The man tried to draw something from his bosom, but it seemed to catch and hang there, and Merry was on him. The unknown tried to dodge, and he partly succeeded in avoiding Frank’s arms.
However, he did not get fully away, and, a second later, they grappled.
The man, however, had the advantage; for all that Frank had rushed upon him, he had risen partly behind Merry, after dodging. He clutched Frank about the waist and attempted to hurl him to the floor with crushing force.
Frank Merriwell was an expert wrestler, and, although taken thus at a disadvantage, he squirmed about and broke his fall, simply being forced to one knee.
“Now I have ye!” panted the man, hoarsely.
“Have you?” came from Frank’s lips. “Oh, I don’t know!”
There was a sudden upward heaving, and the ex-Yale athlete shot up to his feet.
But the man was on his back, and a hand came round and fastened on Merry’s throat with a terrible, crushing grip.
Frank realized that he was dealing with a desperate wretch, who would not hesitate at anything. And Merriwell’s life was the stake over which they were struggling!
Frank got hold of the man’s wrist and tore those fingers from his throat, although it seemed that they nearly tore out his windpipe in coming away.