“The chances are they would riddle us with bullets,” thought the boy.
Then he went back to where the lamp sat on a bracket against the wall, and extinguished it.
Once more he found the door, still bearing the detective, turned the key, carried the man outside, and closed the door behind him.
At the head of a flight of stairs he paused to listen.
Was it possible Linton and Glanworth had been alarmed by the racket of the struggle and had taken to flight?
The thought gave the lad renewed hope, and he was about to descend the stairs when he heard a sound in the room behind him.
There was a stir, as if one or both of the men were reviving. He could hear them moving, and then, of a sudden, there were sounds of a struggle.
Astounded, Frank listened yet a little longer.
“As I live, I believe they are fighting in there!” he muttered. “Both have recovered, and they are having it out in the dark. God have mercy on Emile Durant if those deadly hands find his throat!”
Then he bore the detective down the stairs.