As he gasped and doubled up, clubbing his right fist to land the blow behind the ear of Ronicky Doone, the latter bent back, stepped in and, rising on the toes of both feet, whipped a perfect uppercut that, in ring parlance, rang the bell.
The result was that Robert Macklin, his mouth agape and his eyes dull, stood wobbling slowly from side to side.
"Here!" called Ronicky to his companion at the door.

"Grab him on one side, and I'll take the other.

He's out on his feet.

Get him to that chair." With Gregg's assistance he dragged the bulk of the man there.
Macklin was still stunned.
Presently the dull eyes cleared and filled immediately with horror.
Big Robert Macklin sank limply back in the chair.
"I've no money," he said.

"I swear I haven't a cent in the place.