Sometime after one midnight last week Policeman Vernon Kelly paced his accustomed rounds on the quiet streets of Tallahassee, Fla. (pop. 12,000). At George Demetree's beer parlor he found the door suspiciously unlocked. Drawing his revolver and pushing inside, he flicked his flashlight, spotted a skinny, dark-brown Negro behind the counter, a taller yellow Negro nearby.
No coward, Policeman Kelly shoved his gun into its holster and grabbed the two blackamoors by their belts. Something struck him—a knife, he thought—jab, jab, jab, seven times in the left side. Something cut gash...
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