“You refuse me admittance?”
“Decidedly.”
Aziz Achmet made a quick sign to the black giant. Instantly the Nubian strode forward. Dick made a move to retreat, but the arm of the black man darted out and one powerful hand seized the lad. Merriwell had not overestimated the probable strength of the tattooed man, for, with scarcely an effort, it seemed, the boy was lifted from his feet and placed to one side.
Achmet quickly advanced to the door, flung it open, and entered the room.
Brad Buckhart had caught the hum of voices outside and was crossing the room to investigate when he found himself face to face with the Turk.
“Waugh!” exclaimed the Texan, in surprise.
“Pardon, boy,” said Achmet, still maintaining his quiet manner and soft speech. “I would speak with the professor.”
“Is that so?” said Brad. “Well, whoever invited you to walk in all unceremonious and chirklike? It strikes me that you are some forward in your deportment. Where’s my pard?”
“Here!” cried Dick, who had been released by the Nubian, and who now hastened into the room. “This man forced an entrance. He has dogged us here, Brad.”
“Dogged is a proper word for it, I reckon!” grated the Texan, beginning to bridle. “Forced his way in, did he? Well, I judge we’ll just shoot him out on his neck and teach him a bit of common decency!”