quarter. Time
and again they dragged him off his feet, only to have him shake
them loose. But though most of their blows went wild or found a
mark among their own numbers, he was felled at last, and a moment
later, with head reeling and wits flickering, he was dragged to
his knees by handcuffs like those on Allan's wrists. The pain as
the chains bit into his flesh brought him to his feet despite the
blows and kicks that were rained upon him, crying hoarsely:

"Let me go, damn you! Let me go!"

But a wrench at the gyves took the fight out of him, for he felt
that the bones in his wrists must surely be crushed. One side of
his head was strangely big and numb; a warm stream trickled down
his cheek; but he had no time to think of his condition, for his
assailants fell upon him with fresh fury, and he reeled about,
striving to shield himself. Every movement, however, was construed
as resistance, and his punishment continued, until at last he must
have fainted from pain or had his wits scattered by a blow on the
head; for when he recovered consciousness he found himself in a
filthy, ill-lighted room, flung upon a wooden platform that ran