violence which altered the whole course of the struggle.
Realising that their chance had gone, the assailants escaped as and when they could, running the gauntlet towards the door. A massive veteran stood by it, and clouted each man as he dodged out.
Rollison put down his clubs, smoothed his hair, and went over to Bill Ebbutt, who was now standing in the middle of the room and directing operations like a guerrilla leader. He said nothing until only three of the attacking party remained, all unconscious.
âI could do with a pint, I could,â Ebbutt declared, looking at Rollison with one eye closed up and already swelling to huge proportions. âYou come just at the right time, Mr. Ar. You know âow to work it, doncha.â
âJust luck,â said Rollison. âIâd no idea what was happening.â
âI noo it was bound to come,â said Ebbutt, philosophically. He was a large man, running to fat but still very powerful. His features were rugged and battered, for he had spent thirty years in the ring, but his ears were curiously small and well-shaped; it was his dictum that a boxer who allowed himself to get cauliflower ears should take up stone-breaking. âHo, yes, I noo,â he went on, trying to grin although his mouth was nearly as swollen as his eyes, and he uttered the words with great difficulty. âCharlie!â
âCallinâ me?â demanded a little man with enormously wide shoulders.
âWhoâd yer think Iâm callinâ?â growled Ebbutt. âFetch some beer and glasses, mate, anâ be quick about it. Anâ fetch me a coupla pound oâ beefsteak!â he added. âStrewth, Mr. Ar, wartimeâs a bad time to get a black eye, ainât it? I donât know wot my missus will say when she sees me.â He made a brave attempt to wink. âIâd better tell âer it was your fault, thatâll keep âer quiet!â
He roared again. The beer arrived, and the club members, now twenty strong and increasing every minute, for an S.O.S. had been sent out when the melee had started, began to drink eagerly. Of the three men who had been knocked out, two had recovered and been literally kicked out of the room; the other was still on the floor conscious, but detained for interrogation. He looked terrified, and proved to be genuinely dumb.
The fight had started about a quarter of an hour before Rollison had arrived, when only half-a-dozen âclubâ members had been present. The purpose, Ebbutt declared with assurance, had been to beat him up; he didnât think Rollison would need telling why.
âNo,â agreed Rollison. âKeller wants to prise you off the Whitings.â
It had been a likely enough move, although he had not expected one to materialise so quickly. The place had been admirably chosen. A beating-up in the street, by daylight, was a risky business, for it might bring the police, while after dark Ebbutt always had plenty of men with him. Also, Ebbutt told Rollison, as soon as he had known what the job was, he had locked his door and made sure no one could get in at his window. âI know somefink about Keller,â he remarked, darkly.
âI hadnât heard of him until a day or two ago,â said Rollison.
âNo more you didnât want to,â declared Ebbutt. ââEâs a swine, Mr. Ar, I donât mind sayinâ so â heâs a proper swine.â
âHow long has he been about?â asked Rollison.
âThree or four munce,â said Ebbutt. âNo, moreân that. Six munce.â
âWhatâs he up to?â
âNo use arstinâ me,â said Ebbutt. âI minds me own business, you know that. âEâs a proper swine, Keller is. Itâs my business all right now,â he went on, and made a comical effort to lick his lips. âI donât half sting,â he added, and managed to get beer past his lips.
E. L. Irwin
Harry Stein
Margaret Pearce
Randy Bachman's Vinyl Tap Stories
Philip Ardagh
Tomás Eloy Martínez
Carrie Vaughn
Gertrude Warner
J.L. Doty
J. C. Daniels