“We’ll soon see who you are, my fine fellow,” he thought, “and we’ll learn what sort of a game you were playing all by your lonesome.”
He was breathing heavily from his exertions and his hands shook somewhat, for the encounter in the dark with a mysterious antagonist had been decidedly trying to his nerves.
To his great disappointment, he failed to find a match in his pockets.
As he was wondering what he could do, the unknown made a sudden spring and tried to fling him off.
“No, you don’t!” hissed Don, again grappling with the fellow. “I’m not done with you!”
The struggle was resumed with greater fury than before, for the mysterious visitor to the dressing-room seemed perfectly frantic in his desire to break from Scott’s grasp and make his escape. They squirmed and twisted and thrashed about on the floor, both panting heavily.
Don’s fighting blood was aroused, as he had recovered from the startled shock that assailed him when he discovered the intruder in the dressing-room, and somehow he took almost a fierce joy in this savage fight in the dark.
At last he found a grip on the throat of the unknown, determined to choke the fellow into submission; but then his antagonist struck out heavily, hitting Don’s shoulder with something that caused a twinge of pain and produced a ripping sound.
Instantly Scott released the other’s throat and grasped his arm and wrist, assailed by the conviction and fear that his foe was armed with a dangerous weapon. Down to the hand of the unknown Don’s fingers slipped, and there he found a knife securely clutched.
Then he knew the fellow had struck at him with the knife, which he had felt in his shoulder!