At the same instant, it seemed, a human figure fairly shot over the head and shoulders of Buckhart, over the professor, and landed with full force on the officer, hurling the latter to the floor.
It was Dick Merriwell, who had acted with lightning-like swiftness.
The Turk was knocked senseless, and lay stretched on the floor at the foot of the stairs, his sword beneath him.
Dick leaped up.
“Come on, professor!” he hissed. “Come on, Brad!”
He caught hold of Gunn once more, and away they went, finding it no simple matter to keep track of the black man, who was now fleeing for his own life.
Other inmates of the hotel, all in great alarm, got in their way, but were thrust aside. They rushed through several rooms. Twice some one tried to stop them. They stumbled down some dark steps. Doors were flung open before them and slammed behind them. Some curtains were thrust aside, disclosing a dark passage. Into this they plunged. It brought them quickly to other rooms and other doors that yielded to the hand of the black leader. They were bewildered, for none save Assouan knew whither they were going. Their wild rush hither and thither seemed aimless. At last, in a storeroom, where there were boxes and bales and casks, the sheik’s messenger thrust a bale aside and seized an iron ring that seemed set in the floor. With a surge, he lifted a trapdoor, beneath which was a place of utter darkness.
“Down!” he sibilated, pointing into the darkness. “Down, and wait for me to follow!”
Brad dropped through recklessly and disappeared. The professor followed, breathing a prayer.
Behind them there were cries and the sound of many feet. Their flight had attracted attention. Several persons were coming, and they might be Turkish officers.