Gregg did not make the mistake of trying to lead him; he merely let Russell keep his hold and walked on away from Hershy's cab, leaving Hershy nothing to do but follow when they turned down an alley in the next square beyond Kilkerry's.
It was dark there behind the buildings and nobody about; it was as good a place as could be found for settlement of differences with Hershy, representing—so Gregg was sure—Stanway and polite business blackmail, even lower in its essential than the ugly affair Russell's friends advised.
"Get along, Hershy," said Gregg. "You're not invited."
"Yeah!" agreed Russell. "Get along!"
Hershy's hand came down on Gregg's shoulder and tried to pull him from Russell. Gregg squared around and Hershy struck him on the side of the head.
Gregg's right arm went down; his knees bent; all at once he got together; his arm came up hooked; his knees straightened; and as his whole body was thrusting up, the heavy hulk of Russell's weight slipped off his left side and Gregg almost leaped as he struck Hershy's jaw and knocked Hershy's head back and dropped him in the alley.
"Ka-yo!" gurgled Russell with delight. "Ka-yo! Prop him up and hitimagain."
But Hershy was propping himself up; he was not knocked out, for he moved, feeling for a gun, maybe, Gregg thought, as he got Russell quickly past an ash barrel, up through an area, and went out on the street, with Russell lolling on him in maudlin admiration.
He had to endure the admiration as he supported the big man along. Where? Gregg had never had any too definite destination; now none of those which he had
