I might chance, too, upon Durham or
Wessex, of New Scotland Yard, both good friends of mine, or even
upon the Terror of Chinatown, Chief Inspector Kerry, a man for
whom I had an esteem which none of his ungracious manners could
diminish.
I was just about to turn to the right into a narrow and nameless
alley, lying at right angles to the Thames, when I pulled up
sharply, clenching my fists and listening.
A confused and continuous sound, not unlike that which might be
occasioned by several large and savage hounds at close grips, was
proceeding out of the darkness ahead of me; a worrying, growling,
and scuffling which presently I identified as human, although in
fact it was animal enough. A moment I hesitated, then,
distinguishing among the sounds of conflict an unmistakable,
though subdued, cry for help, I leaped forward and found myself
in the midst of the melee. This was taking place in the lee of a
high, dilapidated brick wall. A lamp in a sort of iron bracket
spluttered dimly above on the right, but the scene of the
conflict lay in densest shadow, so that the figures were
indistinguishable.
"Help! By Gawd! they're strangling me------"
From almost at my feet the cry arose and was drowned in Chinese
chattering.
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