Captured red-handed, as I was, my mind turned to Sanc. I could not believe he had deserted me. Another man joined my captor in response to his call and they began tugging and hauling me, trying to break my hold on the porch roof. I could see myself being beaten, mauled, despoiled of my loot, and thrown into the patrol wagon by the two outraged and angry citizens.

Just when I was ready to let go all holds and fall into their arms, I felt the iron clasp of the one that had me around the body slacken slowly. One of them exclaimed: “Look out!” Then I heard Sanc’s voice. It was not clear and soft as usual. There seemed to be a slight impediment or obstruction in his speech, which was positive enough but so different that I doubted for a minute if it was he. His precise and careful English was gone, too.

“Hey, youse, let go uh that guy or I’ll tear your heads off. Want to git yourselves plugged over a bunch of junk dat’s insured? Git inside an’ stay there or I’ll smoke the both of youse off.”

My confidence came back, and I found a foothold on the porch rail. My captors were backing slowly, silently toward the door they came out of. Sanc, a fearsome object, his coat collar up, hat down over his ears and eyes, stood in the shadow of a large bush six feet away, waving some shiny thing at them. “Don’t try any funny business,” he said to them as I jumped to the ground. “You might get us tomorrow but not tonight. Phone your head off if you want, but don’t poke it out of the house while we’re in the block.”

“Did you connect, Kid?” he asked when we were on the street.

“Yes, a coat pocket full,” I said, brushing the cobwebs and dust off my clothes; “but why did you tell them to phone?”