Chapter 29

We discussed the plan with John for another hour. Blathers had brandy. I had tea. John had stout. I paid for the drinks.

The fog had thickened. We left the inn. Blathers and I walked toward the crossroad, hoping to find a cab. Blathers was closest to the wall that surrounded the church. I was on the left, the street side. Our shoulders touched in the darkness. As we passed an opening in the wall, an arm reached out from behind and circled Blathers’ throat. He turned and ducked, thrusting his hip in my direction. I bounced out into the road. A cudgel aimed at my head grazed my arm. Blathers struggled with his attacker. I kicked the man. His grip on Blathers’ neck slipped. Blathers reached in his pocket for his gun. I saw a fist strike him between the shoulder blades. The gun went off. There was a yelp. A shadow went dragging off into the fog. We could see three or four more shadows approaching. Blathers tried to pull the pistol from his greatcoat pocket, but it appeared to be tangled in the shreds left by the first shot. We now stood back to back awaiting the attack from what seemed like a large gang of ruffians.

Blathers struggled with his gun. Cudgels and chains were waving in the air. Blathers finally freed his weapon and fired a shot in the direction of the gang. There was another cry of pain. Another shadow disappeared. The assailants retreated. A coach came charging down the street and stopped suddenly. Barbary yelled, “Blathers and Duff, get in. Quick!”

Blathers and I clambered aboard. Barbary cracked the whip. The gang gave chase, to no avail.

“Where in the devil did you come from?” I was able to utter the question that was on the lips of both of us.