Last night he had come out from the office with
Jenkins, which no doubt had saved him for the time. This morning
he had played into the hands of these men, had obligingly wandered
down to the waterfront where they could so easily conceal murder
in a tide running out fast.
Strangely enough he felt no fear; rather a fierce exultant
drumming of the blood that braced him for the struggle. His eyes
swept the wharf for a weapon and found none.
"What do you want?" he demanded sharply.
The man in command ignored his question. "Stand by and down him."
The Italian crouched and leaped. Jeff's fist caught him fairly
between the eyes. He went down like a log, rolled over once and
lay still. The others closed instantly with Farnum and the three
swayed in a fierce silent struggle.
Both of his attackers were more powerful than Jeff, but he was far
more active. The darkness, too, aided him and hampered them. The
Swede he could have managed, for the fellow was awkward as a bear.
But the leader stuck to him like a burr. They went down together
over a cleat in the flooring, rolling over and over each other as
they fought.
Somehow Jeff emerged out of the tangle.
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