Then he backed off a few steps and made a rush and a spring, flinging his shoulder against the door, with the whole weight of his body behind.
The door burst open with a crash. Brad stumbled out into the hall, nearly falling, but quickly recovering his feet.
As he did so a significant cry came to his ears, proceeding from the lower part of the building.
In another moment he was bounding recklessly down the dark flight of stairs.
In the meantime, Dick was having his hands full with the treacherous Spaniard. Bunol had whipped out his knife with astonishing swiftness and had struck a deadly blow at the boy’s throat.
Quick as he was, however, either Merriwell anticipated the movement or he was quicker, for he dodged and clutched the wrist of his enemy at the same time.
Bunol uttered a low exclamation of disappointed rage, attempting to wrench his knife hand free.
“No you don’t!” exclaimed Dick, holding fast with a grip of iron. “You murderous dog! This ought to be enough to put you behind bars, and I think I’ll see that you go there for a while.”
“You’ll never put me there!” palpitated the Spanish youth.
In the struggle to break away from Dick he dragged the boy back and struck against the chair on which he had been sitting, nearly falling to the floor.