It sounded as if the man’s jaw cracked when the fist of the boy landed, and the big fellow was fairly lifted off his feet by the blow.
The man fell on his back, and Frank leaped over his body, darting out by the door, and dived around the corner into a dark alley.
His enemies were not far behind, but he was congratulating himself on escaping them, when, of a sudden, he felt himself clutched by hands of Titanic strength.
He had been caught from behind, and he tried to squirm about to defend himself.
He was astounded by the wonderful strength of his unknown assailant, for he seemed like a child in the hands of this person.
“Let go!” panted the boy.
There was no response, but a hand crept up and fastened itself on Frank’s throat—a hand that was cold, clammy and deathlike.
For a moment Frank seemed paralyzed with horror. He had felt that touch before, and he knew it well.
It was the grip of doom!
He had been warned that when the icy hand closed on him again it would crush out his life.