But the Ford boys had no intention of letting him go, and even Barry, weak and shaken as he was, returned to the fight to keep the man from escaping. Catching him around one leg, Barry held him tightly while the twins tried to break loose from his iron grip, at the same time striving to throw him. Back and forth they swayed and struggled, panting and straining. The center table was pushed to one side, and they were up against a wicker chair when the others came back.
They had been coming along slowly with Carter Wolf, and could not understand why the twins did not hasten with the blanket. The lodge prowler heard them coming, and the perspiration of a real fear now stood out on his head. Like a wild animal trapped, he looked around, and just as the incoming party filled the doorway and gazed in wonder at the struggle, he drew back his free foot and prepared to deal Barry a kick that would free the leg that the boy was holding. He felt that if he could once get that leg loose he could drag the twins into the hall leading to the lodge kitchen and somehow get rid of them.
But in raising his other foot he lost his balance, and he and the twins went down in a crashing heap, breaking the wicker chair to bits. Screams came from the girls, and the coach and Kent leaped forward to pull the combatants apart. Carter Wolf forgot his forlorn condition, and his friends stared in amazement. The coats and pocketbooks on the floor, the table back against the wall, and the general signs of confusion put them all at a loss.
“Here, what is going on here?” Coach Jordan asked, as he hauled the twins off of the fallen man. But to his astonishment Kent immediately threw himself on the stranger, holding his hands out in front of him by the wrists.
“Get a rope or a curtain cord or something,” Kent commanded, and Tim turned to look for something. But at the same moment the black shadow suddenly tried a dash for the hall door. Instantly all four boys, including the bruised Barry, leaped at him and bore him to the floor. The girls again screamed, and the coach looked bewildered. The captive addressed him.
“Call these fool boys off, Jordan! You know me!”
“Who is he?” Barry asked, finding his voice hoarse.
“Why, this is Felix Morganson, nephew of the lady who owns this lodge!” was the unexpected reply.
“What!” cried the mystery hunters, in chorus.
“Yes, I am, and when my aunt hears of this, you’ll hear a thing or two,” said Felix Morganson. But the boys were not at all worried.