A look of intense amazement crossed Malloy’s face and he opened his mouth to yell for help, but Fenton Hardy leaped across the intervening space and hurled himself upon the smuggler before the guard had time to utter more than a muffled gasp.
He clapped one hand over Malloy’s mouth and bore the guard to the floor, where they rolled over and over in a desperate and silent struggle. Although Fenton Hardy was weakened by his imprisonment and privation and although the smuggler was strong and wiry, the detective had the advantage of a surprise attack, and Malloy had no time to collect his faculties.
Joe and Frank watched the battle in an agony of suspense. It was, they knew, their last hope.
Fenton Hardy still kept his hand over the other man’s mouth, although Malloy was gasping and gurgling and making frantic efforts to call out for help. The detective dug his knee into Malloy’s stomach and when the smuggler tried to wriggle out of the way he snatched for the revolver.
Their hands closed about the butt of the weapon at the same instant.
The struggle was short and bitter.
Malloy tugged at the revolver, trying to draw it from his pocket. Fenton Hardy dug his knee sharply against the man and Malloy loosened his grasp, with a groan of pain. The detective snatched the revolver free and then flung himself back, leveling the weapon at Malloy.
“Not a word out of you!” he whispered.
Malloy’s hands rose in the air. He did not utter a sound. He was sitting helplessly on the floor, his mouth opening and closing as he painfully drew breath. He was beaten.
The detective spied a knife in a leather sheath at the smuggler’s belt so he reached forward and seized the weapon.