The knife went above the man's head, and in the wielder's face was a look of the most diabolical hatred Ted had ever seen in a human countenance.
"For the last time," said the man hoarsely.
There was something about the fellow's actions that told Ted he was desperate, yet at the same time afraid of the act he was about to commit.
The knife was about to descend when Ted cried out an alarm, the first he had sounded.
He heard some one running in the hall. His assailant heard it, also, and hesitated, looking around with frightened eyes.
"Yi-yipee!" It was Bud's voice, and Ted breathed a prayer of thankfulness.
"I'll give it to you, anyhow," muttered the man, and again the knife went up in the air.
But it did not make a strike, for at that moment Bud bounded into the room, and, taking in the situation with a lightning glance, his foot flew out, and the toe of his heavy boot struck the man on top of Ted fairly in the ribs. There was a cracking sound, and with a groan the fellow dropped the knife and struggled to his feet.
Rushing at Bud, he bowled that doughty individual over like a tenpin, and dashed into the hall, along which he ran swiftly and lightly, for so large a man.
When Bud had picked himself up and run to the stairway, he could hear the fellow clattering down the stairs three flights below.