arguing with Joey Partridge. I turned and
said: "Want some action, Your Grace?"

But he was already on his feet, holding that walking stick of his.
"Anything you say."

"Come on, then. We'll take the fire escape; the elevator is too slow.
The fire escape will let us out in the alley, and we won't by outlined
by the light in the foyer."

I already had the bedroom door open. I ran over to the window, opened
it, and started down the steel stairway. The Duke was right behind me.
It was only three floors down.

"That Joey is too smart for his own good," I said, "but he's right.
This is the only way to work it. Otherwise, they'd have him in the
hospital eventually--or maybe dead."

"He looked like a man who could take care of himself," the Duke said.

"That's just it. He can't. Come on."

* * * * *

The ladder to the street slid down smoothly and silently, and I
thanked God for modern fire prevention laws. When we reached the
street, I wondered where they could have gone to so quickly. Then the
Duke said: "There! In that darkened area-way next to the little shop!"
And he started running. His legs were longer than mine, and he
reached the area-way a good five yards ahead of me.

Joey had managed to evade them for a short while, but they had
cornered him, and one of them knocked him down just as the Duke came
on the scene. The other had swung at his ribs with a blackjack as he
dropped, and the first aimed a kick at Joey's midriff, but Joey rolled
away from it.

Then the two thugs heard our footsteps and turned to meet us. If we'd
been in uniform, they might have run; as it was, they stood their
ground.

But not for long.

The Duke didn't use that stick as though it were a club, swinging it
like a baseball bat. That would be as silly as using an overhand stab
with a dagger. He used it the way a fencer would use a foil, and the
hard, blunt end of it sank into the first thug's solar plexus with all
the drive of the Duke's right arm and shoulder behind it. The thug
gave a hoarse scream as all the air was driven from his lungs, and he
dropped to the pavement.

The second man came in with his blackjack swinging. His hand stopped
suddenly as his wrist met the deadly stick, but the blackjack kept on
going, bouncing harmlessly off the nearby wall as it flew from
nerveless fingers.

That stick never stopped moving. On the backswing, it thwacked
resoundingly against the thug's ribcage. He