"Here's to," he started; but he got no further. His eyes
traveling past his companion fell upon the figure of a large
man entering the low doorway.
At the same instant the gentleman's eyes fell upon Billy.
Recognition lit those of each simultaneously. The big man
started across the room on a run, straight toward Billy Byrne.
The latter leaped to his feet. Bridge, guessing what had
happened, rose too.
"Flannagan!" he exclaimed.
The detective was tugging at his revolver, which had stuck
in his hip pocket. Byrne reached for his own weapon. Bridge
laid a hand on his arm.
"Not that, Billy!" he cried. "There's a door behind you.
Here," and he pulled Billy backward toward the doorway in
the wall behind them.
Byrne still clung to his schooner of beer, which he had
transferred to his left hand as he sought to draw his gun.
Flannagan was close to them. Bridge opened the door and
strove to pull Billy through; but the latter hesitated just an
instant, for he saw that it would be impossible to close and
bar the door, provided it had a bar, before Flannagan would
be against it with his great shoulders.
The policeman was still struggling to disentangle his revolver
from the lining of his pocket. He was bellowing like a
bull--yelling at Billy that he was under arrest.
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