It was the fifth round, and Chook was waiting for an opening to finish his man before the police came up, when a surprising thing happened.

As Stinky retreated in exhaustion before the fists that rattled on his face like drumsticks, his hand struck his enemy's lower jaw by chance, and the next minute he was amazed to see Chook drop to the ground as if shot.

And he stared with open mouth at his opponent, wondering why he didn't move.
"Gawd, 'e's stiffened 'im!" "I 'eard 'is neck crack!" Stinky stood motionless, his wits scattered by this sudden change--the stillness of his enemy, who a moment ago was beating him down with murderous fists.
"'Ere's the johns," cried someone.
"Come on, Liz," cried Stinky, and turned to run.
"Cum with yous, yer great 'ulkin', stinkin' coward," cried Pinkey, her face crimson with passion, "yer'll be lucky if y'ain't hung fer murder." Stinky listened in amazement.

Here was another change that he was too dazed to understand, and, hastily grabbing his coat, he ran.
Pinkey ran to Chook's prostrate body, and listened.

"I can 'ear 'im breathin'," she cried.
The others listened, and the breathing grew louder, a curious, snoring sound.
"Gorblimey! A knock-out!" "'E'll be right in a few minutes." It was true.