Another figure
appeared from a dark doorway.
"I'm broke too, Mister. Kin yer help a poor war refugee on a
night like this?"
Shirley slipped his left hand inside his coat pocket and drew out
a handkerchief to the surprise of the men. He suddenly drew
Helene back against the wall, and stood between her and the two
men.
"What do you thugs want?" snapped the criminologist, as he
clenched the cane tightly and held the handkerchief in his left
hand. There was no reply. The men realized that he knew their
purpose--one dropped to a knee position as the other sprang
forward. The famous football toe shot forward with more at stake
than ever in the days when the grandstands screeched for a field
goal. At the same instant he swung the loaded cane upon the
shoulders of the upright man, missing his head.
The second man swung a blackjack.
The first, with a bleeding face staggered to his feet.
The handkerchief went up to the mouth of the active assailant,
and to Helene's astonishment, he sank back with a moan.
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