On his back the fellow was panting, hoarsely, and Merry found it no easy thing to dislodge him.
Round and round they whirled. Frank might have shouted for aid, but he realized that his door was bolted on the inside, and no assistance could reach him without breaking it down.
Besides that, Merry’s pride held him in check. There was but one intruder, and he did not feel like shouting and thus seeming to confess himself outmatched and frightened.
They were at a corner of the alcove. The partition projected sharply there, and, of a sudden, with all his strength, Merry flung himself backward, dashing the man on his back against that projecting corner.
There was a grunt, a groan, and a curse.
It seemed that, for an instant, the shock had hurt and dazed the man, and, in that instant, Merry wrenched himself free.
“Now this thing will be somehow more even,” he whispered, from his crushed and aching throat. He whirled to grapple with the fellow, but again the slippery rascal dodged him, leaping away.
Frank followed.
The man caught up a chair, swung it and struck at Merriwell’s head with force enough to crush Frank’s skull.
Merry could not dodge, but he caught the chair and saved his head, although he was sent reeling backward by the blow.