Peace shouldered his bag, and was about to make off, when he received a cut on the forehead from some weapon, which caused a thousand sparks to flicker before his eyes.
He struck out right and left with his jemmy at a dark figure in the doorway.
In another moment he was in the grasp of a powerful man, whose features were not distinguishable, the room being at this time in almost utter darkness.
“Scoundrel—villain!” exclaimed his opponent; “you shall not escape me.”
Peace made no answer to these expletives.
He had but one thought—this being to get away. He struggled desperately, and fought like a tiger.
The two combatants fell to the floor, rolling over together. Peace kicked and struck out with his fists, but for all he could do he could not shake off his resolute antagonist.
The dog, who had now in a measure recovered from the blow, set up a loud barking.
He, with a noble instinct, rushed to his master’s assistance and caught Peace by one of his legs, who kicked the animal savagely with the other.
“Down Bruno—down, boy,” ejaculated Peace’s opponent.