The Dusky Hour by E.R. Punshon Page B

back in answer his own quick blows that only needed just a little more weight behind to make them as quickly effective.
    He seemed to realise this, however, and that at close quarters he was no match for his antagonist. He began to give ground, making the big man use his energy in pursuit and taking advantage of his own greater agility to leap in with swift flashing hits that in the end must tell and then back again before the other could retaliate with effect.
    A very evenly matched couple, Bobby thought; skill and speed against strength and weight; and then he reminded himself dolefully that a breach of the peace was being committed and that he was an officer of police.
    â€œJust my luck,” he thought sadly, and nearly cheered aloud as the big man made one of his bull rushes that would probably have been more effective in the ring, with ropes against which an opponent could be pinned. Had anything of the sort been possible in this open glade, or had the big man succeeded, or the other consented, in continuing in-fighting, the battle would probably not have lasted long. At close quarters greater height and weight have their full effect. But this time, when the big man made his charge, the other dodged with an astonishing speed and the agility of a tennis champion on the central court at Wimbledon. Then, as his opponent lumbered by, he hit him two or three times with a magnificence of speed and accuracy that not only fully justified Bobby’s instinct to cheer, but sent the big man crashing to the ground.
    He fell heavily enough, but almost instantly was on his feet again, showing a nimbleness his previous somewhat heavy movements had hardly promised. He turned, and was about to rush again at his antagonist, who had stood back to allow him to recover his feet, when Bobby resolutely roused himself from the trance of admiration and delight in which he had been lost. Paying to stern duty the tribute of a sigh, he stepped forward from the shadows in which hitherto he had been standing.
    â€œNow then,” he said sternly, “what’s all this about?”
    Startled, they both turned and stared at him.
    â€œGo to hell,” said the first man.
    â€œGet to blazes and quick about it,” advised the second.
    â€œTwo minds with but a single thought,” observed Bobby. “No, no,” he added, getting between them as they were about to start again after their brief replies to him. “Apologies and all that, you know, but there it is. Got to stop, I’m afraid. Awful shame, of course.”
    â€œWho in thunder do you think you are?” demanded the smaller man.
    â€œMind your own business if you don’t want your head knocked off,” said his erstwhile enemy.
    Side by side, sudden allies, they stood and glared at him. Bobby beamed on them with all the friendliness he felt. This seemed to annoy them both still more.
    â€œChuck him in the chalk-pit,” suggested the bigger and more truculent of the two, “and then I can get on with that hiding I’m going to give you.”
    â€œTake a better man than you,” retorted the other, and instantly, forgetting their momentary alliance, forgetting, too, all about Bobby, they were at it again as fiercely as before.
    But now Bobby took a hand – or, more accurately, a foot – by dexterously and unexpectedly tripping up the big man as he was making one of his bull rushes, and then the other as he dodged away, so that the two astonished combatants found themselves unexpectedly supine, gazing with some bewilderment at the calm moon above.
    â€œSorry,” said Bobby contritely. “Awfully sorry. Let me answer your questions. As to who I think I am, I have reason to believe I’m a policeman. And I don’t want my head knocked off, and you mustn’t try, because you simply can’t imagine the fuss there is if you hit a policeman. We might all be made of glass and liable to break. So it’s not done.