A MOMENT OF VIOLENCE
Sidney Prale turned around and walked back along the street to the Park,
Murk once more following at a short distance, as he had been ordered to
do.
Because he wanted to think of his predicament, Prale crossed into the
Park and began following one of the paths toward the south, making his
way along it slowly, paying little attention to the persons he passed
now and then.
He crossed a drive and followed another path; and now he came to a
secluded spot where the path was hidden from passers-by on the other
walks and drives. Here the way ran through a tiny gulch, the sides of
which were banked with bushes. Squirrels scampered and birds chattered
at him, but Prale saw none of them.
He was trying to explain to himself why Kate Gilbert had warned him to
leave New York, why she had interested herself in his affairs at all,
asking himself for the thousandth time what species of net it was in
which he suddenly had found himself enmeshed without knowing the reason
for it.
He had demanded information and it had not been given him. She had said
nothing at all that gave him an inkling as to the nature of what seemed
to be a plot against him. He had been as firm as he dared, he told
himself. A man could not threaten a woman, could not use violence in an
attempt to make her speak and reveal secrets.
"We'll have to work from another corner," Sidney Prale told himself. "I
can't threaten a woman, but I can pummel a man; and if I meet George
Lerton again, I am liable to forget what Jim Farland told me and use my
own methods."
He walked on through the tiny ravine. He came to a cross path, and a man
lurched down it and against him.
"Beg pardon!" Prale murmured.
"Wonder you wouldn't look where you're going!" the other exclaimed. "Got
an idea you own the whole Park, or something like that? Men like you
shouldn't be running around loose!"
"You ran into me, not I into you," Prale reminded him.
As he spoke, he looked at the other closely. He saw a gigantic man who
had the general appearance of a thug, whose chin was thrust forward
aggressively, and whose hands were opening and closing as if he wished
they were around Sidney Prale's throat.
"I've a notion to smash you one!" the fellow said, advancing toward
Prale a bit.
Prale's temper flamed at once. His own chin was shot forward, and his
own hands closed.
"If that is the way you feel about it, start in!" Prale said. "Perhaps I
can teach you to act decently and keep a civil tongue in your head!"
The man before him made no comment--he simply launched himself forward
like a thunderbolt. Sidney Prale darted quickly to one side, and tossed
his hat and stick on the ground. He did not have time to get off his
coat; he could not even remove his gloves.
The other, missing him in that first rush, turned and came back,
swinging his fists. Prale did not dart aside now. He put himself on
guard, braced himself against the side of the little gulch, and waited
for the attack.
They clashed, and Prale knew that he had a real fight on his hands, for
the man who had attacked him was no mean antagonist. But, after the
first real clash, Prale had no fear of the outcome. The man was brutal,
but he had no skill. He delivered blows that would have felled any
one--but they did not reach their objective.
Then a second man crashed down through the brush and joined in the
attack. Sidney Prale realized in that moment that the attack had been
premeditated and the fight forced upon him purposely. It fed fuel to the
flames of his wrath. He did not know whether this was the work of some
of his unknown enemies or whether these thugs were mere robbers intent
upon getting his wallet and watch. It made little difference to him
which they were.
With his back against the side of the gulch, he fought with what skill
he could, trying to stand off both of them. The attack had come with a
rush, and all this had occupied but a few seconds.
Presently a human whirlwind appeared and took part in the battle. There
was an angry roar from a human throat, a raucous curse, a rushing body,
the thuds of swift, hard blows. Mr. Murk had reached the scene!
The battle immediately became two-fold. Murk fought as these thugs
fought, disregarding the finer rules of combat, seeking only to put his
opponent out, no matter by what means. Murk was not unaccustomed to
fighting of that character, and he was doubly formidable now, for he was
angry at the attack on Sidney Prale. Murk had been too far away to hear
what had been said when the trouble started, but he had seen, and he
guessed immediately that some of Sidney Prale's enemies were engaged in
the attempt.
Murk went after his opponent with determination if not with skill. He
fought him down the path, and there the fellow rallied from the surprise
and rushed back. But Murk was not the sort to give ground. In a fight, a
man should stand up to another until one of them was whipped, Murk
thought.
He knew how to give blows, but not how to guard against them. He was
marked, and marked well, before the battle was a minute old, but he had
the satisfaction of seeing blood on the face of his antagonist. Foot to
foot they stood and hammered each other, and gradually Murk began
wearing the other man down.
As for Sidney Prale, now that he had but the one thug against him, he
fought with skill and cunning, knowing that the other was a bit the
stronger, but realizing that he would be victor if he used reasonable
care.
His flare of anger had passed, and now he was fighting like a clever
pugilist. He warded off the other's powerful blows, and now and then he
slipped beneath a guard, or smashed his way through one, and sent home a
blow of his own.
At the end of three minutes, the thugs were getting much the worst of
it. Gradually they were being fought back toward the nearest driveway.
Back and back they went, but did not turn and run. Sidney Prale sensed
that they were fighting for money, that they were being paid for this
attack, and he realized that, but for the presence of Murk, he would
have had no chance whatever, and probably would be a senseless, bleeding
thing now.
None of them knew that the fight had attracted attention, but it had.
Two women, coming around a curve in the path, had seen it, and had run
back toward the nearest driveway, screeching. Two mounted policemen
hurried toward them, heard the story, and charged down the path.
The two thugs made no effort to escape. They stopped fighting, and Prale
and Murk ceased also, though the latter was eager to continue until a
decision had been rendered. Murk had fought often where there was no
interference and he disliked to be bothered now, but he desisted at
Prale's command.
"Well, what's all this about?" one of the officers demanded. He did not
address any of them particularly. "I was walking along the path, and
these men attacked me," Sidney Prale said. "My valet was a short
distance behind and he came to my assistance. I never saw these fellows
before."
"Nothin' like it!" one of the thugs snarled. "Me and my pal were walkin'
along this path and met these men, and the one with the stick ordered us
out of the way as if we were dogs. When we didn't move quick enough,
they jumped into us."
"That's a lie----" Murk began.
"You can settle this at the station," the officer replied. "All of you
come along with us!"
Prale picked up his hat and stick, took off his torn gloves and threw
them away, and motioned for Murk to walk at his side and to keep quiet.
They went to the driveway and along it, the policemen watching the four
of them closely, the thugs growling to each other and remarking that it
was a fine day when honest workingmen could not stroll in Central Park
without a dude and his valet trying to beat them up.
There was a short wait when the station was reached, and then, at the
lieutenant's command, one of the thugs poured forth his story. He gave
his name and address, as did the other, and both made the statement that
they were out of work at present.
Prale stepped forward and gave his name. The lieutenant stared at him in
surprise.
"Why, it's the guy who croaked that man Shepley!" one of the thugs
cried. "There ought to be a way of stoppin' him runnin' around and
assaultin' and killin' folks. If it hadn't been for the cops----"
"Shut up!" Sidney Prale commanded loudly, ignoring the presence of the
officers. "You fellows made a deliberate attack on me and you know it.
And I want to know who paid you to do it--understand?"
"You're crazy!" said one of the thugs.
Prale turned to the lieutenant. "I'd like to have Jim Farland sent for,"
he said. "He has been handling things for me. I want him to investigate
these men. I have an idea that the names and addresses they gave are
fictitious. Recently enemies of mine have caused me considerable
trouble, and I feel sure that these men were hired to attack me.
Fortunately, my valet was walking a short distance behind me, and rushed
up and helped me hold them off."
"I'm ready to put up bail, and so is my pal!" said one of the thugs
angrily.
"In that case, I'll have to let you go for the present," the lieutenant
said. "The charge is fighting and disorderly conduct, and bail will be
one hundred dollars in each case. You may use the telephone if you wish,
Mr. Prale."
Prale hurried to the telephone, called Jim Farland's office, and was
informed that Farland had not been there, and that the girl in charge
did not know where he was, or what he was doing, or when he would
return. Prale left instructions for Farland and went back to the desk.
"This is a serious business, though it may not look like it on the
face," he said. "I'd like to have these men held until we can make sure
they have given correct names and addresses."
"No use holding them if they have given bail," the lieutenant replied.
"I think it's nothing but a regular scrap. You can talk to the judge
later, all of you."
Prale took a roll of bills from his pocket and put up cash bail for both
Murk and himself. One of the thugs followed suit and pulling out a roll
of bills, stripped off two hundred dollars, and arranged for the release
of himself and his partner.
"You seem to have a lot of money for men who are out of work," Prale
said.
"Been savin' it, and it's none of your business anyway," growled the
other.
They started toward the door, and Prale and Murk followed them, watched
them until they started away, and then turned back to bathe their faces
and hands. Then Prale got a taxicab, and drove to the office of a
physician, who did his best to make the countenances of Prale and Murk
presentable.
It was an hour later when Jim Farland called Prale by telephone at the
hotel.
"I've investigated that little matter, Sid," he reported. "Those fellows
gave fictitious addresses, as you supposed they had done, and it is an
even bet that the names they gave were fictitious, too. No doubt about
it, Sid--they were hired to get you. You'd better be on guard and a bit
careful."