"Garn!" growled the rough, with the deep rasping intonation of a savage.
"Garn out o' this or I'll----" He took a step forward with uplifted
hand, but in an instant down came cut number three upon his wrist, and
cut number five across his thigh, and cut number one full in the center
of his rabbit-skin cap. It was not a heavy stick, but it was strong
enough to leave a good red weal wherever it fell. The rough yelled
with pain, and rushed in, hitting with both hands, and kicking with his
ironshod boots, but the Admiral had still a quick foot and a true eye,
so that he bounded backwards and sideways, still raining a shower, of
blows upon his savage antagonist. Suddenly, however, a pair of arms
closed round his neck, and glancing backwards he caught a glimpse of the
black coarse fringe of the woman whom he had befriended, "I've got him!"
she shrieked. "I'll 'old 'im. Now, Bill, knock the tripe out of him!"
Her grip was as strong as a man's, and her wrist pressed like an iron
bar upon the Admiral's throat. He made a desperate effort to disengage
himself, but the most that he could do was to swing her round, so as to
place her between his adversary and himself. As it proved, it was the
very best thing that he could have done. The rough, half-blinded and
maddened by the blows which he had received, struck out with all his
ungainly strength, just as his partner's head swung round in front
of him. There was a noise like that of a stone hitting a wall, a
deep groan, her grasp relaxed, and she dropped a dead weight upon the
pavement, while the Admiral sprang back and raised his stick once more,
ready either for attack or defense. Neither were needed, however, for
at that moment there was a scattering of the crowd, and two police
constables, burly and helmeted, pushed their way through the rabble.
At the sight of them the rough took to his heels, and was instantly
screened from view by a veil of his friends and neighbors.
"I have been assaulted," panted the Admiral. "This woman was attacked
and I had to defend her."
"This is Bermondsey Sal," said one police officer, bending over the
bedraggled heap of tattered shawl and dirty skirt. "She's got it hot
this time."
"He was a shortish man, thick, with a beard."
"Ah, that's Black Davie. He's been up four times for beating her. He's
about done the job now. If I were you I would let that sort settle their
own little affairs, sir."
"Do you think that a man who holds the Queen's commission will stand by
and see a woman struck?" cried the Admiral indignantly.