Chester held himself tense—ready to spring upon the man the moment he should come within reach. Just inside the door the man paused and again sought to determine the cause of the commotion.
"What on earth is the matter in here?" he demanded loudly.
Seeking to help matters along, Hal gave vent to a sepulchral groan.
"Somebody must be sick," muttered the man to himself, and advanced into the room, casting discretion to the winds. One, two, three forward steps he took, and then whirled suddenly as Chester's hands closed about his throat from behind.
Now the Austrian was a big man, and in spite of Chester's strength, the lad realized in a moment that he was no match for his opponent.
"Quick, Hal, while I am able to hold him," he panted.
Hal wasted no time in words, for he realized it was time for action. He sprang from his place of concealment and darted toward the door, calling over his shoulder to Uncle John:
"Lend Chester a hand!"
But even as Hal would have darted through the door, the Austrian succeeded in freeing himself of Chester's hold, and hurling the lad from him with a swift backward kick, he turned just in time to encounter Hal.
Hal's right fist shot out sharply, and the Austrian staggered back as the blow caught him upon the point of the chin. But the blow had been delivered too quickly to have the desired effect, and the Austrian recovered himself in a moment, and, crouching low, advanced upon Hal. At the same time he raised his voice in a call for help.