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The other man caught Hooper where he had been wounded, and he staggered back. The man slithered away like an eel, Hooper after him, but holding his wounded arm slack, as if the pain had robbed him of its use.
Monk’s inattention cost him a hard blow to the chest, momentarily knocking the wind out of him. If he were not more careful the man would escape. It was only a few yards to the barge in the river.
Except that, as he turned to lash out at the big man, he saw the barge begin to move away again, the lighterman leaning on the oar and turning it with the customary grace of his kind.
There was a loud splash as the small man fell into the water. Monk stared. Hooper had also disappeared.
The big man roared a string of abuse at Monk and broke away to charge over to the far side of the wharf.
Monk lunged after him, throwing himself at the man’s back and bringing them both down hard, sprawling across the wooden planks of the wharf, rolling and kicking, each trying to punch the other, and avoid being hit.
Even above the breathlessness and the curses, Monk could hear Hooper and the other man thrashing about in the water. He concentrated on what he was doing. Hooper could swim, but with the weakened arm he would be at a disadvantage.
Monk feinted at the big man, then altered his aim, half-turned, and struck him hard on the side of the head with his elbow.
For an instant the big man went slack, allowing Monk the chance to scramble to his feet and regain his balance. He rushed to the side of the wharf where Hooper was floundering and the small man came to the surface, momentarily dazed, gasping for air.
Then the big man was on his feet. He gave a roar of fury, put his head down, and charged at Monk, bellowing all the way.
Monk waited until the last possible moment, then sidestepped. He felt the turbulence of air as the man passed him, missed his step, and went crashing over the side and down into the water.
The wave of his wash caught Hooper in the face and went right over the smaller man’s head.
The barge was now more than a hundred yards away, and increasing the distance.
The big man came to the surface, arms thrashing, sending water all over the place. He clearly had no idea how to swim, and the river was far too deep for him to reach the bottom with his feet. Even if he could have, it would be only soft, sucking river mud.
Hooper moved slowly toward the small man, who also seemed to be in trouble. He was coughing and spluttering as if he could not fill his lungs. Judging from the way he had attacked the other man, he was the policeman, and the big man the fugitive.
“Help him!” Monk shouted to Hooper, waving his arm at the small man. He could not leave him to drown. More important to Monk, he could not send the vulnerable Hooper after the big man, who was now going under the water for a second time, his mouth open, his face distorted with terror.
Monk took off his pea coat and leaped into the river. The water hit him like a wall of ice and, with a shock of fear, he felt it close over him momentarily, almost paralyzing him.
He came to the surface gasping, and struck out toward the big man, now struggling desperately about seven or eight feet away from him. By the time Monk reached the spot, the man was below the surface. Monk dived down after him and managed to catch hold of his arm. He came up for air, heaving the man as much as he could, but he was heavy, a leaden weight.
He gasped, saw Hooper a few yards away, and then the big man came to the surface behind him and the next moment he was held tight and hard in an arm grip. For an instant he thought the man was trying to strangle him, then he realized it was the panic of someone who knew he was drowning.
“Let go!” Monk shouted at him. “Let go, you fool! And I’ll help you!”
The man’s grip eased for a moment as he gulped for air and took in water. He choked and his arm closed like a vise around Monk’s neck. Another moment and he would take Monk down with him.
Monk used his elbow again, then as the grip eased, he turned round and hit the man on the side of the head, as hard as he could.
The man went limp, and at last Monk was able to get hold of him and keep his head above the water as he struggled to make his way back to the wharf steps, where he could drag him up onto the boards.
But the man was deadweight, and he kept slipping. Monk was freezing cold and losing his strength to keep them both afloat. He was dimly aware of other voices now. He thought they came from the wharf, but he was still six or seven yards from it, and making no headway.
Then Hooper was there, helping, holding the man up by the other arm.
It still took them several more minutes to get the big man’s inert body to the steps and feel more hands reach forward and help to haul them up.
Monk clambered out of the water and the cold air hit him like a blow, making him stagger before regaining his balance. Hooper came right after him, white-faced and shaking.
Monk stared at the workman who had helped him. He looked like a docker or laborer of some sort, as did the other man beside him, giving Hooper a hand up the last step. Where on earth had they come from? And where was the smaller man Hooper had gone in to save? Surely not drowned!
“How…?”
The first man smiled and shook his head. “Lighterman told us,” he replied. “Good thing, too. Better get you wrapped up.” He signaled to his companion. “Bert, pass us that coat, eh?”
